Part III: The Boy General

2 years later...

The dock beside Fort Camulan was a hive of activity. A ship, the Lady’s Rage was unloading her cargo. Men scurried to and fro carrying casks, crates, and bags from the ship to the dock. Workers were piling these goods onto carts to carry into the fort via the Watergate. The ship listed slightly from taking on water.

A patched hole was in her starboard side that a pair of carpenters on a bosun’s chair slung over the side were working diligently to fix. The ship had either had a run-in with pirates, had run aground on a sandbar, or both.

As each cart was filled, a dockworker would grab its handles and roll it along the gangway up through the Watergate and into the fort. A dozen guards stood watch on either side of the gate to prevent any unwanted entries or attempts to assault the fort.

The fort had been expanding, with a new tower going up at the edge of the Northgate. It was made from wood and nearly half-complete. When it reached its full height, it would allow General Alaric a view deep into Fennland, and a good eye on anything they were planning. As it was, it could see far across the river, where one could catch sight of a similar tower going up.

Northgate, the town that had been springing up on the north side of Fort Camulan’s walls had been expanding as well. With word of more activity along the borders with Fennland, more and more peasants were seeking the safety of the fort. Rumors of vicious raids across the river sent fear into the hearts of the locals. Rumors abound, with many saying the Fenns crossed the river, slayed entire villages and then feasted on their remains. They were only rumors though. Most didn’t believe that the Fenns would actually feast on human remains.

Beyond Northgate a group of soldiers were on patrol. They totaled eleven, and though each wore a uniform, their arms and armaments were scattered at best. Some were in chainmail, others in boiled leather, and one wore no armor at all. Instead, he wore a long robe of a similar style and cut to the soldier’s uniforms. A little-used sword was belted to his hip, and he carried a long staff in one arm.

The man leading them wore a finely worked helmet in addition to his chainmail shirt. A sword hung from a baldric on his shoulder and was belted against motion around his waist. He was young, barely having reached his 14th nameday. Though older, the rest of the soldiers followed him regardless, having recognized the young prince’s bravery, valor, and especially his ability to keep them alive.

Today marked the second anniversary of Aeolwyn’s arrival in Fort Camulan. He didn’t plan on marking the occasion, though he suspected Egnever and Galafar might. The day made him reflect on the journey that they took to reach Fort Camulan. Egne had almost died that day. It took the might of three clerics and three mages to bring him back from the brink.

Egne was a changed man after that. He had given up his gentleman assassin persona and had dove headlong into his magical studies. Ivsar, the lead mage was proud of his progress, saying he was quickly becoming one of the best mages in the camp, and with a little more experience, might be ready for a promotion.

Galafar hadn’t changed one bit. He still clung to Aeolwyn like glue and had even bribed one of the cavalry members so that he would have the bunk closest to his door. The prince wondered if the Shielder would have insisted on sleeping at his feet if there were room in his quarters.

They all had settled into a routine at the fort. A mostly unpleasant routine, as it consisted of never-ending drills and patrols. They rarely saw any action, and none with the Fenns. The only time they had drawn their swords was against bandits and a few goblins. One time, they were asked to head to battle against a dragon, but it turned out to be a small lizard. Aeolwyn was both relieved and disappointed when they found the thing. The dragon was the sigil of his house, after all. How could he kill one?

Besides that, little had changed. He’d had a few letters from his family, mostly from his mother. His sister Filiya and father sent some as well. They didn’t say much, mostly that they were proud of his service, and they missed him. There was no mention of the attempts on his life, and he wasn’t about to tell them. Strangely, he hadn’t received letters from anyone else. He had expected that Ulfnar at least would have sent him one.

Once he’d arrived at the fort, there were no further assassination attempts. He was thankful for that. He hoped Fraius had been killed. The man had taken some grievous injuries, but without seeing an actual body, it was impossible and unadvisable to assume the Star Child had been slain.

The idea that Child Fraius was still around made him shudder. He instinctively reached for Woebringer, the name he finally gave his sword after endless pestering by Galafar. The Shielder was going to call it Groundstain after how many times Aeolwyn had dropped it during the mounted combat drills. He couldn’t abide that name, so he chose to give it something more appropriate.

He had sent careful inquiries to some of his few friends in Teorton, hoping for information on anyone posing as Aylonzo, but none of his missives had, so far, been returned. He’d sent several to his brother Ulfnar; he had extensive knowledge of Teorton’s underbelly and was his best bet for information. He hadn’t received a response from any of those either. It made him worry about what was going on in the capital. He thought Ulfnar had been very fond of him.

He had been glad to be reunited with Sefalus after his long absence. The horse seemed to be glad too. He jumped and stamped his feet when he saw Aeolwyn, and he wouldn’t stop whinnying until he was allowed to nuzzle the prince for an entire hour. The prince couldn’t stop laughing.

Aeolwyn loved that horse. He had been well trained, too. Unlike his rider, Sefalus only needed to be shown a thing once before he was excellent at it. He was big, powerful, and unafraid of facing enemy lines. He would stay with his group on practice charges, even if Aeolwyn wanted to leap ahead to be the first to victory.

Aeolwyn stopped along the riverbank they were patrolling. He climbed down into the muck to examine what he thought was a footprint. They were here patrolling the river north of the fort looking for any signs that the Fenns might be crossing. Even though they had found no real evidence of raids just yet, General Alaric insisted that they go. Aeolwyn agreed.

“What is it, sir?” Brakus asked.

Brakus was one of the seasoned soldiers under his command that he was instructed to listen to. At first, Aeolwyn had bristled at the soldier giving him advice, but, as it turned out, his advice was almost always sound. Sir Jom always told him to listen to those with experience, and he was glad he did. It had saved his life.

“I thought it was a footprint,” he replied.

Tyrik, another of his soldiers came beside him. “It does look like one, but I don’t see any more of them. And this high on the bank, the river wouldn’t have washed it away just yet.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Aeolwyn said. “But I don’t like it. Let’s have a rest here for a minute so we can take a look around.”

They unlimbered their packs and sat on the soft grass near the riverbank. From their vantage point it looked like a calm stream, casually making its way south, but Aeolwyn knew better. Underneath that placid surface was a raging torrent ready to suck anyone who dared step too close to their deaths. He had seen it happen many times, and there was nothing they could do. By the time someone got a rope out, the victim was already miles away.

As Diryn was breaking out the provisions for everyone, Palrik, his bunkmate kept elbowing him for some reason. Diryn shrugged it off and returned to his pack.

“Ask him,” Palrik said. Palrik was a thick man with an extremely pockmarked face. He had lived a rough life as a child and had survived elvish fever, one of the rare ones to do so.

“Ask me what?” Aeolwyn asked.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Palrik stopped as he was handing out the provisions and turned to face the prince. Palrik was a young, fresh-faced soldier. He’d had very little training in weapons growing up but was a quick study. Aeolwyn took it upon himself to teach the boy the sword forms.

Aeolwyn always saw Palrik as the child of the group, being less experienced in combat than the others, but he always had to remind himself that the boy was still two years older than Aeolwyn himself.

“Sir,” Palrik started. “The boys want to know if you’ve ever been with a woman before?”

The whole group of them broke out in laughter as soon as Palrik finished the question. Some began handing money over to others. Others, red-faced, were clapping each other on the back.

Aeolwyn could feel his own face turning red. He stalled, unsure of how to answer. Most of his squad besides Brakus and Tyrik were young, and whether you’d been with a woman or not was an important topic. Aeolwyn wasn’t sure what to say; he didn’t want to lie to his men.

“He’s 14. What do you think?” Egne answered for him.

More laughter broke out among the younger men of the group, though the older among them kept their composure. They knew that once you’d spent a night with a woman that it wasn’t as big a deal as the younger ones made it out to be.

“Is that true, sir?” Palrik asked.

“Egne’s got the right of it,” Aeolwyn admitted.

He found his embarrassment easing after the admission, though there had been more laughter in the group and more money changed hands. He felt like he should be angry about it, his men betting on his virginity, but this was the sort of thing soldiers did. He let them have their fun. He knew he could count on them when it mattered, so allowing them to have a laugh was important to him.

“We’ve got to do something about that, sir,” Diryn said. “We can help. There’s plenty of women in Foregate that would be happy to clear that problem up for you.”

He smiled and nodded, but he just couldn’t picture himself with a prostitute. He didn’t see anything wrong with their profession; men were willing to pay for a service they were happy to provide. As long as all parties were satisfied, what was the harm in it?

“He’s got money Diryn. It’s Westgate for him!” Galafar put in.

“I bet none of them have ever been with a prince before!” Palrik said. “They’d probably do it for free!”

“Enough boys,” Brakus said. “You’ve had your fun at the corporal’s expense, and he’s been a good sport about it. Let’s not push him to throw us all in the river.”

More laughs at Brakus’ comment. Aeolwyn was simultaneously glad and annoyed that Brakus had stepped in. He shouldn’t have had to; it undermined Aeolwyn’s authority. He might have to speak to Brakus privately about that.

For some reason, the talk of the whims of the working women in Westgate made him think of Reiva. She was still being kept in the fort’s tower, but, as far as he knew, hadn’t been tortured. That made him happy.

They had initially put her in the dungeon, to which Aeolwyn protested. She had given him the name of the man who had hired her, and shouldn’t that be enough? It was clear that he didn’t want her services any longer, considering Aylonzo had sent an assassin after her. The general still didn’t trust her fully, despite her disavowing her desire for Aeolwyn’s death.

They had begun to trust her with small tasks around the fort. Mostly cleaning, fetching water, and other menial labors. She told Aeolwyn she didn’t particularly like the duties but was happy to perform them if it meant she got to go out of the tower.

She was constantly under guard when she was in the yard. 5 men armed with cudgels were always watching her as she did her duties. Aeolwyn knew that if she really wanted to escape, those 5 men wouldn’t stop her. But she made no attempt.

Aeolwyn visited her as often as he could. He would sometimes get treats from Foregate and bring them to her. He liked talking to her. In exchange for the treats she would tell him about her adventures in Tambryne and other places, though he was no closer to learning where this place called the Spires was.

He asked her where she would go when she was released. She shrugged and said she didn’t know. Not back to Teorton. If Aylonzo was still operating out of there, visiting the capital would be very dangerous for her. Aeolwyn said that if she didn’t have anywhere to go that he would hire her to stay with him. She smiled and said she liked that idea.

“Aeolwyn, come look at this,” Egne shouted.

It was Galafar that shortened his name. He decided that Egnever was too much of a mouthful to say, and it didn’t especially roll of the tongue very well. He decided that Egne was as far as he was going to go in the mage’s name and if he didn’t like it, too bad.

Egne just laughed and said, “Call me as you will.”

Aeolwyn got up and ran over to the riverbank where Egnever had been scouting. Aeolwyn didn’t even have to guess what he was looking for. Just a few yards north of where they had stopped were a great deal of footprints. Many of them had been brushed away or buried under other footprints, but their sign was unmistakable.

“And here,” Galafar said, pointing further down the riverbank where the clear signs of a rowboat being beached were readily apparent.

“You think it’s the Fenns?” Aeolwyn asked.

Egne nodded towards the other bank. Aeolwyn squinted to see. He could make out on the opposite bank a large area of disturbed mud where the reeds and other fauna had been uprooted or pushed aside.

“Large enough for a rowboat,” Bakus said.

“Alright, get ready to move,” Aeolwyn ordered. “We’ve got to get back and report this.”

Without another word, his men began to gather their equipment, sheathing their weapons and slinging their packs onto their backs.

***

The Fortress of Heaven was a glorious building. From the outside, it was a single shining tower, a beacon for all to see. Surrounding the tower that erupted like a dagger from the earth was a series of massive walls, all connected together to formed a four-sided star. A tower stood at all four of the points, and at the intersections of each wall for a total of eight towers.

While it was nominally inside the jurisdiction of Branson’s Fork, it was over a mile away from the city itself. The elves who had control of city and the surrounding area did not want the building anywhere near the town where it might influence the populace.

That suited the members of the Courageous Order of the Heavens just fine. They were able to place the building on a large hill with a view of where the Stile River branched off from the River Tyr. Everyone passing along the river could see the fortress’ beacon. Many curious visitors came to the doors. Many of those visitors stayed and became initiates.

Fraius was in the Lesser Meeting Hall inside the tower. It was a round room high up with windows along a round wall that looked out over the land. From here one could see the walls and towers of Branson’s Fork, along with any ship that may be passing by. An exception view, but it wasn’t quite tall enough to see as far as Darkwood Forest.

It had been two years since he’d arrived on death’s door. A cleric had healed his wounds as best as was possible, but that was only part of his recovery. The damage the assassin had inflicted upon him was great, and recovering from it took much too long. He still walked with a limp and had limited use of his left arm. Not idea for a man whose talents for knifework were feared all across Laryndor.

Lord Longinus was not pleased with Fraius’ performance in regard to the prince. He had failed to assassinate him on two occasions. That was unacceptable, not only to Longinus, but to himself as well. If His Radiance had demanded Fraius’ head, he would have walked to the headsman willingly.

But Longinus denied him the honor of death. He was told that the master couldn’t do away with one of his most trusted men. So, he was instructed to stay at the fortress and recover. If he couldn’t recover, other duties would be found for him, but death would not be one of them. He should have just let himself die on the field of battle.

Lord Longinus was seated comfortably in a tall wooden chair. Its intricate carvings were filled with scenes of devils and monsters coming down from the heavens to assault Laryndor. A noble group of men wearing the sigil of the Courageous Order of Heavens stood firm as a shield between the monsters and men.

Across from him in a less elaborate but equally comfortable chair was a chubby man with a receding hairline. He was dressed in finely cut wool doublet embroidered with intricate flowers. On his head was a thick gold circlet.

Despite his aging and corpulent appearance, he sat as regal as any man Fraius had ever seen, and the assassin couldn’t help but feel slightly intimidated by the man’s presence. He would never admit such a weakness, especially not to Lord Longinus.

This was Drahius, High King of the Lakes and Lord of Fennland. He had requested a meeting with Lord Longinus and His Radiance insisted that Fraius join in the meeting. Not as a participant, but as an observer and display of the power available to him. Fraius didn’t understand why. He was in no condition to intimidate anyone.

“You can be assured, your highness,” Longinus said, “that the Courageous Order of Heavens will not interfere with your plans. In fact, we would be happy to offer any resources at our disposal to support your endeavor. With certain concessions, of course.”

King Drahius had just outlined his plans for an invasion of Camulan. He insisted it was limited in scope and was only as a response to the raids and military buildup that had been occurring in the area of Fort Camulan. Longinus was trying to convince him that it was possible to expand that scope. Why not march all the way to Teorton?

“What sort of concessions?”

Longinus smiled, “Nothing extravagant, of course. I think having your youngest son come to the Fortress of Heaven to learn about us would do.”

He reached out to the table between the two, lifted his cup of tea and took a sip. “Oh, and of course, a grant of land to build temples in every city.”

“Not extravagant, you say?” Drahius said. Fraius could tell by the expression on his face that he was not pleased with that request. He would need some convincing.

“Rumors are that there has been a large buildup at Fort Camulan. It would be difficult to take. It would cost many lives.” Longinus returned his cup to the table. “Oh, I am also informed that King Llarwyn’s youngest son, the Prince Aeolwyn is stationed at the Fort. What a prize he would make.”

Longinus leaned back and gestured to Fraius. “We could deliver him to you.”

Drahius couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked around the room, weighing his options. “Let’s consider your proposal a starting point in these negotiations.”

He leaned back in his chair and emptied his cup of tea. The king didn’t know it, but he had lost already. He was going to give Lord Longinus everything he asked for.