“They’re putting the door back,” Seloh observed.
Fyrro inquired in the dark, “So are they really going to wait us out?”
“I suppose so,” Seloh said absentmindedly. After a pause, he continued, “Does anyone have a torch?”
“There should be one over here,” Lemina said, remembering that the torch carrier had dropped his near where she was standing.
“That’s okay, I’ve got mine on me still,” Fligner said. After a moment the room lit up again.
Fyrro and Seloh moved quickly to disarm their hostages. Lemina sheathed the blade in her hand and picked up the one lying next to her moaning foe. Fligner drew his own sword for the first time and approached the soldier lying on the shelf, but the soldier’s sword was still lying on the floor near him, and it was clear from his breathing that he was in distress.
“All right, let’s get these guys secured,” Lemina said as she hoisted the soldier she had battered up into a sitting position, cut his belt off, tied his wrists together, and then propped him up against the wall. Fyrro and Seloh’s soldiers promptly had their wrists bound, as well, and they were pushed over against the wall next to the other one.
Fligner moved to do the same thing. When Fligner grabbed the soldier’s wrist, however, the soldier let out a shout of anguish. “Wait!” Lemina cut in quickly. “Let me see what’s going on.” She trotted over, followed by Fyrro and Seloh. She knelt down and inspected the soldier, who winced whenever she touched his arms.
“What did you guys do to him?” she asked her brother and Seloh.
“This shelf was resting on that table,” Seloh said, pointing. “We pulled it out while he was climbing over.”
“Well, it looks like at least this wrist is broken, maybe both, and these gauntlets he’s wearing probably cut him up on the impact, too,” she said. “He’s going to need help getting up.”
The soldier stared wide-eyed at his captors as they hoisted him up. “Where do you want him?” Fyrro asked.
“Put him up on that table,” Lemina directed them.
“What about this?” Fligner asked, holding up the belt he had cut off the soldier to bind his wrists.
“Hand it here,” she said. “I’ll see if I can make some kind of sling or something for him. While I’m doing that, can you guys see if you can find some strong drink? I’ll need something to clean their wounds.”
They started off obediently, if somewhat confusedly. “Ah, wait,” she halted them as it grew dark near her. “Let’s get some more torches lit.”
~~~~~
Lemina started to strip the soldier of his armor by the light of a torch on the wall nearby. He winced as she pulled it off of his arms. “Don’t worry,” she said calmly. “We’re not going to hurt you.” The soldier didn’t say anything in response.
Sure enough, upon removing the gauntlets Lemina discovered that his arms were discolored, swollen, and bloody. She flinched, then called to her fellow Gassadians, “Have you found anything?”
“No,” Fligner replied as if it were obvious. Lemina rolled her eyes at his response. “How are we supposed to know how strong something is?”
“Taste it!” she called back.
“With what?” Fligner shouted.
“Aren’t there any cups in here?”
“Not that I can see,” Seloh tossed in quickly and calmly.
Lemina sighed. “All right, then. Pour some in your hands and taste it,” she offered obviously.
“What are you doing?” the wounded soldier asked between harsh, labored breaths.
Lemina turned to him. “Helping, of course.”
“Why?” the soldier asked.
“Well it’s not your fault you’re here,” she said as she tore fabric off of his tunic to fashion a sling out of. “You deserve treatment as much as anyone else.” He didn’t say anything more. “Have you found anything?” Lemina called out again.
“Maybe,” Seloh called back. “I’m not sure.”
Lemina, eager to get this man and the one she had beaten up treated, shouted back, “Well is it enough to get someone drunk?”
“Well, yeah,” Seloh replied.
“Then it’s good enough,” she said. She tore another piece of her patient’s tunic off and trotted over to where the other three were standing. “This one?” she asked. They nodded the affirmative, and she proceeded to soak the cloth in the liquid.
“Are you sure about this?” Fyrro asked his sister.
“Everything I’ve ever seen says this should work,” she answered, although she knew what he really meant.
“No, treating them. They’re enemy soldiers, and they’re from Guldar,” he said intensely.
Lemina turned to her brother. “So he deserves to have his arm rot from infection? I swore that, as a medic, I would help the sick and wounded on the battlefield.”
“But you aren’t a medic,” her brother countered. “You’re a soldier.”
Seloh and Fligner stood there uncomfortably. Seloh himself was torn between his duty as a soldier, patriotism, and sympathy. Fligner, truth be told, hadn’t given the issue much thought, but he didn’t like conflict, and especially not between his friends.
“You don’t have to help them if you don’t want to,” Lemina said to her brother, intending to end the argument, “but I will.”
“I’m your senior officer,” Fyrro warned, clearly not getting through as her brother.
Lemina ignored him and walked over to her patient. She knew her brother wouldn’t do anything about it, if he even got the chance. He was too busy protecting her to punish her.
Fyrro exhaled grumpily as he, Fligner, and Seloh watched Lemina go about cleaning up the soldier’s wounds. “Let’s see what supplies we can gather up in here,” he said to his subordinates. “There should be some swords and torches laying around in here that the enemy dropped. We should gather up the captive’s armor, too.”
~~~~~
Rewjeo sat hunched over in a small room down the hall from the room Kertankuse was in. Two guards - the two who had carried him into the castle, Rewjeo thought - stood in the open doorway, taking every chance they had to talk in hushed whispers.
Rewjeo’s head was spinning now that he had a chance to sit down and think. This was hardly the welcome home he had been expecting. It seemed all the residents of Gassad were being held somewhere. Rewjeo hadn’t seen anyone he recognized, only Guldaran soldiers. He had heard nothing of his father or the General or any of his friends. There wasn’t anything he could really do about that, either. Not while he was stuck in this room, waiting for Kertankuse to call him back in, at least. He couldn’t afford to care about that right then, though, anyways. That was the worst part of it. Kygao was a foreigner. He didn’t know anyone there. It didn’t matter who was dead and who wasn’t.
At that moment, Rewjeo caught something out of the corner of his eye. A man in white armor walked up to the guards and said something. This wasn’t Kertankuse, though. The armor was plainer and duller than his. The man beckoned for Rewjeo to come with his hand. Rewjeo did so, still limping slightly from his knee.
“Follow me, sir. General Kertankuse wants to see you,” the soldier in white said in a profoundly dull voice. Then he took off at a brisk pace down the hall. It wasn’t far to Kertankuse’s room, and the guard stationed at the door ushered Rewjeo in as soon as he saw the man in white leading him.
“I have thought over your offer, sirrah,” Kertankuse said, Eirk still looming over his shoulder, “and I am inclined to take you up on it.” Rewjeo let a light smile grace his face. “Not,” Kertankuse went on, standing up from his desk, “without my own provisions, though. Firstly, I’m not allowing you out of the castle,” Rewjeo started to object, but Kertankuse went on, “and the soldier who escorted you here has been assigned to you.”
“Assigned to me?” Rewjeo asked indignantly.
“I don’t trust you, sirrah. I’m taking enough of a risk keeping you here as it is. Moreover, we have a bit of a problem regarding what role the soldiers here should be told you have. Seeing as they stumbled on you in the woods, they’ll know you aren’t from Guldar. I brought everyone along I needed for this, too. I have no need for a ‘Martial Philosopher.’”
“How do I explain what I’m doing here, then?” Rewjeo asked.
“Bend the truth, sirrah,” Kertankuse said as if it were obvious. “Tell them what you told me, and then say that I offered you a place to stay in exchange for you chronicling my conquests. Let them know that I don’t trust you and that that is why the guard is there. If you’re going to fool anyone, you have to learn how to lie, sirrah.”
“A-all right, sir,” Rewjeo stammered.
“Pass him the parchment, Eirk,” Kertankuse said, sitting down. Eirk obliged, shoving a bundle of parchment, a quill, and an ink well into Rewjeo’s hands. Rewjeo couldn’t help but notice the intense gaze cutting through the dried blood on Eirk’s face as he did so. “Now leave, sirrah,” Kertankuse commanded. “I’m busy.”
Rewjeo paused for a moment. He was in. He just had to figure out what to do from there. Meanwhile, Eirk and Kertankuse had exchanged a glance and a nod. Eirk clapped his hand down on Rewjeo’s shoulder, and spun him so he was facing the door. Eirk placed a hand firmly on Rewjeo’s back, his sharpened nails digging in, and pushed him to the door without uttering a word. Upon reaching the door, Eirk grabbed the handle, and shoved Rewjeo out into the hall.
Just as Eirk was ready to close the door, a soldier walked up sheepishly, a piece of parchment in hand. “A report for the General,” the soldier said, offering up the parchment. Eirk, still silent, snatched the parchment and then shut the door.
Eirk turned back and started walking towards Kertankuse. A grimace stretched across the bloodied face as he read further into it.
“What is it?” Kertankuse asked.
“Either incompetence or cowardice,” Eirk said.
“What does it say?” Kertankuse asked more irately.
“It’s a report from the captain you sent to deal with the holdouts in the cellars,” Eirk explained. Kertankuse rolled his eyes. Given Eirk’s earlier comment and the fact that the official in charge of the assault had not delivered the report himself, he could guess what was coming. “It seems the Gassadians barricaded themselves so well in there that they could not launch a successful assault.”
“How’s that? How many are down there?” Kertankuse asked. “The early reports said that no more than half a dozen made it in there.”
“Well, this captain is saying that there must have been twice that. And they managed to kill or capture four of our soldiers,” Eirk said contemptuously. “Shall we send more soldiers down to flush them out, or would you like to speak to the soldiers involved in this last attempt first?”
“Hand me the report,” Kertankuse said. “Let me read it for myself.”
Eirk obliged and passed the parchment to the general. A few moments later, Kertankuse looked back up at his second in command. “Bring the captain and a few soldiers to me. I want to talk to them, but, from the sounds of this, whoever was down there was prepared. If this is an honest report, then it isn’t worth the casualties to assault again.”
Eirk looked confused. “That’s where the food is stored. They could hold out for weeks, maybe months.”
“Physically, yes,” Kertankuse explained. “But not mentally. With nothing to do and no way to tell how much time has passed, they’ll give in eventually.”
~~~~~
Rewjeo stumbled unceremoniously into the hall, wincing at both the pain in his back from Eirk’s claws and the pain in his knee from his fall. He did not notice the soldier who followed him in with the report until he, too, stumbled out after Eirk slammed the door, bumping into Rewjeo, who, in turn, fumbled with the pen and parchment he had been given and nearly dumped them all over the floor. The soldier in white who had escorted Rewjeo to Kertankuse’s room was still standing by stoically when this happened. He shot the other soldier a glare after the other soldier bumped into Rewjeo. The other soldier froze up for a moment before scurrying off with a stuttered, “S-s-sorry, sir,” and a quick, apologetic bow.
Rewjeo followed him off with his eyes, perplexed, before the man in white spoke up, monotonously. “Follow me, sir,” he said. “I’ll show you to your room.”
The soldier took off briskly down the hall. “Ah, excuse me!” Rewjeo said with a grimace, trotting up beside him. “Could you slow down please?”
“What for, sir?” came the response.
“My knee hurts,” Rewjeo explained between sharp breaths.
“My apologies, sir,” the soldier replied as he slowed down.
Rewjeo sighed. “Thank you. And just ‘Kygao’ is fine.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rewjeo winced when the soldier used “sir” again, but ignored it. “Where will I be staying?” he asked.
“There is a room set aside in the elite barracks. That is where the Gassadian higher ups stayed, and now it is the residence of the White Pike, sir.”
Rewjeo fought off another scowl at the thought of sleeping so near his enemies. “White Pike?” is what came out of his mouth, however, as Kygao.
“General Kertankuse’s elite corps, sir,” the soldier explained. “We are differentiated from the rest of the troops by our white armor, mimicking the General’s.”
“So you are a member?” Rewjeo inquired.
The soldier nodded the affirmative. “Yes, sir. Now, we are almost there. Please, take a moment to settle yourself. Your effects have already been placed in your room.” The monotony was so unbroken, despite the subject change, that Rewjeo needed a moment to understand what the soldier meant.
“Oh, no, please do come in. There is more I would like to ask you,” Rewjeo said after the pause.
The soldier replied, “As you wish, sir.”
Another man in white opened the elite barracks and ushered the two through the entryway. The barracks was a place that Rewjeo was decently familiar with, although the pile of Guldaran officials’ belongings against a wall and achromous metallic forms watching him like icy sentinels made the space seem more vacant and sterile than even the strictest of Gassadian captains had managed in the past.
Rewjeo’s room, fourth down on the leftmost row, was simple, but functional. There was a bed, a desk, two chairs, and a small dresser, as well as the pack he had carried with him into Gassad. It also had a decently sized window, as it was high enough and located in the right place in the castle to be of no use to either an attacker or a defender during an assault. He sat down at the desk and asked the Pikeman to sit down, too. He did so, with a “yes, sir.”
“Before we begin, what should I call you?” Rewjeo asked.
“No name is necessary, sir. I have orders to serve you, that is all.”
Rewjeo stared blankly at the soldier for a moment, flummoxed by the apathy in his voice and the cryptic answer. “Okay,” he muttered under his breath. ‘The Pikeman’ it is.
“Now,” Rewjeo explained, “this will all be anonymous and confidential. Whatever you say here will never be tied to you.” The Pikeman sat motionlessly, waiting for Rewjeo to continue. “Okay,” Rewjeo said, not sure what to make of the strange man sitting by him. “Let’s begin, shall we?” The vacuous and yet expectant stare continued. “First question!” Rewjeo said, clasping his hands together in an attempt to bring energy to the conversation. “You said that you are a member of the White Pike earlier. Can you expand on what your role is?”
“The White Pike handles tasks of unusual importance, difficulty, or delicacy. A member of the White Pike must be unfailingly and unquestioningly loyal to the General. He is to be an extension of the General himself,” the Pikeman started what sounded to be a recitation.
“And thus the name.” Rewjeo cut in quickly, his hands shooting up to hush the Pikeman. “The White Pike is the long spear extending from the General’s hands, is that it?” he continued, again placing his twitchy hands together in an attempt to appear poised.
The Pikeman paused a moment, showing for a moment what Rewjeo thought was the slightest bit of annoyance at being interrupted. The familiar utterance had the same familiar monotony in the end, however. “Yes, sir.”
“Okay, next question,” Rewjeo said as he scribbled notes on the page, eager to stop the Pikeman from continuing his recitation. “What are your thoughts and what do you know about the current situation, now only the day after last night’s successful assault?”
“I do not understand, sir,” the Pikeman explained stoically.
“What’s good, what’s bad, what are you unsure of?” Rewjeo explained.
“I’m a soldier, sir. It is not for me to decide what is good or bad.”
“Okay,” Rewjeo said, exasperated, “but you must have an opinion.” The Pikeman did not move. “Are you happy you made it out alive, at least?”
“I am glad to assist the General in whatever way I can, sir.”
Rewjeo cocked his head to the side and gave the Pikeman a look of incredulousness. He wanted to say, That’s not an answer, but instead smiled and said, “All right, I think that’s enough for now. I would like to get a… general sense of what’s going on before pursuing the details,” as he stood up, parchment and pen in hand. The Pikeman’s eyes lifted with Rewjeo, then held steady, and he made no other movement. Rewjeo could not even make out the slightest motion in the man’s chest to suggest he was breathing.
The Pikeman was the one to break the silence. “Sir?” he inquired. Or, rather, Rewjeo took it as an inquiry. The monotony made it hard to tell.
Rewjeo shook his head and said, “Ah, my apologies. I was just thinking. Again, ‘sir’ is not necessary. Just ‘Kygao’ is fine.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rewjeo rolled his eyes. “Now, shall we be off?”
“Where to, sir?” the Pikeman asked.
“Why-” Rewjeo began, as though it were obvious, before freezing up. His intentions had been to head to the other barracks to find someone with a soul. It hadn’t registered with him that he shouldn’t know where that was. “Just to find someone else to speak with,” he finished. He gave himself a mental scolding. He had to be meticulous. One slip-up could doom him. He had to disconnect himself from any tie he had to the castle from before that morning.
“Yes, sir,” the Pikeman said.
“Kygao!” Rewjeo corrected as he walked out of the room.
“Yes, sir,” the Pikeman said.
~~~~~
Rewjeo made his way down to the standard barracks, after making sure to ask the Pikeman how to get there and subsequently getting lost despite the clear directions, just for good measure. He approached the entrance to the barracks gaily, calling out “Good afternoon!” to the two guards straddling the doorway.
One pulled a sword as Rewjeo approached too quickly. “Hey! Who are you?” he asked.
Rewjeo stopped with a slight “Oh!” just inches from the tip of the blade. “My name is Kygao, good sirs,” he said, still cheerily, as he pushed the blade aside with two fingers. “Yours?” Rewjeo asked, then cut them off with a quick “Ah!” He started fumbling with the parchment he carried. “I’ you ha’e a mimu’e…” he mumbled through the pen in his mouth, readying for an interview with them.
“Not them, sir,” the Pikeman stated. “They’re on duty.” He then addressed the two guards. “Let him through, sirrahs.” They begrudgingly and confusedly obliged.
The door opened to reveal a mess of grimy Guldaran soldiers running about, most covered in dirt and grime, fewer fully clothed, and all clearly busy. “Excuse me sir,” Rewjeo would say to one shifting his stuff around the space, or “If I could have just a moment,” to another moving around furniture in the common area, with no more recognition than a grunt of apparent derision.
Eventually a man, appearing shockingly pristine, came over and led Rewjeo briskly over to the side of the space by the arm. “Hello. I’m Colonel Slize,” he introduced himself as he offered his hand. He had the kind of cheery disposition and fresh face that made him seem like the youngest man in the room, though his rank indicated that he must have been anything but.
Rewjeo paused for a moment. He was taken aback by this beaming fellow standing there, one hand clapped heartily on Rewjeo’s shoulder and the other offered up, ready for what seemed to be the friendliest handshake in the world. Rewjeo grabbed the hand, and Colonel Slize shook it vigorously. “I’m in charge of this here rabble,” he explained before pausing. “Who are you?” Slize’s voice always sounded like it was laughing. The words themselves were not particularly kind, but there was a warmth in them all the same.
“My name is Kygao. I’m from Ilyarium,” Rewjeo replied.
“Good to meet you, kid!” Slize said, again shaking Rewjeo’s hand up and down.
“Uh, excuse me, did you say you were a colonel?” Rewjeo asked. “You look very… young. Sir.”
“Oh, so I’ve been told,” Slize said with a laugh. “And don’t worry, I don’t mind. Besides, a face like this goes a long way with the ladies, if you know what I mean,” he said, taking the one hand off of Rewjeo’s shoulder just long enough to nudge him playfully in the ribs. Rewjeo smiled uncomfortably in response. “Well, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that. You’re quite the looker yourself, kid! Maybe that cut on your face’ll scar, make you seem dangerous,” Slize continued, again clapping his hand onto Rewjeo’s shoulder. Rewjeo’s hand, meanwhile remained locked in the handshake. “Now, why do we have a lad like you all the way out from Ilyarium? That’s a long way to send for someone.”
“Oh, I wasn’t sent for,” Rewjeo explained. “I was fortunate enough to stumble across this myself. You see, I’m a student of history, amongst other things. I asked General Kertankuse to let me stay here and document this, and he let me.”
“Really?” Slize asked. “That’s unlike him. He’s brilliant and a hero to our people, but he’s not much for charity. What are you doing for him, kid?”
“Well,” Rewjeo said furtively, “I may have suggested it as more of a biography for him than a simple history. But, you see, I’m familiar with the history of this region, and I know that this could quite possibly be the first step to reforming the Teldur kingdom of old. I couldn’t bear missing this opportunity. Although, we don’t have anything too recent on this area back in Ilyarium. What’s this about the General being a hero?”
“I’m no expert, I’m sorry to say, as I was only a fresh recruit at the time, but about fifteen years ago there was an invasion into the territory. Guldar, Lofur, and Gassad all had to band together to push it back. The General here is the reason we won. I can give you more on that a bit later when things aren’t so busy.”
“Really?” Rewjeo said. “Yes, I would love to hear more!” That’s not what we were told here in Gassad. He nearly botched the whole thing, that’s what I heard. He only got the rank general because the old ones all died and Guldar needed new leaders.
Slize pulled Rewjeo in closer and said in a hushed tone, “Are you aware he has one of his White Pike following you, kid? They’re strange men. You should watch your step.”
Rewjeo pulled back. “Oh, I’m quite aware. He’s really more my guide than anything else.”
“If you say so,” Slize said disarmingly. “Just be careful.”
“Okay…” Rewjeo said, mildly concerned.
“Hey, where are you staying?” Slize asked.
“Up in the elite barracks. Why? Do you think it’s to keep an eye on me?” Rewjeo asked, now feigning the extent of his concern.
“Oh, I certainly wouldn’t doubt it,” Slize said. “But don’t be too worried. The General likes to watch people. Don’t cross him and you’ll be fine. Anyways, I’m up there too. All of us officials are, not just the White Pike. Catch me up there later and I can help get you cleaned up. Don’t bother with that guy,” he said nodding, to the Pikeman, “more than you have to. They’re more automatons than human beings. Incredibly helpful on the battlefield and for administration, but they don’t make for the best friends, and they’re no good when it comes to what most of us would call basic human needs, like decent food or being decently clean.”
“All right, I’ll find you,” Rewjeo said. “But if you don’t mind, now I’d like to talk to some of the ‘rabble’ here for that thing I’m writing.”
“Oh, sure, sure. See ya later, kid!” Slize said.
Rewjeo paused for a moment as Slize stood there, smiling. “You have to let go of me,” Rewjeo finally said, smiling back.
“Oh, sorry!” Slize said, realizing that he had not let go of either Rewjeo’s hand or his shoulder. “Haha, I’ve been told I can be a little too friendly at times. Sorry about that, kid!” he said, clapping Rewjeo’s shoulder one more time. “And remember, find me this evening!”
“I will,” Rewjeo said back before turning his back and walking back into the crowd to try and find an interviewee. Well wasn’t he friendly, he thought to himself as he tried to find someone more willing to sit down and talk to him than the soldiers bustling around the space. But what was that about getting me cleaned up? Just how dirty am I? Rewjeo took a moment to feel his face for the first time since he’d been hit that morning. Sure enough there was a cut and a big bruise all along his cheekbone, and there was a smear of dirt left on his hand after he brought it back down.
Just then Rewjeo saw what looked to be a group of about five soldiers sitting on the benches in the corner. He plastered a grin onto his face, of which he was now newly self-conscious, and walked up to them. “Excuse me, my name is-” he began before one of them cut him off.
“Hey, here he is now!” It was one of the two soldiers who had walked him in that morning. The other was sitting by him.
“You were right, he sure is lookin’ pretty bad!” the soldier seated in the middle, unfamiliar to Rewjeo, said loudly.
“I apologize,” Rewjeo said with a glowering smile. “The captain had a bit of a temper on him.” Apparently these guys already knew how he had gotten there.
“And what about all that dirt?” the middle soldier continued. “Did you piss off the ground so much it took a couple o’ swings atcha, too?”
“No, that was actually a bird,” Rewjeo said nonchalantly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to move on. I don’t know exactly what these fine soldiers have told you about me, but I would like to introduce myself, well, myself. My name is Kygao, and I hail from Ilyarium. I’m a historian, and this here is history in the making. I would like to talk to you about what’s happening here, if you don’t mind, and take some notes so people in the future really understand what happened here.”
“Oh, so that’s what yer doing for the General,” the one in the middle said sarcastically.
“Excuse me?” Rewjeo asked.
“You told the General you could do somethin’ for ‘im, but didn’ want anyone else to hear. This is the big secret?”
“Well, I may have misrepresented myself slightly-”
“And you’ve got one of his cronies followin’ ya, too?” he said as the Pikeman, momentarily lost in the sea of moving bodies, came into view.
“If he makes you uncomfortable, I can have him leave.”
“If you wish, sir,” the Pikeman said.
“Oh, and he’s sirrin’ you? Hah! You’re just another one o’ the General’s spies,” the man in the middle concluded, not giving anyone else a chance to get a word in.
“Step back,” Rewjeo said calmly to the Pikeman, who obliged, before leaning in closer to the five soldiers sitting against the wall. “If I was already a spy for the General, why would he send one of the White Pike with me? He wants me watched. As far as the sirring goes, I can’t really say. I’ve asked him to stop,” Rewjeo whispered. Then he stepped back and said, again in a normal voice, “Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to start asking some questions myself.” He paused a moment and gave the soldier in the middle a careful glance. “Individually, please. I’m interested in what you all have to say.”
“Oh, fine,” the one in the middle said, standing up. “Sure, I’ll tell ya my opinion on whatever ya want. Why don’t we head over to my bunk?” Rewjeo started to say something to the affirmative, but the soldier went on, “Although there’s still some Gassadian junk in there. Sorry ‘bout that. Tamin’ the savages ain’t always so glorious.”
Rewjeo swallowed deeply before replying. If there were many more soldiers like this, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his cool. “Oh, no apologies are necessary. I’m sure it’s better than the woods I’ve been sleeping in for a while now.”
The soldier laughed. “Oh, ya’d think so. And keep that crony outside, would you?”
~~~~~
The two of them sat in the soldier’s room in the barracks. It was maybe half the size of Rewjeo’s room, and with bunks on top of that. It’s still perfectly comfortable, though, he thought to himself in defense of his home.
“So,” Rewjeo began the interview, “this can be entirely anonymous if you want, but I would appreciate a name or at least a rank.”
“Nope. Sorry, but I’m not lettin’ anyone tie anything back to me.”
“All right, then, anonymous it is. Let’s start with an open question. What are your thoughts on the occupation in general?”
“Well, it’s nice to bring civilization back to this place. At least that Lofurian girl’s got some Royal blood in her veins, but that Jyron guy had no claim at all to the old throne of Teldur. An’ if your king’s not Royal, how can he really be a king?”
“But if he’s a king, isn’t he by definition royal?”
“Oh, not royal like that,” the soldier spat contemptuously. “Royal like the old line that ruled over the whole of Teldur. Y’know, with a capital R.”
“Noted. And then what was that about a girl?”
“The old king o’ Lofur died an’ ‘is son disappeared with ‘im maybe six months ago. His daughter got some fools to back her claim to the throne personally, an’ now she won’t take a husband ‘cause she wants the throne to herself.”
“What’s a husband got to do with that?”
“He’d take the throne, dipshit. Ya didn’ make your mom breakfast at home, didja? Well, same way, you don’t put a woman on a man’s throne. Anyways, what’re all these questions for? I thought you cared about what was going on here.”
“Context is important. History doesn’t happen in a vacuum.”
“What the hell’s a vacuum?”
Rewjeo shook his head. “Never mind. Back to that first question now. The Royal line and civilization and all that.”
“Oh, right, that. Anyways, like I said earlier, it’s an important job, but it ain’ always so pleasant. It hasn’ been so bad yet, what with the General lockin’ all the Gassadians up fer now. All I’ve had to bear of ‘em is watchin’ ‘em give up without hardly any fight.”
“So the assault was won easily, then?”
“Easy? Yeah, sure. The General wen’ up to their king’s room and won so bad the guy didn’ even leave a body behind-”
Rewjeo snapped into focus and his heart started pounding. “The old lord’s dead?”
“Yeah, dipshit, that’s what I just said. Why’s it so fascinatin’? Dontcha have fights like that ever back in whatever elitist city you got your sorry butt booted out from?”
No body? He and the General certainly got to know each other well enough during the last war… Rewjeo thought as he rushed through possible scenarios of just what happened in his head.
“Hey, you listenin’ to me? Yer the one who asked me to tell you this.”
“Oh, sorry, sorry, I’m a little scatterbrained still, that’s all. What were you saying?”
“I was askin’ you ain’t you ever seen somethin’ like that back home, where a guy’s not even left after a fight.”
“I really can’t say I have. Well, let’s move on. What was your role during the assault?”
“I’m a soldier, dipshit. I fought. Too bad we got called off before I made it to the front lines.”
“Hm?”
“I toldja,” the soldier said exasperatedly, “the king got hisself dismajiggered so fast we didn’ have to do anythin’.”
“What was going on if the General and the lord were dueling?”
“He had Eirk keep the fight goin’ to keep his back clear while he took out the king.”
“Who?”
“Eirk - he’s the General’s right hand. Er, maybe left. Whichever one he doesn’ mind bloodyin’. Anyways, the guy’s a nutjob. No doubt he’s out here so he can sic ‘is evil on these savages out ‘ere instead of on those good folks back at home.”
Rewjeo found himself nearly shaking. Jyron was supposed to be dead, despite his history with Kertankuse, and Eirk sounded like a real piece of work. What all had happened, and what would happen to him if he was discovered? “Thank you, you’ve been very helpful Mr. - oh, right, you didn’t give me a name. Um, well, thank you very much and I will talk to you later,” he said as he gathered his stuff and started out of the room.
~~~~~
Rewjeo left the room, very much scatterbrained. He didn’t even think to pause for the Pikeman, who had waited outside while Rewjeo questioned the soldier.
“Sir,” the Pikeman said. All Rewjeo gave was a brief quizzical look in response. “Where are you going, sir?” the Pikeman elaborated.
Rewjeo shook his head for a moment, trying to focus back on the barracks and less on his thoughts. “Oh, uh,” he stammered, trying to figure out just where he was going. “Seeing as these people are all clearly busy settling in, I figured that I should take the time to settle myself in and come back later when they’re not so busy.”
“Don’t you have the other four lined up to talk to you, sir?” the Pikeman said.
“Yes, I suppose I do. Where are they?”
“Still sitting by those benches, last I saw, sir.”
The two marched back into the open space, still teeming with bodies, and sure enough the other four were sitting, waiting.
“Excuse me,” Rewjeo said to the four of them. “I’m sorry to bail on you, but it looks like things are a little busy right now. If any of you are interested still when things settle down, please do find me, though!” He walked off before they had a chance to respond. On his way out, Slize gave a friendly wave. Rewjeo smiled back, without noticing, and he gave an equally absentminded nod in response to the door guards’ “Sir,” as he left.
“Your knee is feeling better, sir,” the Pikeman uttered. Whether it was a question or a statement, Rewjeo didn’t know.
“I suppose it is. I haven’t really been paying attention. And, again, Kygao is fine.”
“I must decline, sir,” the Pikeman finally offered as an answer. “I have orders from higher up than you.”
Rewjeo sighed. “And who all do you call ‘sir,’ anyways?”
“You, the colonels, the rest of the White Pike, and of course the General and Eirk.”
“And so why bother with me? Why would anyone bother to order you to call me ‘sir?’”
“I was told that, as a foreign intellectual, you are both of an elite class and an important guest.”
Rewjeo pondered that idea for a moment. He stopped and turned sharply to the Pikeman. “Well, if that is the paradigm here, I see that I have been approaching this situation all wrong. Here,” he said, holding out the parchment and pen. “Carry these, sirrah. You are here to serve me, I see, and serve me you shall.” The Pikeman accepted, with what Rewjeo thought was the slightest bit of trepidation. He hesitated in place for a moment as Rewjeo began briskly down the hall, and Rewjeo took that moment to his advantage. “Chop, chop!” he called back, clapping his hands together as he did so. The soldier hurried forward with a start, awkwardly resting the parchment on his forearms, jutting straight out from his waist. Rewjeo let a smirk slide across his face. “And you are right, my knee is feeling much better!”
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