A Midsummer's Saga Pt. 02

"This is good for us," said Leapfrog. "You can't see or hear anything and their carts are axle-deep in mud. We can take 'em."

Aerin looked around. If he hadn't known this area so well – the six huge pines that gave the place its name, the surrounding clearings, the road that led past – he would have had absolutely no sense of his surroundings. The clouds had blocked off the moon, and the rain was killing all sounds. Hope lifted his spirits – a Harmeni army, no matter how big, would die of fear alone if attacked in this night, a night that erased all senses.

At the same time, though... a new vision of his future appeared to him. "What were you doing on the night of that famous victory?" a child would ask him. "I was standing useless in the rain in the ass-end of the woods," he'd respond. "It was an important job," he'd insist.

He kept pacing, pacing around the pines. Leapfrog observed him with half-closed eyes but said nothing. Aerin would sometimes stop and listen, imagining he heard the din of the distant battle, but time and time again it was nothing – just millions of raindrops tapping on millions of leaves.

Past midnight the rain stopped and the skies cleared up a bit. The waning moon resurfaced from beyond the clouds, filling the forest with its pale fire. Aerin walked out to the road and looked ahead.

"If they waged a battle tonight, it's over by now," said Leapfrog quietly.

"Yeah." Aerin threw off his hood and shook his head, water spraying off his hair.

"You're kinda bitter that you missed it, no?"

"Yeah."

"Ah, you're daft. You're looking for glory in battle like morons who get themselves killed."

"Look, I just want to be involved, alright? How can I prove myself if I just—" he thought he heard a noise from somewhere in the trees and paused for a moment. Must have been a bird. "If I'm left behind to watch damp trees?" he finished, quieter than before.

Leapfrog stood up, stretched, and walked over to him. "Who do you want to prove yourself to? You don't need to be the most legendary warrior in the history of Kontaria to make people like you, you know."

Aerin groaned and turned away. Leapfrog was getting into his sermon mode. "Yeah, you think if everyone starts praising you you'll stop being all insecure. Bullshit, you need to relax. We're all insecure, we just get on with it. Go chat up some lass and get laid, they all think you're cute."

Aerin turned back to him and raised his hand. "Okay, first of all—"

In some distance, a horse neighed.

Aerin and Leapfrog stood completely still. Aerin's hand was still risen, fingers pointed straight ahead, his mouth still open. They looked each other in the eyes and moved not a muscle for a long while.

Eventually, very slowly, they turned their heads. The sound had come from Aerin's left, Leapfrog's right, the west; they knew that there was a large clearing there, behind maybe three hundred feet of dense forest.

"Come on," Leapfrog mouthed, and turned towards it.

They disappeared in the underbrush and moved forward carefully placing their weights on their feet, dancing around twigs and low branches and making no sound, like they were well trained to do. There was a large rock among the trees, poking out like an island from the thick bushes, and they stopped on the opposite sides of it. The ground sloped down ahead, offering them a view over the entire clearing.

And in the clearing, there they were.

Maybe two hundred men were sleeping on the wet ground, in concentric circles, bundled in heavy cloaks. Their weapons were laid next to them, except some long pikes stuck in the ground, Harmeni standards faintly waving on their ends. On the far side of the clearing, horses were tied to the trees, about as many as there were men.

Harmeni heavy cavalry. Nobody had heard them, not even the two scouts, under the cover of rain. They must have separated from the rest, and unable to find their way in the dark and the noise, decided to stop and – while there was nothing better to do – catch some rest. Sleep, Aerin thought. In the rain, deep in enemy territory, in full armour. Who the hell is even capable of that?

Not novices. Veteran soldiers experienced into indifference. Too experienced to sleep unguarded, no doubt. He crouched lower in the swaying, dripping leaves.

A soldier appeared out of the shadows surrounding the clearing, walked through his sleeping companions towards a vacant bit of ground right in the middle of the encampment, stretched out his arms by a large standard planted there, and continued on, eventually disappearing in the dark again.

"Aerin," Leapfrog whispered from across the rock, "we gotta report that quick!"

"Hold on. I want to get a little closer."

"What for you shithead?"

Aerin's eyes were fixed on the standard in the middle. He realized something when the soldier was passing by. He had to make sure.

"I just want to check something. Be right back."

He dived into the foliage and moved noiselessly towards the camp and away from Leapfrog's angry hisses. After years of training his moves were careful yet decisive.

Right at the very edge of the clearing he crouched unseen in protective vegetation and fixed his stare on the standard, trying to discern if what he thought he saw was real. The pole it was on was twice as tall as a man easily, and must have been an absolute bitch to carry around and stick into the ground. Presently a light breeze rose and for a moment, just for a moment, the flag unfurled, purple and white and gold – a royal Eagle.

All his muscles tensed. An Eagle in such a small company and in an enemy land – unheard of! Its place was in the middle of a mighty host, announcing the far-reaching power of the King from a position of safety beyond layers and layers of steel. But an Eagle was always with a general. If a general was daring enough to venture forward with but a small riding party, his Eagle followed.

Titulus was here.

Aerin held tight onto a branch, the sensation of its bark digging into his skin his only anchor to the world around him as his mind span at full speed. He was a stone's throw from the Eagle. There were guards around, sure, but most of them would be posted by the road. He licked his lips. His heart was racing. He saw what he could do. One silent, decisive move forward. One short slash of his knife against the rope. Aerin and an Eagle. Aerin, the young scout, with the Kingdom's pride in his hand. Brecca's glory. Glory everlasting.

But also – there was the moon's sharp white shine. There were the guards out in the night, there were the soldiers in their light sleep. There was Titulus, the grim legend, one of these shapes on the ground. Death or mutilation.

And as these images flashed like lightning within his head, the light without grew dim. Aerin looked up. A cloud floated to the moon, a bulky black shape with brilliant lining. It was solid, heavy, and its progress was slow in the dying wind. It would take five minutes, give or take, for the moon to re-emerge.

Some mental calculation went on, beyond his consciousness. Some weight was thrown on some scales. A choice made.

He slinked out of the leaves and leaped across open field to a small bush and stopped. Just inches from him were the sleeping soldiers and he could hear them breathe evenly. He could hear a guard's footfalls on the grass somewhere the other side of the camp. He knew that at least one more guard, the one who had stretched his arms, was close and unseen to his left.

He left the relative safety of the bush and crept forward, passing row after row of sleepers. By the innermost sleeping soldiers, he fell to the wet ground, eyes up. He could hear the Eagle's rope tap against its flagpole. In some distance, a horse snorted indignantly.

The cloud was about midway through its progress across the moon. Only the white fields on the standards were visible now. He didn't know where the nearer guard was – but if Aerin couldn't see the guard, so too could the guard not see Aerin.

He made his final steps with his fingers glancing the ground He focused on his breathing, shallow on his lower teeth. He executed this perfectly – not a sound was made. He reached the flagpole and produced his knife. A horse – the same as before or some other – whinnied quietly. One of the guards making rounds around the camp coughed.

The rope was in fact a solid leather cord. He brought the knife to it and bit his lip breathless as the metal creaked quietly on leather. It wasn't much of a noise, but it filled his world now, and he kept it low, kept it even, cutting slowly and meticulously: one full length of a knife cutting a quarter through the cord – the blade re-entering the notch at the base – one more slice to get halfway through – and repeat. He dropped his attention from anywhere but the cord. This was the only thing that mattered now.

Another cut, and the cord gave out with a small snap. The standard fell with a gentle furl and he grasped at it, and stood still. It was so soft to touch, like no cloth he had ever touched – he held it in his hands in silent disbelief...

Very loud, very close, a trumpet sounded. All at once the soldiers came alive, rising from the ground. Several horsemen rode into the clearing, bearing torches, bringing light.

Aerin, just for a moment, froze. A soldier was getting up from his place, just feet from him. His eyes glittered in the torchlight, unfocused at first, but then suddenly fixing at the boy with the standard.

"What the fuck," the soldier said.

Aerin darted for the forest. He never had a chance.

Someone barged into him, heavy and clad in scale mail, and tackled him to the ground. Aerin kicked out, let go of the standard, and got up; someone else grabbed at him, twisting his arm behind his back. He still tried to free himself from the grip, in panic, like a trapped animal; in front of him, the first soldier rose to his feet and punched Aerin in the stomach with full force.

Pain rose up his body like hot air, his eyes watered, his legs gave in. The soldier behind him forced him down to his knees, and with his free hand jerked Aerin's head up by the hair to look at his face.

"Well I'll be damned," he said. From his world of pain, Aerin discerned only his short beard and a look of confusion.

"What is that?"

"A bloody spy is what this is. Who the shit is on watch?"

The first soldier was about to reply, but something in the corner of his vision must have worried him, for he glanced to the side, straightened up, and said nothing. The man holding Aerin also grew more rigid.

A third soldier walked towards them and stood right in front of Aerin. He was older than the other two, his short-cropped hair already grey, but he was a good head taller, and his enormous barrel-like trunk and massive forearms at once betrayed a still horrendous strength. The others' eyes were following every one of his deliberate, lumbering moves. He was smiling, but the menace in his look was unmistakeable, a threat of sudden violence held back by the thinnest fence.

"Well?"

"We caught him just here and now, sir. He tried to steal the standard."

Aerin only now registered that the older man was wearing a gilded scale mail and a heavy crimson cape, marks of a high rank. Oh shit. Oh shit, shit, shit.

Titulus was looking straight at Aerin, completely motionless, torch fire flickering in his eyeballs. More soldiers gathered around in a circle; nobody spoke while the general didn't move.

At length, very slowly, Titulus turned his head towards the last speaker.

"So what you're telling me, is that if the messengers hadn't arrived just this moment, we would have had our Eagle stolen by a fresh-faced Kontarian boy?"

Without making perceptible moves, all the soldiers drew away from the addressed man, who cleared his throat and hopelessly looked around him for some hint for an answer. However, to his obvious relief, Titulus almost immediately turned away.

"Alright, name me the cocksuckers that were on watch and we'll have a constructive discussion later. What's this about?" he finally addressed the messengers, who were sitting impatient on horsebacks but had known better than to interrupt.

"The Kontarians attacked the infantry when they were stuck in the mud! They kept harassing us for hours. We have many wounded. Antenor is dead."

There was a murmur among the soldiers. Aerin gasped as the one holding him twisted his arm further. Titulus's lips quivered, revealing his teeth, but otherwise he kept perfect composure.

"How long ago?"

"Some two hours since the battle ended. We left as soon as it calmed but we couldn't find you in this night," the messenger said, a little more defensively than he had intended.

"Alright. Well, ladies," he raised his voice and spoke to the whole clearing, "that's it for Plan A. Get your asses on horse, we join with the infantry at once and fall back to open land. Jovin, Nicetas!" he shouted. Two soldiers, apparently with some wounds – one was hobbling, the other one had his hand in a sling – came towards him. "This campaign just got longer than we had expected. We'll have to make rounds to Behem to resupply at least once. Just go there and wait for us." The soldiers nodded and walked back. "Move everyone, if this little shit had friends around we'll have Kontarians here soon!"

As the clearing turned to a scramble of men quickly packing and finding their horses, Titulus turned to Aerin again. "Well," he said, with the same smile as before, "you must be real proud of yourself, aren't you?"

Aerin, in his rising panic, could only stare.

"Shall I kill him?" asked the soldier that was gripping his hand.

Titulus smiled. "Well, what do you say to that, boy? Do you want to die?" He kept looking at Aerin, still like a rock among the swarming soldiers. "Get him... no. Jovin! Nicetas!" His voice carried above the confusion. The two injured men, already on horseback, approached.

"Take him with you and dump him in Paula's cellar. When I come to resupply, I'll have a talk with him. I'm sure he will tell me many useful things, if I ask him nicely."

With that, he abruptly turned and walked to his own horse which his attendant had brought by.

Grumbling, the two soldiers dismounted. The one with two working arms produced a coil of hempen rope from his saddlebag.