Berach awoke early, the sun barely breaking the horizon line. Here in this little hovel only the slightest light had entered, but he could see clearly. The boy had wrapped himself up, clearly deciding to stay as he was.
"Well, then boy. I suppose I am stuck with ye. Serves me right." Berach said, barely above a whisper. The boy snapped up quickly, ready to bolt. There was a moment of stunned silence, the air in the room taut like the rope on a full sail. Then there was a slow release as the boy remembered where he was and what was going on. His muscles relaxed, the fire in his eyes waned to their normal burn, and he gathered up the blanket.
Berach just laughed. The boy had an animalistic quality to him. Not feral per se, but primal. He was alert, yet slept soundly. It should have been no surprise that he had survived so well in those woods. He had the demeanor for survival in the wilds.
"Alright, lad. I have an errand to run for an acquaintance of mine. I suppose you are coming with me?" The boy just stared for a moment then shrugged. "You ready for a long road, son? It won't be pleasant." Then again maybe it'll work out. I heard those revolutionaries are taking in orphans.
#
Almost a week. That's how long it took for Berach and his young companion to travel from the village to the encampment known simply as the Forge. Much faster than he had expected with this boy in tow. They had just completed a mad sprint away from a group of outlaws who looked not too interested in talking when Berach huffed, "Damn kid! You've got the endurance of a damn wolf... Wolf. I like that. Since you won't tell me your name I am just going to call you Wolf." Berach took a long breath and held it, fighting the flashing siren of his mind demanding that he breathe, and finally pushed it out deliberately, slowly, forcing his heart rate to plunge, calming himself. "Is that alright, pup?" The boy looked confused and tilted his head in the manner of a domesticated dog inspecting something strange, then shrugged.
They arrived at the camp, and a makeshift barrier was erected around it with long sharpened pikes made of wood from the nearby forest. This location was well off the main road, and along the way were various animal trails and a labyrinth of false paths. Twice Berach had been confronted by outlaw groups affiliated with the Dragon. Once they had decided to take all his gold dactyls as payment for passage, the other time they merely required a statement of hatred against the Lion Throne; easily accomplished.
Through the whole ordeal the boy said not a word. He'd point every once in a while, run off the path to chase a boar or climb trees and leap from one to the other. Berach gave up trying to keep tabs on him. The boy always seemed to come back anyway, but it was too exhausting to try to crush the bottomless energy of youth.
The guard at the encampment gate, if you can call a gargantuan felled tree with a width higher than the height of a man, sitting on slats of smaller trees for wheels a gate, had seen only thirteen maybe fourteen winters, but he was stern, as only a teenager can be, wholly confident.
"Who goes there!? Who dares enter the Dragon's realm? Who seeks the fires of his Forge?"
"Alright lad, I get yer point, ye can stop yer performance. We are here to deliver a message from the Raven to the Hawk."
"While the Dragon hides" the young man said solemnly.
"The Hawk is his eyes." Berach replied
"You may pass." He gave a nod to someone inside, and the large felled tree began to roll away from the gate opening a space just large enough for Berach to pass with the boy.
Inside there were haphazard rows of animal-hide tents erected with thin tree branches. Simple black flags hung from the sides, and they were numbered in sections. Drainage ditches were dug between the rows and filth and sewage seeped away from the living quarters towards a pond on the southwest side of the camp that looked as though it had a small creek draining further down, likely emptying into the Great Loch some miles away. The smell was rank, but the drain itself was effective, keeping the majority of filth separate from the various walking paths, the living quarters, and the remainder of the camp.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
As they were guided by another young man, this one around fifteen or sixteen, Berach began to mentally map the paths that they walked. After the tent city, the central area had better crafted wood huts, and the farther inward in the camp they traveled, the nicer the shelters became until they arrived in front of a well-made two-story building that looked like an inn, though the balcony on the second floor overlooked what appeared to be a fighting pit shaped vaguely like an Anvil. The whole of the map coalesced in Berach's mind, and he could tell that the layout of the camp was not nearly as haphazard as he'd at first thought. Layers of defense lay at particular crossroads, sections of wall, and even the filthy drainage was being used to funnel people to specific areas. Archer towers were scattered in such a way as to capitalize on those lanes of attack with mutually supporting fields of fire. It may have been primitive in looks and construction, but this was a military fortress designed by a military mind.
Berach didn't have too much time to think about the ramifications of the fortress before he was struck with a familiar sight. The man standing before him was of average height, but his build was large, and he wore a simple breastplate with a Hawk etched into the breast. His eyes were amber, and his hair a muddy brown, but his face brought back memories for Berach and a slight panic began to rise in his chest.
The young lord didn't appear to recognize Berach, or if he had, Berach was unable to read any recognition in his face. The young guide stepped up, stood to attention, then approached at a hand wave and spoke quietly to the apparent camp master. After a few moments the big man nodded and waved the young lad away with a flick of his wrist before turning to address Berach.
"My sergeant tells me you come with a message from the Raven? Please follow me inside."
"Sergeant?" Berach spat, a snicker on his lips, "The boy is hardly old enough to have been bedded. Have his stones even dropped?"
The young lord's eyes snapped into dreadful focus, the amber boring into Berach with malice. "Don't look down on those who are young. His is a pure heart, and an untainted talent with a blade. He earned his rank, sellsword. Now, come inside before I lose my patience."
Berach couldn't help but laugh when he realized his mistake. This wasn't the Lord McCrae he had known, not the cold, calculating, brutally efficient yet kind Captain he had known those years ago. This wasn't Sean McCrae, no this was Eoin, his youngest brother.
"It's always the youngest that's touchiest." Berach said without thinking.
The young lord drew his sword and made a duelist salute, his brashness causing a wave of hostility to flow through his sergeant and the other boys in the immediate vicinity. They were all boys, none older than maybe sixteen, the youngest perhaps six. They were half-starved it seemed, but disciplined. They circled Berach and his companion, creating a makeshift ring when Berach responded again. "I meant no offense, youngster. Let's have the message delivered and I will be off. A duel is unnecessary."
The Lord seemed even more angered now, his face turning redder by the moment. "Draw your sword!"
"I refuse. I am a messenger, and I don't fight with children." He looked around the encampment and his blue eyes fell back on Eoin, "You included."
Eoin charged and the young, silent boy with Berach jumped between them, holding his hand out in a silent order to halt. While he said nothing, the young Lord stopped in his tracks, unbeknownst to himself he was emptied of his anger and stood for a moment dumb. He looked around as if stupefied, his eyes blinking at the people around him and then he looked back at Berach and the young boy standing between them. He shook his head as if to free himself from a trance and then addressed Berach calmly, "What are you waiting for, follow me and deliver the message, my time is valuable." With that he turned and walked into the two-story building, the ring of militant children stepping aside to let him pass. He sheathed his sword on the way as if he had no idea why he was holding it to begin with.
Berach stood for a moment, looked down at the boy and whispered "What the hell was that?" The boy turned, smiled up at him and shrugged, then walked behind to follow Lord McCrae.
Berach composed himself, glancing around at the confused looks from all the young revolutionaries, and entered the building. What in the void have I brought with me?
