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At first, the men had circled around. They did not look as glamorous as Johannes, but all had swords at their hips and helmets fastened to the saddles behind them.
Johannes boosted Val up on his horse, leading it as he walked next to Marat. The men talked in hushed tones; now and then, Johannes would wave his arms for emphasis as he told Marat stories to illustrate his points.
The procession stayed a distance behind them until Johannes stopped. As he did, the men behind broke up into groups without so much as a word, each knowing his exact role.
Val’s eyes were wide; she had never thought she would see this. Armies like this only existed in fairytales. The men had left their horses in groups of four to five and were already setting up. From a distance she noticed two massive wagons, three times the height of the horses, stopped in the middle of the procession.
The tents were put up quickly.
“Let me provide you shelter; I am sure you are eager for something roomier than the thing you carry in your pack.” He told Marat, who nodded.
“That is very gracious of you, Johannes. I hope to be able to catch up before…” he looked around, “but wait, this is a dusk vanguard. You are not to stop yet; it is not even morning.”
“We have guests. What is a few hours for friends.” Johannes assured him. “We will leave again in the evening and be there in less than three days, even at this speed.”
He showed them to a tent. Val was hesitant to enter it, but Marat confidently pulled back the cloth entry and walked in.
The tent itself was round, with a domed roof. Inside it, instead of cots, were thick, colorful mattresses rolled out across the floor. In the middle was a small metal pan with cold coals, meant to be lit to keep warm and to boil water for tea. There were two ornate pillows across from each other, a linen cloth laid out between them with a carafe of water.
“A general’s tent…” Marat muttered in annoyance, but Val did not know why it was that he was annoyed. This was amazing! Far better than the meager ones they traveled with.
“What is a dusk vanguard?” She asked, “Who is he, Marat?”
“They travel at night. In hotter climates, it is easier on the horses; they do not tire as easily or sweat and lose water. During the day, they camp. It’s better visibility for the sentries. An army this size cannot hope to hide anyway.” He explained. “And he… is a friend.”
She felt the excitement wash over her. It was like she was in a storybook. This was unreal!
“Please, tell me! How do you know each other? Please, Marat, I’ve never seen anything like this or anyone like this!” She begged him. He sighed deeply; it seemed he really did not want to get into it.
“This is an army, girl. Aisultan’s army, or at least a part of it. From Yeztok.” He told her, sitting down. “They are bought and paid for with the riches of the state. Mercenaries. The scattered warlords. Seems to me that they are taking some very, very expensive things to the Midtrade City.”
“And, what about Johannes?”
“He is an old friend. From a different life.” He said, growing quiet, “Be careful with him, girl.”
She did not hear the very last part of what he said because she had poked her head out, taking in everything. Val nearly squealed in glee.
“Did you see all the horses? There are millions of them! I think each person rides their own!” She had never seen more than two or three horses at once, and even then, they were farm horses. Thick, unbrushed, with long tails and manes that hung over their eyes. These horses seemed as if they were made of velvet. Their manes and tails were cut short and uniform with one another.
It was not long until a man came to get them. He brought a dark green dress for Val. Although it was plain, the fabric of it was rich and felt as if it was made of silk.
“Just look at this…” she whispered in awe, running her hand across it.
“You’d think you learned your lesson about being gifted dresses.” Marat stood up, grimacing.
The two men left, and she changed fast, spinning in place to see the skirts dance - they almost floated.
Val walked through the rows of tents with curiosity. Each was round, domed, and adorned with different patterns and colors. It did not take her long to reach the circle where many men were seated, eating. She saw Johannes and Marat right away.
Johannes stood when she approached. He smiled wide, pleased to see her. Marat stood only when he saw the other man’s gesture.
Pillows were provided on the ground; a large linen cloth was rolled out in front of them with various foods.
“Please, sit.” He invited her. “But I do not even know your name, so much did your beauty stun me upon meeting.”
“My name is Valeria, but please, call me Val.” She beamed back with a tinge of shyness.
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“How are your wife and kids, Johannes?” Marat said dryly.
“They fare well, eat well, and sleep well.” The man did not skip a beat. “Now, Valeria - what would you care to eat?”
Johannes told loud stories and pointed to people who they were about. He was so animated, so eager, and so confident. When he had declared it time, the food was taken and replaced with round bowl-like cups full of tea, small crystal glasses and bottles of wine, and strange copper vases that smelled of tobacco with a single thin spout protruding from their necks.
“Ah! Marat, but it has been so long. Tell me, where is your brother? Where is Erlan?” Johannes asked, first pouring Val and then himself a generous portion of wine.
“Dead,” Marat answered, picking up the bottle and pouring his own.
“I am truly sorry to hear that, my brother. Erlan was a fine man! Such as we will likely not see again.” Johannes raised his glass. “But he was an artist of the alchemical and a true master marksman. All-Father weeps for him, as do I.”
And he drank deep, nearly his entire glass in one go. Marat also took a sip at the toast, but his face held no emotion.
“Now, Valeria - tell me, where do you come from? But wait! I can tell a Chelka beauty from seven leagues away -am I right? The River Cities?” He shifted his weight onto the other hip, positioned to where his body faced her and away from Marat.
She shook her head no. But smiled at him anyway, so contagious was his excitement - it was as if he made a game out of each breath. His words stirred a memory in her, and she recalled that once Marat had said she was of Chelka as well.
“She is from the eastern farmlands.” Marat cut off before she could speak.
Momentarily mesmerized, Val was ready to spill her soul over the fine dress, a glass of wine, and dried fruits. Marat’s tone brought her back.
“Oh? And does she also need your permission to speak then, my brother?” Johannes laughed. “To think! Valeria, did you know–did you know that our dear Marat and I have known each other since we were children?”
“Oh!” She exclaimed, sitting up. This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance for her to discover something about Marat that he would likely never tell her otherwise.
Johannes continued.
“Yes! We used to hunt together as young men in the church and university. The five–or was it the six of us, Marat? How many were we? Oh, it doesn’t matter! We would expedition into the woods and mountains looking for a game of the extraordinary sort. But how glorious it was to be so young and quick on our feet.” He laughed and reached for the copper vase. He held it oddly, placing his lips on the thin spout. A moment, and he inhaled deeply and sat back. Val watched as his lips parted and thick white smoke poured out in curling white streams. It smelled herbal and aromatic - but like tobacco nevertheless.
“We were young indeed.” Marat actually smiled, looking at the tea set in front of him with a certain amount of caution. He took the copper vase next and repeated what Johannes had done. “And our clothes far too embellished and fine to have been worn out into the wilderness.”
“I recall this once, I think we were a bit older than –” Johannes started, “Marat, how old were we? It must have been the year… it was the year that Aisultan had taken his second bride. Anyway, there was this bird. And Marat says, ‘Hey! That is a Phoenix!!’ and we thought, well, hey, maybe he is right! But Marat was never very good at attending lessons– and he had apparently completely skipped the one where it was clearly explained that all the Phoenixes were dead.”
He slapped his knee.
“And we say, ‘Oh brother, you should catch it in the air! What is it, a hundred feet at best?’ it sat atop a cliff. And he - his foolish pride, climbs a tree to get this shot, aims, remember this - Marat? He aims and–”
“It was a wild turkey.” Marat finished his thought, chuckling. Val looked at him, laughing, and thought it looked like he was actually enjoying himself. Johannes had such a bright, infectious personality that he even managed to get Marat to laugh.
“It was a wild turkey!” Johannes repeated, laughing so loud it startled her a bit.
“And do you know, Valeria, that my brother here - of all the people in the world in all the territories, that he had been a templar novice for a time?” Johannes poured another glass of wine for himself and Val. Marat’s remained half full, still.
“A what?” She perked up; she did not know what a templar was, but she had so much fun finding out these things. There was no way that Marat would have talked about them willingly.
“A templar, dear one,” Johannes explained. “I believe it was, hmm, when Erlan had left for the service of some baron or other - I forget. But Marat-”
“Perhaps not, my brother,” Marat interrupted him, visibly flustered, “Let’s let those things live and die.”
“Nonsense! It was such a noble cause.” Johannes shook his head and continued anyway. “He’d been sworn to the All-Father, all nice and proper –this was after his house… well, never mind. It was after. He’d sworn an oath to the All-Father.”
“Johannes.” Marat grew more nervous, even perhaps angry, placing a hand on the other man’s shoulder as if to steer him away, but Johannes continued.
“Sworn an oath! Him! The man who’d only sworn of pigshit and a woman’s caress. His manhood had not yet cooled from his last tussle and he was there in front of the church and all. Little did they know, with the holy water, he’d taken the liberty to get nice and anointed the night before.”
Johannes was drunk, and there was no persuading him. Val laughed hard at his words even if she did not quite understand them, his rhythm and the wine carrying her energy with his.
Marat, however, was not. He sat straighter, more serious. The red of the wine was pushed to the side, near matching his face.
“But, what happened?” Val asked, reaching for the bottle.
“Oh, I don’t know! We did not speak as much back then, you see; I’d not hunted in a bit - in the service of the King and all. Lost contact, as life goes.”
“Erlan happened,” Marat said quietly. His words were not lost on Val, and she quieted down, turning her attention to him.
“What do you mean?” She asked.
“I had to take my oath and swear it elsewhere,” Marat stood up.
“Oh, come!” Johannes called out.
“I wish you all a good…” he studied the yellow-blue skies, “morning. Valeria?”
He looked expectantly at her, but she shrank back, holding her wine glass to her chest.
“I’m having so much fun...” She said meekly.
He nodded, keeping his eyes on her for a moment, but in the end looking away, his face unreadable to Val.
“Good day, then.” He muttered, walking past the pillows on the lawn.
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