noc. iii

The Past

Their soldiers had set up a tent for the knights just on the outskirts of the crumbling village.

Malikai followed after Lawrence in the direction of their temporary quarters, keeping her head tilted towards the ground as she stepped over the remains of southern soldiers, abandoned swords and helmets.

Not an unfamiliar sight, anymore; their campaign had been going on for quite some time and was now entering its seventh month. Even still, Malikai always felt a bit queasy surrounded by so much death. It didn’t help that she occasionally would glance the skirt of a woman, one of the townsfolk, or a hand much too wrinkly and feeble for war. Trying to keep her balance, she took a deep breath and looked upwards at the pale, blue sky, pretending that air was refreshing and not a rancid reminder of what she briefly sought to ignore.

“You okay?” Lawrence asked, glancing back at her. Malikai nodded, keeping the discomfort to herself.

The tent was a great, white tepee carving out a space in the barren landscape. Lawrence stood beside the flap and pulled it open. “After you,” he said, with a playfully chivalrous inflection. Malikai gave a terse, appreciative smile and ducked underneath his arm, noticing the light dim as he let the flap fall shut behind them.

Inside the tent was set up similar to how Lawrence normally requested strategic meetings during the war. There was a round, mahogany table at the center, buried beneath several maps of the southern regions. A couple chairs beside the table and at the back of the tent. Strewn across the ground was a patchwork of luxurious rugs, in between which pushed tiny tuffs of grass. There were lanterns hung for light.

It only could comfortably fit about five bodies. With Lawrence and Malikai there was now seven, and the congestive response was quite immediate.

“I thought this was a quick detour, not a full-fledged breeding ground,” said Faye, leaning against the side of the tent. She was the daughter of a baron and the youngest of the knights, the last to be recruited for the campaign. And she made it very obvious. “Who ordered the men to put up the tent? Aren’t we on our way to the Aldhein Fort?”

“I did,” said Gabriel calmly, seated in one of the chairs by the planning table.

“And why is that?”

Gabriel was cleaning his knife, not looking at her. When he spoke, it was a clear, “The weather is hot.”

Unaccustomed to being taken lightly, despite that Gabriel was always curt, Faye laughed but her eyes were hard. She stepped towards him and put a hand on her hip, flipping her long, immaculate braid over her shoulder. “And so?” she said.

“I got hot.”

“Take off your armor,” she huffed with an irked gesture.

“Were I to do that, it would put me at greater risk of assassination,” Gabriel said, matter-of-factly.

“Good.”

“Now, now,” piped another voice from the table. He’d been studying one of the maps resting on the table, and looked up at the exchange of words. “Let’s be kind, okay?”

Faye turned toward the knight, Charles, and pouted in hopes of winning his sympathy. “Our job is already done here. Now we have to wait however long it takes the men to pack all this away before we can head out again.”

“Well,” Charles, started, “certainly it won’t take—”

“We could’ve been halfway to heart of the southern lands. Instead, we’re idling while Gabriel fiddles that stupid…letter opener, which he never even uses.”

Charles gave a nervous chuckle, glancing at the glisteningly sharp knife in Gabriel’s hands. “I’m sure halfway is an exaggeration—”

“I’m not sure why he gets to make any decisions at all.”

“Faye.”

The brunette would have continued her fit if not for the soft call of one of the other female knights, Lydia, who was a few years her elder. Her hair was cut to her ears and she had a severe expression. For some unknown reason, Faye often listened to her. “The horses need to rest, as do the men,” she said. “Even if we left at daybreak, it would do no good to confront an entire garrison while severely exhausted.”

“And we still need to account for our losses here,” Charles chimed, still trying to charm the argument into dissolution.

Faye looked between them. She didn’t seem completely willing to let it go, but she didn’t have a rebuttal. Deciding to hold her complaints for the time being, she blew out a long, strident sigh. “He could’ve said that, then,” she muttered. “What do I care if he’s sweaty. We’re all sweaty.”

“Yes, he could’ve,” Charles was quick to intervene. “But sometimes things slip our minds, of course you know, I’m sure it was a harmless oversight.” He smiled.

“I don’t like you,” Gabriel said, glancing up at Faye before returning to his work.

When Faye realized that she’d been insulted, her cheeks immediately flushed a deep crimson and her eyes blazed with indignation. Before she would respond, Lawrence finally stepped forward, raising a hand to halt the incoming quarrel.

“How about we all settle down now.”

They kept silent as Lawrence walked further into the tent, his muddy, steel boots seemingly heavy against the fur-covered ground. He loosened the leather guards strapped to his forearms, tossing them onto the piles of maps as he passed.

There was a small shelf that had a few bottles of fine liquor set upon it. Lawrence poured himself a glass. He took a long drought, emptying the glass, before addressing his silent audience.

“What a way to celebrate our victory, no?”

He stood beside a tall woman, awkwardly tall, hunched over the other end of the shelf which contained several tiny vials on a tube rack. She was called Hadi. She seemed both to want to acknowledge him and shrink away beyond his vision. Malikai often wondered how she came to be among them, but then she remembered how well she handled a weapon.

“Fortune favors the just,” Charles chimed, moving to have a drink of his own.

“We need to make account of the men,” Lydia said.

“We will,” Lawrence replied. “Although I’ve done my fair share of ‘counting’ for the day. If much else is required of me, it won’t be done in a soberly way.”

“Hear, hear,” Charles grinned. Then, rather off-hand, he said, “We found a wine cellar, on the far side of the village.”

“That’s interesting.”

“It’s well secured, but we should check inside. To be certain there are no more soldiers hiding away down there,” he added reassuringly.

Lydia said nothing, fading back to her corner. In the brief moment, Malikai squared her shoulders, lifting her chin.

“The scout needs to be questioned,” she spoke firmly into the space surrounding.

Those in the tent looked at her, a few despondent, the others less than pleased. Only Lawrence gave her a genuine look, which served as a bit of encouragement. “Why is that?” Faye asked, when it seemed no one else would.

“The report he brought was false. Innocents were put in danger; we will have to report to His Majesty.”

The former scoffed. “I don’t think His Majesty has spent a single afternoon wallowing over a few wretch—”

“I think you’ve introduced yourself well and loudly enough,” Lawrence said with casual finality. Faye took the warning for what it was. “Now,” he said, putting down his glass. He turned, looked over at Malikai, and nodded.

She took a breath.

He said, “Let’s have a look at that report.”

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eight warriors go to war for the Realms, seven come back; they are praised for the battle, endowed with wealth and titles beyond measure, but none of them ever speak of what happened there.