A bright day began with the sun crawling over the distant range of spiny mountains. Pinks turned to oranges. Oranges turned to blues as the bright ball leapt over the teeth and into the Heavens. Christoph and his brother were standing in the town’s center; Malin leaning against one of the thin legs that supported the tower.
The guard, one left behind to lead them, stepped around the group to eye them over. Taking care to inspect each one, he found most had little to carry or manage. That was just fine for him.
“You’re all going to be marching to the north under my orders.” The guard, in his armor that reflected the sunlight splendidly, barked his orders with momentary authority. This was a great chance for him to lead where he’d always followed. “My word is that of the empire, and you will obey. We will move, with our supplies, along the roads until we gather at the meeting place our Captain has predetermined. You will all train along the way and after arrival.” He puffed his chest out—barely visible due to the armor. “You will fight alongside soldiers to secure your homelands, the lands of our great Protharian Empire.”
Malin had ceased his leaning and taken to hanging on every word from the metal-clad militant. He was prepared for the journey. He was excited about it.
Christoph, however, had his doubts. He was plagued with the concepts of responsibility and his role in it all. Almost immediately, a child’s dreams of glories had been poisoned by the accompanying Malin. Something primal itching from the back of his brain.
He’d never swung a sword. A few tools, yeah. He was sure he could handle the tools, but plunging steel into wheat felt far different than flesh. Christoph had helped gut some fish, even some of the cattle, but he’d spent most of his time with plants. Could I really kill someone? It was a question that needed no answer. It wasn’t something he, or anyone, could know until the moment finally came.
He clutched the small, wooden totem around his neck. The parting gift of a faithful father that desired nothing more than to see his sons returned to him. Christoph had praised the gods his empire and parents had placed on him since birth. His faith was that collaboration of state and home, but what faith can be found without experience? Hopes that his father’s faith was not in vain, he tucked the talisman beneath his shirt and smiled. He didn’t say what god it was for, the mystery gave Christoph a boost of energy. When I return, I’ll have him explain it. It’s pretty worn down.
“You have your orders. Move out!” The guard pointed to the north after explaining the troop’s tasks. Some would help pull a wagon that had been commandeered. A few barrels and boxes of supplies had been graciously donated by the villagers. Many sons were shipping out, and they needed their strength. That meant that much less for everyone else.
A number of the boys took hold of the cart and began to pull. Some packed up equipment from around the village. The rest would march and swap out duties with those that needed rest. There was a good distance to travel with many obstacles in the way, yet they moved onward with the prospect of honorable glories to be won. Finding the worth in such terrors can mean all the difference when the battle finally comes.
Christoph, marching alongside the others, found that many of his concerns were drying in the light of day. That same viral anticipation of worth, of duty, and of tomorrow’s tales nipped at his thoughts; burying themselves deep like cerebral ticks.
“When do you think we’ll get swords?” Malin could barely walk in a straight line. “You think we’ll get to keep them?”
Christoph took a look around the group of young faces. Some were distraught. Some were beaming with pride. Others had their eyes on the dirt without emotions twisting their faces. Looking back to his brother, he smiled. “I’m not sure. I hope we get some soon. We don’t have much for defending ourselves.” Though he smiled, he noted that only two of the boys had crude swords handed down from their fathers. Along with the soldier, they were a group of nine with only three swords between them.
“Nothing’s going to get in our way. Ogres, wolves, barbarians, they’re all the same!” Malin threw his arms up as if already standing over his fallen enemies.
“Heh,” Christoph appreciated his brother’s tenacity. It kept his heart from beating too quickly. “We could just send you in. No need for the rest of us to even show up.”
“I’ll save some for you.” Malin shrugged as he offered the scraps. “I’m sure they’ll take note of me, but I want you to look good, too.”
The brothers laughed as they continued to move. Even as they took over hauling the cart with one other boy (who groaned as the brothers enjoyed the travels), they were giggling over their exaggerated plans.
With little news, the day passed by quickly. They’d traveled up along the overgrown roads that shook the cart and tripped a few of the boys. Their leader had only seen one deer at the edge of one forest. Taking his aim, hoping to impress those within his ranks, he launched an arrow far too short. Once it struck the dirt twenty or thirty feet from the deer, the creature lifted its head and snorted before bounding into the woods.
Other than this display of marksmanship, the squad found nothing of interest. That is, until they found a place to begin setting up camp for the night. Their soldier caretaker had set them alongside one of the streams that ran along the road. A little water, some smaller trees for fires, and an open area beside the road gave them a better vantage to watch for danger. Even on the other side of the road, the woods had retreated a good, safe distance from the path.
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“What’s that?” Malin and Christoph heard one boy ask after they’d finished washing their faces and necks in the cool water of the stream. The boys turned their heads to follow his finger.
Evening hours had released the sun to fall back to the west. The distant rays of the dying day caught those far ranges of mountains that were visible even from their village. However, this peak was different. It seemed closer and smaller than most of the great mountains that encompassed the empire.
“I’m not sure.” Christoph left the water to call for the soldier. “Sir, what is that shadow? Is it a mountain?”
“Indeed.” The soldier lifted the mask of his helmet, which had been down for the entirety of the time Christoph had seen him, to reveal a thick mustache and a lengthy, thin nose. He twitched that mustache and cleared his throat. “That’s Surton Spire.” He nervously chuckled. “They’ve dispatched some troops there in the past. Goblins and such seem to gather there. Mines and volcanic vents deep in the mountains. I’ve heard it’s a maze that dwarves made centuries ago.” His eyes gleamed with the tales of the years long-gone.
“Surton Spire.” Christoph turned to answer his brother and companions that joined him beside the soldier. “That sounds dangerous.”
“I’d say so, if the stories are to be believed.” The guard chuckled. “But terrain is just as dangerous as any of the tales. The larger spire in the center is almost impossible to get to. Its shear sides make climbing difficult. Loose rocks give way all the time. There’s passage between the three branching peaks,” his fingers pointed out the twisted spines that seemed equidistance in their wrapping about the center. “They run up along those steep stone faces. I’m sure conquering that stronghold would have been a sight to behold.” The history gave a rush to the man in armor.
“Awesome!” Malin had travelled so far in one day, but he was still filled with the spunk of youth stepping into independence. “Will we be going there?”
“No, no.” The guard chuckled again. It sounded like two quick puffs from already emptied lungs. “We’ll be going west of the spires. The fields there will provide both safe distance from ambushes and better vision. We’ll be tucked atop one of the taller hills and send out scouting parties to follow the enemy’s movements.”
“Sounds like there’s a lot of planning that goes into this?” One of the young men asked after biting a chunk out of some vegetables he’d found in a crate.
“Oh, yes. Captain Nodure has thought this all through. The distances to any tree lines, the proximity to supplies like water and lumber, the local information on hunting and gathering. He’s a great tactician. I’m sure he’s already got some of the fortifications being implemented.” There was true admiration for his captain. “You all should be honored to serve under him.”
Christoph did have pride in serving his emperor, but the Captain was different. He couldn’t shake the feeling he’d royally insulted the noble soldier. Maybe he’s already forgotten. It has to blow over at some point. As ignorantly hopeful as that was, it was entirely false.
As the boys set up their camp, ate their carelessly prepared meals, and settled down beneath the stars as two boys took rotating watch, Sir Nodure was miles away preparing his position. Tents had been set up. Supplies inventoried and separated. Arms and defensive tools were touched up as best they could on the road. Maps were sprawled out and marked with battle plans. Contingency plans were marked over those. Contingencies for failed contingencies were also scribbled out over the thick scrolls.
All the while he worked on ridding his proud empire of barbarian scum, the Captain occasionally caught a glimpse of the stains on the metal and cloth of his armor. Most of the metal had been cleaned, but the fabric that protruded from the openings were discolored and splotchy. Every time he saw it, a vein in his neck jumped out.
I’ll send him on scouting missions alone! The Captain considered the punishments in the stead of changing his undergarments. I’ll make sure he’s on the frontline! Gifted or not, I’m not letting that common swine leave alive. True to his devilish claims, he opened a box within the tent where he’d examined and reviewed his strategies.
Within this wonderfully crafted box was a stack of papers. Each had names, traits, and reports on the individuals taken from the villages. This was a one way to keep a census of those sent off, and perhaps monetary reimbursements for those lost—though the amount never filled any gap the dead left behind.
The Captain found the name he’d searched for. Christoph Gildenson, bleh! Disgusted by the name that held neither rank nor title, he slipped the paper from the stack and replaced the rest within the box. His armor was relatively silent as he moved through his command tent. All the amenities about him, a surrounding of silent wealth, offered little more than a chamber of echoes for his thoughts.
One brazier flickered to the side of the table which he’d planned his campaign against the invaders. Though the metallic shell of the brazier was thick and opened wide for a larger flame, he had given it only enough fuel to light up the table beside it. It was just enough that his passions could be satisfied while the darkness was allowed to spread through the tent.
Sir Nodure examined the paper one final time. His eyes skimmed over the lines he’d scribbled in and the dark stain near the bottom of the page. He’s stained us both. The man in wondrous armor looked over the information he’s collected. Christoph Gildenson. Blonde. Male. Sixteen. Blue eyes. Rothmire village. Farmer. He continued down the list of quick notes that would allow his empire to correctly determine the cost of the boy’s life—should he fall.
The eyes of the Captain fell to the last line. These words had a wide, blotted line scratched through it as if he’d hoped to erase the words he’d written.
Gift – Astral Ascension.
Neither the Captain nor his accompanying mage had much information on the gift. In his arrogance and ignorance, the great tactician ambled into the future, a river of gold, without knowing how to swim. His gauntleted hand crumpled up the paper and threw it into the brazier.