The general sat snoring, the smell of plum already wafting through the air. It was fresh too, it wasn’t that aged stench, soaked into the old fabric and parchment over long abusive years. Sion tried to accustom himself to it but the instinct to spill his stomach would not give. He settled for the noxious saliva that preceded such an event and tried to subdue it long enough.

“General!” Sion barked, standing to attention. The general continued to happily snore through Sion’s address. “General!!” Sion heightened his volume and pitch. The old man snorkelled cutting a prolonged exhale short. The general, despite Sion’s efforts, continued to gracefully nap.

“General!!!!” Sion shouted. Suddenly the cap was neatly lifted from the general’s eyes who looked back at Sion with annoyance.

“Commander Sion, why are you shouting at this time of night?” For a moment it appeared Sion was going to burst into flame or tears. His face alternated between both reactions. The general chuckled and grinned.

“Were you seriously gonna keep that up? Until I woke up? Seriously? Greenies like yourselves have no etiquette. You arrive in the time of my celebration and I can’t even smell the liquor on your breath. What sort of soldier are you? No respect for tradition… What kind of example do you set?” Sion shrugged complacently, a bit tired of the charade. The drunkard continued.

“You should have marinated your wounds. Had some fun with it! That’d be better than simply arriving here all alone. D’ you know you can tell a lot by the spirits a man consumes? Almost everything I’d gander.” The general got up and hopped over landing ass-first onto a familiar spot up on his desk. Sion looked around, where once stood seven… there was only one. His shoulders unwittingly pulled forward and his eyes narrowed. He looked away, feeling a throbbing pain spread from his chest to the arrow wound to his shoulder. He felt it haunt him again, as his arm lightly moved casting broad shadows. The fires immediate pain curative effects were wearing thinner. Agony would come for him and then nothing would stand in it’s way.

“If I may General, why did you call for me alone?” The General frowned and spat on to the floor. Sion’s eyes huddled on the carpet.

“Naturally, of course, I’d call all my commanders for review. Your cohort was just last. First I talked over with those stiffs. The young nobles, in charge of rushing the enemy reinforcements and securing the farmsteads to the north. It was such a slaughter!” The general’s hands grew animated. He beamed “Their back line was completely unprepared for our armoured cavalry. Some of those young ducks became decorated men…” He briefly looked awestruck. Sion tensed; the lines surrounding his mouth contracted. The general continued without pause.

“Well, I too, briefly spoke with the reserves but honestly... What's there to say to men, who for all intensive purposes where auxiliary scarecrows.” Sion looked over the general. Most of his frightful disposition had melted into a boozed up stupor. His happiness was reflected freely in his speech and tone. You could even see it in his oddly warm eyes.

“So here I stand, well sit. And before me, only one man, of the five of whom I requested and he stands before me, ogling me.” The general smiled and chuckled rocking back and forth on his desk. Glee stretched across his maw.

“To be honest… I thought it’d be zero~!’ The general exclaimed laughing loudly and doubling over, clutching the worn sides of his tunic with one hand, as the other held him stable to the table as he rocked. Some time passed before the raspy laughter the general expunged died down. Only then did the superior officer return to a more composed, but still loose state of being.

“It’s nothing particularly personal... You see, it is just a surprise to see any of you return. Another bet lost I suppose, I owe another 250 latons.” The general paused frowning. “I can see that venomous look in your eyes. You can’t mask your distaste or contempt… Or whatever the hell you are thinking. I am not telling to who, not like you’d know her anyway.” The general looked away in thought with a glimmer playing out across his face of a familiar joy filled memory.

“Deserves a drink.” the man mumbled stepping aside to his small liquor cabinet. Sion felt more than a little sick to his stomach, thinking about the pungent plum scent that would soon waft in his direction and flavour any exchange of dialogue with the general. His eyes tried to centre themselves on the flaps to the tent rhythmically bending to the rhythmic flow of wind. Sion covered his mouth. He almost vomited, realizing had the wind changed the direction the fresh air tainted by plum would be replaced… Images flashed through his head, he shivered and froze, like lightning, the convulsions rang through his being. His eyes forgot to blink as he stood, unwavering facing the waves of nausea.

He barely reacted as a secondary figure pushed past the fabric doorway. The figure sauntered into the light at a steady but rough pace. Their motions, deliberate but strained, parts of their body seemed dreadfully unresponsive. He planted his stiff right leg and stopped, standing to attention.

“Emperor, damn it… Dravite!!” the general turned to face the newcomer after carefully pouring his liquor. Scowling visibly, face red, stained with purple. Sion broke his statue form. Erupting forward with morbid curiosity, he rejoined the present. “All these surprises are soiling my parade.” The General took a breath and finished the drink he had firmly captured in his right hand. The generally audibly swirled it in his mouth, and gulped, putting on a show ending it by slamming a crude metal cup back onto his desk with a dull clang. He took a second to familiarize himself with the new visitor, both of his hands clutching the edge of his desk for stability.

“Alright, to be honest, I am not sure why I called upon those gathered here…” The general paused and waited for a reaction. “Well… formally, after a plan had been carried out there is some discussion to be had with the leaders of each unit. As to what exactly happened. Right or wrong, or what was unexpected. Granted no forward commander knew the full extent of the plan they were committed to… so a discussion is difficult to conduct.” His eyes turned to Sion brow and lingered.

“How about you Sion. Anything of note?” Sion looked away trying to remember. The general intently started giving a hawk-like impression. Everything seemed to meld into everything else. He remembered the beginning, parts of the end but a coherent timeline wouldn’t form around him.

“I can’t say, sir, my memory is still fuzzy. I wish I could remember more as to form an adequate answer.” General smiled and nodded.

“That’s alright soldier. It was a mess down there, I do admit, I put forth a bit of a nightmare for the average men at arms. The grand motions would not be visible by a mere footman. Your answer is adequate enough, your honesty is commended.” Sion nodded. The general turned to face the newcomer. Then turned back looking amused. The general turned away, then looked back and began cracking up.

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice that. What the heavens did you do to your head. Hahahahahahaha.” His laughter filled out the tent. Eventually, he doubled over, only loose chuckles escaping. “Emperor be blessed I can’t believe it slipped past me, what a farce, how ridiculous. You remind me of some queer jester in the service of the king. Did you decide to grow old and take on a new fashion? Gods are my witness, oh my… I shall keep you from the capital if I can help it, or you might start a ridiculous new fashion trend.” Sion’s shoulders shrugged in, his face uneasy.

“General, if I may, what's wrong with me?” Sion carefully inquired, shrinking back with a light rouge across his cheeks. The general looked at him in astonishment.

“You mean to tell me you have not had the chance to see it! It’s your hair. Son, you look as if you decide to grow old and white, before your first chance to grow a full beard, banned as they might be in the royal city by the decree.”

“My hair?”

“Aye, son. White clumps, tufts, streaks. Whichever form of phrasing you prefer. Tis certainly a queer look. Are you going grey before your time frontline Commander Sion Colden.” The look of amusement never seemed to subside from the general as he looked Sion’s hair over, twirling his own mustache playfully. Sion kept his frame steady as he tried to contain his own embarrassment nestled within a shell of surprise.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Well enough of that!... As fun as it is,” the General finally exclaimed. “How about you dark hair?” He paused for a moment going to his desk and when he pulled away he almost looked to be on the verge of laughter again. “I promised to make an attempt to learn your names, I keep my promises. Asher Mateo Ezra. Three first names, commoners are truly strange, making up family names that don’t exist. So… Asher, what did you see?” Sion subtly angled his head towards, the boy he now recognized as Asher Mateo. Asher didn’t seem at all phased standing proudly before his superior.

“General… apologies for arriving late, my wounds held my arrival back far longer than I desired. Anyways, the battle went as you’d expect, we engaged in combat through the centre to the flanks.” he paused, Sion could hear his voice raspily dragging on, parched and worn out, seeking air. “Then some ways into combat, the enemy troops, were reinforced by a secondary wave of cavalry. They initiated on us, after proper alignment for a charge…” he could hear his voice break and falter for a brief split moment. “My remaining men... Were unaffected. The charged encircled the front line but they didn’t manage to reach us… The line had stretched… quiet long by that point. Then the drakes…. they eliminated the reinforcements…” Asher’s voice stilled and after several lengthy, coarse breaths he continued.

“Surprisingly the enemy still had more men. A formation of archers was hidden in plain sight.”

“How?” the general leaned forward, drawn in by the live retelling.

“They emerged all at once... I couldn’t see, but I suspect there was a trench dug and covered with loose grass.” Asher replied at once. The general nodded and smiled approvingly.

“I am well aware of what happened, did you catch eyes of their commander?” Asher stood a moment balancing his weight from one foot to another.

“Yes, just barely in the distance amongst the archers I could see him. Their commander, I suspect, a man who stood apart from all else, carrying a large, imposing kite shield. Big enough to cover his body beneath when the lone drake strafed their positions.” The general hopped off the desk and walked up to the boy.

“And then, what happened Asher?” he seemed peculiarly excited on the account of his attentive observation.

“The singed remnants of the fielded archers retreated after pulling whatever men they could from the flames… Then our own men began their exit, retrieving what and who we could from the flame. That is all I can recall, I am afraid I succumbed to my weariness and wasn’t conscious until but a few hours ago.” The general clasped both men on their shoulders for a moment.

“That is a fine dutiful report. Congratulations to you both for surviving this ordeal, even if it leaves me at a monetary loss. I suppose there is something I should speak to you in person Sion. But before that…” The general twirled around and narrowed his eyes towards the entrance seeing a meagre flurry of movement through a crack in the tent. A stranger rushed forward from the black tapestry. He let loose a loud roar as he broke through the doorway and ran past the stationed guards.

The mouth of the general hung open aghast. He tried to scream for help but he found his voice anchored and lost. Sion saw the enormous boar of a man dive towards the general with his hands ready to pummel the old man into the ground or drive a stake through his wicked heart. Before his hands wrapped around the General’s neck, Asher shoved his entire body weight into the man. Sion followed quickly grabbing an arm and tripping him. Sending his entire body weight crashing with a heavy thud into the floor. Mushing his head into the ground as the beast spat repeatedly and tried to bite, teeth clacking at anything in its reach.

The figure continued to howl maddeningly. “MURDERER.” Sion took a moment to calm his frantic heart and examine the figure. His hair was blackened, dyed to a charred, tar black. His skin grimy, ash covered, to the point of developing a layer akin to a secondary skin. His armour seemed moulded to his body. The steel appeared to be melted to him in certain places, having lost its original shape. The figure struggled furiously and Sion pressed his knee into the man’s back. Suddenly the stranger grit his teeth and pounced like a dog, throwing himself upward, throwing both Asher and Sion to the sides. His mouth agape, foaming, vigorously screaming a flurry of incoherent words.

“Guards!” The general shouted with power in his voice. They had already emerged, one sent a kick across the legs of the intruder knocking him to the ground. The man attempted to get up. Once he rose up high enough the second guard slammed his fist into the man’s temple splitting the skin and grounding him. Then they quickly restrained him, wrapping his arms and forearms together with rope behind his back. The restraint was equipped with a signature eight knots. Their speed working on the bindings impressed Sion. How many times must they have done this before? He looked on frightened, at the scene unfolding before him.

The general mentioned to the guards by wagging his finger down and up. The guards hoisted the much larger man and held him steady before the eyes of the general. Seeing his adversary in such a pathetic state the General grew unfazed, staring into the eyes of the prisoner. Nothing else remained painted across his visage, the thickness of the ash and dirt across his face guaranteed any sincere expression would be suppressed by his tainted mask. His eyes spoke enough. Their caustic glare never lifted from the General. Raulin brought his hand up to the man who attempted to bite it. Despite his unyielding attempts as spit ran down his face the general easily managed to harshly grasp the man's face.

“There is so much grime, so much foul ardour to you. Everything about you, has been showered in dark filth, a rotten miasma. Your stench still reeks of those corpses of the battlefield. Why did you leave them, revenant?” The general peered into his eyes.” The man did not reply. The man did not yield to the provocation concentrated in the General’s venomous tone. The general smiled and slammed his fist into the solar plexus of the stranger. The man’s legs rose attempting to block the already resonating impact. The air rushed out of his lungs. He began to viciously cough and spew up blood from his raw throat and lungs.

“Arba? was that your despicable name?" The general uttered after peering adamantly into the man's soul. “I think the fire of the drake burnt any remnants of civilized behaviour from your commoner ways. Men like you are the reason why I voted against opening the academy to the commoners.” The general spun and his backhand flew loudly cracking across Arba’s face. The man’s head began to droop.

“It’s not about me. It’s what was lost in the flame.” The general snickered and grinned his lips tightly pressed together.

“So you fashion yourself a hero of the people. Selfless are you?” He slapped him harshly across the face, the man’s flesh ringing in protest. “You don’t get to decide what was lost or what was gained. You are a pathetic moralist. You don’t dictate justice, you don’t make justice. You are worthless. What was lost in the flame was your despicable sanity.” One of the guards held his head by a thick tuft of charred jet black hair as the general began to repeatedly slap. He rocked his weight into each blow. He continued until blood began to stream freely from his mouth. It did not stop slowly seeping out of the gaping cavity. After a few minutes passed by, the general stopped his violent strikes. Triumph was the sole thing gleaming from his eyes. The life had faded from Arba. His head lay unanimated, hanging down limp from his neck.

"Put this cretin in the smallest hole you can find, behind steel bars of course. I'll need this depreciated waste to show the new academy fodder, the reasons for maintaining manners and obeying orders to a tee. Discipline is important Sion, Asher. I was going to expunge on something else, to you Sion. Alas... Come see me next morning whenever you feel rested enough. I need to give you your next assignment.” The General smiled to Sion. “Nothing finer you see, for stress release. You too should try it once you earn your command, sometime in the future, you might like it.” The guards dragged the man with his legs limp across the ground. They vanished down the hill, into the darkness, escaping from everyone’s lingering gaze.

The general waved them off with a stern “dismissed.” Each filed out—taking a moment; standing on the hill overlooking the twinkling lights of the camp. Sion took sullen comfort in a breath of fresh air. The menacing smile of General Raulin’s visage was a harrowing sight. He tried to forget it. He considered deserting just to escape his superior officer. A General, who had a new “special” assignment formulated just for his benefit. But his pride did not permit him to leave, to rush home with nothing having given almost everything.

“Was that really him?” Sion asked aloud. Asher didn’t audibly respond, grunting and turning to face Sion.

“Don’t talk to me,” he sharply jabbed. “We aren't friends and we are barely even comrades. If you wanna make petty small talk go find someone else, I am not in the mood. If you really wanna know who that was, go and face him, ask him!” Asher turned back towards camp and hobbled off—dragging one leg behind him. Sion was left standing there, surprised and lost. The image of Asher… was something dismal, soul-wrenching even. He did not realize that he fared far better than his peer. Guilt consumed him. A second realization brought both of his arms up into a self-embrace. He clutched himself, feeling lost. He fared better than everyone, each of his peers. He fell to his knees, and dry heaved into the grass.

He didn’t realize Asher’s arm was in a sling, likely left broken. His left eye had a thick piece of gauze sitting over it. The bandage was stained with fresh blood having already drenched the fabric. He never expected a proud guy like him to suffer such a wound… He knew it was possible, but it still felt strange. Like a dream wavering on the edge of cognition. It was a dream he did not want to accept or acknowledge. It was just raw pain. He did not understand why there was such an abundance, who created this petty surplus. Who could he blame... He remembered the striking image as Arba leapt forward, arms and face covered in burns. What could he do? A pain welled within, a low, quiet, guttural scream escaped him. His own wounds and weariness both seemed to gradually return in an abrupt shock. Beneath the veil of exhaustion and emptiness, he walked back to his own tent. It didn’t occur to him, that his breath would be ragged long before he found his way to his warm bed.

He weaved between the tents and saw her long before she had struck him head-on. But his body just would not move… His hand spasmed and twitched, that's about all the response he could muster. She sent him toppling on to the dirt, even while standing a few heads shorter. The pain magnified and erupted as he crashed down. It continued pulsating, as he lay on his back. It reminded him of the eternally distant stars. Did his pain radiate, like their light through his body? Vivid unknowable thoughts filled him. He had long passed the threshold for any clarity of the mind. He saw the girl kneel beside him. He recognized the hood over her head although he couldn’t place it. He knew something greater was missing from within… Just lingering, at the edge of his reach. His voice tried to speak but nothing moved. Instead, all he could entertain was the aroma of the light fragrant Cherie on her breath.

Through the black haze, she was whispering as a large mustachioed man towered over him. Sion didn’t care why or what about. It did not matter at all. Mysteriously, his limp hand found itself pawing his side cursed with a benign itch. It felt as if was not his own. He prodded the gauze and pulled away his hand. His palm was draped with a deep velvety red. Vin de Rouge. What kind of flavour might it have? How would a sommelier attempt to evaluate its bounty?. He smiled remembering an old passage he was beaten with by a tepid instructor. His vision gradually faded. The stars became small pin holes across a vast field of solid obsidian. The sound of ambience drew inward. Light-hearted music fluttered in the distance. Slowly the sounds slurred and his vision went completely black. He could still feel his body for a moment. It began to move through the air, the air was as cold as ice. His limbs twirled, almost in the fashion of a mad dance. He wanted to laugh. He desperately reminded himself of an absurd marionette, limbs weightless and all beyond his control. Soon enough even all that was absorbed into the abyss. Sion was silent.