The road was hot, and the small puffs of dust that came up from every foot drop and every hoof drop joined together to make a massive cloud of dust. The column stretched for what seemed like an eternity. The cobblestones that covered the road in Teorton slowly faded to a thick red clay, and then to hard packed dirt.
The road rose and fell along with the low hills that surrounded Teorton. As the capital city passed into the distance the tree cover got thicker. General Alaric posted archers on the outside of the column with orders to keep an eye out for raiders and bandits hiding in the cover.
Aeolwyn tugged at his baldric, the leather strap that went around his shoulder and kept his sword on. His new sword’s scabbard pulled on his shoulder and after the few hours they had been underway it was getting sore. He kept adjusting it, but there was no relief. How was he going to make it the entire way to Fort Camulan?
Even though he was near the front of the column the dust was so thick it was difficult to breathe. It made its way into his throat and lungs. The tiny particles scratched his throat like sandpaper. He longed for a cool drink to sooth his aching throat. He wished they could stop for a few moments so he could take off the baldric that held the sword on his shoulder. Just a few moments to ease the pain.
Sefalus plodded on without complaint. He was a good horse and Aeolwyn was glad to have him. What he wished he had was a better saddle. Even though they had only been traveling for a few hours, his butt hurt already. He shifted his weight often, but he was sure he was going to have sores before long.
It was official. Being a soldier was awful. He already wished he were back in the palace with Sir Jom and his soldiers. He would trade his sword and horse for hours lifting barrels in the yard with his old mentor. He should have paid more attention to politics. That sounded much better. Even if you had to scheme and pretend to like people while trying to kill them behind their back, at least you were comfortable while you did it.
All his life he’d heard great stories about soldiers. The soldier who killed the three-headed dragon. His grandfather, the soldier who subjugated the elves. His uncle who died defending Fort Camulan from a Fennish raid. They were all tales of valor, glory, and victory.
What none of the stories mentioned was how the saddle hurt, or how the handle of your sword dug into your side while you were on your horse. It was always the glory and none of the complaints. Ainherwyn was never thirsty.
He had been a soldier for only a few hours and already hated it.
But he had no escape. He had agreed to be exiled as a soldier to save his life. He would never be allowed back to Teorton, unless it was for a special circumstance, like a death or marriage. After the event he would be allowed to spend one night before leaving.
Of course, there was a whole world out there. He didn’t have to stay a soldier. He could sneak off to Tambryne or join a ship’s crew and explore the far reaches of Laryndor. He could head north to Fortru or Nordenland. There was nothing stopping him.
He wasn’t about to desert though, no matter how often he fantasized about it. He was royalty and had given his word. If that didn’t mean anything, then nothing did. A royal breaking their word could cause the whole political system to come crashing down.
And more importantly, he would hate himself if he broke his promise. He was a lot of things, including a killer, but he wasn’t a liar or an oath breaker. He would honor his agreement and see it through.
He heard a command from further up the column, and the group slowly came to a stop. After a few moments a runner came down the line announcing that they would be taking a short break to rest the horses and get some water from the nearby stream.
Aeolwyn took the opportunity to get off his horse and rest his poor behind. He didn’t think he had any saddle sores yet, but he was sure to have them by the time they stopped for the evening. He kept telling himself that it was all part of the learning process of being a soldier, and before he knew it, his rear would be as tough as nails.
He watched one of the mounted soldiers behind him walk off into the tree line reaching for his trousers. He hadn’t thought about it until that very second, but he also had to relieve himself. He quietly followed the soldier but turned to the right when he turned to the left. He wanted some privacy.
As he stood there, doing his business, he couldn’t help but shake the feeling that he was being watched. He kept looking around but didn’t see anyone. No one on the road was looking, and there wasn’t anyone in the trees either.
It made him nervous, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was out here, essentially alone, or if it was because he was out here with his prick in his hand. Normally when he was urinating, he was in the privacy of his chamber pissing into the chamber pot, or into one of the many garderobes inside the palace. He rarely peed outside, and never in a place where it felt like someone’s eyes were burning a hole in the back of his head.
Every so often he thought he’d heard footsteps. When he looked over to his left, he could see the soldier a few feet away still doing his business, so it wasn’t him returning to the column. The sound wasn’t frequent and regular like someone walking. It was slower and haphazard. The type of footsteps you would hear if someone was trying to sneak up on you.
He turned, his business finished. The soldier turned at nearly the same time. Then a lot of things happened at once. Something jumped up from behind the soldier and attacked him. Aeolwyn couldn’t tell what it was, except a humanoid and green.
The soldier screamed and fell. The humanoid creature pounced on top of him, yellow fangs bared. The creature’s head dove directly into the man’s shoulder as he tried frantically to push the beast away.
Fear paralyzed him. Aeolwyn knew he couldn’t just stand there and watch the beast kill the man. What kind of soldier would he be if that happened? But he couldn’t bring himself to move. He felt panic rising to the top of his body that, despite how hard he fought, was winning the battle.
The soldier was going to die.
He remembered his training from Sir Jom. His mentor insisted on doing sword lessons at night in the dark. Aeolwyn would have to spar against one of the other students while Sir Jom yelled at both of them. He would hide in the darkness and jump out at random times.
The point was to instill fear into Aeowyn and the other student so that they could recognize what it felt like and still be able to function when it happened. But that was practice. This was real.
No. It was no different. It was just like practice. The only difference was that his sword was steel and the instigator was some green thing instead of Sir Jom.
That was enough to break through the fear.
Aeolwyn drew his sword and raced over to the man and the monster. The green best lifted its head when Aeolwyn approached, showing two yellow fangs dripping with blood. The grotesque face had a deep brow ridge, eyes that were too close together and a large, bulbous nose. It shrieked when it saw him.
He sliced its head off in one clean swing. Just as the creature fell atop the soldier, a second one sprang up to his left, and then a third a few feet away from the second. He shifted his weight as he turned, ducked down low and brought his blade up through the second beast’s groin.
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He took a step to the side, spinning while he pulled his sword from the beast. The third one tried to snake around his blade, but its momentum was too great. It impaled itself on Aeolwyn’s sword, but to his amazement it pulled itself forward, clawing at his eyes.
He released the blade and drew the dagger Ulfnar had hidden in his sleeve. In one single motion he pulled the knife out and swung, cutting the monster’s throat, spraying red blood like a fountain into the air.
All three beasts collapsed back to the earth, their lifeblood draining out among the dirt and leaves. The one he had disemboweled was still breathing in weak, staggered breaths. The one who’d had its throat slit was spasming, one hand trying to keep the blood in. The decapitated one was already dead.
He sheathed his weapons and raced over to the soldier, who was still clinging to life. He gathered up the soldier in his arms and lifted him over his shoulder. He was heavy! Now Aeolwyn knew why Sir Jom made him lift and carry barrels around the yard every day.
He ran back to the column screaming for help.
“Help!” he shouted. “He’s hurt! He’s going to die!”
He wondered who the soldier was. He wasn’t old enough to be a grizzled veteran, and not scrawny enough to be a new recruit like himself. He was young and fresh-faced, but his arms were tough and sinewy, and as heavy as an ox!
Other soldiers looked from their comfortable seats on the dirt, but none made a move to help. Some just sat and watched, but others stared into their empty cups. He couldn’t believe that he was carrying a soldier on the brink of death, and not a single one cared.
“Help!” He shouted. He carefully set the man down onto his back. The soldier was getting more pale by the moment. His eyes were getting far and glassy. Aeolwyn had seen that look before when he stabbed in the Star Children’s prisons.
A tall man appeared from behind him. “What happened, Aeolwyn?” he asked.
It was Egnever! He was the only one who came to help. He knelt down over the wounded soldier, looking over the bloody gashes on the man’s shoulder. He tugged gently on the tunic and winced when he saw the damage.
“It was some green monster! It jumped on him and started biting his shoulder.”
“Hmm,” Egnever replied. He closed his eyes and held his hands over the wound. He shuddered from some unseen force. A blue-white glow came from his hands and into the wounded soldier. As the light enveloped the injury, it knitted itself back together.
The soldier’s eyes fluttered open and he gasped loudly. He shuddered and gazed down in wonder at the magical healing spell bringing him back from the brink of death. The color returned to his face and he managed to crack a smile.
“What in the glorious name of Laryn is going on over here?”
The general’s voice was unmistakable. Aeolwyn stood and did his best to stand at attention. He resisted the urge to salute after the dressing down he received earlier in the day. The general’s words to him stung more than the sores on his bottom.
“He’s out of the worst of it now, sir,” Egnever said. “But he’s going to be tired for a few days. He will need to ride in one of the wagons.”
“No, sir,” the soldier grumbled, struggling to his feet, “I am well enough to ride beside the prince.”
“What happened?” the general demanded, seeing the soldier’s torn clothes stained with blood. He didn’t seem to be concerned about the man’s injuries. He appeared to be more upset at the distraction.
“He was attacked by little green monsters!” Aeolwyn said.
“Monsters?” the man next to the general asked.
“They were like people, only smaller and green, with large yellow tusks.”
“Goblins,” the general said. His mouth twisted dourly, as though he had just bit into a lemon. He turned to the man standing next to him. “I told the archers to keep watch. Find the one who failed in his duty and bring him to me for punishment.”
“He saved my life, sir,” the soldier gestured to Aeolwyn. “You should have seen him easily dispatch all three of them. I’ve never seen such calm fluidity with a blade.”
“What’s your name, soldier?” Alaric asked.
“Galafar, sir,” he answered. The soldier stood weakly at attention, doing a poor job of trying to stand still.
The general put an arm on Aeolwyn’s shoulder. “Well done, soldier,” he said. “We’d better get moving.” Then Alaric abruptly turned and strode away. Aeolwyn watched him go. The general wore the armor and sword with such ease. He wished he could have such a strong bearing.
Galafar held out his hand and Aeolwyn took it. “I don’t know how to thank you, your grace,” he said. “So, from here on, consider me your personal bodyguard.”
Aeolwyn’s felt the heat rising in his cheeks. Galafar sounded earnestly grateful for Aeolwyn’s actions. He had only done what any other soldier would have done in the same circumstances.
“Please, Galafar, that isn’t necessary,” he said as their hands separated.
“I insist,” he said, “Just let me get my horse.” Galafar made a passable attempt at running off, though it appeared to be something more like a skip-stumble.
Aeolwyn shrugged it off and mounted his horse. Stinging pain lanced up and down his body as he sat upon the saddle. He wondered if Egnever could heal it before it got too bad.
He looked around for his friend, but he was nowhere to be found. He appeared from nowhere, healed Galafar, and then vanished, all in an instant. Come to think of it, he didn’t remember seeing Egnever as soon as the general had appeared. He would have to remember to thank him later.
It only took a few minutes before the whole column was underway again. Almost immediately he was uncomfortably shifting in his saddle and readjusting the baldric again. He was sure to have a bruise.
The adrenaline from the fight had worn off and now his hands had started shaking. After his initial reaction, he didn’t feel afraid at all. He just sprang into action and did what needed to be done. What bothered him though was how little he felt about the whole affair. It felt no different than when he had done his lessons with Sir Jom, and now the lessons were over.
Even though Galafar was treating him like a hero, he didn’t feel like one. The soldier wasn’t wrong, Aeolwyn had saved his life, but he didn’t feel like he had done anything special. He had expected to have a sense of pride, but he didn’t. The only positive feeling he had about the whole thing was that he was glad Galafar was alive.
A horse rode up beside him. Aeolwyn didn’t have to look to know it was Galafar. He had changed out of his torn, bloodied tunic and put on a fresh one. He was still weak, but was trying hard not to let it show.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
His horse was a large and strong destrier. The type he would not want to face in a battle. It was one thing to have to worry about a warrior’s skill with his weapon, but when his mount was also a weapon, the danger was multiplied.
Packed on the back of the horse, just behind the saddle was a gleaming set plate armor. How wealthy was Galafar to be able to afford such a set? And more importantly, why hadn’t Aeolwyn’s father given him some? He surely could have afforded it.
He already knew the answer. To be able to fight in that type of armor took extensive training. Training that Sir Jom hadn’t given him yet. Besides, Aeolwyn was still young and would outgrow such a set of armor quickly. At least the mail armor he had received would grow with him. At least for a while.
The helmet, packed on top was more functional than ornamental, but it had a particular rounded shape that few sets of armor had. The rest of the suit had several engravings around it, including a symbol of a shield on the chest. The distinctive stylings and engravings on Galafar’s armor made it clear who and what Galafar was.
“You’re a Shielder?” Aeolwyn asked.
Galafar nodded. “Shield Brother Galafar, at your service.”
“What are you doing with us? Don’t you have duties with them?”
Galafar shrugged, wincing a little as he moved his shoulder. “My commander thinks it will be good for my development, so this is where I was assigned.”
They rode for a while, and Galafar talked about his time with the Shielders. It turned out that he was born in Tambryne just outside of Cape Bryne where a Shielder fort was. His parents were killed in a raid and someone named Commander Tymon took him in. He had been with the group ever since.
“You know, you don’t owe me anything,” Aeolwyn said. “I was just doing what anyone else would have done.”
Galafar scowled. “That’s not true, my prince. Did you see those other soldiers? They know what I am. They would have as soon spit on my corpse and give the goblins a medal than help me.”
“Don’t call me that,” Aeolwyn said. It was fine in the palace for those of a lesser station to call him by his title, but they were both soldiers. And besides, he liked Galafar. “Just call me Aeolwyn.”
“If it pleases you,” Galafar said. “Don’t forget that they also know who you are. Some of them may not be pleased at having a prince in their company. It’ll be good to have someone to watch your back.”
That was true. Maybe Egnever wanted to kill him, or the Star Children could have hidden assassins among the soldiers. He had killed one of their members. No matter how far he was exiled, he certainly had a target on his back.
He didn’t want to come right out and say that he could use a bodyguard; that could insinuate weakness. He didn’t have anything to fear from Galafar, but others might be listening, either with their ears or through magical means.
“I would be happy to have you as a friend, Galafar,” he said.
He just hoped he was worrying too much. But between Egnever’s and the Star Children’s grudge against him, he had a lot to be concerned about. He hoped he could patch things up with Egnever, but if the Star Children decided that exile wasn’t enough for him, the only thing that would appease them was his blood.