Chapter Two
The first time I laid eyes on the fellow I knew he was a kind and gentle boy. Even in knowing this, I was naive to think that was all there was to him...what was his name? Oh yes, Virgil, Virgil was it.
Virgil...such a noble creature. He was always a man when I could never be. Wasn't very tall, but he stood much higher than his height would ever allow. That's Virgil for you, never accepting the impossible. The sharpness of his gaze did nothing to hide the gentleness behind his eyes, the greatness of his spirit seemed held back only by Virgil himself. It was as if he didn't want to be great.
I remember our chance meeting well. He found me, tired, beaten, and laying on the wet grass just past Muse. Virgil had no idea who I was at the time. No idea that I had just assassinated the leader of the country he would be forced to make war with. Yet even in his ignorance, he was still kind. He helped me to my feet and took me to his captain.
In my frantic emotional state I had apparently fallen at the feet of a Highland division stationed north of Muse, and Virgil must have been the lookout that night.
***
Captain Lasca always slept lightly. He was a soldier born and bred. His father was a soldier, and his father's father was a soldier. So it came as no surprise when he heard the rustling sound of the leather tent flaps sliding along the silvery metallic shoulder pads of a lone figure, the water condensed on the material effectively muting the faint noise to the untrained ear.
Lasca gripped his knife. A young man, one of our own. Well, Lasca was going to give him a lesson in warfare anyways.
He shot out of his bed and tackled the unsuspecting youth. With his knees firmly holding the soldier's upper arms in place, Lasca placed his knife against the confused youth's neck. He laughed and leaned over.
"Listen son," he whispered, "You've got to be ready for anything." Lasca withdrew his knife and stood up. "On your feet, soldier!"
"Ye...yes sir." The soldier stood up.
"Well, just why the hell did you wake me up, son?" Lasca was getting impatient.
"Virgil found someone in the woods, sir. He and the captive are standing outside your tent."
Lasca didn't say a word. He just quickly ran outside, and sure enough, he saw Virgil standing there with the captive. He looked at the captive, than at Virgil. Than he turned around to the soldier who was emerging from his tent. "Take him to the POW tent."
He turned back around towards Virgil. That damn boy. "Get back to your post, soldier." The boy never listened. He'd never make it in battle with that attitude, thought Lasca. He let out a minute, undetectable sigh. It's for your own good, son. Hah, was Lasca getting soft? He watched as Virgil turned around and jogged out of site.
He looked around. His men were already up and moving about this morning. Some cleaning their gear, some readying their equipment in the event that a sudden call for their immediate services was made. It was a beautiful thing to see. He had trained the men well. Even if he was a tough son of a bitch, they were like family.
It was still a few hours till sunrise. Lasca wondered how the invasion of Muse was going. He was a bit worried because they hadn't seen too many State soldiers fleeing the city. Had the Highland army been lead straight into a trap and defeated?
In the corner of his eye Lasca saw a single man, lightly clad, cutting through the fog towards him. Instinctively he put his right hand back on the ivory handle of his knife.
"Sir, sir!"
The captain released his grip on the weapon. The soldier had a single document in his hand.
"Message from General Windamier!" The soldier handed the document to Lasca.
Lasca let out a great sigh of relief. Of course, the single paper was wet and flimsy and the print was smeared almost beyond recognition due to the ill effects of the night's fog, but the writing could still just barely be made out.
Siege successful. 1st division report to Muse. Be on the lookout for the enemy along the way.
The captain looked up. Excitement, duty, and a fiery resolve seemed to intensify his gaze as he turned his head with a sharp motion to the right. He spotted a soldier there cleaning his gear, leaning against the side of his tent, and quickly made his way over to him. Lasca grabbed the soldier's arm and pulled upwards, forcing the soldier to rise.
"Get me the lieutenant, on the double!" yelled Lasca as he slapped the young man's shoulder and turned back around. He half ran, half walked towards his tent. Even the wet, stillness of the grass seemed to have more energy now.
As he passed the messenger again he handed back the letter, turned around and began backpedaling as he spoke. Time was a precious commodity, and Lasca sure as hell wasn't going to waste it standing still. "You tell the General that we'll be there an hour after dawn! Now get a move on!"
Lasca turned back around and flipped over the tent flap in mid stride. He looked at his gear, propped up against a small oak chest. He grabbed it and began to quickly put it on.
His first lieutenant came into his tent just as he was sheathing his sword. "Sir!"
"Lieutenant, get the men in formation on the double!"
"Yes, sir," barked Lasca's second-in-command. He turned around and ran out the tent, yelling orders along the way. A faint smile invaded Lasca's expression.
The smile disappeared as Lasca once again half-ran, half-walked out the tent, and headed in the direction of the POW. His nose detected the sweet smell of morning dew, and he could see light ever so slowly creeping it's way up the horizon. Lasca began to run, the outline of the leather POW tent becoming more and more defined through the fog as he went.
He finally arrived, and slipped inside the tent to see the POW tied up, and one of his men sitting lazily against the central post of the tent, biting his fingernails. It was the same soldier who had come into his tent to inform him of the captive earlier.
Lasca quickly stepped over to the soldier and stood him up. "What the fuck are you doing, son?"
"Sir, I..."
"Shut up!" Lasca reached over and picked up the soldier's breastplate and threw it at him. "Put your gear on, soldier, and get your ass in formation with the rest of the camp! We leave in ten minutes."
Lasca was about to exit the tent, when he stopped at the entrance, and turned his head. The silver on his Captain's Uniform glistening in the sunlight now piercing the slowly diminishing fog. "Bring the captive with you. Don't be late."
"Yes, sir."