Dralin

by Carroll, John H.

“Pelya, that’s an odd name,” said a tinny voiced private named Bobbell. He was short and thin-faced, but very fast. Frath got along well with him.

  “Sheela and I like it,” Frath replied without further explanation. Bobbell shrugged, not willing to upset his friend. Not many people pushed Frath to talk too much. Not only was he quiet, but he was the best fighter in the squad by far.

  Sergeant Gorman began pacing back and forth. After a moment, he stopped and looked around at everyone. It looked as though he was about to issue an order, but he went back to pacing instead. The squad exchanged glances of surprise.

  The sergeant stopped in front of Frath. “What if you could raise the child in the barracks? Would you stay?”

  Jaws literally dropped. Frath opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when words failed to come. His face twisted slightly in the opposite direction of his nose. “Huh?” he finally asked with great eloquence.

  Gorman kicked the corner of the bunk, needing to let out steam. His hands were folded behind his back and his forehead was creased in thought. The man who made officers shake in their boots when he yelled looked unsure of himself. “You’re a good soldier, Frath. You have a lot of potential and I’m not willing to lose you.”

  Frath’s heart filled with pride at the high praise. The pride deflated quickly when he remembered the circumstances of the day. Every time he thought about Sheela, the pain felt new and raw.

  “I see how much you hurt, Frath, and I’m sorry.” Gorman took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Keep the babe here with you. We’ll move you to the room in the back where she won’t disturb the others too much if she cries. Albert told me that we could come get the crib Sheela had in her room.”

  The squad exchanged looks of amazement. Raise a child in the barracks? The mere suggestion was a shock. Frath frowned. “What about everyone else?” he asked, gesturing at the other members of the squad. “It doesn’t seem fair to ask them to put up with a child.”

  “I think it’s a great idea. You’d better stay!” Bava demanded, her strong alto voice filling the barracks. Suddenly every one of them chimed in, yelling words of encouragement and pumping their fists in the air.

  “I’m not great with kids, but I’ll do whatever I can to help, Frath,” Bobbell said. Others chimed in, offering to help as well. A few even began working out a schedule of who would watch Pelya when Frath couldn’t. Frath observed the reactions and felt tears begin to flow down his face again. His shoulders shook and it took all his fortitude not to disturb Pelya.

  Bava took the babe from his arms. “I promise to protect her with my life,” she told him, tears flowing down her own cheeks. Pelya opened her eyes again and decided that the red headed woman was alright before yawning and falling right back asleep.

  “We’ll feed her goat’s milk. Even with the extra coin, you can’t afford a wet nurse and getting one in here along with the baby would be impossible,” Gorman said, pacing back and forth again. He ran fingers through his short-cropped, light-brown hair. The sergeant was one of the few who never went with the popular style, claiming that long hair was for sissies. He stopped and leaned over Frath. “You’re serious about raising her?” His chocolate-brown eyes pierced Frath’s, looking straight into his soul. Gorman’s stare unnerved Frath, along with everyone else who had ever been pinned by those eyes.

  “Yes, Sergeant. She’s my daughter and I’m going to raise her,” Frath answered with conviction.

  Gorman stepped back and nodded. “Then it’s settled. Pelya is a member of our squad.”

  A cheer burst from the squad, but it ended abruptly when the baby cried. Her sleep had been disturbed and she was angry about it. Bava spoke up, “How soon can we get that goat’s milk?”

  The sergeant barked out an order for a couple of privates to run to get some. He sent a few more to get the crib and anything else that might be at the inn. Frath dug through the supplies in the bag for a pacifier he had bought at the market with Sheela. The loss iced his veins again as he wished she could see the child they’d created.

  When he brought the pacifier to Pelya’s mouth, she took it and quieted down, but her eyes expressed displeasure at being silenced. Bava chuckled. “Oh my. She’s going to be a spitfire, she is. You . . . we have our hands full.”

  “Sergeant,” Corporal Willmas said with a finger in the air.

  “Yeah, Corporal?”

  “What about Captain Duuth? There’s no way he’ll allow a child in the barracks. He looks for every opportunity to crush our spirit.” The corporal’s words immediately dampened the mood in the room.

  Gorman grinned slyly and a cunning gleam lit his eyes. “Oh yes he will.” He turned to Frath. “Bava looks to have the babe well in hand. You come with me, Private. We’re going to go have a talk with the good captain. I know a few things about him that powerful people might find extremely interesting. I’ve been keeping them to myself, but perhaps this is a good time to mention them.”

  More shocked looks were exchanged. Blackmailing an officer was punishable by death, but Gorman’s squad knew their leader wasn’t just strong and good with a sword, he also had a sharp mind that made him ten times more dangerous.

  ***

  A few minutes later, they walked into the Captain’s offices. Gorman walked past the lieutenant at the desk too quickly for the man to do anything more than jump up and say, “Ahh, what is your busi . . .” The lieutenant’s arm was outstretched with an index finger in the air as though to protest. Frath followed the sergeant through the door.

  Captain Duuth was a slavering weasel of a man, if one were to put it nicely. He had only been promoted to captain because of his ability to connect his lips to the behinds of very powerful mages within the High Council’s offices. Some people said he did so literally. His squads tended to do a great deal of unproductive work and make arrests that were questionable and often politically motivated. Duuth would order units not to patrol certain areas at certain times and even give a squad the day off if it suited his ulterior motives. It was a testament to men like Gorman and a couple of other sergeants that they accomplished their duty and protected the city in spite of their captain.

  When Gorman burst through the door, Captain Duuth jumped in surprise. With a guilty look on his face, the captain quickly stuffed papers into a drawer. Candles along the wall and a single lantern on the desk provided the only light. A large fireplace to the right had been unlit for a few months. There were crossed swords on the wall behind the desk and a window on the wall to the left. Other than that, the stone walls were bare as was the floor. Frath was surprised that an officer wouldn’t have carpets to keep his feet warm and comfortable.

  The lieutenant ran in after them with a look of consternation on his face. “That will be all, Lieutenant,” Duuth said in a nasal whine. He waved the junior officer away with a look of contempt on his face. “Well, what is it, Sergeant?” the captain asked, turning his attention to Gorman. “Why are you barging into my office like some hulking barbarian?” He flicked his gaze in Frath’s direction. Upon seeing the private’s markings and youth, he ignored Frath’s presence entirely.

  Duuth’s scraggly eyebrows rose for his next comment, pushing his balding brown hair even farther back on his head. “Civilized people set appointments you know . . . then again you wouldn’t know because you’re not civilized!” He looked as though he was telling the best joke in the world, jabbing his finger at the sergeant and leaning forward. “You’ve been hit in the head with a sword too often!” The captain then burst out with a horribly nasal laugh that made the hairs on the back of Frath’s neck stand up. It was a good thing Duuth thought himself funny, because neither of the other men did. Frath thought the chinless weasel’s laugh sounded a bit strained, so perhaps the captain was only stroking his own ego.

  Sergeant Gorman abruptly turned and marched to the door, yanking it open. The lieutenant fell through and landed in a heap on the floor. Gorman picked the man up by the scruff of the neck and slammed him
against the wall. “Get back to work, you diseased worm!” He physically threw the man out of the office and slammed the door.

  Duuth visibly cowered as Gorman turned around and strode purposefully to the desk, placed his burly hands on the top and spoke with a growl. “We have a dire situation, Captain.”

  The rodent-faced officer sat down in his chair and fearfully wiped his perspiring brow with a stained, lacy handkerchief. “Uh . . . oh . . . Oh? We do? What situation is dire?”

  Gorman stabbed a finger in Frath’s direction. “That . . . is Private Frath Jornin. He is one of our best men and has a lot of potential. The problem is that we’re about to lose him and we don’t want that.”

  It was the highest praise Frath had ever heard his sergeant give anyone and he felt a blush rising in his face. Captain Duuth leaned forward and squinted at Frath. “I haven’t heard of him. Why are we going to lose him?” His dull green eyes glinted with the smallest amount of curiosity.

  The Sergeant slammed a fist against the desk, causing the captain and Frath to jump at the loud thump. In a low, raspy voice he said, “Because Frath is stuck raising a baby girl all by himself. The only way he can stay is if he raises her in the barracks.” Gorman straightened and gave a sharp nod. “We all know that’s against policy of course,” he finished matter-of-factly.

  Duuth responded with a little surprise and a lot of disdain. “Well of course it’s against policy! What a silly idea, raising a baby in the barracks. What a stupid thought.” The terrible whine of a laugh emanated from the captain’s bent nose again. Frath cringed at the sound as he wondered what his sergeant was working toward.

  “Exactly what policy is it that says children can’t be raised in the barracks, Captain?” Gorman asked while scratching his stubbly head.

  The horrible laugh ceased instantly, leaving silence hanging thickly in the room. Captain Duuth rubbed the side of his oblong head as though he had been smacked in the face. “Ehh? What do you mean, ‘what policy’?”

  The sergeant leaned with one hand on the desk and an inquisitive look on his face. “Well . . . there must be a policy against raising children in the barracks of course.” He gestured at a bookshelf standing beside the door. Thick books about law and policy filled its shelves. “You know every single policy in the Guard. You’ve even written a few. I was just wondering exactly which policy forbids raising kids in the barracks.”

  Captain Duuth sat there looking dumfounded at Gorman. It was a look that actually fit his face. Then his features began to pinch. Frath had never seen someone’s face pinch before. He stared in fascination.

  As it happened, the Captain was responsible for teaching law and policy. It also happened that Sergeant Gorman was his best student and knew every policy of the Guard almost as well as Duuth. Because of his intelligence and fighting ability combined, Gorman was expected to become an officer in a few years and advance high in rank.

  Duuth’s eyes squinted in suspicion. “What are you getting at, Sergeant?” he asked slowly and deliberately. Then his eyes widened. “Oh no. No. Ohhh no!” He stood up in alarm. “You can’t be serious?! Of course there’s no actual policy written against it. Because no one has ever been stupid enough to consider raising a child in the barracks.” He stared at Gorman. Then he turned his gaze on Frath. Both men looked grimly back at their captain. “You really are serious! You want to raise a child in the barracks?! I’ve never heard of such a thing.” His voice became thoughtful as he considered the matter inwardly. “How extraordinary.” Captain Duuth pulled open a drawer and grabbed a piece of parchment, setting it on the desk while sitting down. “I’ll just go ahead and write that policy right now.”

  Sergeant Gorman’s hand smacked down loudly on the page, causing Duuth to jump. “No . . . You will not write that policy, Captain,” he said in a quiet, deadly tone that had terrified greater men. Duuth gulped loudly, his protruding Adam’s apple bouncing up and down. He shrank into his chair as Gorman leaned over him, hand still on the parchment. “You will allow this man to raise his child in the barracks. You will not throw a fuss about it and everything will be done very quietly.”

  Gorman slowly straightened. “We won’t ask you to approve of it or sign anything. The only thing we will ask of you is to turn a blind eye . . . just like I’ve been turning a blind eye to the fact that you are having an affair with Assembly Member Beautilla’s lovely daughter, taking her to very seedy clubs within the Orange Sash District.” Gorman winked at the captain. “There’s not exactly a policy against that either, is there?” he asked with a short laugh.

  Captain Duuth became angrier and angrier until Gorman mentioned the assembly member’s daughter, and then his face went white. It didn’t have far to go to reach that color, having been rather chalky to begin with. “You can’t know about . . . You can’t tell! . . . Get out!” he shouted, standing up and waving an arm furiously. His bony hands shook. “You get out of my office right now! Keep the brat in the barracks for all I care. Get out!” His eyes narrowed until they were thin slits. “Just get out,” he finished in a harsh whisper as the two guardsmen walked through the door.

  Chapter 8

  “Pelya is the most wonderful baby I’ve ever seen,” Private Malwy told Frath. He was short, stocky and had a jolly manner that made people smile. His green eyes lit up whenever he came around the baby and he was always one of the first in line to take care of her. “I only wish you were behaving as well as her,” he told Frath with crossed arms and lowered brow.

  They were in the barracks a week after Sheela’s death. Malwy had just put Pelya to bed and was standing in front of Frath along with Bobbell and another private named Herman. Frath glared at them, annoyed that they had cornered him.

  “You can glare at us all you like, Frath,” Herman said in irritation. Average height with brown hair and eyes, he was unremarkable in most ways, which made him dangerous because his opponents tended to dismiss or underestimate him. Added to that, he fought dirty. “You’re not eating, you’re hardly sleeping, you have bags under your eyes and you’re angry all the time. You take good care of Pelya, but not yourself.”

  “What’s going on here?” Gorman asked, coming up behind the men.

  “It’s Frath, Sergeant,” Bobbell said with a gesture of disgust at their friend. “He’s acting like a petulant child. I know he’s still upset, but at some point he’s going to have to figure out how to rejoin the squad and we’ve all been helping with the baby.”

  Gorman folded his arms and studied Frath for a moment. Frath stared back sullenly. He couldn’t stop being angry. It was eating away at him from the inside out. Taking care of Pelya was the only thing he wanted to do, but he was starting to resent the child for causing her mother’s death and it was a dangerous feeling that frightened him to no end.

  “You have one day to get your head on straight, Private.” It was a command that brooked no disobedience. “Take this day off and go wherever it is you always disappear to. I expect you to come back here first thing in the morning with a healthy appetite and a positive attitude.”

  Frath looked at him incredulously, wondering how in the world his sergeant could think it to be that easy. He then glared at each of the privates, but they didn’t budge a bit. Herman jabbed a finger in his face. “It’s for your own good. You have things to figure out and not a lot of time to do it, so I suggest you get started.”

  “What about Pelya?” Frath demanded stubbornly as he stood.

  “You know she’s fine here. We’ll take good care of her,” Malwy stated firmly. “We’re her family too.”

  Frath knew it was true and nodded slowly. Everyone in the squad loved Pelya. There was something about her that made them fall in love right away. She cried only when she needed something like a bottle or a diaper change. Her tiny grip was strong and she loved to gnaw on people’s fingers. She inherited black hair from her father and it looked like her eyes would remain just as brilliantly blue. Luckily, she received her mother’s pretty nose and fa
ce.

  “Go, Private,” Gorman ordered.

  Frath looked back toward his room where Pelya was sleeping quietly, and then he left the barracks.

  ***

  Frath stood in front of the Shining Shield Inn, staring at it blankly. He didn’t remember walking there or know why he had come. Sheela wasn’t there anymore. Albert and Purla had brought the ashes to Lady Pallon’s estate the day after her death. Sergeant Gorman and Private Bava had come with Frath and Pelya as they spread the ashes in the vast backyard. It was a small service that included some of the servants and guards from the inn.

  The Knight of Reanna that had kissed Pelya on the forehead the day she was born had attended as did the noblewoman. Upon realizing Frath had not invited any priests, nor had he allowed Lady Pallon to do so, the knight delivered the blessings of the Sun Goddess upon the ashes and the ground they were spread over. While Frath didn’t like priests, the knight’s blessing felt right. Something about the man was powerful and awe inspiring. Frath wished he had learned his name.

  “Hello, Frath. Are you alright?” Albert asked, coming down the steps from the inn, startling him.

  “I . . . yes . . . I don’t know,” he stammered.

  Concern covered Albert’s face. “Frath, you look gaunt. Come inside and eat something.” He put his hand on Frath’s back and guided him firmly up the stairs into the inn. Albert led him to the kitchen and had him sit at a table out of the way of the busy cooks. “A plate of food here,” he ordered, snapping fingers in the direction of a serving girl.

  Purla came over immediately upon seeing the young guardsman. “What is it? Is Pelya alright?” she asked worriedly.

  Frath nodded quickly. “Yes, she’s wonderful.”

  “Are you alright?” she asked intuitively.

  “Of course he’s not,” Albert said with a roll of his eyes. “He looks miserable. Obviously he’s still grieving.”