Warlord Brek's Army
Day Two
The recruit awoke with the sun, his body conditioned now to early hours. He looked at the woman beside him, a girl really, small and pretty. He knew what she had expected the night before, but he also knew he couldn't explain to her why she had to trust his promise not to hurt her. They were now both trapped in Brek's army.
The recruit had not volunteered for service like the majority of Brek's men. He had been conscripted, kidnapped. Brek knew well the tools of fear and how to use them to coerce loyalty. So the soldier knew that more lives than his own depended on his actions. A betrayal of Brek was a betrayal of all he held dear.
He stood, stretched. His breath condensed in the air and dew had frozen on the makeshift bedclothes. He thought suddenly of the woman. He wore all his clothes on his back but the woman wore only a thin dress. She would suffer from the cold on the long ride ahead. But he could offer her little.
He saw Brek rise across the campground and knew that the order to move out would be soon in coming. He stamped out the fire, then turned to wake the woman. He shook her shoulder. She awoke slowly, dark lashes fluttering against pale cheeks. He watched as her eyes began to clear. She smiled and yawned, stretching her arms above her head. Then she saw him.
"We leave soon," he said, and moved away so he couldn't see the way she looked at him. Once she was standing he gathered up the blankets and shoved them carelessly into the saddlebags.
"They were folded before," murmured the woman.
The man turned. "They were," he said, and snapped the bags closed. "We leave." Brek's order came and the troops moved out. The recruit assumed a position at the end of the trail of soldiers. Several other soldiers spat at him as they passed by. Soon the man and his silent partner were alone, as the other soldiers seemed reluctant to be near the object of their jealousy.
"You can speak," said the soldier, quiet and fierce. "So tell me what you were doing in the village."
The woman moved slightly in the saddle, uncomfortable both in her seat and with the question. "It is my village."
"What were you doing there? Why were you there?"
"It is my village. I belong there. Why are you asking me that?" She spoke quietly, her head down.
The soldier lowered his voice even further. "Why were you not with the others?" he whispered forcefully.
"What others?" she asked. "You ask questions I do not know."
"Why were you in the village, then, when the army attacked?"
"I was coming back ..." She paused. "Where were the other members of my village?"
The soldier stiffened in unconscious defense and was silent for a few moments as he quickly decided how much he could safely reveal. "Never mind," he said, caution overriding his strange desire to confide in the woman. "Say nothing. Never indicate that the village did not contain as many live there."
The woman's mind raced. Few were in her village when Brek arrived? How many died? Should she assume the worst? Where was her family? She turned slightly in the saddle to where she could see the soldier's face. "Tell me this. How many from my village died?"
"One," he said. "A man with light hair and heavily embroidered clothing." He saw the woman's eyes begin to fill. She recognized the description.
"None others?" she asked.
"I promise you that," he said gently. The woman straightened and asked nothing more.
At noon the sun shone brightly upon the band of men while doing nothing to lessen the cold nature retained after the long winter. The woman had not complained, and the recruit was unsure how to offer any aid. They were a strange find in the long line of vicious rebels: a tall youth forced into a service he did not support, and a girl barely turned woman who has lost everything in exchange for her life.
Suddenly, deer were spotted in the trees along the trail. The men stopped in their places, the blood-lust pulsing in their veins. They looked hesitantly at Brek. The fresh meat would be welcomed at the main camp so he signaled his permission.
The recruit led the horse far from the edge of the woods. He had no desire to hunt in the manner of the other men. He knew they would be hours, pursuing the deer, savoring the kill. He didn't want to see their return.
The woman understood when the man turned away from the chance to hunt. She was aware he was not like the other men. As he swung down off the horse she noticed it again. He moved with an innate grace and there was a certain fluidity to his movements. He saw her looking at him and she averted her gaze.
The recruit held out his hand and this time the woman accepted his help. He sat on the ground and she perched a few feet away on a large rock. "Are you cold?" he asked after a long silence. The woman nodded. He undid his top button but stopped. Instead, he stood and handed her a blanket.
"Thank you," she said quietly. As she arranged the blanket over her shoulders the man sat again on the ground. The rest of the men had disappeared into the forest on the other side of the path, leaving behind mounts and supplies. The number of men would undoubtedly scare away that which they sought to capture. But it would be a long time before they realized their mistake.
The woman noticed how the vegetation had changed from that near her village. What grasses there were were shorter, more compact. The trees in the woods were pine instead of ash and oak. The brambles were thicker. Snow drifts hidden away from the sun's melting warmth were more common in this northern area. The rocks were a different color.
The woman pulled the blanket tighter as her comparisons brought her mind to her village. The soldier's previous words had confused her and left her with more worry. She had recognized his description of the murdered man as that of the village leader. That he was killed was consistent with the little she had heard of Brek's methods. Jek had been a good leader. But her heart rejoiced that no one from her family had been lost. But what had happened? The soldier's cryptic statements seemed to mean that few were in her village when the army arrived. Why? It had been dawn. No one left the town before sunrise, save herself. She should have returned to a village swarming with friends and relatives. They had not been there. But then where? Her mind toiled, considering the possibilities. None came close to the truth.
He had warned them. The man called Selis sat on the ground, his own mind rehashing the events of the previous days. In order to thwart Brek in the only way available to him, the man had slipped ahead of the group, raced to the village Brek had ordered ransacked, and organized an effort to conceal as many as possible of the townspeople in the extensive cave system nearby. He had instructed some men to stay behind as decoys. A village with more buildings than families was painfully common in the time of virulent epidemics that frequently swept the country, but an empty one would draw suspicion. But Selis had ordered the village void of women. He had spent little time with the army but it had been time enough. He had heard the screams issuing from the men's tents at night. He had seen the beaten faces of the female servants at the main camp. No woman could be allowed to fall in the hands of a true soldier of Warlord Brek.
That was why he had taken her. He had seen her laughable attempt at cover? while descending into the town. Without thinking, he took her. It was an instinctual reaction, involuntary. His body had made the decision before his reason could intervene. By taking the woman he had greatly complicated his own life. More attention was drawn to him. His plans would have to be made more carefully. He now had another to take care of. He would have to protect her. But that was why he had shot out his arms and plucked her out of her hiding place. He simply could not allow harm to come to anyone if he could prevent it. But he could not tell the woman that. He had to seem the perfect soldier, or else there would be no one to do the little he did to thwart Brek.
The man stayed still for a long time, immersed in his thoughts. The woman worried when she noticed his eyes were staying fixed on one point on the ground. She looked at him, quick glances at first that turned into thoughtful study when he did not seem to notice. She was curious about this strange man.
He appeared only a few years older than herself, his face still smooth and his knuckles thin. His hair was light brown, curled at the ends. He had gone a long time without having it properly trimmed. His eyes were a darker shade of the same color, the iris and pupil almost seeming to be one. His brow was strong but furrowed now. This was not the confident man who had torn her away from her village. This was someone new.
She did not want to disturb him so she said nothing. As time went by she satisfied her curiosity and looked again at the surroundings. She pulled the blanket close once more, then shifted position on the rock, hoping the movement would break the soldier's concentration.
She didn't know that it had already been broken. The soldier had not been unaware of her scrutiny. He was not sure if she had been searching for what he suspected, but whatever it was, she had not found it. He lifted his head and saw the woman looking at him. He sighed.
"You have a right to wonder," he said. "I am not like the other men, yes. You can speak to me. Despite that it is due to me that you are here I mean you no harm. Trust in me. Ask me whatever you wish though I cannot promise I will answer."
The woman was silent. "What will become of me?" she asked after careful consideration.
"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I don't know." He couldn't say any more than that. The woman looked at the ground and he stared in an opposite direction. He pretended not to notice when tears began to run down cheeks. A while later, they had not moved, and dark grey clouds gathered and rain fell. The storm had come without warning, arising suddenly out of a clear sky. The men came clamoring out of the forest, mounting their horses quickly. No deer had been caught.
The soldier helped the woman into the saddle. She pulled the blanket over her head but the cloth absorbed rather than repelled the water. The man did nothing to shield himself. The rain could not be stopped.
The army continued in the rain for the few hours remaining till sunset. A scouting party, sent ahead to look for a viable campsite, returned, reporting a mammoth rock overhand, sufficient shelter for all. The army, cold, wet, and weary after their fruitless hunt, cheered at the announcement. By nightfall they had reached the rock and soon made short work of setting up camp. The effort to find dry wood was too great so the men did nothing but curl into damp blankets and hope for the rain to cease.
The rock overhang offered only limited protection from the elements. Wind chilled over mountain snows rushed underneath, bringing with it small water drops that stung exposed skin. The recruit pushed through the crowd, leading the woman toward the more sheltered area close to the rock wall. He spread down his blanket, motioning for the one the woman had draped over herself. He put an arm around her waist and drew her into the makeshift bed. He felt her stiffen at his touch but she did not draw away. Once they were underneath the blankets he pulled the woman close to his body, concerned that the cold had been affecting her more than she had let on. Why did I do this? he wondered. Then the woman shivered, and he knew.
It was a long, cold night.
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