Fraul, 7

He whooped loud when he got to the ship. Heads turned at the quiet man in the wheelchair with a freshly-oiled sword. His bag was minimal, a few clothes and healing supplies, water, jackrabbit jerky. A flask which Aristide had given him along with the chair, and the last of his savings.

He felt the cool brine on his face and through his hair. He missed Tali.

His daughter had cried and clung to him. With an effort of supreme selfishness, Dreaux had lifted her off his lap and set her on her feet. He had tried not to cry himself.

“Only for a little while,” he said solemnly. “Then I will come back to you. I’ll be better. Yes?”

She had wiped her tears and nodded.

On the ship, he slept in the chair, tying it to the mast so it wouldn’t roll with the waves.

He’d made his own personal hell, he thought as he drifted off. A foot in each world: a homeland that pitied him and a strange land that did not.

In the morning Fraul threw up in choppy waters. He was glad he was tall enough to lean over the sides of the ship, even sitting down.

As he wiped his mouth and grimaced, he caught sight of a sword. A group of soldiers all faced each other, sitting on barrels, playing an old card game. Fraul, seeking a distraction and magnetized to the signifiers of the army, rolled over to them.

They looked at him with hostility, but the lieutenant saw his sword and said, “That’s of Ezuran make.”

Fraul nodded, steepling his long fingers together, knowing he knew this man. The lieutenant raked his eyes up to Fraul’s face, took a few moments, and said, “Oh–Captain Dreaux. It’s you. Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Was it the chair, Wilde?” Fraul asked.

“Well, you look a little…” Wilde trailed off. Fraul gave him a pleasant smile.

“Old?” he prodded, his eyes flicking to the platoon. Wilde hid his face behind his cards and muttered something vague. Fraul glanced at his sword knot. “Congratulations on the promotion,” he murmured. “Raru told me you were his lieutenant, but I couldn’t quite place your face.”

He glanced at the other members of the group and also recognized Redlin, whose beard was flecked with gray now. The soldier was waiting for his eyes, and smiled broadly. They put their palms together and the circle of men opened in miniscule degrees, pulling Fraul into it. They restarted their card game, each picking up his fan of cards. Fraul settled into the chair to watch.

“What brings you back?” Redlin asked, and Fraul opened a hand and tried to find the words.

“A short trip,” he said. “And you all, to Ilcoceum?”

“General Crowe,” said Wilde briefly. “Some emissary bull…ah, task. Sent us because Captain taught me Ilcoceum’le.”

“Lovely,” said Fraul, smiling. He wanted to doze, but on the rolling deck he had to focus on not rolling.

When dusk had fallen and he was making to tie himself to the mast again, Wilde came up behind him and cleared his throat.

“Uh…where do you sleep, sir?” he asked.

Fraul gestured at the chair. “Here. Quite comfortable, in fact.”

“Well. You are an army man. And my captain’s captain, at that.” Wilde faced him with gruff uncertainty. “You would not be remiss in sharing our cabin.”

Dreaux laughed. “I thank you, Lieutenant.” His cheekbones seemed pinned to his temples. “But I am fine here. Truly, I appreciate the gesture. I am used to doing things my way.”

“Mm,” the other man grunted, folding his arms. “Will you…that is, do you plan to ride to camp?”

“Oh, yes. I haven’t quite figured it out.” Fraul looked away and rubbed his chin with one palm. “I’m glad I came across you all, you know.” His eyes focused. “You have Captain Ire’s bearing.”

“What, his slouch?” Wilde straightened up. Fraul grinned and held out the flask. “Drink, Lieutenant?” he asked.

“Thought you’d never ask.” Wilde took a long draw from it. “Can’t drink in front of the captain, says he doesn’t allow it.” He handed the flask back, his eyes gleaming. “Believe I’ll retire. Don’t roll overboard.”

In the next few weeks they became regulars on the deck. Fraul watched the men play but mostly wandered around his own mind. He had promised Sandrine he wouldn’t stay, but the closer he got to the rainy coast, the more he was drawn to the bow of the ship. Perhaps he would stay a little longer, he reasoned.



The day they were to reach the port, it rained. Fraul could be found soaking it in, his shirt clinging to his chest and his hair flattened. He tilted his head up and let it run down his face like tears. He shivered hard and came back into the cabins, and Redlin threw a blanket at him.

“You’re a crazy man, they always said so,” he said. Fraul dried his hair and beamed.

“Do you not love the rain, Redlin?” he asked. “Did you not miss your country so?”

“I’m from Areidas, sir.”

“Ah, yes, yes, good with the horses.” His gaze went to one of the younger men, who was sitting on the bunk. “And you, young sir, what was your path?”

“I was a criminal.”

“Ah!” Dreaux laughed. “And what was your crime?”

“Murder.”

The former captain grinned. “Wonderful.”

The two soldiers exchanged uncertain looks. As near as they could tell, the torture had made this man a few sandwiches short of a picnic. He seemed in an even more exuberant mood than usual.

Distantly, they all heard the bellow for land.

Fraul pivoted the chair around and went to the banister, leaning his elbows on it. He reached down to lock the wheels and remembered that they did not lock, so he held them with one hand and with his other held the wooden rail. He smelled the petrichor of rain, the piney sap. His face wrinkled and he tried not to cry, although he wasn’t quite sure why.



The Ezuran capital was a short ride from Shipway. The other men eyed him as he dropped a few coins in the stablehand’s palm and rolled up to a little pony. Dreaux let his booted feet touch the earth.

With one hand he held the reins of the horse, and with the other he wheeled the chair forward. The pony shied away from the chair, and Wilde came up and clucked at it. Fraul turned and saw him.

“Lieutenant, sir,” he said. “Have a spare hand?”

Wilde frowned, thumbs hooked in his belt. “What do I do?”

“Ah, thank you. Look–the chair will fold. I can do that.” Fraul sighed and glanced up at the other man. “I would rather not go through the trouble of pulling myself up there. Would you help me?”

Wilde frowned, considering the situation.

“What do I do?” he asked again. Fraul smiled though he was decidedly uncomfortable.

“Can you not lift half a man?” he teased. Raru would have killed him for saying it.

Like lifting a child, Wilde fit his hands under Fraul’s armpits and heaved him up. He was surprisingly heavy, half-starving and half-muscled, but he only needed a moment.

His legs would not hold his weight, but they would hold their own. He found moving his own foot strange and painful, but he aimed it over the horse’s back and grit his teeth when the nerves lit up.

His hands gladly latched onto the saddle, taking control of the situation and taking most of his weight.

Muttering soothing things to the horse, who had started to sidle away, Fraul unwound a rope from his pack and started to tie his legs to the stirrups. Wilde stood back and surveyed the situation, so Fraul smiled and nodded to the chair.

“Thank you,” he said, but as soon as he was distracted he started to slide off the saddle. On an impulse he tried to kick out one leg to balance himself, and his palms broke into a sweat. He swore, his neck tendons jumping out. This would be a long journey.

Wilde, who still stood by, nudged him right with his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Fraul grunted. Wilde took the rope, and the men went silent as they watched him wind it tightly around the other man’s legs, his hips, making a little harness of rope and affixing this under the horse’s belly. Fraul smiled, his voice still tight with pain. “You’re good with that.”

“I climb the rock with my captain.”

“He climbs still?” Fraul rubbed his legs. “He was always good.”

Wilde nodded, then glanced at the chair and handed it over the stocky pony’s head. The horse huffed in protest and Fraul quickly unscrewed the wheels and folded it down. He couldn’t clench the horse with his legs, and relied on the rope to hold him still while he tried to tie it behind him. Eventually, Wilde took half.

He tossed one wheel to Redlin and lashed his own to his horse’s rear. “Saddle up, all.”

Relieved that this whole strange task was done, they swung themselves into the saddles and Dreaux watched wistfully.

Within a few hours, he had discovered a new floor of hell.

“Sir?” Wilde asked. The other man’s jaw was clenched and he rode low on the horse, leaning forward to stay balanced.

“Hm,” he grunted.

“All right?”

“Fine,” he said in a clipped tone. “Thank you.” Wilde nodded, and the long slow week passed.

Fraul got better at mounting and dismounting, but the riding became harder on his spine. There was a vertebra in the middle that had always troubled him, even before the rack, and during that week it was all he could think about. He did his best to meditate through it. Pain was his friend, he said to himself. It knew him well.

On the sixth day he barely responded to his own name. His hooded eyes were fixed on the path in front of him. Now and then his hand went down to his legs, checking to be sure they were still there. He leaned doggedly over the mare’s back and watched her hooves take one step after another, each movement rocking him.

He allowed his face to screw up in half a sob, and he felt it fighting to get out of his chest. He breathed slowly through it and one of the company glanced back at him.

When they had to cross the riverbed, Fraul finally gave voice to a stream of hair-raising curses. Wilde understood them because his captain had made him learn some of the language. He glanced back in concern and held up a hand for the platoon to stop.

“Sir,” Redlin sighed as they waited for Fraul to hunker down and continue. “We could have been there by now.”

“I know. But if that were you, would you like us to leave you behind?”

“I don’t know, Lieutenant. You know I respect him. He was my captain. But if I was him I think I might have killed myself.”

Fraul, muttering to himself, sweat pouring off his face, downed the last of his whiskey. He capped the flask and deposited it in the horse’s saddlebag.

Wilde motioned them on. He fell back a little beside Fraul, his heart twinging.

“One more day,” he reminded the other man. The usually tawny eyes were rimmed in red and purple. “You’ll sleep in a cot.”

Fraul laughed. “How is the wheel?” he asked weakly, and Wilde patted it behind him.

“Well. Whoever made this did a good job.”

Fraul, saying nothing, lowered himself onto his elbows. Every day he sunk lower on the horse, the weight of the journey growing. His mind wandered, dissociating desperately, wanting to go unconscious. He wondered if Tali would write.

When the first spires of white tents came into view, Fraul exhaled.

Raru was waiting for them at the pavilion, arms folded, looking impatient.

“Lieutenant,” he said, saluting, as his friend dismounted and began to untie the wheel from the back of his horse.

“Sir,” said Wilde, saluting back. “We were delayed.”

“Understandable.” Raru let his eyes range over them, and he glanced twice at the components of the wheelchair. Redlin was handing over the rest of it.

“What is…?” Raru started to ask, and then he saw the figure on the draft pony bringing up the rear. “Well, bust my ass,” he said softly. He cleared his throat. “You can go, Lieutenant.” His voice was gentle, his eyes locked on Fraul. Blindly he took the wheels from the other man. “Make sure you see the general.”

“Sir,” said Wilde, saluting and following the rest of the men to the stables at the edge of town. He glanced over his shoulder once.

Raru waited, shifting his weight impatiently between his feet. Fraul was a ragged figure, looking defeated.

“And here I thought it was impossible,” said Raru, grabbing onto Fraul’s fingers when he held them out. “Should I get Heath?”

“Please,” Fraul breathed. With hands shaking, he took out a knife and sawed at the rope around his waist. Raru strode for the healing tent and reappeared with the camp healer.

Heath’s bearing had softened with time, but his face retained its badger-like set. He reached out a hand and Fraul clasped this, too.

The healer’s stocky, powerful arms pulled him off and plunked him in the wheelchair, which Raru had built. “Come with me,” Heath said. “Jesus, you smell. Have you been drinking?”

“As much as possible,” said Fraul.

Heath rolled his eyes. “Raru,” he said pointedly. “I think Crowe wanted to see you.”

Raru looked at Fraul with disbelief, and back at Heath. For a moment he and Heath stared at each other, and then Raru folded his arms and sighed.

“Be sure to catch up with me,” he rumbled to Fraul. “I go to town in the evenings with Ashin.”

“I heard he retired,” Fraul said, rubbing his legs.

“No.” Raru’s voice lowered. “He just got the shakes. So he goes to the den to smoke.” Raru grinned, looking up. “Maybe you won’t want to meet me there, after all.”

Some of the lightness had come back into Fraul’s voice. “You give me so little credit,” he sighed. “If I survive whatever Heath has planned, we’ll meet you there tonight.”

“We?” Heath echoed sharply. Both men rolled their eyes and Heath took the back of the chair with a huff. Raru took the pony and tossed his captain the bag, and with a solemn set of his eyes he watched them go.

Heath had been a healer longer than he had been a soldier. He saw the tension emanating from Fraul’s shoulders. His knuckles were white on the arms of the chair.

“What happened to my chair?” Heath growled.

“It’s still with Sandrine,” said Fraul, clearing his throat. “I needed one to fold–for the horse.”

“Some show of gratitude for all I did,” Heath said, and his friend knew he was joking. Fraul turned his head a little and smiled, wanted to say more, but there was a particularly rough patch of ground that silenced him. Momentarily he stopped breathing.

Heath walked them to a little cabin at the edge of camp, which he had built with his own hands. He opened the door and a fragrance of woodsmoke spilled out. Gently he maneuvered the chair over the threshold, and closed the door behind him. Both men exhaled.

“Did you feel their eyes?” Heath asked, and when Fraul turned to see him he looked older.

“Too well,” Fraul assured him, breathing deeply. He glanced around at the cabin. “Aren’t you retired?” he asked.

“No. Promoted.” The healer went to his table and found a few instruments, started to measure and prod the other man’s knees. “Crowe gave me this space for my research. Twenty-six years in the army pays off, at last.” He lifted the man’s foot and let it drop, and Fraul’s muscles seemed to catch it before it hit the chair. “Pain?” Heath asked.

“My hip.” Fraul watched him, watched his own body as if from a distance. Heath went to his notes, writing quickly. His eyes flicked up to Fraul and back down.

“I want to show you what I’ve been doing,” he muttered. “Since you left.”

“What do you mean?”

“My work.” He straightened and opened his hand to the cabin. “All this. Raru didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

“Well, he will.” Heath passed him a wicked smile. “Or I will. Anyway, take some poppy. It’s all I have.”