Spoils to the Victors

[Sir Karsimir]

Pain was near powerless without fear. So long as that fear could be faced, so could the pain itself. Yet there was no reason in aggravating old wounds. Although they would be easily healed. Pain and death were to faced when innocents were in need, when danger threatened them, a sacrifice made to spare the other from suffering.

Not to indulge a whim.

Careful warriors kept their weapons close, building a bond of trust and connection with them, as if those weapons were extensions of their own arm. Casting them aside lightly was difficult with that mentality.

In answer to her kind offer was a self-deprecating smile, almost a chuckle at the irony. "That was not something I had considered. My thought was to see you again." Now that he had, the experience was not as he had hoped for, and dashed hopes were beginning to pile up like the growing wreck of a ruin. Under the current circumstances, there was no need to be healed faster. "The wounds will fade with the coming of the dawn, I am not sure what a mundane healer could do before then." A naked allusion to a miracle, with the word 'mundane' being a sign that his own method of healing was far more exotic.

There was something very formal in the air, something overly civilised, as if any bonds between the two had become frayed and were being lain to rest. The comments about the fighters seemed very... flat. Not that the Shining One was hungry for praise, merely that such a passive response seemed quite unlike Mavelle.

Important...

Something stood out in the tone of that word, as if a test or hidden demand. At this moment, he had no wish to piece together subtleties in her speech.

"Thank you for your understanding. And it is important." he assured her, "As mentioned, they are in need of shelter and that cannot wait."

Surprisingly, there was a clattering and whinny from outside the door, and a sentry stepped through. "Lord? The orc's back."

The chevalier answered with a turn of his gaze, then returned his attention to Mavelle, fishing the heavy gold ring out from his pouch. "I know that this does not do you justice, but it was all I could find, and I did not wish to return without a gift for you."

[Falcon Bertille]

Mavelle smiled when Railtus reiterated his wish to see her. But she couldn’t help suspecting that the encounter was somehow failing to match his expectations. In the rose garden, and during their nighttime stroll through the halls of House Anstrun, he’d been so affectionate, so attentive, so quick to forgive her lapses. Now, she felt his judgment like a weight pressing down on her, and everything she said or did seemed to add to the heaviness of it. Was she suddenly so different from the girl he’d hoped to court? Or had she simply managed to exhaust his patience in so short a time?

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried to please Railtus. Because he disapproved of her fate as a pawn in a political marriage, she’d begun trying to find a more worthy path to direct her life along. For his sake, she’d strained against the ties of family loyalty that had always bound her -- questioned the wishes of her father, questioned the actions of her own brother. Maybe those were insignificant things to Railtus. But to Mavelle, they were huge steps into frightening and unknown territory.

Yet, he kept looking at her with eyes that seemed so strange. Eyes that...hadn’t they been more green before? Yes, Mavelle was certain of it, having spent such pleasurable times gazing into them. Railtus’s irises had once resembled sparkling emeralds. Now, an amber taint threatened to discolor their gemstone purity. And what was this talk about his wounds fading by the coming dawn? No mortal man recovered from broken ribs so swiftly.

Phelan always insisted that he sensed something wrong about Railtus, something rotten beneath that shining surface. However, since he could offer no proof, Mavelle had disregarded his warnings, attributing them to nothing more than the dislike he felt for their recent guest. But what if he was right? What if there really was something unnatural about Railtus? Something sinister?

No! Mavelle refused to believe it. Phelan also claimed that Railtus was a coward, while she knew with absolute certainty that he was not. Her brother may have allowed prejudice to cloud his judgment, but she couldn’t let him cloud hers -- she couldn’t let a fog of doubts make her lose sight of Railtus’s goodness. Her knight-to-be would prove himself. He would be loyal. He wouldn’t tire so quickly of the woman he’d professed such fondness for. And as for the physical oddities, well, there was surely a rational explanation for those. The change in his eyes was probably the result of some injury received in that morning’s battle. And when he said his wounds would fade by the next day, he simply meant that they would become more bearable after a night’s rest. Yes, she would ask him right now, and surely that’s what he’d say.

However, before Mavelle could shape her question, she was interrupted by the sentry’s announcement. The orc had returned. Could this be her chance to redeem herself, to show Railtus that fear didn’t rule her? Mavelle’s eyes darted toward the door. She could walk right up to Krarug, apologize for overreacting, and offer her hand to him. She could...no, she couldn’t. The thought of being so close to that beast still made her shudder. Railtus would either forgive her for it or he wouldn’t, but even her desire to please him wouldn’t get her back out there again.

And then, Railtus did something which surprised Mavelle. Instead of immediately departing to check on his comrade, he drew a gold ring from his pouch, and offered it to her. A soft cry of delight escaped Mavelle as she extended her hand so he could slip it on her finger. “Any gift given with an honest heart cannot fail to do justice to the person who receives it.” Despite Railtus’s obvious concern about the worthiness of his present, the thought behind it was what impressed Mavelle, and she would have been nearly as happy with a rusted band of iron. “I...I truly didn’t expect you to bring me anything beyond your safe return. But I’m pleased that you did. It’s lovely. Thank you.”

Buoyed by her happiness at receiving the ring, Mavelle felt inclined to be generous. After all, Railtus was right -- the men under his command did need shelter. It wouldn’t be any more right for him to ignore them than it would be for her to leave her servants shivering in the cold. Absently tracing the smooth gold of her new ring, Mavelle nodded at the door. “You should go see what the matter is, then attend to anything which demands your attention. If you find yourself free later tonight, and wish my company, I’ll be here. If not, we have a lifetime of days ahead of us.”

[Sir Karsimir]

Sliding the ring onto Mavelle's finger, he raised the hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles as fingers curled, glad that she was now at ease. The comment about a lifetime of days seemed perhaps premature, however, as if already far beyond a simple courtship. That, in itself, worried the chevalier, as he doubted that he could meet all of the lady's expectations.

Squeezing the hand gently, he turned on his heel and left through the great double doors. There were a handful of infantrymen holding swords pointed at Krarug, who was holding back warily, with a massive hand cautiously hovering near the great mace in the frog loop. Waiting placidly was the horse.

"Stand down!" barked the chevalier to the House sentries, taking in the situation and approaching his huscarl without breaking stride. Then, he tilted his head and spoke in an inquiring tone, in that same language as before.

After hearing the answer, he turned to Arjen and asked, "How did you know?"

Obviously, the horse did not talk back.

Mounting, he added a few words to Krarug, along the lines of going searching, words unknown to the others present. Perhaps he owed Mavelle the truth, that the event was highlighting difficulties that they would face together. That there would always be parts of his life that she would fear. That changing herself too much for his sake would make her miserable.

With that, they began down the ramps and heading north, hooves clattering on the paving stones as they travelled. Eventually, they came to the Industrial District, as Railtus had remembered how abandoned and desolate the district had been during the week of training. From there, they came to an empty warehouse, still with crates pushed in corners but clearly long unused according to the heavy lining of dust.

They searched around. Left. Found another warehouse.

This one was similar. They went through the large rooms, and found one with a second floor. In each case there were cursury examinations of the wooden boxes.

"We use this one." stated the Shining One, finding it to be in the best repair. While the abandoned building had uses, some would have dangers as well.

Having decided, they began gathering sheets of cloth found in the previous warehouse, as well as long grass and straw and shrubs from the fields surrounding the city. The straw was packed into the textiles to make a crude straw mattress, and a few layers of cloth were used to make a blanket.

Now he left the backpack with food in the warehouse, and deemed this Krarug's home. More changes would be made soon, and Krarug was given autonomy to search the surrounding buildings for useful salvage.

This took somewhat over an hour, at which point the huscarl was wished well for night.

And so he cantered back to House Anstrun.

[Julen]

“How much bread will this buy me?”

For a moment, Effie simply gawked at the gold circlet. Then, quick as a magpie snatching something shiny, she plucked it from Julen’s fingers. Sharp eyes appraised its value, and a careful bite confirmed the purity of its metal. “More than I have left,” she admitted, apparently satisfied with the circlet’s worth. “Would you like change?”

Julen shook his head. “I’ll probably need more tomorrow, so just give me the difference in credit.”

While her two apprentices watched with unabashed curiosity, Effie helped Julen pack the remaining loaves into a sack. When they’d finished, and Julen was heading toward the bakery’s rear door, Andreya finally worked up the courage to approach.

“Sir? Is the orc really going to eat all that?”

Her mistaken assumption drew a chuckle from Julen. “No, Krarug has gone to spend the night elsewhere. This is for the less fortunate.”

“There are people less fortunate than you?” The girl’s eyes grew wide at the prospect.

Julen shot a look at Effie, who suddenly seemed very busy dusting the crumbs from her empty shelves. He wondered what she’d said to make Andreya think of him as destitute. Then again, a little over a week ago, that hadn’t been so far from the truth. “Yes. I’m afraid that there are.”

“Did they ask you for help?”

“Sometimes people are too proud to ask.” Certainly, that had been true in his case. “Sometimes they don’t know who to ask. And sometimes they no longer believe that help is even possible.” Those things, too, had been true for him. “If we wait until we’re asked, good people get lost.”

Like I nearly got lost.

Dusk had just begun to settle over the city, like a crimson veil dropped down from the heavens, when Julen reached the shanty town. Again, its residents eyed him with a mixture of fear and suspicion. But this time Julen didn’t wait until he was approached. Reaching into his sack, he drew out a loaf of bread and offered it to an old woman seated beside a meager fire, who was apparently too aged and sick to scurry away from him. And even she wouldn’t actually take the bread. Finally, Julen simply set it in her lap, and moved on. When he glanced over his shoulder, she still hadn’t torn off a bite.

His next encounter, with a ragged young boy, went better. As soon as the child clutched the loaf in his dirty hands, he immediately began wolfing it down. All around, Julen could feel eyes watching him, waiting for something terrible to happen -- waiting for him to kidnap the boy, waiting for the bread to prove to be poisoned. When none of those events came to pass, a few others finally began venturing forward. Like starving animals, they snatched the bread from him, and then fled back into the shadows to devour it. As they came and went, Julen kept hoping to catch sight of the scrawny young woman whose lip Railtus had healed. Once, from a distance, he thought he glimpsed her. But he couldn’t be sure.

By the time Julen handed out the last loaf, a small crowd had gathered around him. Then, as it became apparent that his sack was now empty, some of the ones who had yet to receive any food turned on a few who hadn’t been quick enough to get away with their bread. Julen watched in horror as a grown man yanked a loaf from the grip of a little girl.

“Stop it!” Julen bellowed. Even as the words left his mouth, he couldn’t help being surprised by the sense of authority with which his voice issued the command. Surely that confidence hadn’t been there a week ago. “If you didn’t get any tonight, I’ll bring more tomorrow. And I urge everyone who did get some to share what you can with your fellows. But so help me, if I see someone forcibly take a loaf, I’ll gut them.” Julen wasn’t entirely sure if he meant that last threat. However, his hand moved to the hilt of his sword anyway, and that seemed to convince his audience.

Julen knew that he’d managed to help only a small fraction of those who needed it. And even for those who’d been lucky enough to receive bread, it wasn’t a permanent solution. They would be hungry again tomorrow, and the day after that, until long after his credit with Effie ran out. But some of them would sleep with a full stomach tonight, and that was better than nothing.

On his way back to the bakery, Julen checked with several taverns, until he found one promising entertainment that evening. A single bishan reserved him a table near the stage. And a second bishan guaranteed him one of the chickens currently roasting in the kitchen oven, which were already generating a mouth-watering aroma. Then, with that task accomplished, Julen went to collect Rosemary.

The entertainment proved to be rather unconventional. Instead of a bard or musician, The Great Miranda and Her Amazing Trained Dogs took the stage. Although in Julen’s opinion, “dogs” was a bit of a misnomer, since the creatures were the size of cats, and had fur more like the wool on sheep. But he did have to admit they were quite clever. Directed by Miranda, one balanced a ball on its nose, and another walked across a tightrope, while still another did flips in the air. Yet, despite all their tricks, Julen still found his eyes straying from the stage. The happiness on Rosemary’s face as she laughed and clapped was a greater joy for him to watch than any performance, and he would have paid far more than two bishani for it.

Full of good food, and momentarily distracted from the trials still facing them, the couple made their way back to Julen’s room behind the bakery, where they began to get ready for bed

“I wonder if I could hire The Great Miranda to train my husband like she trained those dogs,” Rosemary speculated, as she began to get undressed.

Briefly pausing in his own efforts to disrobe, Julen raised an eyebrow. “What would you have her train him to do?”

“Oh, I can think of many useful commands. For instance…” Sitting down on the bed, Rosemary beckoned to Julen with a curled finger. “Come.”

Julen tossed his pants over the back of a chair. Then, with a grin, he joined her beside the bed. “And?”

“Lie down.”

Again, Julen obeyed, not bothering to get under the covers. “And?”

“Play dead.”

Julen closed his eyes. Moments later, he felt Rosemary climb on top of him, her body warm and naked against his skin, and anticipation shuddered through him like the pounding of some gnomish machine. Soft lips kissed his own, leaving the flavor of ripe strawberries in their wake. Then, silky hair trailed across his cheek, and he heard Rosemary’s voice whisper in his ear. “Beg.”

Without hesitation, Julen begged. And an hour later, just before drifting off to sleep, as he and Rosemary lay in each other’s arms, sweaty and satiated, Julen decided that it was indeed a fine, fine thing to teach an old dog new tricks.

[Sir Karsimir]

Dawn emerged, fresh and rosy fingered, brightening the world with her shining glory.

With that dawn, a young man was awakened by the Manor Staff, who were already preparing him a bath and a hot meal. Chasing away the drowsiness was the pain of aching ribs and a slashed arm. Surging vitality burned within him, as he placed his hands over his chest and summoned up a vibrant energy as he had done so before. Pain began to fade as if ice was pressed upon the wounded flesh, and in his heart was one simple thought.

There is work to do.

For when harmed himself, there was not that same urgency as when others were in need. Yet after the next morning, wounds that still slowed him down would need tending to, his pain would have to end if he was to ease the pain of others.

Rising, he stretched out his battered body, feeling the protests of the strained flesh, testing his injuries. With that, he threw on a robe and brought clothes of leather and fur with him to the bathhouse.

"The water will still be cold, my lord." pointed out a servant.

"I am a soldier of Heaven. We are required to be unspeakably brave." stated the chevalier with a completely straight face.

With the water definately on the chilly side, it had a strange feel against his wounds, and that was all that convinced him to linger until the water had heated up. Save for Kendall, who rose early to gain more time for mischief, the House Nobles had no reason to have early mornings. Some of them were rarely up before noon.

Breakfast was a hot beef stew, taken at a table amongst the servants rather than preparing the formal dining room. Were Lady Margrane awake to see this, she would be sure to point out that 'associating so with lessers' was a 'sign of poor breeding.' Were the chevalier to hear such a diatribe, he would be sure to have trouble not laughing.

In particular, he made a point of sharing the table with Shantay, speaking over the meal to be sure of her welfare. Perhaps something of this could be made to reach Mavelle, but the chevalier had no intention of asking permission for who he counted as his friends. If they would argue, then they would argue, and he would not avoid the discussion.

Leathers and furs were suitable garb for a warrior. At home, war gear was often unsuitable, as the many metal lames would be harsh on the furnishings. Yet both leathers and furs did well at stopping the edge of a sword stroke, and many warriors would feel naked in less than such sturdy garb. Besides, it was far more comfortable than sixty pounds of braced steel.

So leaving his spear and armour behind, the chevalier strode out towards the Central Inn with the intent of collecting Arjen. On the way out he briefly sought for another chance to speak with Varangar, as he liked the giant and enjoyed the company of warriors. In the past week they had been known to make a point of spending time together, with part of the reason why being that few others were skilled enough for either to fully train with.

At the inn, Arjen had been well-kept. Perhaps overfed, although for an exercised warhorse that was no truly bad thing. Checking over the riding gear, the tack had been cleaned as well. This was a surprise, one which threw existing plans, which depended upon the delay caused by cleaning the tack. Brushing down Arjen once more, the chevalier beckoned for a hoof and found it offered unhesitantly.

"Now no kicks again, understood."

A soft snort answered.

Breath rattled as he examined the old scar. It was healing cleanly though, already seeming faded. Yet the great horse seemed to find relief from the gentle touch.

The saddle was fitted, the horse led from the stable, and the destrier mounted. Now could be used for a brief canter, to provide some much needed exercise, as well the chance for good forage. That spent roughly half an hour, and to be honest, more delays in collecting Julen would be welcome. The man was long overdue for some time with his wife.

On that note, the destrier swept around the edge of Marn, along the length of Bainbridge Street and passing the scrapyard on the way past. That gave him ideas. Warriors could certainly make use of metal, even if the city did not. All he needed was for the metal to be mostly flat, and then he could pound in shallow rolls with a hammer and rivet the pieces onto leather or canvas backing to provide strong and simple armour for his men. Sheathing Krarug in metal and then unleashing him on the battlefield was considered a fine way to shatter enemy units.

Immediately obvious inside were several stout barrels filled with water. On a quick guess, Krarug had filled them from the river and carried them here, demonstrating the sheer strength of the orc huscarl. Krarug was up, having slept early, making swift use of the place to stay found for him. Heavy crates were pushed aside, out of the way in stacks. Crates which few others would be able to move.

A few crude archery targets were set up, made by bracing large barrel lids against walls or the fence for height. There were no markers as with a true archery target, but it was something to work with. Searching around the abandoned buildings, they found a few crates and old beams which could be used to prop up targets in better positions. Key of these better positions was within range of the window on the first floor, to practice firing down on a foe from above, exploiting fortifications and high ground.

With all this done, he rode back to the bakery downtown and knocked on the door. The sudden growth of a warband was unexpected. There were consequences to that which they needed to discuss.

[Julen]

That night, Julen’s dreams were strange and twisted things. He dreamed that he was standing on a stage, juggling. Balls of gold and silver, balls encrusted with precious gems, all jumped between his hands, forming a glittering arc overhead. Yet, despite the magnificence of the spectacle, no one in the audience clapped or cheered. They just stared at him with hungry eyes.

The young woman whose lip Railtus had healed stood beside him, dressed in the bright colors of a showgirl. Without speaking, she gestured to the audience, and Julen knew what to do. One by one, he tossed them the balls he’d been juggling. But even as he surrendered the last orb, and watched it fall away into darkness, their hunger remained.

Again, the young woman gestured to Julen’s audience. Since he no longer had any props to offer them, he began to remove his stage clothes, throwing them to the crowd, until he stood before them completely naked.

And still, their hunger remained.

For a third time, the young woman repeated her gesture. But Julen could only shake his head. There’s nothing left.

There’s always something left. Taking his hand, the young woman raised it to her lips. However, instead of kissing it, her mouth stretched open, before she sunk her teeth deep into his flesh, tearing off a bloody chunk. As one, the audience stood up and started clambering onto the stage...

Mercifully, at that point the dream dissolved into blackness, allowing Julen to sleep undisturbed by further visions.

When Julen finally opened his eyes, he was surprised that he’d awoken on his own, rather than being roused by a knock from Railtus. The Angelsworn must be running other errands, perhaps with the intention of giving Julen and Rosemary more time to spend together. If that was indeed the case, Julen certainly appreciated it. Turning his head, he gazed at Rosemary, slumbering peacefully beside him, stray strands of auburn hair stirring slightly as they became entangled in the currents of her breath. And although Julen knew that an entire world full of things in need of doing awaited their participation, part of him wished that neither of them would ever have to leave this bed.

These were the moments he would remember. These were the moments he would take with him wherever his path led, that would comfort him during the times when he and Rosemary couldn’t be together. Railtus had prayers to guide his faith, keep him strong. Julen had these moments.

Doing his best to avoid waking Rosemary, Julen slipped out of bed and crossed to the wash basin, where he splashed water onto his face before scrubbing a few other critical areas. Then he got dressed. Unfortunately, putting on his armor caused a fair amount of jangling and clanking, so that by the time he’d finished, Rosemary was sitting up in bed. “Good morning,” she greeted with a smile.

“Any morning that I wake up beside you is a good morning.” Fondly, Julen brushed aside a bit of auburn hair before kissing his wife’s forehead. Then, while she cleaned up and got dressed, he carefully unwrapped the leftovers from last night’s dinner. Cold chicken and a few slices of buttered bread would make an excellent breakfast.

They’d just finished their meal when a knock sounded at the door. After the indulgence of an evening not spent recovering from training, repairing armor, or burying corpses, Julen felt particularly energized and ready to tackle whatever lay ahead. So a cheerful grin rested easily on his face as he swung open the door and greeted Railtus. “Welcome. What’s on the agenda for today?”

[Sir Karsimir]

Open delight made for a fine greeting, one which did the heart good to see. Even so, the inner voice of the restless fanatic was still prompting to make a swift return to Shim, where he knew of wrongs to right and injustices to correct. Efforts were being made towards that from here, and the prolonged seperation of husband and wife was another wrong in need of righting.

"Greetings Yeoman. I trust all is well?" Respect for privacy forstalled any further questions. The two were together and happy, beyond that was none of his business. "Archery today mainly. Now that we have a new bow we can try combat from a distance. There is less risk involved. Krarug and I have prepared a secure training area, so you need not worry of a stranger catching a stray arrow. We have been making a hall from an old warehouse, which we will use to house the men."

That point lead onto the other matter. "Can I come in? There is something that I wish to discuss." With no effort to bar entrance, the chevalier entered, seen for the first time without full armour, and moved his scabbard aside to take a seat, on the floor if need be. "Gaining the new warband will disrupt our current arrangements, so I wanted to speak to you first." Honesty was a good policy between warriors, as bonds of trust and loyalty were essential for those who risk their lives for each other.

"A lord has a responsibility to provide for his men. In this case, the men will require bread, cheese, meat and fish, as well as wine to clean water with so that it is safe to drink, and they will need of this to be ready upon joining. As for the costs themselves, if I assign fifteen bishani a week on bread, fifteen on meat and fish, then a further fifteen between cheese and eggs and potatoes and such, then we spend a final five on the wine for water, that will leave me fifty bishani a week for your stipend, which is a double pay that you are clearly worth." A discreet compliment, stated honestly but also thrown in to soften the blow. Despite there being good reason, despite the fact that the original pay had been deliberately extravagant, it still felt like a betrayal to reduce Julen's wages when the man had been faultless in loyalty. "Obviously, both of you," now including Rosemary in the conversation as well, "will be welcome to that food."

Simple loaves of bread seldom cost more than a quarter-bishan, so there would be sixty loaves of bread each week for the warband. Including the basic meats and other staple foods, and even a large warband would eat well. There would be meat and fish at least twice weekly, and still surplus bread to share.

"My personal allowance from House Anstrun will be spent on keeping Arjen, as well as leather and canvas goods for armour, along with gifts and treasures to divide among the men." Spending the allowance on trinkets and parties was the expected course according to his local relatives anyway. At least now the superficial intent would receive a better use. "Once again, that will obviously include you."

"Now what are your thoughts on the matter? How does that suggestion sound to you?" The question was directed solely at Julen, not out of any disrespect for Rosemary, merely that these obligations existed solely towards the men under his command. As much as he personally liked Rosemary, this business was not part of their relationship.

"Some of today rests on that." This was a very long agenda, "Such as arranging for the supplies. Once we have supplies we could take in some people from the shantytown, give them food and shelter, and they can help with the preparations."

"Finally, I want to coat your helmet crest and your brigandine in my colours. It will help to identify you in combat, and it will be easier for me to earn a reputation towards a knighthood if my men can be recognised on sight."

That was the whole agenda.

Well, Julen did ask.

[Julen]

“All is indeed quite well,” Julen assured, responding to Railtus’s inquiry. “Last night, Rosemary and I enjoyed dinner at a very pleasant pub near here. Thank you.” The ‘thank you’ could be construed as simple appreciation for asking. But, since the meal had been bought with bishani originating from Railtus, Julen felt a more encompassing sense of gratitude. It meant a great deal to him that he and Rosemary had been given the chance to spend an evening just having fun together.

The prospect of archery practice intrigued Julen. “When I was younger, my father sometimes took me hunting in the woods. Of course, that was years ago, and I imagine the bow we used was a bit different than the weapon you have in mind. But I’ll be curious to see if any of it has stayed with me.”

Moving aside, Julen ushered Railtus into the room. Rosemary had already spread her sewing supplies on the floor, and then settled down amongst them, leaving both chairs free if Railtus chose to occupy one. “Good morning,” she greeted, raising her head just long enough to give Railtus a pretty smile, before she retuned her attention to cutting a fresh length of thread. Even as Railtus outlined the new financial situation, Julen found it hard to tear his eyes away from watching her work.

“I see,” Julen commented, when Railtus had finished. He’d tried to keep track of the proposed budget. But numbers weren’t his strong point, and after awhile, everything blurred together into a big jumble of bread, bishani, and other necessities. Even his own slight cut in pay slipped past him. Not that he would have protested, even if he’d caught that particular detail. Between outfitting him, paying the rent on his room, and sharing the spoils won from the mercenaries, Railtus had already gone so far beyond the terms of their original agreement that Julen wasn’t going to quibble. Besides...ever since returning to Shim and helping Railtus liberate Rosemary, something had begun to take hold in Julen. Something which kept making him forget that he’d agreed to follow Railtus for the sake of something as petty as money.

“The finances seem very well allocated. And I like your suggestion for involving some people from the shanty town. To tell you the truth, ever since our visit, I’ve been haunted by the misery we saw there.” Julen didn’t mention last night’s errand. Compared to everything Railtus was preparing to do, simply handing out some bread seemed small in comparison.

What really made an impression on Julen was the idea of a warband. Of course, it made sense that beating the rogue mercenaries would require more than the efforts of three men -- well, two men and an orc, to be accurate. But this was the first time Railtus had discussed this aspect of his plans with Julen, and it certainly raised some questions. Unfortunately, the most pressing of these was one that Julen felt reluctant to bring up near Rosemary. Julen wasn’t exactly ashamed to take orders from another man in front of his wife, especially since she seemed so willing to follow orders herself. But he also didn’t want to draw attention to it by discussing issues of rank around her.

Carefully stepping over piles of fabric and straw, Julen bent over low enough to kiss the top of Rosemary’s head. “Be back tonight,” he promised. Then, he retrieved the bow from the pile of surplus weapons, along with the quiver of arrows, before rejoining Railtus. “Looks like we have a pretty full day ahead of us, so we better get started.”

Once they were outside, and the door securely shut behind them, Julen finally felt free to voice his question.

“There is one thing I was wondering about. As your footman...squire....yeoman...” Sometimes, Julen felt like each sunrise brought a new title for his position. “What is my relation to these new men? Am I their equal? Please understand, I’m not asking because I want to lord it over anyone. I just want to avoid...misunderstandings.” Again, Julen remembered his argument with Railtus. If he crossed the line with any of the mercenaries, Julen doubted that they would have the courtesy to reprimand him with wooden weapons, and using real blades to debate a question of rank was something he’d prefer to avoid.

[Sir Karsimir]

Tipping his head towards Rosemary was wasted, as she had already gone back to her work. Seeing as she had invited no further conversation, there was no need to highlight the greeting to ensure that it had been received. To do such would be more demand than courtesy. Besides, Julen was obviously hurrying them out, and there was no cause for resistance.

With that, the chevalier bid Rosemary farewell and left, closing the door behind him and then vaulting onto his horse. Once mounted, he heard the question put before him.

"For now, their equal. More or less. Everyone answers directly to me." stated plainly, rank would be far less an issue in such a small warband. There was the lord, and there were his men, all driven by personal loyalty. No greater organisation would be necessary. "I am preparing you for a role as serjeant, although it will take time for you to be ready. Or ready for a position of command." Leadership had issues and difficulties, some as simple as the willingness to lead, to require others to serve your will.

"If I have your consent, then I will make the necessary arrangements. This way." Without any obvious urging, Arjen began moving in the direction indicated. On the way more plans were outlined. "At the scrapyard we could find scrap and sheet metal. People from the shantytown can search for us, and if we rivet metal plates onto leather we have armour much like your brigandine." A very simple process for basic armouring. Hammered rolls to shape the plates, rivets to join them. The effectiveness of such a simple technique was noteworthy.

Weaving through the industrial district was still and quiet, almost sudden in the emptiness. Soon enough the appropriate block was found, leading up to the railings. Inside the enclosure were wide spaces, obviously cleared, with barrel lids propped up to make archery targets.

A greeting was called out in Orcish, and Krarug emerged, giving a nod and a grunt to Julen as he did so. "Choose a lid. Here, here, or here." gesturing to three prepared in open positions. "I want to see your technique. Make sure to sight the arrow with both eyes. Later on, we will deal with firing from above. Archers are more useful firing from walls or windows or hilltops. A clear shot across level ground is rare."

Words were exchanged with Krarug, who, with his boss returned, immediately resumed his work. Mostly the great behemoth moved large crates and barrels as directed. Generally they were cleared out of the way to provide larger living areas, although many of the heavier crates were arranged in a line not far inside the main entrance, much like a fortification. However low the risk of being invaded from inside the city.

Unlike close combat, archery did not favour gauntlets. Wearing heavy gloves created an imprecise draw which hindered accuracy. So what was necessary with most weapons became impossible with a bow. Perhaps surprisingly, the Imperial helmet was no hinderance, mostly due to the lack of a noseguard. The open-faced design allowed for full vision and perception of the target.

Actually, archery was more complicated than was common belief. First of all, there was stance, presenting the left foot and left arm forwards while drawing back with the other limb to fire. There was a certain manner in which the fletching should rest against the bowstring when drawn. Three fingers, not two, were used to draw the bowstring. Perhaps more surprising was the slight tilt, which helped to support the arrow against the limb of the bow and keep the string from striking the wrist when released.

Although knowledgable of the form, Railtus, the chevalier, the Shining One, was no true archer. Killing from afar was not his nature. Most of the conflicts he engaged in began from very close, less an organised combat than the act of putting one's body between danger and the innocent. In this, it would not be difficult for the student to surpass the teacher.

[Julen]

Continued as "Preparations For Battle" in the Industrial District:

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