They had camped at an old way-station, an outpost that was
often used by travelers and merchants when they had business with the Iron
Wells. His men's tents, made of deep
crimson and bright yellow fabric and emblazoned with the bust of a golden ram,
were easy to pick out in the quickly thinning forest. He could see that they had already begun
setting up a central fire and pulling out a large cast-iron cook pot.
Alec's belly rumbled, reminding him that he had not eaten
since he left the camp that morning. Food
had not been an issue since their departure from Gaewyn, something that his group
was certainly not used to; the hardships of war extended well beyond the ends
of each battle. No, the luxury of
stopping at each town and city had kept their pack animals loaded and their
bellies full. The King's coin made sure
of it.
His men saluted their commander casually as he walked by,
many with a quick glib aimed at Kalif who still followed close behind. The bleeding had stopped, but his nose was
still very red; Alec's fist had made a solid connection. The Second just glared at them, sometimes
coming back with a retort of his own.
Alec just laughed, keeping the uneasiness he felt buried deep
inside. It wasn't every day that things
of this nature happened, and he didn't want to worry his men more than he
needed to. Besides, as far as he could
tell, there was no serious harm done and he had received the worst of it by
far.
It wasn't long before they came to the entrance of a tent
with three gold streamers flying from an extended central mast, marking it as
Alec's. "Find Firehammer. Tell him that I should want to see him
shortly." He shifted and fidgeted
in his gilded and polished officer armor.
Not meant for battle, it was lighter than the plate that he normally
wore, but stiff and uncomfortable from disuse.
"I want to get out of this formal gear and into something more
appropriate, and then I must talk to him."
He turned to Kalif and clapped the man on the shoulder in
dismissal. His second saluted and made
his way towards one of the old stone structures at the back of the way station.
Alec sighed and undid the strap holding his tent closed. The
cool, dark interior that greeted him was refreshing though he knew that he
couldn't stay for long. He tossed his
bright red cloak onto a stand and began undoing his stiff, uncomfortable
armor. As he stretched for the rear
clasps holding his cuirass, his fingers brushed over some strange marks in the
metal. He pulled the plate off and
turned it around, startled to find claw-marks etched deep into the decorative
gilding. Claw marks that had not been
there when he put the armor on.
A shudder ran through him as he laid the piece down on his
cot. Not many things had that effect on
the weapons master, but being so helpless and close to death reminded him of
just how small he was. Indeed, he was
nothing more than a single officer in a vast army, easily replaceable and
easily forgotten. The world and
everything that happened in it was beyond him.
The balance of power, ever changing as it was, left him feeling like a
piece of wood floating in frothy white rapids.
If left unchecked, he couldn't help but feel swept up in it all.
He quickly turned the plate over, not wanting to dwell any
longer, and continued to pull off the rest of his rigid armor. A groan of relief left him as he finally
shrugged out of his red velvet covered arming doublet, heaping the padded
garment with the rest of his Officer's armor as he stretched his sore shoulders
and back. Even if the riding was smooth,
it should be at least a couple weeks before he would have need of the flashy
armor again, and he couldn't be more glad.
Finery had never held any attraction for him, as it only seemed to
complicate things. Oftentimes,
simplicity was much more useful.
Alec pulled off his damp undershirt and tossed it
aside. A bucket of cold, clean water sat
next to his cot, a cloth laid neatly over the edge. He made quick work of washing up; the air was
much warmer at the base of the mountain, but the early nip of winter could
already be felt. He quickly tugged on a
clean undershirt before selecting a dark blue shirt to go over it. Though much less formal, the shirt still held
the gold Ram Insignia on his left breast and sported three gold bands around
each cuff to represent his rank. His
fine, light-brown paints with gold embroidery were replaced with another, still
brown but lacking the fine stitch-work. His
polished black boots were replaced with a plain, dark brown pair that was much
more suited for the long ride back to Gaewyn.
Finally, he threw a dark red cloak around his shoulders. The trailing edge held the three bars of his
rank, and the clasp had the Ram etched into its gold surface.
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