Francis could almost zone out through most of the first few moments, able to repeat everything as the previous time, earning some extra silver, punching a bully he hated, and securing a chain helm after having learned what not to say to the same armorsmith.
None of it seemed important anymore as he considered everything he had learned and knew what would come next. His mind was focused on telling his brother some of the truth about what was happening and trying to figure out how strong he could get between deaths.
I wish I knew how Fast Learner really worked. It’s not like I can just go and ask someone about that skill. I mean… I could, but then what? Would Stenson or Kels tell me? Would that cause problems? Heck, I’m not even sure if I should mention it to Michael. What happens if I die and that’s the last time I’m allowed to come back?
Lost in his thoughts, Francis just pushed the food they had purchased and sat down to eat with his utensil.
“You don't seem interested in that meat,” his brother said. “You sure you’re not sick?”
Nodding, Francis smiled at Michael and considered how things had played out last time. “I’m not… just…” Pausing, he glanced at the others near them. The tavern was filled with noise and laughter as people talked about the day, a few even mentioning the race he had won. “After we eat, we need to talk.”
With a frown, his brother shook his head once before sighing and digging his fork into a piece of meat on the plate. “I’m telling you, if you get me sick, I’m going to punch you in the face.”
***
Michael sat on his bed, his face revealing no expression at all. “You’re telling me that when we arrive at the camp in a few days, you’ll get us a pass to the good side, put me up in a tent, feed me real food, and keep me from fighting?”
Nodding, Francis waited for what he knew had to come next.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Michael asked.
“I–”
“Seriously, you say you’re not sick, but that’s the dumbest fairytale crap I’ve heard you ever say since we were kids and you wanted to join a traveling carnival, promising me we would be rich and famous.”
Michael turned and lay down on the cheap blanket and sighed.
“There’s not a chance in the world the gods will ever show us that much love, and unless you’ve managed to keep a treasure hidden from me all these years while we struggled on our own, I’m going to call bullshit.”
“So if it happens, then what?”
Groaning, Michael rubbed his eyes.
“I don’t have time for this… We’re about to go to war… war, Francis! We’re going to die, and you and I both know it. I’m glad you got a nice helm, but perhaps you should have been wearing it non-stop since someone obviously hit you in your noggin.”
“We’ll see,” Francis replied, frustrated at how poorly Michael was taking this.
I almost used the phrase he knows that I’m telling the truth but I need to see if I can find another way to convince him. Sometimes tells me I’m going to die a few more times before I figure out how to save him and the army.
“Yeah… and I’m suddenly going to grow wings and learn to shoot fireballs from my butt,” Michael said.
Chuckling, Francis rolled over and ignored his older brother, knowing that he’d eventually find a way to deal with this problem.
Yeah… I’m definitely going to die a lot more before I figure out how to get through his thick head.
***
Both guards stood there, blinking in confusion and surprise, yet neither moved, unable to react to what they had just heard.
“I’m serious. Dirk, you know that Vella is mad at you. Her father, General Stenson, has only one arm, and when we arrive, she will have you get Nehemiah to verify everything I’ve said. Now, unless you want me to repeat myself a third time, feel free. But I can tell you right now, I’m the guy you want on your side. No, I won’t answer any other questions. Perhaps if you’re lucky, I’ll make sure she takes you off this duty and let you work Douglas’s cush job.”
Coughing, the older man shook his head. His blue eyes studied Francis' posture, looking like someone with the authority he claimed to have.
“Fine, let’s go… but just know that if you’re wrong–”
“You’ll beat me, and I’ll die in a horrible death. Don’t worry, Peter can hold down this spot till someone joins him.”
Grunting at being caught off guard, Dirk turned to his partner, who was shaking his head and shrugging.
“This is so going to be one of those nights,” Peter muttered.
***
Vella’s eyes studied Francis, her face bunched up as she bit her lip.
“I’m telling you,” Francis said, “The moment he comes in here, Nehemiah is going to say I swear I’m going to cut her balls off. ”
Vella grunted, and no one said a word—they were all waiting for Nehemiah. When the older man was tossed into the tent and his curses rang out, the captain’s face drained of all color.
“I swear I’m going to cut her balls off!” the older man’s voice rang out as he entered the tent.
“Someone, go get my father. Now!” Vella shouted.
One of the advisors who had been standing nearby ran from the tent, and Francis had to work hard not to chuckle.
“Who the hell is this boy?” Nehemiah asked. “And why do you look like you’ve seen a spirit? Or perhaps you caught sight of my manhood and realized what you’ve been missing out on?”
Seemingly unconcerned with decorum, the older man lifted the shirt he was wearing.
Francis coughed and turned his head in response.
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“Why is everyone staring at—”
“If you don’t shut your mouth, Nehemiah,” Vella growled. ”I swear I will stick a cloth in it until my father gets here.”
Snapping his jaw closed, the older man’s glare at the captain did nothing to cool the building tension between the two.
If I don’t do something, these two may come to blows.
“I need you to hold my hand and see if I’m really a sage,” Francis said as he approached the only one he knew who could verify his claim. “And stop standing there leaning back like that. It’s disgusting and we all know your son Kels probably hates it. We’ll get you clothes, we can talk about your son later, and I’m tired of all this crap as well.”
“What?!” Nehemiah gasped. “Who—"
Sticking his hand out closer, Francis sighed. “Just verify it. Now.”
Caught off guard by Franci’s demeanor and command, the half-dressed, bald man grabbed it, frowning. Closing his eyes, Nehemiah started to complain again. “Wasting my time for this bu–”
The trickle of energy flowed through Francis and the cold sensation of being dunked in a river of ice came again.
Nehemiah’s eyes were wider than Francis thought possible, and the older man seemed to choke as he tried to speak. “It’s… how… this boy! Where did you find him?!”
“He strode in here like the king himself, and everything he has said has been absolutely correct,” Vella replied. “I’m assuming by your reaction that his claim of being a sage is true?”
Nodding, Nehemiah said nothing, eyes locked on Francis.
“Can I have my hand back, please?”
Nehemiah glanced at the hand he was still holding. It took a second before all of his fingers let go. “Impossible… a sage… at his age.” A frown came over him, and then his eyes narrowed. “What did you say would happen?”
“Just that if we don’t change our plan of attack for tomorrow, we’ll lose all of our troops besides the veterans and the cavalry,” Vella replied. “He spoke about all of our tactics and even mentioned the spells that we have and details no one but someone with the gift he claims to have could know.”
“But he’s so young,” the older man muttered.
The tent flap flew open and the general strode in, flanked by two guards and the advisor who had fetched him.
Unlike Nehemiah, Stenson had clothes on and a suit of armor that wasn’t his battle one. However, the same sword was on his hip as had been the last time.
“Vella, what is wrong?” her father asked.
His tone conveyed his displeasure with whatever had pulled away from something else. His eyes swept the room, stopping on Francis, who stood before the half-naked man everyone knew had a single talent.
“This boy is a sage,” Vella replied. “It has been verified, and he has the knowledge to share that will change how we must attack tomorrow or we will lose over forty thousand troops.”
Snapping his fingers, the general halted his escort and moved to where Francis stood, not flinching, a slight smirk on his face.
“General Stenson,” Francis said with a slight nod. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Tell me, does your sword have an ability that causes the blade to turn red before sending out a cutting wind, or is it a skill you possess?”
Coughs and gasps rang out through the tent, and the general’s hand snaked out faster than Francis could see, grabbing his shirt and lifting him off the ground as if he were a feather.
It was hard for Francis to breathe as he dangled there, eyes just a few inches from Stenson’s face as the older man glared, concern displayed as the older man’s brows became one. “Do you have any idea–”
“He is a sage father!” Vella said. “With the sight to see the future, he claims! You need to–”
“Do not tell me what to do! You know how few are aware of my sword, yet this boy acts like the whole camp should know of it!”
Choking and holding the hand that gripped him, trying to keep himself in a position and able to breathe, Francis fought for the ability to speak.
“Forgive me, General. I wanted your attention and to… prove I know what I claim…”
Gravity took over, and after falling to the ground, Francis stumbled; the one responsible for most of the knowledge he now possessed snapped his fingers.
“Everyone but Vella and this boy, out!” Stenson ordered.
“I’m not going anywhere!” Nehemiah shouted. “You can’t–”
He watched as the tester of abilities held up a hand and waved off the approaching general.
The look Stenson gave the older man seemed to change Nehemiah’s mind quickly.
“Forgive me, I shall go, but know I am headed straight to the king!”
“Make sure to put on some pants first,” Francis said as he rubbed his throat. “And when he is on his throne, he’ll know you speak the truth.”
A few more gasps followed, and after one more snap of Stenson’s fingers, the tent cleared.
No one said a word, so Francis used the time to try and decide if this path had been the right one.
So much for coming in here wagging my skill like that… perhaps that was a bit too much, but at least we should be able to skip all the other stuff.
“Who are you? Stenson asked.”
“Francis Lancaster. Ninth son to Barron Lancaster.”
A chuckle came from Vella and she stopped when her father glared at her.
“A ninth son… a sage,” the general scoffed.
“Not usually something most believe,” Francis replied with a wink. “But then again, I’m certain you never were a fan of that archaic way of thinking. Kind of like how important it is to know how to use both a pen and a sword?”
For once the older man went silent and the laughter from Vella filled the tent.
“Oh my gosh! The look on your face, Father! Francis, I owe you a drink for that one!”
Her outburst made Stenson close his jaw—he seemed to realize it had been open after his daughter had mocked him.
“You seem very familiar with things that most should never know,” Stenson stated. “Tell me… Ninth son of Barron Lancaster… why are you here?”
“I’ve come to help our kingdom live to fight another day and share what the gods have shown me. My gift doesn’t happen often but when it does, I know for certain things will happen, provided we do not change the course. Suppose you do not adjust how you attack tomorrow, and you do not hold off on using that healing spell as you have for the last two months. In that case, the enemy will unleash a power you have not seen yet and it will consume the entire army except for your veteran warriors and the cavalry.”
Motioning to the table with all the troops, he continued:
“I got here today. For the last few months, I have been training under an asshole named Phillip, who has made my life and my brother's life miserable. I won’t lie, I could have run, but I needed to be here. In the woods is a caster, a black-and-purple lizard who will attack tomorrow, casting a fear spell on the left side of the army. It will cause chaos and confusion, resulting in the death of many men. The king will attempt to sway their minds, driving out the fear, but many will still die from the problems it causes.”
“You’re certain?” Stenson asked.
Nodding, Francis moved to where the table was, going slowly as he picked up an unmarked token and stood near the section he knew the lizard would be located in.
“Right here is where the caster can be found. It will start using its ability about the time the sixth and seventh lines of fodder are fighting. There will be guards, cat-kin—stronger than the usual ones—protecting it.”
“And the rest? How do you know about our troops?” Stenson asked. “What about the spells?”
“That is a much longer discussion, and I’m afraid it will have to wait. Nehemiah will soon reach the king, and a summons will follow. I’ll be forced to change, endure women trying to get me to sleep with them, and finally be presented to the king. Could someone fetch my brother and bring him here, if you wouldn't mind? Obviously, if I’m lying, we’ll both die, but I would prefer to have him close as he is the only family I care about.”
“What son is he?” Vella asked.
“The eighth.”
Chuckling, she shook her head and looked at her father, waiting for instructions.
Scratching his chin, Stenson frowned, and then it was as if a weight on his shoulders had been lifted. “Tell me, Francis, is there anything else you have seen?”
“Some… the world right now is hazy, but there is much more you’ll want to know. All of that can wait because I’m hungry and want my brother. After that, I’ll tell you about the elite beastkin on the other side.”
A loud whistle rang out immediately, the general not even needing to bring his fingers to his mouth to do it.
Both of the men who had escorted Stenson were inside in a moment.
“Yes, sir?” one of the guards asked.
“Fetch this boy's brother. I am going to take him to my tent. Someone will no doubt be by to clothe him before he must appear before the king. I want his brother retrieved immediately.”
One guard nodded and looked at Francis.
A moment of silence stretched on until Francis realized what the guard was waiting for.
“Oh, sorry, you probably need directions. He’s right here,” Francis said pointing to the spot on the map. “Michael Lancaster. In the section led by Phillip of the new recruits. Seventh line in the reinforcements.”
Without delay, the escort was gone.
“I guess we shall move to my tent, then. Vella, are you going to stay or come?”
Laughing, she shook her head and moved toward the tent flap. “You couldn’t pay me enough to stay away from this.”