My health improves each day and I decide it’s time to start some training. One fine evening I approach Darren, the best (and only) member of the king’s guard. As a warrior class I know I’ll have aptitude in the sword and I want Darren to instruct me in it so I don’t die on the battlefield.
A strong motivator if there ever was one.
“Will you teach me, Darren?”
The guard looks up from sharpening his blade. He is middle-aged, bald, and serious. His expression is flat and unreadable – at least to me. “What do you know of the blade, Sir Ethan?”
I flinch at the question. “Not much.”
“What is your skill level?”
I shrug. “I dunno. I grappled with some lizards. Like .5 maybe? Does that count as a level?”
Darren stands and spins the hilt in his hand. “It does. It is the level of a child.”
I force a grin. “At least I’m above a golden retriever.”
“A golden what?”
I shake my head. “Sorry. Nevermind. Can you help me?”
Darren sighs and looks around him, his eyes becoming distant and unfocused. “Old men and women: that’s all that’s left of the court. And the great army of Astria is no more. Even the guard is dead. For some reason the Maker chose to spare me, and I stand alone, the last fighter of a once great Kingdom. Why?”
The air is still for a while until I clear my throat. “Are you asking me?”
The guardsman sighs. It is deep and rotund, not like the shallow noise I make. “Of course not. How would you know?”
A fair point, if a condescending one.
Darren sighs and stands. “I’m talking to myself, as I have been ever since we lost the keep, which in truth was long before the sorceress reached it.”
I tilt my head, seeing an opening. “What do you mean ‘before the sorceress reached it’? How is that possible?”
Darren’s face darkens. “Wars are often won or lost before the final blow is struck. And this one was no exception.”
“Great,” I say. “Sounds like another thing you can teach me about.”
Darren scoffs and looks at me for a long moment. There is pain in those eyes; pain and something worse: despair. It sends a chill down my spine.
“Very well. A young man should be able to defend himself.” He stands as he continues. “For as long as he lives anyway.”
Definitely despair.
We stand in simple green grass. It is low to the ground and a bit prickly when touched, sort of like my lawn after I’ve mown it too short. I grasp my sword and make a vain attempt to appear threatening.
“Keep your balance,” Darren instructs. “And don’t strike if you can’t afford to miss.”
Darren comes at me. I do neither and end-up sprawled on my ass.
“Again,” Darren says.
My movements improve over time and over the days that follow. So much of sword play is technique: maintain the right stance, remember the correct parries, keep the appropriate distance. Getting the basics down just takes a while.
“Fundamentals are key,” says Darren in his deep, gruff voice. “Master them and you can challenge unprepared adversaries who are twice your size and strength.” Which is good because I am neither particularly tall nor especially strong.
Then one day, when Darren pronounces me acceptable…
*Basic swordsman*
The system’s voice comes into my head unbidden, just as it did in the inn.
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“What does that mean?” I whisper, so Darren doesn’t hear me.
*You don’t not need to speak to me.*
“What?”
*You can just think*
I guess that makes sense. If Tinny can think to me then I should be able to think to it.
*You have basic skills with the blade.*
*Correct.*
“You now have the training of an Astrian solider,” says Darren.
“Great, I’ll take it.”
“Next is riding a horse,” says Darren.
“I don’t know that I’m ready for that,” I reply cautiously.
“Ready is not relevant.”
I see.
More days pass. More time spent on my ass. Eventually…
*Basic horsemanship achieved*
Now I just have to use these basic skills in combat. Which I’m sure I’ll do soon enough, given the grim picture of the world Darren is painting for me. We start to chat, before and after lessons. He opens up, slowly at first, but then more freely, especially about the war.
“Our generals became arrogant,” he says. “Because humans alone had magic we became lazy with our power. We assumed that we’d always be safe. Then, when that magic turned on us, the army wasn’t ready for what hit them.” He scowls. “And hit them the sorceress did.”
He always defends the King though. “A good man. A noble man.” he calls him.
But isn’t it the King’s job to make sure his generals are ready?
I don’t have the courage to utter such questions out loud. Besides, he was nice enough to me, even granted me a knighthood. And it’s not just Darren's opinion. Everyone in the caravan praises the king and holds his judgment above reproach. I mention his popularity to Mary one night as we sip some warm tea around the fire.
“I’m sure he is popular in this group, Sir Ethan.” She always calls me that now. “But I will say that not everyone shares the loyal sentiments expressed by the last survivors of the old nobility.”
“Is that why we never stop at any towns? Or speak to anyone outside our caravan? Do some humans actually hate the King?”
Old Mary rearranges the ruffles on her long skirt. “Tens of thousands of King Leo’s subjects have died in this war. The sorceress now rules Astria. I believe that many people think that combination is…not ideal.”
Gentle criticism if there ever was some.
Mary continues. “I also think that the sorceress has her own spies, and that her lizards now roam freely through our land.”
“More good reasons not to stop,” I say.
Mary smiles ruefully. “It is, though I believe Darren still scouts towns out, from time to time.”
“That I do,” Mary and I turn toward the new voice and see Darren approaching us, his boots crunching upon dry ground. “And word is out about us now,” he says.
I scratch my head. “Out among whom? Doesn’t the sorceress already know we fled?”
“Of course,” Darren responds, “but now everyone does. She has put out a reward for us, as well as a threat for any who aids us.”
“What’s the threat,” I ask.
“Death.”
I look at Mary. “Well, I guess that’s a pretty convincing threat.”
“We will be hunted now,” says Darren. “We will have to change tactics.
And change we do. The sorceress said we left together so now we spread out. The wagons are split into two groups and riders rarely move between them. At night we eat quickly and sometimes without fires. We present the impression that we are separate travelers on the trail without any sort of coordination or singular destination. After another week some wagons are so far ahead or behind it would take a half a day to gather everyone together again.
Darren puts me in charge of guarding the rear wagons. I’m even given my own horse to ride on. The old folks don’t just look to me for protection, but also for guidance. You’d think a man who spent his time gaming and eating Chipotle burritos would be ill-equipped to lead others in a critical escape, but it turns out that running manors and attending courtly ceremonies doesn’t prepare you well either. Plus, at least I know how this is supposed to go. Most of these folks are clueless without specific direction.
The next day the pleasant bushes and trees give way to an expansive plains. With high golden grasses that reach to my horse's saddle they remind me of Kansas's wheat fields (not that I’ve ever been to Kansas, but I saw some pics on Instagram once so whatever). Unfortunately, the grasses aren’t just pretty, they also obstruct my visibility so that I can’t see what’s within them. Some wild animal could leap out at me and I’d have little warning at all.
Despite my anxiety our trip remains uneventful until our third day in the grasses when I see a small column of smoke rising from deep in the fields. Now it strikes me that smoke in the fields is never a good sign. If it’s natural it’s likely attached to a fire, and fires have a tendency to spread – in my direction. Unnatural likely means a camp, or a prior camp at least, and that is exactly what we are trying to avoid. So I’m about to instruct the wagons to pick up the pace when someone asks me a question.
“Should we investigate, Sir Ethan?”
I look about me but no one is there. Everyone is still inside the wagons.
“Sire?”
Now, very concerned, I dismount and peer into the tall grass around me. It’s possible we’re being followed or spied on.
I better not be hearing voices. I’m crazy enough as-is.
“I’m an animal, my lord, not a blade of grass.”
I turn around slowly and I cannot believe my senses. The words are coming from my horse.