The Wandering Soldier, Chapter One.

In an open field whose vast green scapes gently rose and fell in sombre hills from edge to edge, a bright sunset far off in the west bathed the waves of grass in a deep orange glow. The field, which really looked like a meadow, swayed calmly in the cool, dying breeze passing through the ancient pine forest at the far west. At the eastern edge, a motley collection of patchwork tents stitched from fallen banners and hide littered what was a relatively small section of this field where a thousand mercenaries lay waiting. Or, they should be. This was the fourth sunset that was seen by the group in this field, yet the first should have been the last. As a result, the hard faces and tense shoulders scattered between the tents had relaxed, their heads never leaving the packed soil and matted grass until well after sunrise. Throughout the day, the clang of swords would echo down the thoroughfares, but this display of prowess was seldom and brief. For the most part, the men and women that comprised this band of mercenaries spent their days laying about, sleeping, drinking and expending rations by having their fill. In the evening, pillars of smoke would rise above the nearby tree line and the fragrance of cured meat, field mushrooms and starchy root vegetables would linger in the still air and woodsmoke.

As the first fires were lit, and the sound of raucous laughter bounced around the tents, one mercenary trotted unperturbed by the merriment. Indeed, she was focused and poised, her brown eyes whipping one way or another in search of somebody. The sunset palmed her face, the heat causing sweat to bead on her freshly washed cheeks. Absentmindedly, she told herself the weather was going to be fair the next day. It would make for an easy battle, but the battle she was supposed to fight, and most likely die in, should have happened four days ago. Because of this unusual delay, most of the soldiers lay down their weapons and armed themselves with tankards, food, and bedding. None of these things were particularly interesting for her since a battle was over the horizon, but outside of business she wasn’t one to avoid a decent meal and a drink. Granted, she was all about business, or so she had been ever since joining the mercenaries some years ago. Since then, she’s travelled the land from coast to coast with this group to fight anyone and anything for a decent price. She herself didn’t see coin so much, though with all her needs met, having shiny metal in her pocket was unnecessary. Somewhere over the horizon, a battle loomed. The distance was relative, but the thought kept her completely occupied.

By this point, the tents had stayed here for so long that the men and women started to name the passageways. It was more as a joke than anything else, but the names unfortunately stuck. Four days isn’t very much to most, but a mercenary travels for work and never stays in one particular location for long. Gorenne never cared much for such nonsense, but as she marched down Fingerlickin’ Ln., she saw a familiar face and readied herself.

“Hodlin, where is the captain?” Gorenne’s voice carried across the campsite to Hodlin, one of the men who knew the captain personally. She was rather proud of the way she was able to project her speech, just like the Captain.

“Gorenne, for the last time, I haven’t seen him all day.” Hodlin looked tired as he slouched on an upturned kettle and gave a long sigh upon her approach. Maybe he’s unwell, she thought. That would be the only explanation for his apparent tiredness. It wasn’t like he’d done anything to warrant his exhaustion.

“This is the third time you’ve said this today and I’m starting to not believe you.” Gorenne remarked gruffly.

Scrunched over with his elbows rested on his knees by the fire, Hodlin scoffed and waved his tankard at her. “It’s not my problem that you won’t believe me. How about you try and relax, take your armour off and enjoy the sunset by the fire? We’re having beans.”

Gorenne ignored the proposition. In her line of work, these remarks were so regular that they all sounded the same, like white noise. She had wasted so much time fighting too many duels with men that never learn to keep their mouths shut to know her energy was better spent elsewhere. Also, what makes them think it would work? Oh sure, what a wonderful idea. I’m certain this won’t lead to anything. It’s like they live in their own fantasies! “Of course I don’t believe you. Where is he?”

One of the others piped in. This one was as ugly as an old boot, bald and vicious. He carried a belt of fingers for every duel he won and seemed to wrap his own fingers among them at times. “Maybe you’ll find him right here,” he grinned, gesturing between his legs. The others laughed, like they never heard that one before.

“Hodlin, when I do find him and I find out that you’ve spoken with him, I’ll be damned to trust you with anything again.” Gorenne stormed off between the men laying about the campfire. As she motioned to pass the bald one, he bared his scattered teeth, his bulbous eyes moving up and down her, and readied to pounce. As he crouched, Gorenne’s foot whipped upward with the speed of a horse’s gait, the iron cap of her boot striking him clear in the face. His head was thrown back with the crack of broken teeth. As he screeched and flung his hands to his face, blood shot from his nose and mouth like a grim fountain. His muffled cries of agony while writing in the dirt sounded almost like he was pleading for mercy. “And stop burning everything you cook. We don’t have the rations to spare.” Gorenne ignored the bald one completely, like he was a pebble in the road. It did feel good though. He deserved that one. Gorenne could hear Hodlin chuckle behind her. “I told you what she was like.” Like what? She’ll have to remind herself to ask him whatever that meant. One of the others started complaining the beans were indeed kept on the fire for too long. They smelled burnt, but that’s their own fault for not paying heed to their own cooking. If she had half a mind, she’d confiscate them and give a lecture on the importance of rationing. At this rate, they were becoming dangerously low, which meant sending a party through the forest to hunt for game, which was a concern of itself due to the woodland being unusually quiet, especially in the evening.

As Gorenne made her way through the encampment to Horseshit Street, she could hear two voices talking about the captain. They weren’t exactly familiar, but their diction pinned them as farmers from the northwest, where fruit trees and vineyards blanketed the fertile soil. A slight breeze had picked up and carried with it the slightest smell of spiced sausages and potatoes in a heady smoke.

“So then I said to him, I says, ‘Frelon, there were twelve!’ and he’s swearing up and down the ways that there was only seven!”

“Twelve of what?” Gorenne piped in from afar. As she walked toward them, her head held high, the two she addressed suddenly became uneasy in the creeping shadow of the early evening. They were loosely wearing their undergarments and a bedsheet. A bedsheet! Why, if she finds out they were walking around wearing that, dragging it along the ground where ants and dirt are swept up in the fibres… They have clothing and armour to stay the cool air! She didn’t understand why they were so uneasy seeing as she was the only one who took their mission seriously, save the captain, of course.

“Twelve uh… Missives. From the…” as his voice trailed off, he turned to the other, who shook his head with confusion. “Yes, the missives from that one client.”

“Yes! Yes, very important client. We can’t forget about them,” he rambled, chuckling nervously as his eyes darted back to her.

As Gorenne squinted, the seeds of doubt sprouting small tendrils in her mind, a head stuck out from the tent right beside them. As the opening fluttered at the motion, the hot smell of thick perfume and rum wafted to her, drowning out whatever else hung in the air.

“Boys! What are you doing out here? They’re asking for you,” the head slurred, the words dripping out of a stupid, drunken grin. The head turned to see Gorenne and immediately changed to shock, darting back inside the tent. It was Captain Frelon, the man she had been looking for all day. What on earth was he doing here? His tent was along the Brown Streak. Horseshit Street was where the mounted cavalry resided, hence the namesake. Yes, the names were ridiculous, but she very reluctantly had to admit how it helped her to organise the layout in her head. Gorenne threw the curtains aside and was greeted with the most awful, humid air that reeked of several cheap perfumes and alcohol… among other things.

“Captain?” Gorenne asked, her voice somewhat quieter than normal. To her the captain was the epitome of all of what she aspired to. He was calm, collected, strangely regal and perpetually focused. It was because of him that their band had achieved so much, because of him that runaway farmers, murderers, thieves, deserters of the army and lost adventurers had banded together in unison. She, like everyone here, deeply respected the man for his genius and tenacity in the art of battle and his striking charisma when addressing the men and women from all walks and cultures. Seeing him as he was, under the covers with some of the mounted cavalry brought forth a number of things within her that she didn’t quite understand. Was it anger? Confusion? Disappointment? “What are you doing?”

Captain Frelon sighed as he wiped sweat from his face with the palm of his hand, his bare chest rising and falling like he was out of breath. “Gorenne, why are you here?”

Gorenne stammered a little, but pushed herself to maintain composure. This was the Captain she was speaking to. She had to be composed. “I… Wanted to get a report on-”

“A report on what?” His eyes rolled up to her. He sounded almost frustrated.

“Well, are there any updates on our situation?” One of the girls gave Gorenne a strange smile. The heat inside the tent was making her a little light-headed, and sweat began to smear her face. She’ll have to wash it again, along with everything else.

“For the last time, no. How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t need to pester me every single hour?”

“Captain, why are you acting like-”

“Because you’re annoying.” He shot back, waving his hand around, eyes rolling back inside his head at her question. “Because you are the only one who can’t figure it out. I’ve tried telling you to take it easy and you never do.”

“Figure what out?”

“Is she the tight one?” One of the girls purred, her smooth, young face hidden behind a long mess of raven hair.

“I’m the only one taking this matter with serious consideration unlike the rest of you.” Gorenne snapped at her. Where did that even come from? She was shaky, her mind spinning in all directions. Who is this girl that called herself Gorenne, anyway? Did she act this way?

One of the others clicked her tongue, her eyes rolling toward the other. “Yeah, she’s the one.” She had shorter red hair, and the words spilled out of her without distinction. Both of them were under some layers of bedding, but it was plain to see what was going on prior to Gorenne’s attendance.

“Gorenne, they’re not coming. The agreement was to be here on the day to fight a battle on that day as per the client’s message. That was four days ago and the enemy soldiers have yet to meet us out on that field. Clearly they made some arrangement and our client hasn’t made an effort to inform us. We’re leaving in the morning.”

“Leaving? But the client asked us to fight their enemy.”

“And they’re not here.”

“If we just wait another day! Maybe they-” Gorenne pleaded.

“Our rations are thinning,” the Captain pointed out, cutting her off.

“That’s because nobody is rationing!”

“Because they all figured it out before you.” Frelon’s voice shot up, almost calling even the crickets outside to attention. “And here I thought you were smarter than the rest of them.” The Captain seemed to sober up a little going by the way he spoke. His head was turned away, his eyes avoiding her. One of the girls began to sit up to move closer to him, but she stumbled in a fit of giggles. “Turns out all you were doing was trying to impress me.”

Gorenne was silent. What could she say? It was like her mind had gone and dumped everything out of it.

“If you wanted to lie with him, you could have said so,” the brunette’s head danced a little as though amused by the proposition. It was certainly written all over her face. How is she smarter than Gorenne? How could this… this layabout be better than her? Why is the captain giving her all of his time and avoiding her? “How dare you?” Gorenne’s voice was tense and shaky. How has the cavalry been competent with these whelps as its helm? Have all their battles been against incompetents? No, that wasn’t the issue. Maybe the captain came here to give them a stern word and got caught up in their happenings.

“Are you going to leave?” Captain Frelon muttered aimlessly.

“I-” Gorenne piped, her head spun, the heat from the tent threatening to demoralise her senses. A thousand aromas grappled at the back of her throat, her breath became jagged. Her vision grew blurry, the sound of the two outside became a muffled cacophony far away, like she was drowning.

Air. She needed air! She needed to get away, as far away from that tent as she could. Gorenne turned and left the tent before she could collapse in front of the captain.

Outside, the night was sharp and uninviting. It almost kept a bubble around her. The sounds of raucous laughter faded in the distance as her mind played through the years. The day she met Captain Frelon, the evening he invited her for a drink, the way he acted impressed by her dreams of travelling the lands as opposed to the farm girl being prepared for marriage as her family so insisted. The weeks they spent preparing for battle after battle, the words he gave whenever they were victorious. Gorenne wondered what the lives of her family were like then, if perhaps they worried for her. Perhaps if she went back… No! Why was she thinking like this! She’d done all of what she wanted to achieve, to travel, to meet new faces, to have adventures. So why did she feel like she regretted things? The air was sharp, yet wafted past her ever so gently, carrying with it the smell of spiced sausages and potatoes in a definite smoke. Focus! She needs to focus. In the twilight, she spotted someone squatting beside a tent, though here the tents were sparse. How far did she move from the tent the captain was in? Was she running? Why does the Captain have to be like this? “You there!”

The girl squealed, jumping from the earth. As she reached to pull her pants up, she tried to dash away and ended up falling on her face with a dull thud in the grass. “What are you afraid of, girl? It’s me, Gorenne.”

“Ohhh my head...” The girl groaned, rolling to her back, her mousy hair now littered with debris draped over her face.

“What are you doing cooking out here?” Gorenne asked, standing over her. “All the mess tents are back toward the field.”

“Do I look like I’m cooking?” The girl sat up, annoyance seemed to have replaced her sudden fear. Everyone was annoyed with her this night, it seemed. Clutching her head with one hand while the other propped her up, she groaned “who cooks while getting tickled by a bush? The party’s down that way, honey.”

“Who is cooking?”

“My friend, maybe?” She slurred, stumbling to her feet. “I mean, she’s experimental, but she don’t do food.”

“What?”

The girl shushed her, propping herself against Gorenne. It was hard to see, but in the dim moonlight, Gorenne could see her face was so pale, as though she hadn’t slept in days. “Don’t tell the captain. He’ll want samples.” She cackled at this, slapping Gorenne’s breastplate. Gorenne sighed deeply, her mind felt a little calmer and she didn’t feel so overwhelmed by everything. Perhaps talking to this girl calmed her somewhat. “Does it have a smell?”

“Smell? I don’t know... like cooking, I guess?”

Gorenne turned to face the girl, holding her shoulders. “Does it smell like spiced sausages?”

The girl began to laugh maniacally. “Gorenne’s thinking about spicy sausages! I hear those horse boys have lots of them.”

“That’s not what I-”

The girl’s voice was distorted by a maniacal level of excitement. “I didn’t think you were the type.”

“I don’t-”

“I was gonna say,” Her voice turned to a whisper as she placed a finger on Gorenne’s chin. “I don’t like them, either.” Her finger trailed down her neck before flicking away toward herself, and this made her giggle even more. Gorenne, however, wasn’t laughing. Instead, she took her shoulders in both hands and shot a glance dead in the girl’s eye. “I want you to pack your things and run away with your friend as far and as fast as you can.”

“But we’re-”

“If you want to live, pack your things and leave this instant! Go north and avoid the trees!” Gorenne’s voice turned to a sharp whisper, almost a demand.

“You still on about that? Let loose!” The girl rambled on as she left, her thin frame twirling between the tents dimly painted in the twilight. As she rambled, Gorenne sprinted back back down among the tents, her armour sprinkling the otherwise quiet air. “Let your hair down, find somebody! You’re ruining the fun for everybody. I worry about you sometimes. I tell myself, girl, we need to get that one to lighten her load but you always look so busy.” Her voice became a distant echo as Gorenne raced back toward the tents, her mind rattled with a sensation she was all too familiar with.