Days of a Tempus Man; 'The Fire' (Part 1/2)

[TheGuyThatPlaysAsJames]

    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."