A Call to War: C01S02

That night was filled with inconsequential talk of Marcus's home and his life in the service to his master. Marcus slept beneath the stars, wrapped in his cloak. Bartholomew's eldest surviving son had traveled back to the road to retrieve it. The knight had granted permission to Bartholomew to travel with him to his father's township so that the danura could guide his family.

As the sun crested the horizon, Marcus awoke, feeling the dull ache of his injuries. It was nothing serious, he knew, but he was never terribly adept at dealing with pains. As luck had it, his wounds hand not opened during the night. He pushed himself to his feet, allowing the cloak to once again fall to the ground, and stumbled to the creek along the edge of the clearing.

The water was near frozen in the early hours, biting at his finger tips as he dipped them. Cupping his hands, he splashed the water on his face, the sudden cold jolting him fully awake. He knew better than to drink the water, though, instead bringing the skin of sweet sulth from his hip to his lips. It had become part of his morning ritual to drink the woman's alcohol before sitting with his pipe for a few moments.

Moments later, Bartholomew crawled out of the remains of his home, having changed into fair traveling clothes. He owed a great deal to Marcus's kindness, a oddity the danura never expected from a man. Marcus snuffed out the embers from his pipe and donned his cloak, as Kira came from the hole under the tree to wish the pair well in their journey.

They set off a short time later, walking back to the road and continuing on to Delrin. They spent their time chatting about the differences between man's society and danura's, giving each other insight few of either of their races had received. The day was largely uneventful, and just after the sun set, they settled down for the night, sharing the varied legends they had both been raised with.

At dawn the next day, they set out again, largely in silence. Not that there was nothing left to say between the two new friends, rather nothing more was needed. Just after midday, Bartholomew helped Marcus catch a hare for his dinner, and Marcus assisted Bartholomew in gathering berries and nuts. Before long, the sun had set again. Marcus built a small fire, and they shared tales of their childhoods while eating.

The silence resumed as they moved at the first ray of the next day. Bartholomew could gather that Marcus was growing more anxious to return home with every mile they passed. By midday, they finally caught sight of their goal. The fields on either side of the road changed from grain to pastures and the township stood a bare two hours from them.

“At home at last,” Marcus sighed, a smile crossing his face. He was tired of the road, of sleeping on the ground and hunting for his food. Within a short while, that would be nothing more than a pleasant story to tell to his children. He had to restrain himself from bursting into a sprint to reach his father's manor on the far side of town.

They continued, Bartholomew noticing Marcus's growing excitement. He said nothing to the young knight, understanding the powerful feeling of returning home. Before long, the road widened to a three cart width, and the rocks that made it became finer and smoother. As they reached the last boundary between the lands of the Lord Mayor of Delrin and the town of Delrin, the smells of the town overtook Marcus.

The stench from the tannery and the smell of bread rising at the bakery for the evening's meal instantly brought life to the memories in the young nobleman. He stopped in his tracks at the edge of the well kept bridge crossing the small river on the outskirts. He was finally home after a harsh four year absence. It nearly overwhelmed him. As he watched the comings and goings of his people, he rubbed at the light growth of hair on his chin.

Bartholomew broke his silence, becoming fearful of the number of people in front of him. “Lassa. Might we a word?” he squeaked. Marcus lowered his eyes to his diminutive companion, raising his eyebrows with questioning. “There are a good deal of your people here. Perhaps it would be best to point the direction of this place to me, rather than risk their fear and wrath.”

Marcus thought a moment before nodding and kneeling. “If you follow this river down stream, you should find a fence on this side,” he said, pointing to the town. “From there, follow the fence a while. You should be upon it before nightfall.” He extended two fingers to Bartholomew once more. “Thank you for your company these past two days, my friend.”

Bartholomew grasped Marcus's fingers with his hand and gave a firm squeeze. “It was my pleasure, lassa. And should you need me in the future, you know where I will be. I bid you fortune on your path, Marcus.” Bartholomew gave a toothy grin before running down the river bank. The young knight rose to his full height and watched as the danura disappeared from sight in the tall grass.

“And you as well, Bartholomew,” he muttered. Before moving from the bridge, he turned his eyes back to his home. Despite being gone for the past four years, nearly nothing had changed. The tannery still sat just down the road, at the edge of town. Beyond that, there was the forge, the bakery, and and all the other trades a town the Delrin's size needed.

He started moving again, the smells and the sounds carrying him back into his memories of childhood. It felt like all those things, playing with his brothers, stealing his first kiss from a common girl, and running errands for his father, happened in another lifetime. He had only been a boy when he left, but now was a man. A knight in the service of the Count, no less; and everything felt different.

Marcus walked on, his eyes sliding over everything and checking it against his memory. He lifted the sulth skin from his waist and drank the last from it, running his forearm over his mouth to wipe away the last drops. A voice bellowed from his rear left, “Boy! We've no need for drunks here! Best move on before I call for the Valiants!”

Marcus stopped in his tracks, smiling as he recognized the voice. “Then they best take custody of the Lord Mayor as well.” He turned and looked at the bear of a man standing in the doorway of the forge. “And you as well, Kas. I recalled catching you with your flask to you mouth more times than I can count.” He dropped the skin and felt it slap back against his thigh.

The man looked for a moment, seemingly unable to place Marcus's face. He was a giant among men, wearing a full bear and possessing sweeping brown hair that rested on his shoulders. He stepped from the door and into the street, meeting Marcus's gaze. “Marcus?” he asked, realizing who the knight was. He took another step towards the noble. “Lord Heir Marcus?”

“It pleases me that you are doing well, Kastan. How have your children been in my absence?” Marcus took a step toward him.

Before Marcus could react, Kastan Orithsen was upon him, wrapping his large arms around the younger man and lifting him from the ground. “Lord Marcus! We heard that you'd not return 'til after First Fall this year. Glorious day to all in the kingdom that you've returned!”

Kastan's tight grip around Marcus's shoulders brought new pain to his injuries. He tapped at his elder's upper arm to be released. “I had expected to, Kas.” Kastan let him go and he dropped to his feet. “But trouble arose in the Southplains, and all nearly trained squires were called to the Count to be knighted.” He stepped back a bit.

“Trouble in the Southplains? Are the Asageth mounting another attack?” Kastan asked, concern spreading over his face.

“I don't know. The six of us were juniors, so all we were told was to return home and prepare to be called upon if needed.” Marcus looked over his shoulders to be sure no one else was listening nearby. “But keep this between us, Kas,” he started, his voice lowered. “I don't want the rest of the people in town to panic.”

Kastan nodded. “I understand, lord.” He stood tall and looked over Marcus. “It seems you've become a fine man. But what's this?” He touched the faint growth on Marcus's chin. “Can you not grow a beard yet?” he asked, laughing.

Marcus brushed away Kastan's hand, feeling self conscious about his lack of shaving. “I've been on the road for many days, Kas. I've had no time to properly groom myself.”

“Well, be sure to remove that before your wife sees you, lord.”

Marcus began to chuckle, then stopped. “Wife?”

Kastan nodded to Marcus. “Aye. Lady Elsbet. A beautiful woman, nearly beyond words. She arrived four weeks ago with you parents. Held your wedding without you. You are a lucky man, lord Marcus. She seems a fine woman.”

Marcus started, then stopped, then started again. “I thought that we were to be married after I returned.” He looked to Kastan, the shock evident in his expression. “This was father's doing, wasn't it?”

“Hers, not Lord Mayor Athos's.” He nodded a bit, trying to ease the young man. “From what I've heard, the Baron didn't want to continue paying for her since her sixteenth. She's a woman, and she already has a husband in line, after all.” Kastan placed a hand on Marcus's shoulder. “All that is needed of you is the proper part.”

Marcus's eye fell to the ground, his mind lost in thought. “Married? So soon? I've not seen her since I was nine.” He raised his eyes. “How am I to know her, Kas?”

Kastan let a guffaw loose. “Know her? Lord Marcus, she is your wife now. You'll know her in time.” He paused for a moment, looking to his side. “Lord, who is this strange fellow?” he asked, nodding to the side.

Marcus sighed, feeling tired from explaining it. “He's my Chronicler. It is his duty to write of my life. The Count gave him to me after he became transfixed with me during the knighting. Pay no heed to him.” He sighed, then shrugged. “I'd best be to the manor, Kas.”

“Aye, lord. I've work that needs doing at any rate.” Kastan seized the younger man's bicep and gave it a firm squeeze. “It's truly wonderful to have you home once again, lord Marcus. Blessings on your day.”

“And on yours as well, Kas. My regards to your children and your wife.” Marcus returned Kastan's grip, smiling broadly at the commoner. They both released the other's arm and Marcus turned back as Kastan stepped back into the smithy. It was good to see a friendly face.

Marcus was preoccupied by thoughts of Elsbet, though. He had no choice in marrying her, but that wasn't his concern. He'd wanted to meet and court her before they married, as the higher nobles did. The last they'd seen of one another, both were children. She would have no idea what kind of man Marcus had grown into, nor he of the woman she had become.

The prospect filled him with unease as he passed the varied buildings leading to the center of town. The manor sat on the other end of the town, surrounded by well kept grounds that came into view as he drew nearer. The dirt and rock road gave way to river stone, changing the sound of his footfalls.

As he walked by the front of the tavern at the town square, the smell of cheap sulth and bandle smoke brought memories of his father back to him. He missed his family well enough, but he had always shared his grandfather's disappointment in his father. Despite being sickly and weak as a child, Marcus had always been destined to be a warrior of the kingdom.

Athos, on the other hand, was a naturally strong and talented fighter that was uninterested in warfare. He would rather spend his time drinking bitter sulth and smoking and play pranks upon the people of his township than lift a hand to defend anything, and that is what bothered Marcus.

Regardless of that, though, he was Marcus's father, and Marcus respected his gift as an administrator. Not even his grandfather was considered as accomplished as Athos when it came to deciding disputes and fairly distributing the Count's tax burden amongst his people. It was a rare gift in their family to be able to think in numbers as he did.

Before long, Marcus was a bare five minutes from entering the manor grounds. Sounds of footsteps gave him reason to pause. His hand rose to the grip of his knife as he stopped in the road, waiting for the person following to identify themselves. The footsteps stopped a second later, his pursuer standing two measures back.

The scent of bandle smoke drifted around Marcus, informing him. “Are you going to follow me all day, you drunken lecher?” He asked, his hand relaxing from the knife. He smiled and looked over his shoulder. “Or are you going to welcome your son home like a proper father?”

Athos stood for a minute, holding his pipe to his lips and puffing smoke about his head. He raised the cane he held in his left hand and poked Marcus in the shoulder with it, smiling. “Grown into a man, eh? Blasted boy, you'll make me look old.” He lowered the cane back to the ground and rested half his weight on it.

He looked very similar to Marcus, though older and with a fuller face dressed with a beard. His long black hair was pulled tightly back, tied into a tail with a small strip of brown lace. His clothes were nice compared to the commoners, but only just on par with the commoner's clothing in the Count's city.

He took a long drag on his pipe, then removed it from his lips, blowing the smoke past Marcus. “It is good to have you home, my boy.” He tapped the back of the ember chamber with his finger, dropping the coals to the ground. “I trust that your training has been agreeable with you?”

Marcus nodded to his father, as he turned to face him. “Aye, father. I've been named a knight in the service of the Count. And as you see, I've become a man.” He grabbed Athos's bicep. “It is good to be home, though.”

Athos tucked his pipe into his belt and stepped on the coals, before grabbing Marcus by the hair and jerking his head toward him. He kissed his son's forehead then let him go. “That is it, boy.” He looked over his shoulder and shouted, “Benas! Harrid!” A moment later, a pair of small heads peeked out from behind the corner of the building to Athos's right. “Go gather food. We've a feast tonight on the manor grounds.”

“Father, that isn't needed,” Marcus began.

“Are you the Lord Mayor of Delrin?” Athos snapped at his son. “Then you will enjoy the feast in your honor, boy.” He looked back to the two small boys. “Go, and get it ready, my sons. And make sure to tell all.” Athos looked back to his oldest son. “Now, boy. We've much to discuss.”

Marcus was already growing weary of his father's abrasive personality, but resigned himself to abide by his wishes. “Yes, father.” He released Athos's arm, and held up his hand toward the manor, gesturing for the Lord Mayor to lead the way.

Athos stepped next to his son and began walking to the manor grounds, with Marcus following closely behind. “You've heard that you've been married, boy?” Athos asked.

“Aye, father,” the young man replied.

“She is a fine woman of principal nobility, Marcus.” Athos slowed his steps a bit, looking back to his son. “You will treat her as such,” he said.

“Aye, father,” Marcus responded, keeping himself from rolling his eyes.

“Your mother is with child, once more.”

Marcus stopped in his tracks. “Truly? Congratulations, father.”

Athos turned to face his son. “It is simply the way of things. And good practice for you and Elsbet. We expect your children before Last Harvest of the next season.” He turned back to the manor and started walking once more.

“Must we speak of such things now, father? I've not even met my bride,” Marcus complained.

“Of course, we must, boy.” Athos's voice was vaguely irritating to the younger man. “If you don't know the expectation for you, how else are you to meet them?”

Marcus rolled his eyes, as he said, “Aye, father.”

Athos was quiet for a moment as he limped his way up the porch stairs of the manor. Once he got to the top, though, he stepped to the side and faced Marcus. “Now, onto more serious matters.” Marcus reached the top of the stairs and stood next to him. “Word has reached us that Surisholn may soon be under attack.”

“Aye, father,” Marcus said, no trace of playfulness in his voice. “That is the reason for my early return. Lord Count Jerno called all of us near completion of our training to be knighted. And I've come bearing his orders.” He reached into the small side pocket of his bag and pulled out a wrinkled piece of parchment. Handing it to his father, Marcus watched Athos's face.

“Honorable Lord Mayor of the Township of Delrin,” Athos read aloud. “You are hereby ordered by your Count to prepare no fewer than forty able bodied men to fight as foot soldiers under my knight and emissary. The call to Surisholn has not been sounded yet, but soon it may. You are also to prepare half your winter grain to travel with them to Surisholn, in addition to the normal tax of your Count. With warm regard, Lord Count Jerno Elibe.” Athos looked up in anger.

“I know, father.” Marcus tried to calm him. “I tried to explain that forty men would be half of our town, but he said it was necessary.”

“Aye.”

“As for the grain, he originally asked for all of it. I convinced him to lower it to half, father.” Marcus could see that his words were having little effect in settling Athos's mood.

Athos tucked the parchment into his tunic. “It's not the men, Marcus. And it isn't the food. You'll be leading the men, won't you?”

“From what I gather, aye.”

“Your grandfather fought in the last war. Nearly died in the Southplains at the hands of those beasts.” Athos turned his eyes away from his son. “And I'm supposed to allow you to participate.” He shook his head slowly. “Not a word of this to your mother, my boy.”

“Aye, father,” Marcus calmly replied, understanding the nature of his father's concern. “In any event, the call to war may not come for months, or at all.” Marcus nodded toward the door. “Shall we be in?”

“Aye,” Athos started. “But do not let your mother or wife see you in those filthy garments. Or with that dirt on you chin. They are in the study, talking for the moment. I'll keep them there. After you've cleaned yourself up, you will present yourself. Understood, boy?”

Marcus rolled his eyes again, well aware that his father could see him this time. “Aye, father.” Athos smacked him lightly across the back of his head before moving on to the door and opening it. The main hall of the manor was dark, as it was still daylight and the lamps had not been lit. The hot air from the hearth at the end of the hall, next to Marcus and his parents' chambers, rushed at them as they stepped inside.

Marcus didn't need light, though, as he knew well the floor of the manor. And even in the darkness, he could tell that it had not changed. He moved with haste, avoiding the door to the study to the door to his chambers. Athos moved away from him to the study.

Once at his door, Marcus swung it open, and felt relieved. Nothing had changed in the time he'd been gone, save the faint scent of a woman's perfume lingering in the air. Elsbet must have been using his room to rest and learn of her husband. He sat his travel bag on the bench next his the door.

“Khreios,” Marcus started. “I would like a moment to groom myself in private.” He kicked off his boots and turned back to the door. “I shall not be more than an hour.”

“Yes, master.” I returned to writing as the door closed.