Samuel wasn’t thrilled to be working within the ruins of the city, but he was anxious to be doing something. He wasn’t opposed to lying about so long as he was lazing in comfort, preferably on a plush chair with a tray of fruits, cheese, and wine within arm’s reach. Standing around with his figurative thumb up his ass while others rushed about was incredibly boring. Some might think the vigorous shouting of determined men invigorating or the heartfelt well wishes of those sending them off sweet, but the prince found it all too pedestrian.
Samuel almost praised the saints when Kern finally separated from the chaos to speak with him. “Your highness, we’ve finished our preparations.”
“Good. Ewan—I will let Sir Reed know. Once his men are in position, we can get moving.”
“Ah. I was hoping you’d say a few words.”
“…what?”
“For motivation. It would mean a lot to the men, I think.”
Samuel stared at the other man, holding in his disbelief. The idea of him delivering a rousing speech was ludicrous; no one had ever mistaken him for a leader of men. Yet, he also couldn’t bring himself to refuse, to admit that he couldn’t. His lips twisted into a sour expression as he debated with himself, the war within his mind forced to proceed at a rapid pace as Kern’s hopeful gaze pushed at him. Finally, the prince huffed.
“I suppose I can say something.”
“Great. I’ll tell everyone.”
As the enthusiastic man ran off, Samuel wondered what someone said to rouse a group of peasants to tackle a day’s hard labor amongst the remnants of the worst tragedy of their lives. Expectedly, he came up blank so he looked for advice.
“A speech, is it?” Ewan said with a chuckle. “Wouldn’t know the first thing, your highness. Soldiers don’t need much encouragement to hunt down monsters and I never saw major conflict as an officer. Good luck.”
The prince contemplated asking the more experienced Sir Frost but couldn’t catch a moment alone with him before Kern came to fetch him. Then he was standing before the crowd, several dozen men, a third of them holding tools awkwardly, standing in a disorganized mob before a line of wagons. He couldn’t be more different from the men covered in days of filth, propped up by false pride. He shouldn’t be standing where he was. They shouldn’t be looking to him.
Unfortunately, his certainty of the wrongness of his circumstances wouldn’t change them. They were waiting and the faster he got on with it, the faster it would be over.
Samuel’s first attempt to speak was subverted by a sudden spawning of wriggling worms in his gut, an anxiety he refused to acknowledge. He cleared his throat and locked his knees, his second attempt to speak coming out with barely a hitch.
“Men of Quest.” What did people about to walk into a nightmare want to hear? Surely, they didn’t want him to tell them that everything would be okay? They weren’t children coming to their mothers. What would men picking up the pieces of their lives want to hear from the man who represented the crown that was meant to care for them, protect them?
“…the journey you are about to embark on isn’t a glorious one. It is dark and bitter. It is also long. You will work for hours, you’ll put everything you have into it, and it won’t make a dent in the damage. A tragedy can’t be wiped away overnight.
“But, if you don’t give in, if you keep faith, then the wounds of the past can be healed. Be careful, as there are those who would take advantage of this sorrow to sow discord, who wish to take what little you have. Have no mercy on them, for they are not only your enemies but the enemies of the kingdom, of everyone’s tomorrow. As you break apart the remnants of your home, remember! This is your city. And by the blessing of the crown and the saints, you will claim it again!”
The prince didn’t know what he was saying after his greeting, working off half-remembered literature and his fuzzy memories of playing general with his older brother. Still, the men gave him a cheer in response, though it wasn’t the loudest, and returned to their preparations with whispering insults. The prince decided it was a victory and made a hasty, though dignified, escape, walking toward the front of the procession where Ewan waited with a big smile.
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“Quite inspirational, my prince.”
“Don’t make fun. It’s beneath you.”
“No, no. I mean it. Couldn’t have done better myself I wager.”
Samuel decided to simply ignore him. “Are we ready?”
“Simply give the word.”
“Let’s go.”
-
When Lane said that they would be working along the edge of the city, he meant the very edge. Samuel thought he would be traveling in his carriage, but Ewan informed it that it wasn’t necessary. And it wasn’t. They walked just past the eastern gate before Kern put the men to work. They swarmed around the nearest shattered building, breaking the wood and stone into smaller pieces before loading the debris onto wagons to be carted off. Magic was used to make a large hole, where the debris was poured.
It didn’t clean the mess, but it made it more manageable, and the men worked with surprising speed. In no time, the first house was cleared, the usable goods from inside put into crates and set aside to be returned to the camp.
Samuel wasn’t idle. He didn’t work nearly as hard as the enthusiastic men and chose a less demanding job, sorting through the belongings they found. It was as simple as he hoped but surprisingly sobering.
It was hard for the prince to empathize with the plight of the refugees. Intellectually, he could understand the gravity of their circumstances and the sight of them was pitiful, but he couldn’t truly empathize with them.
To struggle was the fate of those born without means. If it wasn’t a mad summoner causing the destruction, it could just as easily be monsters, bandits, and natural disasters ruining their lives. If he allowed himself to feel for them once, his heart would never stop hurting. Part of his education had been learning to put himself above such things.
But it was hard to remain detached when holding the doll of a child. A bloodstained doll. It was enough to draw a terrible conclusion but the prince wasn’t allowed the luxury of wonder. The body soon followed the doll; it wasn’t the first or the last. Kern had thought of the eventuality and prepared sheets to cover them…but it wasn’t nearly enough.
Samuel tried not to look but his gaze kept being drawn to them, their mangled flesh, twisted skeletons, and crushed limbs. And the smell. Saints, he didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed it from the start. But with each hunk of stone and board of wood that was removed, the stench worsened. It was worse than anything he’d ever had the misfortune of inhaling, like rotten meat and the latrines of the camp mixed with the worst filth the Abyss had ever swallowed.
Samuel had to take several breaks to get away from it. Eventually, Ewan offered him a cloth to wrap around his nose. All the other soldiers and many of the men had already done so. It did little to help but no one else was complaining so the prince powered through his discomfort.
He was in the middle of loading another full crate of salvaged belongings onto a wagon when he caught a faint trace of raised voices. His eyes found two men squaring off against one another and he wandered over, along with several others drawn by the drama.
One was clearly a worker, a shovel held in his hand and his face grimy with dust and wood shavings. The other wasn’t right. A casual glance wouldn’t detect anything wrong, as he had the same shabby appearance as the rest of the men. But the prince had been taught to observe, to ferret out people’s intentions from their appearance.
He noticed that the man’s face was fuller than the starving refugees, full of health. He also had nicer shoes, thick-soled boots made of good leather. The most obvious detail that screamed the second man did not belong was his hair. It was clean and combed, only slightly mussed from moving about. None of the refugees paid so much attention to their grooming.
“—saying you’re an idiot if you think this changes anything. You’re all wasting your time, cleaning up their mess and making it easier for them to take this city,” the oddly clean man shouted.
“If you don’t want to be here, you can go!”
“Oh, no. I’m not going anywhere. I owe it to the corpses being pulled out of their homes to give them a decent burial. I just can’t stand your empty-headed gibbering about the so-called mercy of the Hall and the crown when they’re the reason we’re in this mess!”
“You.”
The two men turned to Samuel as he stopped before them. He didn’t have to look to know that Ewan was at his shoulder, as the royal knight had been shadowing him closely throughout the day. If the strange man acted on the obvious hate in his gaze, he wouldn’t live long enough to regret it. “You are holding up the work. If you insist on insulting good people, at least do it quietly. If you care about these people and this city, then show it.”
The prince cringed as the man spit to the side. “What’s the matter, prince? Upset I’m not licking your boots like the rest of these dogs?”
“I’ve already told you why I’m upset. Continue, and I will have you removed.”
“Yeah, cause that’s what you do when someone stands up to you, isn’t it? You swat them aside like a bug. When are you people going to wake up!” the man shouted, snarling as he whipped his head around like a wild animal surrounded by enemies. A finger pointed at Samuel’s direction. “Don’t you understand? That’s the enemy!”