Hollow Atraxia

By the time he had finished scrutinizing his new pack of goodies, he was thoroughly impressed by it all and grateful they had given it to him for free, a number of men from the army all wearing their armors and weapons started filing into the tent of the commissary. “Ah,” Elk spoke up at the sight of them, “shift change already eh? Better get these boys fed,” he grabbed the bowl Octair had used, since he had his own now, and thumped off back to his post in the kitchen. He turned and waved as he went, “I’ll be seein more of ye tomorrow!” Octair waved back before standing from the table and making his way out from under the tent of the commissary to under the night sky filled with stars. He stopped then, remembering he still had no weapon besides the belt-knife Elk had provided him in his pack. Digging through it, he finally found the knife and pulled it out. It was about as long as the length from the tip of his middle finger to his wrist. Not something that could really be considered a weapon.

Nonetheless, he hooked it onto his belt and continued to the tent where he was meant to sleep, figuring he could find a more suitable weapon in the morning.

It wasn’t hard to find, since it was near the Princess’s own tent and it had been pointed out to him earlier. Once there he quickly found the only empty cot off to the very side. There were already a few blankets folded and clean resting atop what he took to be a thick cloth sack filled with hay. Not exactly a bed fit for royalty, but more luxurious than he was used to. There were no rugs covering the ground of this tent, and the many comings and goings of the men had scuffed the ground to the point where most of it was dirt. Normally he never took his armor off, he slept with it, he bathed with it, as rare as finding enough water to do so was in the world he was from, he did everything with it on. Because taking it off was sure to get him killed. But now it wasn’t so, there were no creatures of the dark here, or not very many.

Trusting in the fact that he was surrounded by many warriors that could serve as protection, or at least to wake him up before anything got to him, he began to strip off his boots. They were stiff, like they were brand new and needed breaking in, and his feet were sore. Once he had those off, he laid back on his cot and used the blankets to cushion his head. It was warm enough to go without covering, and he still wasn’t comfortable with taking off the rest of his clothes and armor just yet. So as uncomfortable as it felt, he slept with all but his boots on. And it didn’t take long for sleep to have him.

He didn’t sleep very well. It seemed as if half the camp was awake at a time, men were constantly shuffling around outside, and sometimes inside the tent where he slept. And Octair had a very good habit, one you had to have to survive where he came from, and that was to instantly come awake every time there was a noise near him. Most of the other men in his tent were still sleeping when light started to fill the sky again. It was a relief, the brightness of day coming back again. From then on he decided he would rise with the sun. There were no set routines he was used to, he and his group slept when they needed to, when they could, sleep. And usually that wasn’t regular and could go on without for days. There had been no rising and setting sun then.

Now, he was still astounded by everything around him. But he wasn’t the type to be sidetracked. Since he already had his armor on, he was quick to get up after pulling on his leather boots. By the time he had made it out the door others were rising. And he noticed they went without most of their clothes, speak nothing of their armors, when they took to sleep.

As soon as he stepped foot outside the tent he was accosted by one of the men standing guard by the entrance to the Princess’s tent. “Her ladyship has asked to see you as soon as she has awoken. You are to wait in the War-room until she is ready to see you.” He then stepped aside and held out what Octair recognized to be his pike to direct him into the tent.

The first thing he had wanted to do was find a suitable weapon he could use, but he supposed he could wait further. He didn’t think he would be needing one immediately, but he felt vulnerable without. While thinking about the hierarchy of these people, Erduskians as they would be called, men of Erdusk, he swished the tent flap aside and entered into the room he had been in just yesterday. It hadn’t changed, and the guard stayed outside leaving him alone to wait. There were no chairs to sit on, besides the one behind the lavish desk. And he had the feeling only the Princess could use it. So he stood, acutely aware that he probably didn’t smell very good, waiting to be addressed by a princess. Such things as royalty hadn’t existed in his world. Well, they had, but long before he had been born. Kingdoms were the first to be destroyed, after that it was every man, woman, child for themselves.

It didn’t take as long as he had anticipated for the Princess to appear. He was in the middle of taking extreme interest in the rugs beneath his feet, with all the various designs, when he heard a small cough. Octair quickly looked up to see the lady he had seen in the temple and the princess he had seen later replaced entirely by a woman in all-leather armor covering every inch of her but her head. Her hair was tied back, so it wouldn’t get in the way. And she even carried a small sword at her hip, with a gem encrusted at the base of the hilt. The sight surprised him so much he forgot to kneel. Fortunately she didn’t seem to mind, only smiling with mild amusement. “Same clothes as yesterday?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have as much of a wardrobe as your…highness.”

Even though he hadn’t been trying to be funny she laughed at what he said as she made her way to stand a few feet away. “I’m afraid not many do.” There was a short moment of silence which made Octair feel like he should be saying something in response, but he could think of nothing. “I hope that the provisions are to your liking…?”

“Yes, indeed, of course. I’m very grateful Princess.” It was sincere, he was grateful.

“Please don’t call me ‘princess’. Call me…Vivien.”

Octair wasn’t exactly knowledgeable about the affairs of kingdoms and royalty, but he knew it’d be disrespectful to call any persons of high rank by their names. “I could never…”

She sighed, but quickly moved on. “I suppose not. Very well.”

He got the feeling she was disappointed. “Uh…m’lady?” It was better than calling her by that which she had asked him not to. Even if he still felt it was a little disrespectful.

“Yes?”

“Everything is all well, and I’m grateful…But, I don’t have a weapon. If I’m to be any use…”

“Ah, yes. Neth?” She hadn’t spoken very loud, but the guard who had directed him earlier entered and quickly went to one knee with his head bowed. “Your Ladyship?”

“Rise,” was all she said and he did. “Neth, remove your sword.” He did, and presented it out to her. She took it and removed it from the sheath in a deft stroke that proved her swordsmanship. “Will this do?”

It was a short-sword, and while it was a weapon he wasn’t unfamiliar with, it was neither one he preferred. “Of course, I’m more than grateful.” She quickly sheathed it again and handed it out to him. Octair quickly took it and bowed his head over it in respect and gratitude.

“That is all Neth.” The man turned and disappeared through the flap as quickly as he had come. “We”ll be on the road to Areth tomorrow. It’ll take us approximately a month to reach there. This temple is on the edge of our Southern border, and Areth is located far to the North. Until then you will be placed under my command, but you will also be taking orders from any high-ranking officers. That includes the captain to the Royal Guard, whom which you will be taking direct orders from. Go to him now, you are excused.” Through all of this her tone with him was cold. Or one could say the voice royalty uses to command.

He bowed slightly, even though she had turned away, and he quickly left the tent. It was brighter out now, and the sun could be seen over the tents. The sword wasn’t to his satisfaction, it was too light and too small. But he conceded that he could acquire a better one later on. Octair knew he had disappointed Princess Vivien in some way, and so now she saw him as a normal soldier far beneath her dignified rank. It didn’t really matter, he supposed. What he was to do now was to come to understand this new world, and, he supposed, to live in it in some way. And he already knew he could never live in it involved with someone of royalty.

Before heading to the commissary to see Elk again, he attached the sword onto his hip. It would be a while before Octair would fit in and know full well what he was to do. But for now, until he met this captain he was to take orders from, his stomach was the one in charge.

The commissary this time was different from before. This time he could see clearly all the tables and all of the food. This time he wasn’t to be eating his share of food alone. Most of the tables were full of the soldiers, and there was still a line in front of the stands that held the food. Even with the men blocking his view of the kitchen, he could still see Elk’s head above them. Although somewhat inexperienced, Octair could tell every man here was very professional about the way they went about their duties. Even still, the air was filled with the muffled voices of the soldiers as they merrily ate and chatted amongst themselves. It was a warming sight, and he found himself longing to be a part of it.

“Ooooooh!” Elk shouted above the heads of those in the line as he spotted Octair coming under the shade of the tent. It certainly served to stop him in his tracks as he stood to watch as practically every head swivel to see what all the shouting was about. “If it isn’t my hired friend! Come come! Take yer helpins while its warm!” Now every set of eyes rested upon him, and he realized that he stood out with his dark blue chain-mail shirt, while everyone else wore their standard silver armors. The main difference were the emblems, Octair wore his own crescent moon, but every other man wore the symbol of their kingdom; a sun half hidden behind the horizon.

Elk proceeded to swish a few men out of the way with his wooden spoon, the men couldn’t help but duck out of the way of the large dirty utensil. Octair had left the pack Elk had given him in the tent beside the cot he had slept on, but he had remembered to bring his wooden bowl for the food. When he held it out over the counter Elk sloshed a large spoonful of steaming soup into it. “What the Fifth, Elk? You got some hired scum as a friend?” The man who was next to Octair spoke up, ignoring him besides giving him spiteful looks. The others at the tables continued to eat their food, but all chatter had stopped, and the other men in line remained silent but interested.

“Ah! And if you have a problem with it Drake boy-o, take it up with the Lady herself! As she’s the one who’s the better judgment to hire him!” Elk finished it with a final wave of his wooden spoon and went back to his duties. Drake, the one who had spoken up in complaint, was obviously still not finished with it and turned to glare at Octair, opening his mouth to speak.

But Octair had no interest in listening, and since he had his food, he turned and walked away from the line to find a place at a table to eat. Many seemed to share the feelings of their comrade, and either ignored him or made to block any space he could use. One man, though, a cheery fellow with light-brown hair and a silly grin on his face waved him down. As Octair approached, the man waved aside the two opposite to the table from him and they went about scooting apart and convincing the men next to them to make room. Before long a space had opened up and Octair filled it.

It was when he sat down and had his bowl between his hands that he realized how crowded the tables were, and why. Unlike the others, Octair had only his wooden bowl which held his soup. While wooden cups and a variety of spoons and plates, both metal and wooden, lay scattered atop the tables. The cheery fellow who had invited him to the table noticed his predicament. “Oi. What kind of hired-sword travels without the basic necessities? Or even a sword on his back in which he is hired!” Some around him laughed, but Octair took no offense to it. What they were saying was true, and he couldn’t exactly tell them he had come from another world, or place, or wherever exactly he hailed from and he had done so with only the armors on his back. “They provided you with the basics though. I guess that was to be expected! But you’re gonna have to buy anything and everything else with your wages!”

Buy. Speaking of the transaction, he had yet to see the currency these people used. Though he was confident in his assumption that they used coins of rare-metals as the kingdoms of past in his world had. It was funny, really. How alike this world with its kingdoms and people were to the kingdoms that had existed in his ancestors day.

“Bah!” It was a rude noise, and it came from a bald, burly man a couple people over and across the table from Octair. “You need none of that!”

The man directly across from Octair, the one who seemed to be the charismatic social-leader of those seated around him, leaned forward over the table to raise an eyebrow at the bald man. “Oho. So says the barbarian. Unlike you D’jor, we civilized peoples cannot inhale all of our food at once.”

The man named D’jor grunted and raised his wooden bowl still full of soup above the heads of the men and spoke up. “And unlike you,” he started, reenacting the previous mans speech, “Hurgis, we are men who eat like men!” And then he took the bowl to his lips and in one sitting swallowed down all of the contents of the bowl. The contest between the two, the charismatic man who Octair now knew by the name of Hurgis, and the bald one by the name of D’jor, seemed to be a routine for them. And all the men around were laughing and either chugging their own bowls of soup, or trying to. The laughter only heightened when there were those who couldn’t and usually ended up spilling hot soup in their laps. Octair couldn’t help but join in at the insisting of those around him and ended up as the winner of the contest when he chugged his own soup more flashily than D’jor had, all the while laughing mildly at the game.

“So, friend! You never graced us with your name, oh proud defeater of D’jor.” The laughter had settled down, but there were still a few snickers here and there. Most had gone back to their own talks and eating whatever food they had left.

“Octair,” he told Hurgis in response. And Hurgis in turn raised his mug of whatever he was drinking and bellowed, “The third bless Octair, defeater of D’jor in the mighty game of men!” More men took this up, even D’jor with good humor, and raised their cups in good cheer. It seemed to Octair that he was fitting in already.

Although Octair would have liked to continue this way for much longer, all the men had duties. And, Octair was reminded, so did he. So it wasn’t long until Elk began furiously ringing a bell and bellowing for everyone to get out of his kitchen or their balls would be in the next soup. He used many more artistic words though, which seemed to make the men more spirited in leaving. Since everyone seemed to be heading in the same direction, Octair went ahead and followed Hurgis’s group, which consisted of Hurgis himself, D’jor, and the few who had sat with them.

It was then that Octair was gifted with another blessed sight. Right on the Eastern edge of the encampment ran a large stream. Not big enough to be called a river, but big enough to easily support the needs of the army. At first, he was shocked at what the men were doing. Water hadn’t been too rare a sight in his world, but it wasn’t as abundant as this, and never as clear and…perfect. And the men certainly took it for granted, they were, without remorse, washing their eating-wares, and even their dirty clothes. Of course, how else would they get clean? But the sight of it was still incredible to him.

Slowly, he kneeled at the edge of the stream, other men crowded around him going about their business, and he softly stuck a hand in. The water eventually swirled into his gauntlet and was cool to the touch. He brought his hand back out and removed both of his gauntlets. Then he put both of his hands in, letting the water wash around them. He pressed his hands to the softness of the ground in the stream, and he felt the dirt be carried away from his hands.

Suddenly there was a very cold splash in his face and he reeled back in shock. Hurgis, kneeling next to him, laughed at the look on Octair’s face. “What? Never seen water before?”

“Ah…” He took the small cloth that Hurgis offered and dried his face with it before handing it back.

“You come from a desert or something?”

Octair just smiled at him before saying, “Something like that.” That left Hurgis a little bewildered, but his friend on the other side of him bothered him and he turned away without further interest. Octair put his hands back into the streams and cupped water up to his lips before drinking haughtily. The water was just water, not sweet, but not the tight bitter he was used to.

Before washing his bowl clean, he drank his fill of the streams water. By then only a few stragglers remained at the stream. He had seen Hurgis and the rest leave already, to fulfill whatever duties required of them. And he supposed it was time for him to find out just what was entailed of a hired-sword.

When Octair returned to the camp, men were clamoring to tear down tents here and there. Even Elk was busy ordering around sculleries and other kitchen help to get things put away. For a while he watched as the tables in the commissary were easily taken apart and shuffled off. Still unsure of just where he was to report to, he returned to the tent in which he had spent the night. Inside, men were rolling up their cots and packing away any loose items. The lamps inside had already disappeared, and so had a great many of the cots. Octair copied them, and went to roll his own cot up surprised at how the thickness of the cloth helped keep it rolled, and finished it by tying it up with a strip of cloth that was attached to the end of it. It couldn’t possibly fit in his bag, so he watched as others tied their own cots to the tops of their packs. He then realized he could do the same with his own, and quickly did so.

After that, he slung his pack over his shoulders and followed as the others left the tent and went to the North side of the encampment. There Octair was, yet again, astounded by a new sight. By now he had grown accustomed to seeing new things, and so was only interested, not awed and surprised, at the long rows of large wooden wagons. Nothing was yet attached to the wagons to pull them, but he could see large oxen grazing attended some distance away. A paved road of cobblestones, he had seen such a thing before in the ruins of kingdoms, stretched as far North as the eye could see. “You’re the last, you should hurry.” Octair had noticed the man approach, but only paid him any attention when he had spoken. The man pointed to one of the wagons, they almost all looked the same save a few.

Octair nodded his head in thanks and went to the wagon. It was basically a square block of wood. The driver of the wagon would sit alone on a bench at the front, the rest of it was sheltered with only the back opening to let light in. It was entirely wooden, he presumed, for better protection and carved on the side panel were, in very small letters, the words ‘Royal Guard’. Looking closely, other wagons had similar etchings, only two other wagons with the same words. Inside were packs much like his own, and still space left enough for his. He set his pack on the very end where he could have a good view outside the wagon. It left him in the sun, but he didn’t believe he’d be doing any sleeping.

Once back outside the wagon, he looked around and saw that the entire encampment was busy packing away other wagons. Even with the many men, he knew packing everything away would still take most of the day. At least, he thought skeptically, not all of the tents are like Princess Vivien’s or it would take more than a few days.

Octair hurried back to camp, not knowing exactly where to go, he returned to the tent he had come from. Fortunately a familiar face awaited him there.

Larro put a fist to his chest in greeting to Octair until he did the same then held out his hand. Octair took it and was pulled into a friendly greeting. “I hear you’re not on so great of terms with the Ladyship after all, eh?” Larro was a little too happy with his announcement, and smiled a little too much when Octair admitted it with a shrug. It was like he had completely changed from the other day. “Now we can be friends! Even if I am your commanding officer.”

“You’re the captain?”

“Indeed.”

Octair shook his head a little ruefully but put a smile on his face. “I guess she really does want me to suffer.”

Larro continued to laugh, and even though he put his smile away, his eyes shone with amusement whenever he looked at Octair. “The Royal Guard isn’t involved with any of the packing away, besides their own supplies. Most of the tents will be taken down by the servants, the others by the men. Although some of the men don’t like it, it keeps them busy and makes things move faster, and it also prevents the need for too many servants.” In the middle of all this Larro turned and began to walk, Octair only followed him, and once at the end of his explanation he noticed Octair’s expression. “It may not be done this way in most of the other kingdoms, but the King believes a happy servant is a better servant.” They were still walking as he laughed suddenly, “We must be doing something right, we’re the biggest kingdom in all the lands.”

“Really?”

Larro gave Octair a look he couldn’t quite understand. “Well, Erdusk is one of the three Powers.”

“Powers?”

“By the Second, man! Did you crawl out from under a rock? The three Powers, the most powerful, largest, and wealthiest kingdoms of all the kingdoms; Erdusk, Kalanth, and Fal’ute.”

Octair grunted his understanding, but couldn’t help but put his intelligence to question yet again. “How many kingdoms are there anyway?”

This time Larro gave him a flat look that made him feel stupid, though he had his reasons for knowing so little of the world. Very exclusive, unsharable, reasons. “How many? Sorry, I forget you’re without education, you’re a mercenary after all. Well, there are nine. And right now, none of them are at war. Though it’s bound to happen sometime. Peace never lasts long.”

Octair was a little confronted with the idea of war. It just seemed so…stupid. He knew people had differences, and not everybody could get along. But what’s the point of killing so many of each other over petty differences? As he continued to follow Larro, he had to shrug the idea away. There were just too many things he didn’t know about this world.

“The high-ranking officers meet in the War-room, that’s the room where I took you when we came from the temple, where we’ll discuss tactics. There will be a map out to look at, so I’ll bring you along each time.”

“You’d do that for me?”

Larro laughed before turning his head to give Octair a sly smile. “It’ll be amusing to see how her Ladyship will act towards your appearance.”

“Speaking of that, won’t she just demand me to leave?”

He shrugged as a passing denial. “Royalty can’t be so direct. Politics, I guess.”

Politics? Octair thought apprehensively, he was right when he chose to distance himself. The conversation had drawn their attention away enough to make their arrival at their destination quick. It was an interesting stretch of small tents, colored differently from the others. These held all differently patterns and colors, and were embellished with golden trimmings. And unlike the tents of the army, these tents were more pointed at the top to create a cone shape. The flaps of each tent were fully drawn, revealing the interior. Each tent held something different inside, from weapons to mugs to a variety of items Octair didn’t recognize. The tent they stopped in front of was one filled with weapons.

Every weapon was made of metal, there were no bows. Maces sat sticking up from their racks, swords covered by their sheaths lay horizontally in theirs, and axes of all different sizes rested in various spots all around the tent. Octair turned to Larro, who was eying the swords. “Why are we here?”

He spoke without turning to look at Octair. “To get you a sword of course.”

“I didn’t ask for one. And I already have one.”

Larro laughed and turned to him with an observant look. “That short-sword looks as out of place on your hip as a bow would look in the hands of Elk.”

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s obvious you know how to use it, it just doesn’t look like it fits you is all. So go ahead and pick one.”

Octair only grunted but stepped to the rack of swords. He grasped a long-sword and held it up for a moment before putting it back and doing the same for another one. It was the fourth one he tried that felt, if not great, right in his hands. The sword slid free of it’s scabbard with a quiet metal ring. It wasn’t as nice as his own sword that he had left behind, but he never expected to see one quite like that ever again. The metal was polished enough he could see his reflection, and the hilt was wrapped with leather giving him a comfortable grip. A plain, rectangular piece of metal was the guard.

When he was satisfied with inspecting it, he slid it back into its scabbard and turned to Larro. “I’ve never seen a man so picky with his weapon.” He held up a small leather purse and jingled it in his hand with satisfaction. There was a man sitting on a stool in the corner who was certainly no warrior, with his bald head, long beard, and muscular build that showed signs of life in a smithy. Larro approached the man and the two engaged in a calm, but intense discussion. After a couple of minutes Larro opened the purse and placed a few coins in the man’s hand.