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CH. III
They munch and chat while they work. The birds chirp as the sun moves into the ninth hour of the new day. A day that promised to be blue skies and beautiful, at least until the purple stain that announced the Blight was only a hard 3 portions of a day away. The purple mountains are closer also and Geon suddenly feels homesick. Could he go home again soon? He asks the question to himself and immediately wonders why. His home is Capitol City. He has known no other place as such. Like the sword at his side, his hand has known no other hilt.
"Ah lucky, I got me a raisin, I did." one brother says to another.
"Lucky indeed, I've known more than a few lads to crack a tooth on badly milled King’s corn. Then there's the stuff that falls in when the baker ain't paying attention. You sure you got a raisin, though? Never tasted one myself to know what the sensation is like." Greck offers from the other side of the extinguished campfire.
Sounding a bit unsure, the brother says, "Worth the risk to have a belly full though, in't."
“Let me see? I’ll tell you if it’s a raisin or not,” Jem offers but is unsure if his input is even welcome because he is promptly ignored.
Greck returns to munching on her cake, sullen. She likes to start shit especially when bored. The group simply ignores her, and she is not fine with that. With nothing better to do Greck is constantly looking for a fight.
There are three types of soldiers in Balanar.
The infantry; they are usually the men and women who guard the borders and fight the battles that win the wars. Balanor is a peninsula blocked perfectly along the northern border by the Purple Mountains but has been invaded plenty. The war is called the three centuries war and comes and goes. Sometimes Balanor sends troops north but only in answer to enemy forces that come here and cause problems.
Then there is the City guard. Every town in Balanor has its own City Guard, the one in the capital is considered fit at 500. They guard entrances and bridges collect tolls and follow the taxman around.
And the patrol. Fighters, everyone’s an expert when it comes to small arms and surviving battles and hunts.
The Patrol has members like the brothers, who give just a bit more. The boys are from the Smithee's brood and perform minor miracles with metal each morning. Seeming to seek out issues even the wielder of the gear isn't aware of. One stokes the coals, another hammers, and the third hunts the repairs. Geon lets them work the minor repairs without interference, camp life is camp life, even if it's temporary. Plus, every improvement only makes the outcome in combat more favorable for the king and for Moraden.
A military unit can never be too prepared for combat, those on the patrol owe them many debts. This has done well for their father's reputation, and theirs as well. Of fighting and having each other's back, if they survive their duty, they'll have long distinguished lives to look forward to. Politics maybe even leading a battalion in battle if they continue their martial education.
As the youngest begins to check the hobbled horse for any hoof work, Geon stops him with a quick yell, “Leave the hooves, we’ll have plenty of time for that when we get to the Blight. Form up.” He bellows the last two words and gets an immediate reaction.
The brother lets the hoof go, and the rest of the enlisted do as commanded and quickly get into an easy formation with Jem taking up the rear spot as the top-ranked enlisted.
"It's a fifteen-mile straight shot to the location where we stop. Note the sun, we will be there in no less than three more portions, do we understand each other? When we get there, Sol-willing, our Pigman will be close.”
“Then we truss ‘em on a spit.”
“Greck, No, then we figure out how to find him a cure. Any questions?"
The obvious one is, what‘s the plan for bringing back a giant pigman known to eat everything it encounters? No one dares ask, just like everyone just trusts that the dwarf will come through when it matters. His patrols are known to be successful. This patrol shifts around nervous, hoping someone will delay the nightmare of a paladin-led jog through the woods, but none have the stones to do so.
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Ser Geon mounts his steed and taking his place at the front of the column he orders, "Forward," and turning around to revel in the groan, he bellows, "Double step, move!" and they are all off at a quick trot.
Geon is what one would call a tall Dwarf. One who can easily pass for a short man, but ever he corrects them immediately. He is proud of his heritage and what he has been able to build for himself in the world of men. Only serving justice in the name of Moroden was more important to him.
Was this justice? It was a sudden question that gives him pause. Or was it a promise just to make a promise? This goes beyond the Pigman for Geon. The swamp was in fact an evil place. It was somehow corrupt and poisoned. Has been his entire long life and even long before that. The rumors go back generations. But something happened and Ser Geon feels responsible for figuring it out, as a last act so to speak. He longs to make the ultimate difference and clean up the impossible with what time he has remaining.
He rides keeping count without thought, they will go for three hours the distance is unimportant because he plans on stopping at the cusp of the Blight. From There they will be at war. He understands the Blight only through rumors. No king had been willing to send his men into it for any reason, even for Thomas Loaf. But Geon---
The smell is horrendous and swallows them up completely. They know what it is because they know they live in the hill and low country of the mountains. They skirt the Blight with even some of the monsters taking up residence within the bogs. This one was a normal bear 15 hands tall and about as girthy as two wagons together. The megafauna roars, black mouth rude with viscera as if the thing had come from hell and was waiting on their approach all along.
The squad moves with a hand signal and forms a semi-circle around the beast. Their spears are deployed. Sharp-tipped and deadly each of the five foot-soldiers wait ready to plunge it in any soft spot that the bear avails to them.
Ser Geon knows this could be it. An ignoble end if there ever was one. He vows there and then to never kill himself on a beast such as this. The vow fills him with a surly white strength. He gives the horse her head and lets her gallop to a safer spot away from one the massive paws ready to swipe in whichever direction it can do the most destruction. That is his burden. This is his oath and maybe they could find a damn’d fool to replace him one day, but he won’t let this mud bull have his way unmolested. A waft of wind seems to blow the moment of great death towards him. It stinks like rotting meat and deeply disturbed mud. Eye-watering.
“This is a silly expedition towards inevitable failure.” His words to the king of these very lands. “Seven sent to fall a thing only suggested to be real!”
Yet here they were proving whether they even have a chance.
“Tis real paladin and you save the town’s baker. Promise, now, on your god’s name.”
His promise is real enough that he signals for Stephen to loose his arrows at will. The first bounces off the beast's side with a thump. Still, the Bear feels it and roars in pain and anger.
He signals again for the foot-soldiers to spread out into a loose battle formation that encircles the beast. No easy task given no one wants to be caught by one of its giant man-sized paws. Then he sees why it was angry. They had stumbled onto its cache. Pilgrims, six of them dead and due to line the bear's stomach on their way to being digested. A destroyed wagon sits nearby. A dream destroyed.
Too late for them.
Geon asks Moroden to light their way to the afterlife and a beautiful gold-glowing light fills his mind. The light fills him. His heart. His weapon. And just as the monstrosity brings its paw back and all air disappears from the battlefield Geon joins the fray. Taking up a spot between Greck and Jem.
Then the bear swings the paw forward and a hurricane-like gale batters all. The commander watches two go down with the blow. One stands immediately the other is injured blood spurting furiously. But the soldier's beserker rage compels him to attack and he throws his body against the massive foe.
The giant mud-armored bear snorts, spraying snot and disrespect, and tries to take the soldier in his mouth likely to shake him until his body flies into bits and pieces onto his brethren. Things go until almost the final moment. The bear’s shaggy furred hide protects him from most arrows until Stephen aims true and Geon finds one then two arrows sticking out from the bear's now useless left eye.
Yet the hide is proving impossible after another stab by Greck is worthless. Even worse the spear ends up caught under a giant paw and snaps in two. But within that moment, Greck takes advantage of a free shot and runs the remaining portion of the spear between two of the Bear’s ribs with an audible and stomach-churning pop.
The bear rears in pain looking for the one that will pay.
The battle is far from over. Men might still die. That's what they do. That’s a soldier's job; to spend their life when asked. But today is not that day. Ser Geon removes his cape and flaps it dangerously in the air. He flaps and screams and waves his sword until the bear spots the stupid ruse and its red eyes light on Geon on the Dwarf from the mountains and charges. Every muscle spasms at once but he manages to stay in place and crouch ready until the bear overruns him and all goes dark.