Have you ever kept a secret, been in on it? Has it ever repeated in your mind like a whirling of a torturing contraption made just for you? Have you felt the secret’s merciless bounds limiting you, choking you, putting you in the state of perpetual abuse? Has it ever made your head throb, causing you untold anguish of living with something precious that can cause change, minute or order-shattering. Has it grown all over you like a malignant foe to your metabolism, inflicting psychosomatic woes, aches of the body deriving from the soul. Has it ever made you want to sacrifice whatever was necessary so that you could live with it, get used to pain, harden the soul into a rock, dead to the rules of reality around you? Have you sought refuge in the arms of others, expressing that you carry a heavy burden weighing over your very essence that you cannot reveal? Or have you turned to faith, seeking the final sigh of relief in a roaring release in a dead chamber of stone and iron before the secret’s immensity delivers its coup de grâce?

Such quarrel of the soul plagued both Gunther and Atef. The former struggled to grasp the immensity of the cosmos that revealed itself to him, while the latter’s troubles stemmed from fear. Gunther ended up walking away from Atef in silence and sent for him to be relieved at Lita’s next kiss. The old warrior thought it best to sleep off the unbelievable as he used to after every carnage in the past. Atef on the other hand couldn’t even blink often enough.

- I am unique! Heavenly smiths, unique! Nadda like me! Noplace! Or someplace? Couldda it be boss Gunther was everyplace? He couldda not! Sure as pit is black that is! Couldda not me be unique! But he old geezer, seen a lot, heard more! Must be, must be, must be!

That one faithful sequence of memories that would answer a lot still hid in the darkness, turning Atef’s reasoning blind, shielding him for as long as it could. The gift had its own moody nature, self-interested and alien, lurking within Atef’s soul and plucking its strings in a rhythm that was more concerned with the heavenly and celestial than mundanely ground-bounded. The consequence was Atef’s existing anxiety, nervousness, almost nerve-wrecking, but it was a small price to pay for the immensity of what divine purpose commanded. And so, Atef agonized through the night, the gift stayed unbeknownst and foreign and the dawn came quicker than everyone in the camp liked.

*

The habitual sternness of the old wardog must’ve felt ill throughout the next day of march. Gunther issued orders with a distant, mellow tone that even made Vorod less edgy. He didn’t pay as much attention whether his line marches in pace or he has stragglers, nor did he care with his usual diligence about the orders of his superiors. The rest of the Atef’s group noticed his right hand being in fresh bandages and wondered what happened that humbled him so much. Atef marched with his eyes forward and a look of guilt on his face greater than that of a caught cowardly murderer, but no one dared probe just yet. At midday they stopped for a short respite and an update from the vanguard.

- Oh yea, you were right, he even smells guilty! - said Samir startling Atef from his lazy chewing of rye bread they were served with salted meat.

- Told you, I’m never wrong about these things. Also look at his nose, now it is straight! How did that happen hook-nose? - mockingly concluded Dartan sitting next to Atef on the right side.

- So pal, recruit, brother in lousy arms, tell us a bit about last night!

Atef looked at them with wariness and continued chewing, acting deaf and dumb for as long as possible.

- Come now, don’t be shy pillock - said Vorod with too much love for the expression as he stepped in front of Atef.

- I wouldda not talk about it.

- Why you wouldda not you peasant dumb whoreson? Use that iffy tongue of yours that can’t even spit out all the words properly and explain to us what happened - uttered Dartan with a grin implying what will happen if he doesn’t.

- Yea, we’re dying to know. So come now, find the words. We wouldn’t want to be on the bad side of Gunther’s current mood and I am sure you don’t want to be on our bad side.

- But, he’s not angry or violent to us - protested Atef.

- That is true but he is also off. No one likes when something is off - followed up Vorod.

- How canna I know why?

- Because you were on guard last night and because Gunther woke me up when he went for rounds and when he came back. So you were there the whole time! - chimed in Hugo, adding to the inquisitorial process.

- So?

- You are either so stupid or you really want to look like that! You were the only one on watch.

- I bet’cha that he even straightened that nose of yours! - prodded Hugo and looking for any signs on Atef’s face that would confirm his expectation.

- Tell us already! What happened?! Why are you so damn secretive?! - interjected Samir hitting Atef on the shoulder.

Atef felt a spark of murderous anger sink into his gut ready to cause a volcanic eruption but he managed to douse it down. He spat out the little bread he didn’t swallow and started navigating the risky river of persuasion.

- I fell sleep. So he broke my nose back and punished me - said Atef showing at the wound on his neck.

- So what? He hit me as well and that didn’t change him one bit - protested Vorod.

- Yea, that is nothing! - Hugo agreed.

- There must be more! Tell us! - Dartan and Samir cried out almost simultaneously.

- I know nothing than that. You care so much, ask ‘im! He messed me up a bit and went into dark. I saw nadda more - cawed Atef back at them hoping that his gambit would work.

Four pairs of eyes were examining every twitch of his face and eyes. They felt like giant lamps in the Pit streaking light in hope of something shining back and revealing the truth.

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- Then I guess we should be even more careful - sighed Vorod.

As he said that he felt a tap on his shoulder. A slap welcomed him as he turned around. Gunther enjoyed it, savored the ruthless slamming sound that helped release the pent up pressure and reestablish dominance. It was sweet to pick on this wretch, marked for being a strawman you could release your anger unto.

- Grab your gear and fall in, we march soon! Eat as you walk!

Atef was the last among the recruits to get up and just as he was passing by Gunther, he caught his arm.

- Stay for a moment.

Atef looked at the others who still haven’t noticed the special treatment, instead making fun of Vorod’s incredible unluck.

- I must go or they badger me around.

- Oh they won’t, I’ll make sure of it. Listen Atef, I still cannot explain what happened last night, I still refuse to believe it to save my head from getting heavier. All I know is that you need to find someone who will understand you and that you shouldn’t be here. If opportunity presents itself, I will tell you to run, but in the meantime stay close to me and everything will be fine.

Atef was stunned by such a noble promise, but all he could do was nod and hurry away to a particularly ugly, dried up and hollow tree where the soldiers and recruits alike decided to place their weapons while they ate. Thankfully no one noticed he was falling behind for too long. As Gunther looked after him, he let out a wry smile, feeling like purpose again came into his life. It was a feeling he hasn’t experienced since the siege of Breslova twelve whole years ago. The sheer incredulity of such powers existing still baffled him and he was yearning to shout, to reveal them to the whole world and prove to himself he hasn’t gone mad. However, he knew better, saw too many times what it is like when improper thoughts are expressed or good things are quashed way too early. He held in his hand a sproutling of something new and immense and it excited him to help it survive and grow.

*

- Speak! Speak or I will strike pins under your fingernails you raiding scum!

- Tell us! How many and where?! Where do you plan to strike next?! How are you equipped!?

- Playing dumb are ya?! Demer, fetch the pins! While we wait, let me introduce you to the pommel of my sword!

- Wait, wait I’ll talk!

- Squeal then!

The two men were kneeling while Daemas paced around them letting his knights interrogate. The stouter one had his ginger beard painted redder by the blood which was trickling from his forehead, while the other was holding his arm which had a bolt sticking out of it. Every move was painful as the crushed bone emanated immense agony that blurred his mind into submission. He spoke up gladly, earning the ire of the other captive. Julian struck the redbeard with his armored fist to avoid any sudden resurgence of courage in the raider ready to talk.

- We were sent to find the quickest way further south.

- To what end? - asked Julian looking over his shoulder to gauge when Daemas might step in.

- I don’t know Sire, our orders were to find a better way instead of the Three Sullen Oaks route.

- So how did you end up on it, you lying dog?

- We got lost you imperial bastards! - protested the man with the bloodied beard, recovering from the punch that got him flat on the ground. In response he got a kick to the ribs. The knight who did it planned to land the next blow on his groin.

- Is that true?! - growled Julian to the cooperative one.

- Yes Sire, we were lost in the woods and came across you as we doubled back down the path to restart our search.

- How many people and where does the main force go next, cur?! - interjected Daemas growing weary of the pointless investigation why the eight men, out of which only the two present survived after running into the vanguard, were in this area.

- Yes Sire, please forgive but I don’t know.

- Ah the pins have arrived! You forgot the hammer you dumb fool, with what am I suppose to get these under his fingernails? My cock?! Fetch the hammer, immediately!

- I advise your memory becomes clearer soldier - gleefully said Julian with a smile as cruel as it was sinister.

- Those are all the orders Sire! That’s all I know! We are to find a way south. Please spare us from further torture! Please! I beg you by the sanctity of your chivalry!

- The gall on these Untarian wretches! Questioning my chivalry?! And to dare venturing this far! - Daemas theatrically protested the insolence.

- The hammer is here! The hammer is here! - said a knight in the back waving it above his head with excitement to attract the attention of the closest to the captives.

- Well done, toss it over here, my hands are itching! - chirped Julian.

- Please no! Please, that is all!

Julian grabbed the soldier’s shattered arm and he roared like a dying beast. The knight who planned to land a blow to the groin of the prostrate captive used the chance and the redbeard passed out from sheer shock.

- Wait! Wait please. I remember something, I remember something!

Julian looked at Daemas who signaled to give the chance to the squealer.

- We’re all ears and believe me we are a tough audience to satisfy.

- I heard by the fire. Night… - started the raider drowning in spittle and grunts of pain - and two of our beni mentioned … - he started panting trying to suppress pain.

- Break one of his fingers - ordered Daemas to which Julian happily obliged.

- Aaaaaaaah, he said Heresborg, night… Something about Heresborg and night that’s all I heard!

Daemas stood silent considering what he just heard.

- They wouldn’t dare, it is walled! - considered one of the knights.

- How many men? - Daemas repeated the question.

- Many… Aaaah, uh, uh, four garthe.

- Four? You are sure?

- Yes, four!

- Horsemen?

- Some fifty, please Sire tell him to stop.

- Of course! Of course! Stop that and kill them - ordered Daemas satisfied with the interrogation.

Hearing this, the soldier with the shattered arm turned pale. A sudden surge of adrenaline gave him strength to pull his arm as if it was fine, however Julian was quicker, he twisted his arm, dropping the captive on the floor and stuck his sword through his heart painting red the green tunic with the symbol of spear covered in thorns. The groin kicking knight turned over the redbeard and plunged his sword in his throat leaving him to drown in his own blood. It was more interesting than finishing him off by cutting through the back of the neck and he craved to see the redbeard’s eyes as he suddenly wakes up gurgling blood.

- You could’ve let me have some fun at least - said Julian under voice as he approached Daemas.

- No time. Did you hear him, four! And so many horses… That would be enough to storm Heresborg in the middle of the night.

- The dog might’ve lied. They were never this bold.

- Might. Do you think he did though?

- Well, only one finger, it was too early to tell.

- I am quite sure he didn’t. You could see it in his eyes, weak sap of a man ready to tell us all we wanted. The other one at least had some dignity. Round the men for march, I intend to catch them off guard.

- I would suggest a tight formation, vanguard within visible distance and a small forward scouting party - suggested Julian with wisdom of several campaigns infusing each word.

- No Julian. Split the vanguard in two and make the front group act as scouts. The remnants behind will be there to send word and engage any attacks before we organize the rear for battle. We need eyes forward and enough time bought if we run into trouble.

Although riskier, Daemas’ strategy satisfied Julian enough to accept it without question. He nodded and stepped away energetically, stabbing just for fun one of the corpses while passing by.

Atef was among the recruits and common soldiery while the interrogation took place. He was minding his own business, interacting with his peers from the line only to answer questions. As a defensive ruse to their perverse curiosity, he spun a tale about being a child of a peasant who sold him off because he had too many mouths to feed. He even managed to coax them into believing that his mother was blinded and her tongue ripped out because she saw a terrible secret at a merchant’s house where she served. A sprinkle of his imagination got the bullies to find a pinch of compassion and ease off, at least for the time being. Gunther came late to organize them for march, almost when it was the last possible moment to get a move on without reprimand which meant they would most likely end up in the far rear. The drudgery of the path forward was interrupted only once when Gunther said “fanatics” and spat on the corpses of the executed captives they were about to leave behind.