Benjamin, The Trouserless, stood awkwardly against the table, covering his unsheathed weapon. He waited for Jor to finish her exchange, and, at that moment, he recalled the incident involving her and the councilor a few nights prior. He felt a stab of anger and an irrational possessiveness. The urge for violence coursed through his veins. Was it disgust or jealousy? He was taken aback by the internal conflict. He feared the prospect of the emotion being the latter.
What the hell is wrong with you?
He asked himself.
"Good morning. I, uh, see that you’re recovering quite well. Ben, was it?" Jor said while pointedly avoiding gazing at Ben’s spear.
She was beautiful, Ben thought. Tall with a slight frame, almost as tall as himself, in fact, but much shorter than he expected her to be. Her presence was so much… bigger… when he first heard her voice at the beach. She wore a similarly styled armor to that of Ainsle’s, yet hers was lighter, with only a single dull grey metal plate covering her chest. The rest of her armor was predominantly black-grey leather with an off-white, fabric skirt over greaves. He was unsure as to how he identified an archer’s vambrace; nevertheless, he assumed she was a bow user.
Jor had big, bright green eyes and long black hair tied in a neat braid that swept down her back before yielding behind her knees. Her skin was pale with lightly freckled cheeks, and her feminine jawline drew attention to her petite lips as she spoke.
"If you need some rest, I could come back later…"
"NO! Ahem. Yes, thank you, Ben."
Nice one, Benjamin…
"I mean. I’m fine, thank you. Name’s Ben."
"Good to meet you, Ben. I have a few questions for you if it’s not too much trouble? I’m Jor, by the way."
"Jor. Likewise. I suppose I owe you my life. Thank you."
"Not at all. We’re just doing our duty." She paused. "So, can we talk for a bit?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Great. But first, let's get you something to wear. People tend to react poorly when a man walks around while, uhm, casually brandishing his short sword. Please wait; I’ll send someone to bring you some clothes. Oh, have you eaten?"
"Right. Yes, I have, thanks." He replied.
The squad leader nodded and left.
Wait… Short sword? It’s nippy outside, okay?
He wished the ground would swallow him then and there.
Ben waited for Jor to return. As he felt his energy levels improve, he decided that he'd risk giving his clammy skin a good wipe down, hopefully before he had any more company. He ran a hand over his head and felt the prickles of hair that was about a week shaved. Upon inspecting the clay basin once more, he noticed that it was filled with clear water and that there were a few waxy balls in a cloth bag on the table. The balls smelled of lavender and appeared to be what the locals used as soap. Ben washed his body with cold water and oily soap, using his dirty shirt as a rag to scrub away layers of dried sweat and dirt from his thin frame.
Somehow, he felt stickier than before the attempt. He didn’t have anything to use for dental hygiene, but that would have to wait.
While he was busy, a tall man in the same, grey-black armor came into the tent and threw clothes on the cot. Tall was relative, as so far, Ben had been the tallest person he had met. He wondered if he was just exceptionally tall or if the people of this land were just shorter on average.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
"Thanks," Ben said as the man left, receiving a grunt of acknowledgment in reply.
He saw that Jor had arranged for a pair of brown leather trousers and a clean, white shirt made of the same coarse material as the garment he was in the process of wringing out in the murky basin water. There were also a pair of soft, dark-brown hide shoes and a thin, crude leather belt amongst the clothes. He managed to dry himself to an acceptable degree, and he turned his attention to the garments.
He dressed and noticed that the trousers were comically short, as were the sleeves of the tunic. He solved the latter by rolling them up, but his thin forearms caused the fabric to hang loosely, which frustrated him to no end.
He instinctually turned around to look in a mirror that was not there and immediately chided himself.
Relax. It’s just a pretty warrior girl. Who happened to save your life. And call your javelin a dagger.
He took a deep breath and stepped outside for the first time.
It was pretty bare as far as camps go. Or at least, the impression of what a camp should look like. The sky was mostly clear, with a few clouds dotting the pale blue. The rain had stopped and left the ground a muddy mess. There were several tents arranged in a circle around a fire pit that was currently occupied by two, half-asleep soldiers, preparing what smelled like broth in a large, black pot. A few men and women walked in groups of three to destinations that he could only guess at. Ben was certain that this was a martial camp of some sort, as everyone he had seen was dressed in similarly colored armor.
Jor appeared moments later from a tent next to his. She had a large, ornate bow on her back, a short sword, and a quiver on her hips. He wondered with consternation as to why she had armed herself for a ‘little chat’.
"Good, you’re dressed. Follow me." She beckoned.
Ben nodded and followed Jor out of the camp. The camp appeared to be in a clearing in a heavily wooded area. The colors of the forest were subdued. Almost grey, as if the trees were on their last breath.
"Hey, so, uh, you’re a career soldier?" he asked as they walked side-by-side. The eerie silence of the woods was disturbing.
Jor looked at him with thoughtful consideration. She seemed to hesitate before answering.
"Something like that. Let’s just say it’s more of a mandatory term of service."
He chided himself for not realizing the topic would be sensitive. Ben decided to keep the intrusive questions to a minimum and instead turned his attention to their surroundings. The woods were quite thick, yet in the distance, in all directions, he caught glimpses of an unwelcoming dark fog.
They walked for about fifteen minutes before coming to a small clearing with a ring of waist-high boulders next to a little stream. She gestured for Ben to sit on a large, flat boulder. He sat and noticed the remnants of a campfire in the middle of the ring.
"This should be good enough." She removed the bow from her back, placing it on the boulder next to her, before sitting down opposite him. "Now, I’m sure you have many questions, but first, please tell me a bit about yourself. What do you remember before we found you on the beach?"
Ben wasn’t sure how to respond. He remained silent as he considered that Ainsle had, most likely already reported their interaction to her. He decided to go with honesty. After all, this woman saved his life, he wouldn’t gain anything by deceiving her.
"I’m afraid I don’t know much. I think I’m suffering from amnesia." He paused to consider his words.
Jor frowned at the mention of amnesia. Ben thought perhaps these people would have given the condition a different name. She remained silent, allowing Ben to continue.
"I mean, I don’t have any memories of before the beach. I have knowledge up here, but I don’t know where it came from." He tapped his head with a boney finger.
"I see," Jor said while searching his face for something. "It seems it is as Ainsle said. The one you met earlier. Older woman, coarse demeanor?"
Ben nodded as Jor continued.
"You must be an Old-Worlder then." She gestured towards him with an upturned palm in a circular motion "Your features... height. The ones on the beach, all had shaved heads and that marking on the back of their necks." Another pause.
He absently touched the back of his neck at the mention of the marking. She elaborated.
"In the past, my people found the decayed remains of your people in ruins. Usually in large cocoons of sky steel. Tomb raiders were a problem for a while, as the metal is quite valuable. That was until a decree enforced strict consequences for the would-be grave robbers."
She absently twirled her long braid between her fingers.
"Recently, however, there have been corpses of Old-Worlders showing up in the worst of places. The corpses seem to be fresh, which is… strange and troubling, as the dead tend to rise in places of high mana concentration. Like here, on the Fringe."
She remained silent, allowing Ben to digest the information. His mind was reeling at the implications. Suddenly, Jor’s brows twitched, and her face went from thoughtful to impassive. In what Ben perceived to be one swift motion, she had nocked and drawn her bow. She landed in a crouch on the rock that was her seat and aimed directly at the young man’s face.