Revision – 2026.6.29
“Reinforcements, my Lady?” I asked. “For the 1st?”
“That’s right,” answered Emilie. “Astonishing to think, but they’re stuck fighting yet for the Erbelde. Well, now they’ve called for aid, and we’re to answer.”
Two years now it was since I’d enlisted, but at last was I—and Emilie and Felicia besides, for that matter—to set off on my maiden march. That’s quite the long stretch with no action, one might mark, and I’m inclined to agree; but for the 5th, such was none too unusual apparently, being, as was their wont, rather sheepish about dirtying their boots, as it were. But as if the daily dullness had got to them, hearsay had it that our mareschal and his leadership were quite thrilled at the chance. In fact, there was some expectation that they might mobilise nigh-on all the 5th for it.
Currently, our comrades, the 1st Chivalric Order, were away at the eastern reaches of the Realm, staring down the Nafílim threat thereat with the Erbelde Broadrun flowing loud betwixt them. The enemy had made of that river a defensive line, as well as a dear foothold for their efforts in fending off the knightly foray. On the other hand, the swords of Londosius were keen to cut through and secure the fertile basins that lay up and down the waters—an enterprise to which we the 5th were now tasked to succour.
“When do we leave?” I asked further.
“In three days’ time,” confirmed Emilie.
“Rather sudden, isn’t it? Or dire, some might say…”
“Actually, I’m told the 1st already hold the upper hand,” Emilie revealed. “With so much tactically at stake, it seems more that they’re loth to make the final push unsupported.”
Fair enough. It never hurts to hold down a nail if one wants it driven in square. But that the 1st had discovered where to place that nail to begin with had me thinking.
“A month and more it’s been since the stalemate started,” I mused aloud. “And now, a call to arms… Are we to believe some boon has befallen the 1st, my Lady?”
“That’s the hope,” said Emilie, “and a fleeting one, as I’ve heard: ’tis now or never.”
Now, or never again see this stalemate give. Not for another long and miserable month, maybe. Small wonder why our kingdom was so keen to deal this decisive stroke.
For her part, Emilie altogether seemed rather excited. “Rolf,” she now smiled, “let’s do our best!”
“Of course,” I replied. “But pray tell, who pens the marching plans?”
“The mareschal himself,” said Emilie, “with the services of the commissariat to help. They’re dreadfully in a hurry about it—busy as badgers, really.”
I pondered this. “Never mind the battle; several days marching will alone tax us enough,” I observed. “My Lady, the shortest route would see us crossing the steppe of Belithas, but that is evil to venture: the midsummer sun would break us there long before we saw the blue Erbelde. I suggest we take the Sewell Wealdlands instead. The air there is cooled by leaf and shade; and with streams coursing aplenty, we shall not want for water along the way.”
Emilie gave something of a bewildered look, but fell into thought. “Se-Sewell…” she meditated. “…Hmm, you do make a fine point. Right. I’ll broach it to the mareschal when next we meet.”
And that was that. From then till the day of departure, all the 5th veritably boiled with business and bustling. Morale burgeoned withal, but then again, not without some itch of unease lingering on everyone’s backs. Anyway, so busy it was, in fact, that training had been halted for the time being. That didn’t stop me from sticking to my twice-daily drills, of course, if only to keep myself centred amidst the haste and anticipation.
On the night before our departure, I put down my sword, mopped my face, and looked to the eastern sky. And then I wondered: was there aught I could do once I was there? Odylless as I was? Would I find some purpose, some part to play, in that far-flung battlefield?
Well, only one way to find out, I thought to myself, as I brooded on at the stars that so watched the 1st fight even unto this dark hour.
♰
“Rolf—forgive me!”
Such did I hear first from Emilie when the big day dawned. As to the “why” of it, I thought I could hazard a guess: that this Ungraced was to sit and stay behind as a watchdog; or that my recommendation for the march had been dismissed. Were it the former, it was only myself who would be aggrieved. But were it the latter…
“’Twas no good,” Emilie began explaining. “The mareschal, he’s absolutely bent on Belithas. I was very insistent on Sewell, I swear, but…”
“Alas,” I sighed. “My Lady, you have not perchance mentioned my part in that proposal, have you?”
Emilie twiddled her fingers and looked away remorsefully. “Er, I… I have done.”
I sighed again. “That wasn’t very wise of you.”
“W-well, there’s no helping it, in any case,” said Emilie. “The other leaders, they would settle for nothing but the speediest, you see. Belithas would take seven days, and Sewell nine, or so ’tis reckoned. ‘We’ve got no time for detours,’ they said.”
Awfully kind, if not rather queer, of Emilie to burst out elaborating—not that there was any point to it now.
“Very good, my Lady,” I relented. “It’s precisely as you say: we must be expedient. It would not do to keep the 1st waiting.”
“Yes, my Lady.”
Soon, with steeds shod and saddled, and baggage trains set, and everyone summoned and staged, we the 5th came flooding out the gates, our feet set on the far eastern fringes whence ran the Erbelde’s embattled waters. But in spite of the spectacle and occasion, I couldn’t help but feel my spirits sink to my boots.
♰
Five hours had passed. It was now nigh noon. Accompanying the mareschal as he marched was myself and the other Owlcranes. All were horsed—save yours truly, that is, who’d been having the pleasure of pulling Emilie’s beast obediently along this entire while.
“Rolf…” Emilie called to me from atop her saddle. “How are you faring?”
“Without issue, my Lady,” I said.
I looked about. After our brisk start, we’d arrived here at the steppe, and were now marching over its stark and mirthless spans. The yellow grasses glared and the dry winds whistled, whilst overhead, the sweltering sun stabbed without cease. Harried by such heat, the 5th, despite our bristling number, had long become cheerless and chatterless. The unmounted amongst us, such as my fellow swains or those that otherwise had got little to do with horses, were each furrowed of face and laboured of breath.
“Word has it you suggested Sewell,” sneered Gerd over the silence. “Think yourself vindicated now, don’t you, Ungraced? That all this sun could’ve been shade and shelter? And ours a jollier jaunt?”
“Nothing of the sort,” I said.
The Owlcrane snorted. “It’ll be a cold day in Hell when ‘hurry’ more recalls a scenic stroll,” I heard him mutter.
“With all due respect, Lord,” I responded, “I’d merely thought it mindless to hurry through this Hell and be left too haggard to help aught in the next.”
At that, a high-saddled Gerd clucked his tongue and roused his voice. “Well, well! What’ve we got here?” he mockingly cried. “Pray do not tire, O, almighty Ungraced! For whatever shall we do without you to tug along our horses?”
“By gum, ye’re a beefin’ flaccid one fer all yer size, ain’t ye, Muscle-Pate?” Raakel put in. “Iss maybe a mite maftin’, this march, but it ain’t the bloomin’ end o’ the world, bless!”
“Apologies, my Lord, my Lady,” I yielded flatly. “I’ve spoken out of turn.”
Thereafter at noontide, we stopped to take our meals and let our beasts graze the harsh grasses. But in a hurry as we were, we quickly started off again, this time under a sun that seemed even more set to sear us all alive. Heat lifted from the very land, shimmering and shivering like waters asimmer. Footfalls and hoofbeats, once proud and spirited, now tramped along heavily and heavier still.
Two, three more dragging hours of this, and it became clear that our great march was flagging. Even those high upon their horses had become too miserable to make much talk. Also, a thirst assailed us all. But unlike Sewell, the bleakness of Belithas boasted of no brook nor spring to save itself. And so could we not drink of the land, but sip preciously from our skins and stores. Yet, despite our best efforts, shortages beset us soon and asudden like some outbreak of disease.
Drop by drop, the dreadful sun sapped away our strength. The air rasped with a constant cracking and coughing. And presently, some of our number even started to stagger, as their eyes waned and wandered in delirium.
“…Oy. You there, Ungraced,” mumbled Gerd.
“Yes, Lord?”
“You’re begging for a break… aren’t you?” he said sullenly.
“Nay,” I returned, “I can keep going yet.”
A lifeless laugh percolated. “Traitorous strain, you,” hissed Gerd. “Brew your lies to taste, I see. But too bad. No break for you… not for a few mīllia yet.”
He was only too right. Never mind water; Belithas thirsted even for shade, being barren of aught that grew or stood above our knees. Under so relentless a sun, to rest was thus to roast and to rot. And even had we cared to, raising tents for each and every stop would’ve only stolen away any precious time earnt.
“I’m well-aware, Lord,” I said. Gerd mustered and returned a scoff.
“Your ‘going’ may go out rather soon, I think; your brow doth swim as with the worst of us,” Sheila noted of my dripping perspiration. And then she sighed. “O sad Swain, I understand your want to wear a brave face, truly. But do not paint it in lies, lest never a knight may you become.”
“Nay, my Lady,” I insisted. “This much sweat really is nothing. Though I admit, I must ware not to seep too much salt.”
“Salt?” Sheila echoed with some wonder.
Being nobly born and bred like the rest of the princes here, her dubious surprise was rather forgivable. I belonged to such a lot myself, of course; but to my credit, I had at the least learnt that coal miners and their ilk would oft lick of salt to keep from succumbing to the same summer heat now about us.
“A lack…” mused Emilie. “Is that why you’ve suggested we take in more of salt, Rolf? Back at lunch?”
“Indeed, my Lady,” I said.
Albeit Raakel remained unconvinced. “Grand idea, that,” she snorted. “Ye heard ’im, loves! Less just drink us bloomin’ drool, why not! Plenty o’ that after we suckles some salt!”
That earnt a round of groans and grim mirth. But more of such conversations would continue as we strove eastwards through the wilderness.
A few more hours on, and the sun began to wester, till twilight tinged all the skies; but even that did little to lessen the heat. At this point, our ranks had become disarrayed. Horses grunted and were white with sweat, whilst their riders, now haggard and hushed for good, could but hang their heads. Yet at the last, we the 5th actually managed to reach the day’s destination—the first check of seven till the Erbelde, that is. Read the latest chapters at novelping(.)com.
And as if fathoming this fact all too well, none were happy when they dropped their gear and fell to the ground, panting as they rubbed their languid legs. Things were looking pale. Our leaders soon gathered around the mareschal. And for a while, they took counsel regarding the overnight camp to be made.
“…Right, that’s that. Run along now, and do everything as discussed,” Tallien ended at length. “Emilie! You’ve heard the watch-roster read out loud and clear; go and confirm it with the other lieutenants.”
“Yes, Mareschal,” answered Emilie. But no sooner had she turned about than did I clear my throat.
“My Lady, I beg leave to speak,” I said.
“Eh? Oh—” she uttered with a start. “Yes, right. Go ahead, Rolf.”
I faced the leadership as they halted and turned back again. Upon their faces was none of Emilie’s amenity, to say the least. I did not expect any, to be sure, having been as I was little more than Emilie’s eavesdropping servant this entire meeting, much less the 5th’s infamous Ungraced altogether. But this was no time to trouble about that. It was speak now or for ever hold my peace.
“I propose a change in plans.” I said aloud. “Never mind about the tents. We ought have our supper, and after a brief respite, resume marching through the night.”
This roused none too amused a murmur. “Put some mīllia behind us whilst the sun is sunk,” Tallien summarised after a moment. “Is that your mind?”
“Correct, Mareschal,” I nodded.
“Oh, stay, you lap-dog,” snapped Gerd, his voice low and edged like a knife at the neck. “Our men are untrained in such trifles as night-marching. And yet you would have us, spent as we are, risk it baptism-by-fire?”
“My Lord,” I said, “it is not so much a leap of faith as you might suspect. The war annals attest time and again of our predecessors treading long nights, when summer molested them as it does us now. Besides, Belithas is both level and open, and lies deeply yet in Londosius. Even in the dark, I should deem any danger scarce.”
“‘Scarce’ does not mean ‘devoid’, Ungraced!” Gerd shouted back.
“Indeed, the real danger sits now upon us,” I said sternly. “Already, two parts of our water are spent, and that is with rationing and restraint. At this rate, many of our men must soon withdraw, defeated first by dry throats than any Nafílim threat. What then for the 1st?”
“Watch that tongue, you bloody wastrel!” hissed Gerd. “Do not dare talk down to me!”
Rather swimmingly this was going. Gerd’s bitterness was as wax plugging his ears. I say “bitterness”, for I wondered if my proposal for Sewell hadn’t got something to do with this. He’d mocked it from end to end, after all, and now panged by its prescience, he must be feeling like quite the humiliated dimwit. Only, rather than swallow the shame, he seemed content to make a tantrum of it, one he was only too content to heap on me.
Still, other matters more pressed. Left unaltered, this march of ours might truly end in Belithas.
“Mareschal, I must support Rolf’s idea,” Emilie broke in. “Had we set out for Sewell as he’d first put forth, we would not find ourselves in this plight. But ’tis not too late: march nightly, and we may reach the Erbelde in fitter form.”
Emilie’s trust in me rather touched. But for everyone else, those words of hers served only as hot oil poured over a fire. Gerd himself, incensed by all this mention of marches, seemed set to blow his pate at any moment, as he now noisily groaned and grated his teeth. Also, that Emilie had addressed the mareschal rather than chode her tantrumming Owlcrane was doing nothing to cool the discussion. To help that, however, reinforcements of a different sort then came to the rescue.
“Come on, Gerd, quench yerself, why don’t ye,” said Raakel. “Aye sure, sure, small doubt there’s danger a-prowlin’ the dark. But thass no trouble to us knights, innit? An’ I’ll be bloomin’ honest: runnin’ dry’ll be a dreadful turn, it will. Less treat usselves to a mooch under the stars, then, ey? Save up some water whilst we’re at it.”
“Indeed I must confess, Sir Gerd,” added Sheila, “the Ladies Emilie and Raakel do make a fine argument.”
Well, well, some reason remained in these two dames yet, it would seem. Really, like elder sisters they were, coddling and calming a difficult Gerd. Their long years of companionship must’ve made for good practice, I suppose. Also, Sheila did not mention me anywhere there, thinking on it. Though that must’ve been more by nature than subtlety. It appeared to work, however, for Gerd did not immediately blither back, or at all, for that matter. To think: all it took was to leave me out of things.
“Well, Gerd? How about it?” said a smiling Emilie. “You’re a sterling ace of ours, aren’t you? Oh, whatever shall we do without you in topping shape?”
Emilie sneaked a wink my way. And altogether, those grinning words of hers proved the remedy, as Gerd then loosened his shoulders and unbent his brows.
“…Yes, right,” he relented with a raspy sigh. “Fine, then.”
And so were the Owlcranes agreed. And being a brigade above all the others as they were, that was something, as proved when Tallien looked along the leadership—“Any who oppose?”—and saw a consenting silence. “Right. The march resumes till morning,” he said. “Leaders, fill your stomachs and bid your men rest a moment. Afterwards, meet me again. Adjourned!”
Grimaces and disgust wrinkled many faces, the mareschal’s included, as the meeting then dispersed. Bitter is the medicine of compromise, as they say. But count it swallowed, for things were settled at last: we were henceforth to march by night.
This hardly meant an end to our troubles, of course. But amidst the misery, there was Emilie, looking strangely happy with herself.
───────── ♰ ─────────
Notes
Mīlle
(Language: Latin; plural: mīllia) Shortening of mīlle passūs. A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans; known as the “Roman mile”, it spanned 1,000 passūs in length. 1 kilometre is equal to 0.6757 of a mīlle. A mīlle, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half kilometres.