Fraul, 28

When he woke in the morning the air was icy. He went out to make sure his company was awake, and since he had done nothing but roll off his cot and step into his boots, he was early. He reflected that when he didn’t drink, he had more time. He even grabbed a sip of coffee from the meal tent.

Crowe, rubbing his eyes in the darkness, passed Raru going in. He said, “Captain,” and something in his voice was more than a greeting. Raru stopped with his mug and wondered if he had done something wrong. Crowe stepped out of the way of the stream of men wandering toward the food and said, “Someone came asking for you yesterday. I didn’t recognize him. I thought he was your brother.”

“My brother?” Raru asked, blinking. He had no brother. “Where did you send him?”

“I told him you would be here in the morning. Expect someone, I think.”

Raru saluted slowly. “Thank you…I suppose.”

Crowe’s smile was grim. “I’ll be watching for you. Do you have gambling debts?” Raru laughed.

“Only a few, and they’re all in camp.”

“Good, good.” Crowe saluted him. “Get to your men.”

Raru’s brow was creased, but a little flutter of excitement flipped in his belly. Things got boring in camp. It was nice to have an unknown that wasn’t Fraul.

He clasped his hands behind his back, shuffled his feet apart, and called out the drills. Lieutenant Wilde was in front, and Raru gave him the barest of nods when their eyes met. He felt alert, crisp, clear.

“Ten-hup!” he called, and with a clatter of metal the hundred soldiers swung their bodies forward and clicked their boots together. The other companies were doing something similar across the field, all the way back toward the belt of forest. Raru smiled, his gaze ranging over the sunrise. This was his favorite time of day.

He bellowed for them to turn left, and to begin the drills of the right side. They began with hand strikes, and then feet, and then each unsheathed their sword and stepped in perfect unison with those before and beside them. It was good they did; a wrong step would send them into their companions’ blades. But most men had done these drills every sunrise since their youth, and they murmured and spoke as they did.

“Attention!” Raru called, tossing a pebble toward the sound of the chatter. “You can talk at breakfast!”

“Sir!” said the man, smiling to his friend. Raru itched to join them. He said, “Lieutenant, take over.”

“Yes, sir,” said Wilde, sheathing his sword and passing Raru, who stepped into his place. Raru’s body fell into the movements before his mind had time to register. He had to slow himself down, to make sure he didn’t skip to the next motion before Wilde called it. The leather of his sword was warm in his hands.

He saw the shadow of a man at the edge of camp. He tensed, but the man was coming from the town side of camp, and not the forest. Raru brought his focus back to the drills just in time to keep in-step, and in the next few moments Wilde called, “Up!” The men stepped back into the center and turned toward their lieutenant with two steps. Raru felt a rush of pride. He had done this with them. He had awoken every damned morning before the sunlight to do this with them.

Wilde glanced to Raru, as did the others.

“Dismissed,” he called, and the lines melted away. In the next few seconds, so exact was their synchronicity, the other companies did the same. All told, they numbered about a thousand. Their little meal halls, the largest tents in camp, could barely accommodate them. Many of the men wandered into town for breakfast instead.

Raru followed them, allowing himself to be borne along the current. The shadowy figure had disappeared. He slowed, casting his gaze around, and as he passed Heath’s house he saw Fraul in his wheelchair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, gazing with gentle scrutiny at a stooped man in a purplish cloak. Heath leaned on a post of the porch, feet crossed and arms folded on his chest. The man was gesturing with his hands, first to his own face, then to the camp. As Raru drew nearer, both former captains’ eyes flicked to him, but their faces betrayed no emotion and the man kept speaking.

“He’ll look like me,” he said. “I believe he will, anyway. You understand, it’s no easy task to find one man in this camp.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Heath, one corner of his mouth upturned. “Assuming, of course, that this is him now.”

The cloaked man spun around, his hand going to his hip though Raru saw no weapon there. Both stood and regarded each other. Fraul and Heath exchanged a glance.

Raru folded his arms against the swell of emotion that surged over him. His eyes flicked to Fraul–they still had business to discuss. But the man smiled gently, crossing the distance between them and putting a hand on Raru’s shoulder, clenching it, giving the shoulder a little shake. His smile was fierce.

“It’s you,” he said quietly.

Raru was struck dumb. He had many words, to be sure. Heath saw the desperate look enfolded in his eyes.

“Come inside, have some breakfast, Raru,” he said. “You look like a doe who’s just been shot.”

Raru’s father released him, glancing down with some guilt, and Heath said, “You too. I imagine you haven’t had any coffee yet this morning.”

“I wouldn’t be so bold,” the older man rasped, but Fraul said, “No, no, none of that. Heath’s bark is worse than his bite.”

Heath held the door for Fraul, whacking the other man in the shoulder as he wheeled across the threshold. Raru felt a pang for Fraul, knowing he was hurting. He glanced at his father, who grabbed his walking stick from against the house and thumped inside, and Raru brought up the rear.

They crowded around Heath’s fire and took up most of the room in the cabin. Raru sat on Heath’s table, Fraul in his wheelchair, Heath leaning on the wall and the newcomer taking the chair. They all watched the kettle as Heath found various tin cups and tossed one to each man. Raru’s father didn’t know it, but he felt the tension that rebounded between Raru and Fraul. Heath knew it and felt it.

He cleared his throat just to dissolve it. He poured coffee into his own cup and, as he poured it into Fraul’s, asked, “Where did you arrive from, and what is your name?”

“Beckon,” said the man. “Beckon Ire.”

Fraul grinned. “A lovely name.”

“And what are your names?” Emboldened by Fraul’s goofy ease, Beckon exhaled and sat back in the chair, smelling the coffee with appreciation. His eyes went to Fraul first, who gave his in full. Heath gave only his first.

Beckon’s eyes swept to his son, to the sword on his belt, and the two swords in the corner of the room which he assumed belonged to the other men. He smiled. “Army men, all of you?”

“Quite,” said Fraul. “Though I am not of Ezuran make.”

“Yes, I have known some with your talk.” Beckon sipped the coffee, both his hands around it, his shoulders drawn up. “It’s…colder than usual here.”

“Aye, isn’t it?” said Fraul, easing back, propping an elbow on each arm of the chair. “And almost summer at that.” He drained his mug and leaned forward, but before he could get up Heath gestured him back and grabbed the kettle. Fraul smiled, sitting back as his cup was filled, and his gaze went back to the newcomer. “Tell us, where did you grow up?”

“Well, I…” Beckon’s eyes flicked to his son, and Raru saw guilt there. Raru took up the story with cold eyes.

“He grew up here,” he said. “Then he went to Oreia.”

“For what?” Heath asked, sidling around to his table of notes. Beckon sprung up and offered him the chair, now going to lean on the wall where he had been. Heath took it with a grunt and went back to his notes, in which he had been engaged before their arrival. Their eyes followed him with interest until he cast a sharp, hot look up and asked, “Well?”

“Why did I go to Oreia?” Beckon repeated, looking to Fraul for confirmation. Gently, Fraul nodded, sharing a little smile with the old man.

“Heath is a class all his own,” he said quietly, and Heath slurped the coffee. Beckon smiled, now positioned between them and across from his son.

He thought back for a moment, and before he continued he met Raru’s gaze. Raru was watching him with detached interest. Part of him also watched Fraul, who waited for the story like a delighted child.

“I…” Beckon swirled the coffee around and shrugged, draining his cup. Fraul put a hand on the wall to help himself to a standing position, grabbing the hot kettle and holding it out. Beckon watched him with curiosity; the kettle trembled a little as he poured the next round of coffee in both their cups. He did not look at Raru. With a little curse of relief his buttocks hit the chair, rubbing his knees. Beckon continued as if he didn’t notice.

“I went to Oreia because there was a war going on here. It seems to still be going,” he added low, his eyes flicking to his son. “I wanted to keep you safe. And your mother…she didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay and fight.”

“Sounds like a few people I know,” said Fraul.

“Yes?”

“Well, back then no woman could fight. But things are different now. You’ll see.” Fraul flapped his hand. “My apologies. Please continue.”

Beckon shrugged, his hand brushing the staff. “I…” he said, casting his eyes upward. “I suppose that’s all, really. I took my sons to Oreia for the money, and for safety. I am a merchant, you see.”

Heath interrupted, “And what do you sell?”

“Ah, bits and bobbles.” Beckon waved his hand. “Whatever I find useful. And I had many Ezuran goods which I knew they would like in Oreia. I knew how to support us and I felt no allegiance to this country.” He remembered he was in the presence of army men and added, “Begging your pardon.”

Fraul laughed. “Look how he shakes!” he said to Heath, slapping his knee. “You needn’t worry, friend. Your secret is safe with us.”

Raru’s voice cut through their good humor. “Why did you come back?” he asked. One of Beckon’s eyebrows lifted, as Raru’s often did. Fraul delighted in their resemblance–blue eyes, grizzled beards, though one had a face more lined.

“Why did you come back?” he asked. Raru shifted as if uncomfortable, his hand rasping across his jaw.

“I felt an allegiance that you did not,” he said.

“You might have told me so before you left.”

Raru’s hand went to the pommel of his sword, fingering the knot there. Fraul, feeling his knees beginning to talk to him, did not notice how he gripped the green stitches. Fraul was staring into his empty cup, wishing he had poppy.

As the conversation quieted, Beckon said, “Well. I won’t keep you all from your duties any longer. I appreciate the coffee, Heath. I mean to find an inn within the town borders.”

Heath nodded, his eyes on his parchment, and said, “Put the cup on the counter.”

As Beckon did so, Fraul said, “I will show you there. Raru is a captain, you know, and has many things to do today.” His eyes were stern and cold when he turned the chair, and Raru stepped out of the way.

“Are you no captain?” Beckon asked, seeing the other man’s sword without a knot.

“No, no,” Fraul laughed. “And I am grateful for it, truly. I fight when they need me. But I am old.”

Confused, the man nodded slowly. He caught his son’s gaze. “Find me later,” he said. “I have something to give you.”

Raru’s eyes flicked away from him. He said, “I’ll try.”

Fraul shook his head and promised Beckon, “I’ll let him know where you lodge.”

“Much appreciated,” said the older, cloaked man. His walking stick thumped against the wooden floor, and the door closed behind him. Fraul sighed as his chair got stuck in the mud, and he reached for the braces on the porch.

“One moment,” he begged of Beckon, who dipped his head as Fraul buckled them on. Then, like magic, the man rose from the chair and belted on his sword. “Away we go,” he chirped, but there was a note of effort in his voice. He pushed the chair onto the porch, then limped across the field and the cloaked man followed him.

They were silent as they stepped off the grass of the army camp and onto the pavement of town. Fraul said, “The inn won’t be far. Raru frequents a den right beside it.”

“You know him well,” said Beckon.

“Yes, he was my lieutenant, long ago.” Fraul stepped over a pothole with a grunt. His eyes traveled to the other man’s cloak. “Do you fight?” he asked.

“Some,” said Beckon. “I reserve my skills for emergencies only.”

“And what are those skills, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Beckon smiled but said nothing. Fraul, eyebrows raised, said nothing in return. “Ah,” he said in a few moments, raising his hand. “There she is, Cheshire Inn.”

It was a nondescript building, beside a smoky and blue-painted house which was the dancing den. Beckon heard laughter and thuds of dancing feet from within. He said, “A Bazairi den, here?”

“Quite!” laughed Fraul, nodding. “I said the same thing.”

Beckon led the way into the inn and waited for the other man to cross the threshold. He got himself a single room, pulled a few silver coins from a hidden pouch, noticed his new friend watching with interest. Then he put another few coins on the bar and asked, “Stay and have a drink with me, won’t you?”

Fraul considered it for a moment. “I would love the chance to sit,” he admitted.

Beckon smiled. He liked this man. They found themselves a little table in the back corner and the barkeep brought them two deep mugs. Fraul eased himself onto the chair with a sigh, using his arms to lower himself down. When he was settled, he took the mug and had a single sip, wiping the foam away with the back of his hand. Beckon noticed the rings glittering there.

They watched the people around them in warm silence. Fraul said, “You know Ezure well, then?”

“Well enough,” said the older man. “We lived here many years, me and Bethany.”

Fraul leaned back, exhaling, smiling warmly. They regarded each other. Beckon said at last, “It seems Raru has found good people here.”

“Oh, certainly, certainly,” agreed Fraul, before realizing that the other man was talking about him. He cleared his throat and tipped his mug this way and that, watching the liquid within. He said finally, “I was lucky to have Raru for so long.”

“I thought promotions only happen when one’s captain meets his end.”

“Well, I did, in a manner of speaking.” Fraul shrugged. “I was thought dead. Raru was promoted.”

“That little knot on his blade–so that was yours?”

“Yes, indeed.” Fraul took another drink of ale and smiled. “You know much about Ezuran armies.”

“I lived in a little town north of here. It’s no wonder that Raru came back here, when he did choose to return to this country. I think in his heart he is still Ezuran.”

“Is Oreia where he grew up?” Fraul asked, brow creased, not wanting to betray too much of his interest. This chapter of Raru’s life, he knew little about. Beckon smiled with his lips pressed together and answered, “Yes. I took him to the Seeri. I learned their crafts. Raru would play around in the dirt and mud with the little Seeri children. I’m sure you were doing something similar, young man.”

Fraul threw his head back and laughed. “Actually, I was courting a lady in Ilcoceum,” he said. “By letters, of course. I’m sure by then I had already found my place in the army.”

“How came you to the army?”

Fraul sat back and sighed, rubbing his knee. “My parents were merchants. My father brought me to Ezure with him, and I was…a curious child, a very curious child.” His smile faded. “I lost him somehow. I could not find him. Perhaps he thought me dead. And I believe he left on his ship after a few days, assuming this. So I stayed with the army, more for food than anything else.”

Beckon’s brow creased, his eyes alarmed. “That is no laughing matter,” he said gravely. “I can imagine his terror.”

“Yes, I…well, I believe the lady I was courting, she knew of my parents. She was able to let them know that I was alive. But I wanted to stay, at that point. I was angry at my father for leaving. I took a different name and I stayed in Ezure. As far as I’m concerned, I am of both these countries. But I do miss the desert.” He sighed and caught himself; he had lapsed into memory again. His eyes brightened. “You two look so similar, you know.”

“Yes, I’m told.” Beckon sighed. “It’s good to find him here. You say he is well taken care-of?”

“Oh, certainly.” Fraul finished his ale and set down the flagon. “You needn’t worry, my friend. I’ll make sure he finds you tonight.”

“Thank you, sir.” Beckon stood and touched his brow, and Fraul mirrored him.

“Enjoy your stay,” he said gently. “I will be in the neighborhood to the north.”

He limped down the streets and back to Feira’s house. He unlocked the door and tripped just before the couch, so he collapsed on it, grunting, his hands gripping its wooden arm and one part of its cushion. With this grip, he heaved himself up and turned over to sit down, now sliding off the braces. He razed a hand over his face. He was getting better at walking, ever since the mission to Areidas. He had walked all the way to the border, he reflected with a pained smile. He was proud.

He thought of his daughter. He would go see her tomorrow. He wanted to spend more time with her than he had been doing. He leaned back on the couch and fell asleep, one hand thrown up over his head, the other hand on his stomach.