End of the Second War, the Greymane Wall
They had shoved him into a rolling cage, a prison wagon, and tied Praetor's reins to the back of it. It wasn't long after that when they started rolling back the way Loem had traveled from, taking him further and further from home and his brother. Rather than give into despair, however, he continued trying to find a way out of his predicament. Unfortunately, few ideas presented themselves. In the end, he resolved to simply await trial, try to provide proof of who he was, and hope that this mix up would finally resolve itself.
What else am I to do? I can't fight my way out, not against four grown soldiers, and I can't pick my way out of the wagon... not now, being watched every hour of the day. Surely whatever court they take me to will listen to reason, and I'll finally be let go.
Hours passed as they rode south through Silverpine. While the first trip through this forest had been serene and peaceful for Loem, now it seemed dark, oppressive, and far too long. Surely we'll pass Uldor when we get closer to the border. He or Hektor will see me, they'll help me out of this situation. As they were passing a contingent of soldiers walking on the road, the driver of the wagon slowed and halted. Loem peeked out through the bars and noticed that the soldiers were leading another man in chains. Doesn't he look charming, Loem thought, taking a long look at the man.
Dirty, matted hair of an undetermined color hung around a sallow face. The man was in a disheveled state, his armor dull and damaged. Any identifying marks or crests had been torn from his clothes. There were bandages around his forearm as well. The driver of the wagon spoke with the other Gilneans at length, then nodded and gestured to the back of the cart. Loem scurried to the back of the cage when the door opened and they shoved the prisoner inside with him.
He collapsed onto the baseboard and lay there, almost pleased to not have to walk anymore. They had kept him chained, just as Loem was, but the man looked terrible. The young squire frowned, thinking, What if he's a murderer? He could turn on me, and the inside of this wagon isn't great for a fight... 'Course, he doesn't look like he could hurt a kitten much less me right now, in his state.
He man groaned and shifted a bit as the wagon started moving down the road again. He sat up slowly and tried to get comfortable. Loem remained as far from him as he could, due to the stench if nothing else. The other prisoner coughed, sputtering, "Right lot we've gotten ourselves into, isn't it?"
Loem didn't answer. "Fair enough, young man. I just thought this last ride would have been a might bit better with some talk. I know exactly what will happen to me when we get to our destination. I've excepted it. You, though... you don't look like a deserter."
Loem looked up and stared straight into his eyes, angry that the thought had even crossed the man's mind. "No. I'm most definitely not a deserter. I'm a victim of mistaken identity, I suppose, and I'm sure whatever court I end up in will listen to what I have to say." The man snorted and laughed, his whole body shaking from the exertion. He nearly fell over again and started laughing all the harder because of it. Loem smelled alcohol on his breath and, mixed with the smell of his general uncleanliness, nearly gagged.
"Whatever you say, lad, whatever you say," he said, slowly getting under control again. "The name's Tor, by the way. I was a farmer from Gilneas, but I'm I walking dead man, now. They kill deserters if they find them. It's an irony that I ran and managed to evade them 'till the war was done, but then got caught the day after. They'd been walking me for days when these fine soldiers threw me back here with you, boyo."
Loem only felt a small bit of sorrow for the man's fate. I'm eleven years old, but I didn't shirk from my duties or oaths. He must be a bit of a coward to have run away, leaving his fellow soldiers to stand against the Horde without him. But then, how good of a soldier would a farmer make, anyway, when all they know is crops and a pitchfork? He sighed, and noticed the man's injuries.
"Tor, what happened to your arm?" The man looked down at the fresh bandages and shrugged, slowly pulling them away to reveal large gashes in his flesh. "Got mauled by a big cat or some such in the dark some days back, still don't know exactly what it was. It looks pretty nasty, don't it? Damn thing ran off good and quick though, when it figured out I was puttin' up a fight."
Loem looked at it and nodded, but something wasn't right. It's unnatural looking. The tears are clean, not ragged, which means it was done by a blade, not an animal. Plus... He looked harder, leaning forward to take a closer look. There's... black marks on his skin. Disease or... A tattoo! He did this to himself to remove a tattoo! Which means he's not a farmer at all. He's probably a career soldier or mercenary who ran from battle. And I nearly believed his sob story...
Loem didn't let the man know he had figured out he was lying. He just leaned back again and looked out the bars, hoping they'd get to town soon and Uldor or Hekter would spot him, or he would see them and call out. Night was beginning to fall, though, and it was getting harder and harder to see. By now, several days had passed since he had left here and a great deal had changed.
The king of Gilneas must have employed every single mason, carpenter and blacksmith in his kingdom to build his wall and gate, because it was already getting closer to completion. The wall stood strong and tall, looming over the gathered people. Tents had been erected and a makeshift town was taking shape as soldiers passed through on their way home. Uldor was nowhere to be seen.
Surely he hasn't left yet... he was going to wait, to rest and resupply. He was going to wait... Loem sighed, ready to give up, to give in to despair. This had been his last hope before he was sent to a court but it was too dark to see far and there was little chance that Hekter or Uldor would see him in this cage.
A guard strode purposefully up to the driver of the wagon and halted them, asking questions. When the driver mentioned he was carrying a deserter and a thief for trial, Loem listened in.
"Thief? Why bring him here? We don't need anymore thieves in Gilneas. The deserter will be dealt with here as well, just on the other side of the gate, if he's a Gilnean; this side, if he's not."
The driver spoke up, "Problem is, sir, we've reason to believe the thief is a Gilnean, and he's a boy. Can't be older than 15 or so."
A long pause, then, and Loem was startled as the guard came around and banged on the cage.
"Fine then, get them over the border. No doubt some lord is looking for his wayward servant. Realize, though, that the minute you cross the wall, you-" his voice faded as he walked back towards the front of the wagon and Loem couldn't catch the last bit. He wasn't sure what was going on, but his chance of getting out was dwindling fast.
The driver seemed pleased by whatever Loem had missed, but shouted after the guard, "Hey, sir, has the 5th infantry come through here? I've some friends in that group! If they're in town, I want to see them first."
"If they were here, soldier, they'd have gone through the gate. All Gilnean soldiers are only getting one day here then being forced through. Th' King wants no dalliance from his men."
That's why I haven't seen Uldor or Hektor or anyone else I might recognize, Loem realized. They're ordered through the gate right away. Fel, Uldor probably fought tooth and nail, but was still made to go through. Maybe he's right on the other side, then.
The wagon was already making its way South again, approaching the huge gate that would soon be finished, with a large, sturdy portcullis ready to come down to secure the entire country of Gilneas. It loomed above them, ominous, and Loem shivered, not quite knowing why. The light of the tents outside the gate flickered through the trees and then were gone, and night descended on him and the wagon, enveloping them all in darkness.
No comments:
Post a Comment