Fraul, III

Raru Ire and Ashin Rolfe sat across from each other, grinning like boys. Raru would kick Ashin under the table; Ashin would pick his teeth with a wooden splinter. In prim focus beside them sat Heath and Crowe, moving economically to say the least. The four soldiers passed cards in a circle.

When one had a match of cards, they gave the agreed-upon signal to their partner. Whoever guessed the signal won for his team. Ashin and Raru knew each other well; Heath and Crowe did not.

“So,” said Raru to his fan of grubby cards. “Heard from Kira, Ashin?”

“No,” sighed Ashin. “But I suppose she’s happy where she is.” He paused, reflecting which of his cards he would pass. He finally took one and set it face-down before Heath, then flipped up the one Crowe had passed him. Ashin’s eyes flicked pointedly up to his partner.

“Kanaa,” said Raru, as Crowe opened his mouth. Ashin beamed and put down his hand.

Crowe shook his head with some admiration. “It’s a shame you two aren’t in the same company,” he said.

“Oh, no, I don’t think that would work well at all,” drawled Heath. “They’re like boys when they get together. Don’t listen to a damned thing.”

Raru got up, taking the dig with a smile, handing in his cards. He saluted the general, met eyes with Ashin. Then with hands in his pockets he turned to make his lonely way to the bar.

He had taken to drinking in town, in his free hours. He could sit in peace there, no lieutenant reminding him how early in the day it was.

Fraul was coming down the road that evening, parting the few people who were still out and about. Raru saw a figure bent over a donkey, wearing the stained linen and broadsword of the army, and his brow creased. Who was this? Each captain had counted their company, living and dead. Perhaps he was someone left behind. Raru frowned and pitied him.

He walked quicker, wanting to know who it was. Part of him did already.

Fraul looked up, his skin flushed with fever. He gripped one shoulder in his other hand, as it was clearly paining him.

“It’s you,” he breathed happily. Raru’s lips parted and his words were stuck in his throat. He stood there, his face a mask of shock, and Fraul tugged on the rope to stop his mount.

They looked at each other. Fraul saw how well and broad was his former lieutenant; Raru saw the opposite about him. Fraul hadn’t seen a mirror for a long time, and he didn’t want to.

Raru tried to pull himself together, glancing up and down the street.

“Captain…” he said.

“Captain Ire,” Fraul corrected him, trying to move as little as possible. “Good to see you.”

Raru stood there in the middle of the street, not processing, blinking slowly.

Fraul lowered his hand from his shoulder and frowned, taking a little breath. This movement sent a jolt through the ribs behind his heart.

“Heath, Raru,” he said quietly. “I need Heath.”

Ire’s boots grated against the cobblestones as he tore back for camp. The leather thong holding his brown hair slipped off, and as he pounded up to Heath he was sweating and panting and his hair fell in curtains on either side of his face.

“Heath,” he managed, pushing one thumb over his own shoulder, “I need…it’s Captain…it’s my...it's him.” He put a hand on his knee and looked nauseous, saying to the ground, “In town.”

“Well?” asked Heath, rising and dusting off his pants. A pipe was between his teeth and he took the time to light it with a piece of rope by the fire. “Go on, take me to him. Walk, this time, mind you.”

Raru nodded and, glancing at Crowe and Ashin, strode towards town with his long legs. Heath growled for him to slow down.

Fraul had continued riding and was closer now, and the healer captain saw him and grinned.

“Well, well, well!” he called, opening his arms. “Look who it is.”

Fraul shook his head, but he couldn’t help but smile in relief. He was growing too tired to speak.

Heath stood back from the donkey with arms folded across his chest. His voice was curt. “Can you get to camp on this donkey of yours?”

“Lead the way,” said Fraul weakly, and Raru took the rope bridle and followed the other man, looking back continuously.

Raru woke earlier than usual the next morning, in pitch darkness. He brought a canteen of water and ducked into the healing tent, where Fraul lay alone. His eyes were closed but his face was pinched, his brows drawn together, clearly awake. He heard the rustle of canvas and tried to breathe out, to relax somehow.

Raru bumped the canteen against his hand. Fraul pushed himself up on one elbow and took it, grimacing as he uncapped it. Everything hurt.

Raru sat on a stool nearby and didn’t know what to say. His captain had always started the conversation, had always chattered away in pleasant tones about his homeland, Ezuran winters, about fighting styles and the best way to cook insects.

Now he lay silent, his eyes mournful, watching the canvas of the ceiling when he lay back.

“Did Captain Iron help?” asked Raru, and Fraul’s answer was cold.

“He can do nothing,” he said.

“Surely he can do something,” said Raru hotly. Fraul turned his head and his face was empty.

“What would that be, Captain?” he asked.

“Don’t call me that. You’re back.”

Fraul closed his eyes and his brows pulled together. “Help me sit up,” he said. Raru clasped his wrist and supported him by the forearm, pulling him to a seated position. Fraul muttered a curse and said, “Slower.” Raru did so.

Fraul searched for his feelings or his words and found neither. He gathered his hips beneath him and looked up.

“I can’t do this anymore. I’ve never….” He breathed out. “I think it’s over. It’s just–the knees. They won’t work. They won't hold me, Raru.”

He had never called Ire by his first name. He had always clung to decorum, and respect, and all the structure of the army.

“They’ll heal. The knees,” muttered Raru, looking up. “Right?”

“Watch.” Fraul lowered his feet to the ground, grit his teeth and heaved himself up from the cot.

Part of him thought, maybe, that his body would work again. That he would surprise himself. Instead both knees buckled, and he put his arms out to catch himself but Raru already had.

The younger man eased him back up to the cot. Fraul saw in his face that he was afraid.

“What do I do?” he asked, crouched on the dirt.

“Nothing, can’t you hear me? If Heath can’t do anything…” Fraul made a little swipe with one hand, palm-up, a gesture of futility. “It’s over for me.”

“So what’d you come back for?” Raru shook his head, hearing his own voice all angry and bitter. “I didn’t mean that. You just–sleep. I can’t…I've gotta...” He got off the stool and shouldered outside, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes as he went. He took long shuddering breaths and stood out in the evening with hands on his hips, holding tears in his chest.

Raru wouldn’t let him leave; Crowe wouldn’t let him stay. When it became clear that Fraul’s body had been undone, Raru took up drinking in earnest. Fraul did him the service of leaving without saying goodbye.

He took his savings from his old tent, his clothes, and the pouch he used to store his rings. With these possessions, he stole his donkey back and rode for the port city.

Fraul and Sandrine had spent precious few weeks together since their marriage. Before that time, they had their letters and a childhood friendship. She was a pipe dream to him, who was well-versed in half-relationships. And she enjoyed sleeping alone: a marriage based on letters suited her fine. Fraul, for his part, insisted on sending money to make up for his absence.

This time he sent no letter. He showed up on her doorstep all bloodstained clothes, unshaven, leaning on his sword. None of the neighbors were really surprised–they all assumed Ezure was a wretched place.

Sandrine recognized the pleasant eyes, the detached way that he opened his arms when she went to hug him.

“I heard you were dead.” Her voice was calm and steady, pulling away.

“Sorry,” he said. Sandrine rolled her eyes and jerked her chin for him to follow her inside.

He hesitated over the threshold, and then limped into her house and eased himself down on the couch. Feeling guilty for intruding, he watched her as she closed the door. He missed the army, the coffee smell.

She closed the door and laughed to herself. “I endured much judgment when I married you, you know.” Her voice was low. “My father said, an Ezuran? And a soldier?” She shook her head and glanced backwards. A smile flitted across his face.

“I don’t have to stay,” he assured her. “I can find a place.”

“I know, Fraul,” she said, and they were silent. She couldn’t believe they were married, two people barely able to hold a conversation.

Sandrine glanced at the dusk outside and frowned, saying, “I need to get to work. Coming?”

“You dance?” he asked. She got up and held out a hand, and he allowed her to pull him to his feet. He put out a hand and caught her shoulder, which was barely chest-level on him. She heard him inhale sharply and then he released her, frowning, his weight on his right leg.

“Knee,” he muttered, easing his weight back onto it. “Sorry.”

She chose to say nothing, opening the door and plucking a linen shawl off the windowsill. Fraul limped to the lantern, lit it with the oil lamp in her room, and followed her out holding it in one hand. His sword was still belted to his other hip, and he rested his free hand on the pommel. She saw now why the metal there was rusting.

“Maybe,” she suggested quietly, “you could leave the sword. If the weight hurts you.”

“It just feels right,” he said, not looking at her. “It reminds me.”

Sandrine shrugged and turned away, letting her fingers trail across the stone walls as they walked. She felt at-home here, like she owned the place; he did not.