Frederick looked to the gray sky, the ax coming down a final time.
The weather was overcast and cool by midday, a blanket of thick,
white clouds blanketing the once-blue sky. It was a welcome change, he
thought, a shift from the harsh sun beating down on him from previous
days of travel, the heat punishing him for his preference of donning his
breastplate and padding whenever possible. His armor was unbuckled
and removed now, the old warrior using the cool air to his advantage,
having taken the better part of the day to chop cords of wood, the
perfect spot found in a small clearing not far from the encampment. The
woodsman's ax used for the chore was placed head-down to rest against
the tree stump where the blocks of wood were set before their
execution, and Frederick moved to sit himself on the evenly stacked
lines of chopped lumber, taking a yellowed rag to wipe his receded
hairline. He reached for a canteen that was placed near the dismantled
breastplate and drank, smiling to himself at the work done. Though if
this had been me ten years ago, I would not need this rest. You're
getting older, Fred. He scratched at his short, salted beard and perished
the thought, and stood to wear his breastplate.
A short walk returned him to the rich sight of leather tents, shaded
coverings made from cloth and wood, and the people he had traveled
with for nearly fifteen years. Dozens of the tan-skinned folk lived and
occupied this place: children running and playing, naked as the day they
were born; young men shaping tools and weapons that they would later
use to hunt; older women tanning leather along a makeshift rack of
wood and strips of hide. These were a working people, ones that valued
action over coin and words.Time had given him the opportunity to know
these people, and time had allowed him to teach them as well. Before
his arrival, they had communicated through motions and primitive
sounds, but despite their apparent savagery, they were each and all
quite intelligent and capable of learning and adapting, and this allowed
for the teaching of the Common tongue, a language that they had all
become eloquently fluent in. Which is more than I can say for some of
those I had met during my city life. It was no great effort on his part,
either, as each would teach another a word or phrase unknown to them,
which quickly built and spread naturally through the group over the
course of a decade. He had tried teaching them names as well, and at
first attempted those in cities would have - Samuel, Jacob, Maria, Lily -
but they did not take, and instead they adopted names that best suited
each individual. The old knight had a memory for some of them:
Deepeye the hunter; the warrior Redclaw; the shaman called by many in
the pack as Wise; the brothers Brightwind and Blackhair, sons of Ice;
Truespear; Loudfoot; Graycub; Sleepless; and many others. At that
moment, however, he only needed to see Graycub, a builder and
gatherer, to tell him of the finished work. The two of them had arranged
to round up some boys to help them carry the wood to the pack long
before the cold of the night set in. They had also planned on meeting at
the place Frederick now stood, alone.
"You appear lost, Tempus man," the husky, amused voice of a woman
called out. "You are not yet old enough to lose your memory. Did a tree
fall on your head while you were away?"
To his right he turned, and smiled at the sight of the warrior Redclaw
approaching him from the inside of one of the hide-woven tents. "They
came at me in droves," he replied, "but before they could successfully
bonk me, I slayed them one and all with my ax. If you had only been
there."
"To side with the trees, maybe," she smirked, moving toward him with
a swaggered stride. Redclaw stood tall and lean, a figure of corded
muscle and amber skin that nearly matched the Tempurian's own
respectable height. Contrary to his steel breastplate, her own attire was
of cured leather and padded furs, metal rivets adding further protection
to vital points. Her features were unique, even amongst her people; full,
ever-grinning lips rested below prominent cheekbones on a narrow face,
her bright brown eyes angled at a slight slant. Age lines folded into her
smile along her mouth, nose, and the corners of her eyes, and the entire
top of her head was cleanly shaven. She looks like a lynx, Frederick
thought, a comparison he always returned to whenever they would find
each other.
"I seem to have misplaced Graycub," Frederick inquired, "or he hasn't
found me. He told me that he would be waiting here for me after he had
finished cutting his own wood. He'd started before me, and said he'd be
finished before I was."
Redclaw shrugged in response. "It could be possible that he has
simply not finished yet. What were your plans with him?"
"Well," Frederick scoffed lightly, "we were going to round up some of
the young men to help gather up the work we'd done. If he expects
those boys to listen to me alone, then I must be on the wrong end of
some joke."
"Tut," she laughed, "if Graycub had somehow developed a sense of
humor since I had last spoke with him, I would worry more for the
health of his mind than his punctuality." The warrior paused in thought.
"As you say, asking those boys for help as yourself would bear less fruit
than simply doing the job alone, being a guest. More-so, you would not
have the stronger ones, as they have already agreed to meet with me."
"Meet with you?" He tilted his head.
The question seemed to only amuse her further, her grin now
developed into a toothy smile. "I do not dress this way to be flattered,
Tempus man. The young men less experienced in hunting and combat
are to learn from me today, and they are the stronger ones. If one were
to be so lucky as to land a blow on me, I would prefer something aside
from flesh and hope to glance the strike."
"It seems the plan we'd made was destined to fall apart," he shook his
head, sighing with a quirk of a grin. He had called this place home
longer than some of the children had been alive, but he was doomed to
forever be seen as a "guest," one who had not been born among the
pack. It was possible for one to leave one pack to join another, an act not
entirely out of the ordinary to those that come to the age of adulthood,
but he was too different to be considered one of their own, outwardly
and inwardly. Still, a guest had rights, and would be treated with respect
and grace so long as he did not overreach. It was not a title he resented.
"Perhaps not," she claimed, her face finally betraying an idea formed
to her imagination, "yours is a god of combat and warfare, is it not? You
are already dressed for such an event. Bring your blade. Slowcub should
be finished when we are, and then you may offer them to your task."
*--------------------------------------------------------------------------------*
From a yard or so away, Frederick could make out makeshift barrier of
thin wood enclosing roughly fifty feet of flat land, and within it a
handful of rowdy youths with sticks and clubs that had started ahead of
Redclaw's arrival. The old knight was unsurprised to recognize some of
the faces of a few that had come to him in the past to learn his "city
way" of fighting, as they called it, and less surprised to find them here,
aspiring hunters and warriors all. Some wore leathered protection
similar to Redclaw, others preferring to don no armor at all but tanned
hide pants. The fat Greatbear took a larger club against the smaller
Daylance, himself using two smaller clubs to dance around his rotund
sparring partner. Blackhair, broader and taller than most men in the
encampment, was keeping keeping Shytooth at bay with two clubs of
his own, Shytooth himself jabbing at him with a long staff to simulate
spearplay. There were others as well, and if they were not in the
enclosure then they could be seen sitting off on the sides, bruised and
laughing with either former or future opponents. For a moment, the
sight took Frederick back in time to when he was a young squire in the
training yard with other aspiring boys and would-be knights, and the
fond memory gave him a smile. The sound of Redclaw audibly clearing
her throat beside him caused him to realize that he had been lost in
thought. He turned to look at her.
"This sight always brings me to another time," he replied to a question
need not asked, "if you can believe it, I was one of these rowdy boys
once."
"Truly? The thought of you being smacked about the chest and arms
with sticks is an amusing one," she gave him a teasing look he was all
too accustomed to seeing.
"Not always sticks, or even normally. Squires were given training
blades to beat on each other with for most days."
"They allowed boys to cut each other on raw steel?" She quirked a
brow.
"No, no. These were dulled to give bruises instead of cuts, thank the
gods. Most of the Cormyrian military would have charged into battle
without arms and legs, elsewise."
"Quite the thing to imagine."
"Oh yes," he released a light chuckle, "the Zhents would have either
ran in terror or died from laughter at the sight."
"A limbless hunter would make for a poor one, I think, hilarious or
not," she smirked, then looked out to the yard, pointing out a youth
sitting and watching alone from outside the training area. "Your squire
has come to learn today as well, it seems."
Frederick followed the path from which she pointed, and his
searching found Brightwind perched on a rock with his attention fixated
into a book. The writings on the Dalelands he had asked about, by my
guess. While not his squire in actuality, he was so nicknamed for the
way he apparently admired Frederick, taking any moment of free time
to ask about his old culture or the lands farther north. A smaller boy,
even for his age, Brightwind was named for his intelligent manner of
speech and evident love of learning; if this were a more civilized place,
he would easily be considered a young scholar for his interest in the
world around him.
"Likely here to watch Blackhair," Frederick remarked, "or taunt him
from the sidelines."
"As brothers do," said Redclaw, "but he may be more interested in
speaking with you. I have never interested him enough in this kind of
training outside of using a bow. To him, this is a dull affair."
Frederick scratched at his beard. "I'll go to him. I think I have an
errand he could see to, anyway."
"As you say," Redclaw turned to look to the boys in the yard again,
"but do not be too long, or I may be tempted to keep them to myself
until sundown, and you and Graycub will be forced to do your task by
yourselves after all."
He smiled. "Not to worry. I will only be a moment."
From there, the two split off, Redclaw walking briskly toward the
training boys, and Frederick diverging to his left toward Brightwind.
Approaching him, the old knight may as well not have been there, the
boy so invested in the book that everything around him was blocked
out. He almost didn't want to interrupt him, but a yell from Redclaw at
the boys was enough to tear Brightwind's attention from the book, and
he looked up to meet the eye of the smiling knight.
"The temptation of watching Redclaw tear into Blackhair was not
enough to keep you from bringing the book with you?" Frederick said,
his tone amused and friendly.
"Hello, Tempus man," Brightwind closed the book and stood, greeting
him with a bowing nod, "and to be honest, no, but the idea to come here
was not up to me. Blackhair insisted that I come outside for a time, and
he thought this a good a reason as any. It will not stop me from learning
what I can about the north, though."
It is that book after all. "What part of the book are you on?"
"I am reading of what is traded and exchanged between cities,"
Brightwind replied, clearly glad to have been asked. "Specifically
Shadowdale. I am intrigued by the use of adventurers and their sold
spoils in their trade. Being the home city of the great Elminster, I enjoy
seeing how much his setting out had inspired others, and what those
others do to further the economy of the place. It works as a great circle."
"As it does," Frederick grinned pleasantly, impressed by the boy.
Brightwind's historical and academic aspirations were always
refreshing to him, being so invested in his old way of life. "Listen, I'd like
to ask you a favor, if I could tear you away from your reading a
moment."
"What is it?" Speaking as if eager to impress.
"The builder Graycub and I had arranged a meeting, but likely doesn't
know I'm here. I would not like him searching endlessly for me, so could
you return to the camp and keep an eye out for him? Let him know
where I am once he is finished?"
The young boy had a look of reluctance and slight disappointment,
glancing to the book in his arm a moment.
Frederick couldn't help but smile. "You may bring the book."
The words changed Brightwind's entire response, and smiling ear to
ear, he bowed with a nod. "As you say, Tempus man. I will find Graycub
and let him know where you are."
"Good lad," said Frederick. He watched the boy run off, book in tow.
*--------------------------------------------------------------------------------*
The better part of an hour was spent in that makeshift training yard,
and the boys that began their day rowdy and rambunctious ended it
sore and spent. Redclaw's methods of teaching involved more action
than words, and for every technique taught, the boys would need to
stand in a line before her so that she may demonstrate it physically
onto them, one at a time. When it came to the showing of certain
pressure spots to inflict pain during combat, such as between the bone
and muscle of the bicep, she promised each of them that whomever
could withstand the pain without being brought to their knees would be
allowed to return the treatment to her. None did. After she had "warmed
them up" for him, as she said, Frederick began a lesson in footwork and
movement, driving home the point that keeping one's balance in check
was more important than the strength of a blow. Greatbear had
challenged Frederick at that, being of considerable size, and ended up in
the dirt as a result of a quick dodge and a kick to the back of the knee.
For his arrogance and misplaced confidence, Redclaw declared that
Greatbear should have to pack the wooden barriers, clubs, and sticks by
himself and return them to town, saying that the work will do well to
reduce his large gut. Though the day remained cool and overcast, not
one of them left that yard without building up a sweat, welcoming the
cooler weather for the walk back. Redclaw and Frederick began to
return together as they had arrived, albeit a great deal more tired.
"I may have tricked you, Tempus man," said Redclaw, "by the time you
are finished collecting wood after today, you may collapse."
"I will have to leave the brunt of the work to the boys, in that case," he
laughed, "besides, it pleases the Lord of Battles when this way of combat
is spread to others. This was a day better spent for the training than it
was for the gathering, I think."
"It pleased me to watch you knock that fat boy on his fat ass," she
grinned, "your Lord of Battles must have found appreciation in that act
as well."
"Perhaps he did. Maybe not in the way that you have, but there is a
less likely chance that Greatbear will let his guard down in that spot
again, or the others in witnessing what it can do. I have seen many lose
their lives from poor footing in that way."
"'Seen,' or 'caused?' Redclaw had a catlike smile. "I know when
movements are habit, and safely I say that was a motion you must have
done dozens of times."
She looks like a lynx. "In a chaotic place such as a battlefield, it's easy
to forget your footing," he stated, almost coy, "and believe me, much like
you do in your training yard, I have had that move done to me in
practice more nearly as many times as I have done it to others."
"As you say, Tempus man," she shook her head with a smile.
The end of the day was approaching, cooling the air even more as
they walked back. Frederick welcomed the breeze to work with his
sweat, washing him with a rejuvenating chill while they moved. He
could see the welcoming sign of tents and people coming into view now,
and with it, someone leaving the camp and approaching them, someone
small and fast. They both stopped.
"What could this be about...?" Redclaw wondered aloud.
From far enough away, Frederick could see that there was only one
arm flailing about as the small figure hurriedly approached them, and as
it got closer, he could make out that he was holding something to his
chest. A book. Brightwind? The knight and the warrior looked at each
other, and having the same idea, both ran to meet the boy. Seconds later,
they were before him, and saw that if he was not in a panic, he was
most certainly recovering from one.
"It-... he-... I'm..." Brightwind stood, trembling and out of breath, eyes
pointed to the ground, "I'm sorry, I couldn't... he was..."
"You're trailing off, boy," Redclaw nearly snapped at him, "calm
yourself, use your words. What has happened?"
When no answer came from Brightwind, Frederick fell to one knee to
meet the boy, giving a gentle hold to his shoulders. He looked to
Redclaw for a moment, her expression full of as much worry and stress
as her tone had previously indicated.
"Brightwind," the man calmly said, "Brightwind, look at me. Look at
me in the eyes. Tell me what's wrong, what happened."
There was a pause, and for a moment, Frederick thought Brightwind
would stay locked up, staring at the dirt. With a sniff, however, he
looked to meet the knight in the eyes, the whites turned red and what
remained of tears trailing his face.
"Tell me what has happened, Brightwind," he said again.
"It's-..." he shuddered a breath. "It's Graycub. He's gone. And he's taken
a child."