Tristan
October 19, 1786, Realm Timeline, New Castle near Blansko, Bohemia
Tristan woke with a serious headache, the first reason being the party, which had lasted late into the night. The second was the voices of people running in the courtyard, trying to be inconspicuous.
He ran out only in his underwear, dagger in hand, looking right and left. There was no attack, and no stranger present. However, his group was waving their hands and whispering in a panic at the stable's doorframe.
"I'm sorry," Dorian said, wrapping his arm around Isolde's shoulders.
The young woman was holding a hand in front of his mouth, apparently sobbing, albeit Tristan couldn't say if the noises were sobs or laughs.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"Her horse died," Aldric said. "Emilios came earlier to pick something from the stable, and told us."
"It's not... my horse," Isolde said, barely controlling herself. "It's his. Don't you see the balls?"
"I did nothing, I found it like this!" Emilios yelped.
Now worried, Tristan elbowed his way forward, looking inside the annex, then let out a long breath, relieved.
"He's sleeping," he said.
"On the ground?" Max asked.
"Yes, that's how they sleep."
"Not on their feet?"
"That's only for naps," Isolde said.
"But look at his belly," Emilios said. "It's swollen."
"That's exactly how it's supposed to look," Tristan sneered, convinced the Outworlders, except Isolde, were dumb.
Then, Good Boy let out a long and loud fart, and the matter was settled, everyone running away. Returning to the room, Tristan found the cinders in the hearth still warm, showing a few red embers. Checking the clock on the HUD, he found it was half past eight in the morning. He dressed and went back to the courtyard, where a thin layer of snow covered the ground.
"Everybody!" he yelled. "You have half an hour to eat and dress."
Various bleeps answered from the house, some stronger, some fainter, meaning his team had returned to their beds. Stretching, Cedric, the only one who had missed the horse adventure, raised up from under the yew. "Druid reporting for duty."
"You slept outside?"
"The weather was warm enough, sir."
It seemed to Tristan that the Elf's cheeks were red with a fever. Is he trying to freeze himself to death? "Cook, is there something to eat?" Tristan yelled.
"Yes, Sir," the man yelled from the kitchen.
"Make Cedric a hot tea or something."
"On it."
"I don't need hot tea, I—" Cedric stopped, coughing, "like... gh... cold... water."
"You'll drink hot tea. It's an order."
"Yes, sir, yes!" the boy saluted, ending in another cough attack.
"Taste this," Emilios came forward, offering Tristan a plate with steaming biscuits and Cedric a metallic cup of tea.
"Ouch!" Cedric yelped, letting the cup drop after taking a sip. "You want to kill me? It's iron!"
"It's stainless steel," the cook snapped back.
"That's also iron!"
"Hm... These are good!" Tristan exclaimed. "What are they called?"
"Oat cookies."
"They're made from oats?"
"Yes. My class allows me to winnow grains by magic."
"No wonder horses like it. Speaking of horses, I have to test Isolde's skills... Emilios, if she disappoints me, I'll name you my second in command."
"I'm perfectly okay with being the third, Sir."
"C'mon, everybody. Hurry up! Twenty minutes left!" Tristan shouted. "I'll take the cookies. Give Cedric another cup of tea. In a normal cup."
Twenty minutes later, dressed in thicker and warmer uniforms, the file was formed in front of them. Even Big Hair had returned, which pleased Tristan. He hated losing money.
"Come here, we shall execute a brainstorm!" he shouted. "What should we do to better ourselves? Who has skills that would benefit the others?"
"Riding!" Isolde raised her hand.
"Certainly, we'll do that. Anything else?"
"Coding?" Dorian said. "I have a couple of laptops with me. I could also teach you how to sing."
"Singing is for wusses. Sorry, it's just true. We'll leave coding for the next weekend," Tristan decided. "What about offensive skills? We're not called bleeping Coding Suicide Squad, right? We're meant for action." Hey, what do you know? I'm speaking more and more like them.
"We're not the Suicide Squad; that was a joke. We were drunk," Maximilian said.
Tristan furrowed his brow. "Any other skills?"
"Sorry to ask, but who else knows how to use a gun?" Aldric asked. Only Isolde raised her hand.
"I can't touch guns anymore," Cedric said.
"Do flare guns count?" Emilios asked.
"No!" the stonemage sneered.
"I think Pops said he did his military service in China," Isolde said.
"Yeah, with Mao," Dorian joked.
"Wait, I'll translate to him," Isolde said, taking her phone out of her coat and showing it to the old Chinese, who nodded and took out his own phone. "Not the Mao part, that was mean. Asking if he knows how to fire a gun. He says thumbs up."
"Aren't we supposed to have a Magic Translator in our heads?" Tristan asked.
"Never trust the advertising," Big Hair said.
"It only has a handful of languages and helps you learn faster, that's it," Dorian said.
"It has German and English for sure, maybe French and Spanish," Emilios said. "Let's test it for Greek. Anyone, say something in Greek to me."
"Kalimera?" Isolde said.
"We don't have time for language tests," Tristan snapped. "So. Riding is a must for everyone. Shooting next. I want to learn to use your guns."
"You know we're forbidden to take them outside the Protectorates, right?" Isolde asked.
"Because they're dangerous?"
"And we don't want bad people to reverse engineer them," Isolde said.
"They tried with metal casings, but they don't have mass production, and they abandoned the idea," Aldric said. "Some countries will figure out the percussion cap revolver soon enough; it's not quantum science."
"Either of you two has a gun to teach me?" Tristan asked.
"I have a Winchester and a revolver," Isolde said. "I did a lot of Wild West reenactments, with real bullets."
"I have a submachine gun," Aldric said.
"We'd need a heavy horse for him and Cedric," Isolde said. "One's too heavy, and the other too tall."
"I don't need a horse, I can run," Cedric said.
"I can't," the stonemage said.
"I'll decide later. For now, we'll—"
"Pops says he knows Kung-Fu and he can teach us," Isolde said, after the old man pulled her sleeve. "It's Chinese for hand-to-hand combat."
"We'll try that in the afternoon. Now. Isolde, saddle the horses, teach the others how to do it. Then, we'll ride our own mounts, and on the Tatars, let's see... Aldric and Emilios. The rest will run behind us. We find a nice place to learn how to shoot. For the trip back, Max can take one of the horses."
"Why not me?" Dorian wailed.
"Because it's useful to gain endurance, and the rest have more useful skills, and I want them in good shape."
"That's preferential treatment," Dorian said, his voice resentful. "Sir!"
"Exactly. Emilios, do we have everything we need for the kitchen, or should Dorian make another trip to the next village?"
"We do. I texted Dorian before he did the shopping."
"So, no trip. Just running."
"Thank goodness," Dorian sighed. "Hey, you used reverse psychology on me!"
"You forgot to add Sir! Enough of this. Move!" Tristan clapped his hands.
"Yes, Sir, yes," Isolde yelled.
"Actually, it's Sir, yes, Sir," Aldric pointed out.
"This is stupid," Tristan decided. "Yes, Sir is enough. Go with Isolde, all of you."
They left the castle half an hour later, at a slow jogging pace for the runners and a gait speed for the riders. The snow had melted, and there was a bit of sun, making the trip pleasant. Tristan's horse was also gaited, and Isolde speculated it was a South American Peruvian horse, which was a rare breed. Isolde was an excellent rider; he could tell.
Despite insisting Pops should stay behind, he refused, tagging along without showing signs of tiredness. Cedric ran the fastest of them all. He kept pace with the horses, or even went ahead a few times, even if he had the longbow in his right hand, and it was often getting in his way, and even if he was still coughing.
"Amanita Phalloides," he pointed at a group of mushrooms. "Deadly. Eat it, and you die in pain a few days later. Your organs liquefy."
"Ew!" Isolde blurted. "But people with magic are resistant, right?"
"Depends on the people," Cedric said. "Elves are immune. Humans will die."
"Moment," Tristan asked, pulling on the reins. "Dorian?"
"Bleepy bleep," the man sighed, picking up the mushrooms and eating them.
"By the way, do you know yew is deadly to horses?" Cedric said.
"I know," Tristan said.
"What's yew?" Isolde asked.
"The tree in our courtyard. Don't let your horses eat the leaves."
"But it looks like fir!"
"It's not, trust me," Cedric said.
"We should cut it," Isolde said.
"It's precious wood, and rare," Cedric said. "It would be a pity."
"Horses have good instincts," Tristan said.
"Some. Others are dumb. Anyway, I'll use my skills to let them know," Isolde sighed.
Tristan's horse neighed, and the Tatar snorted. The mare let out a deep breath, sounding like a purr and a 'duh!'.
"Now they know," Isolde said.
The run continued for a couple of hours, with pauses, Cedric pointing out plants and mushrooms and telling them which were poisonous or edible on the way. He picked some for their properties and caught up with them each time. The teenager's mood looked a bit better, and the cough disappeared.
"We could train here," Tristan decided when they walked past a wide meadow. "Cedric, why don't you show us what you can do with that bow first? Shoot some stumps."
"Err..."
"Sir?" Isolde interjected. "Cedric is shy to tell you, but his arrows will break if he hits stumps."
Of course, they'd break. "Aim for an ant hill."
Cedric nodded and took the bow in his left hand. His right hand rose up, picking an arrow from the quiver on his back, then knocking it. He pulled the string and released it in a fluid motion. The arrow whistled an inch above the anthill and went into the grass. The second and the third found their target. The fourth missed; the fifth went in. That was all the arrows he had.
"Not bad," Tristan said. "Two hundred feet or so."
"In time, I'll be able to correct the trajectory in flight. May I go take my arrows back?"
"Sure. What's your weapon capable of?" Tristan asked, looking at Isolde and Aldric.
"I could hit something thrice as far, easily, standing still, and twice that distance from a gallop. The revolver... Same, maybe, standing. Luckily, half that, at full speed, Sir."
"My HK is a close-quarters weapon, Sir," Aldric said. "Best I can do is like the kid. I was in demolitions, though, so I was not the best."
"As soon as Cedric returns, teach me," Tristan ordered.
"We have about... five rounds for each of us, for the Winchester," Isolde said, taking out an ammo box from the saddlebag.
She explained at length how to aim, how to breathe, how to pull the lever, and things that seemed logical and easy, but when he fired at the same anthill, Tristan missed every shot. He had hoped an Outworlder weapon would instantly make him a marksman. Now, his hopes lay on the ground, broken. To hammer the nail further, the next shooter, Aldric, got all of them in the target.
"Give me that; I think I got it," Tristan said, then missed the next three shots and passed the gun to Max, who got three out of five. He tried again, two shots, and almost got it on the second, but the gun was empty. Isolde reloaded, and Emilios struck true five times, albeit ungrouped. Pops insisted, gesturing to use Aldric's gun, and emptied the magazine, hitting half the time.
"I want to try," Cedric said. "I need to overcome my fear of iron. Who knows when I'll need to use a gun?"
He shot only once because he got covered in rashes almost instantly, but he got it on the first try. Dorian missed all but one, but that one was one more than Tristan.
"I'll do better with the revolver," Tristan said.
"Let me show you the grip," Isolde said. It was a pretense to hold his hand and help him hit the target. The attempt failed, and all the bullets went haywire.
"Good job, boss, you got the last two," Aldric said. He was lying. Tristan had clearly noticed the impact, hitting the ground ten feet behind the target.
"Recharge, please," Tristan offered the gun to Isolde, deciding to give it one more try.
The woman opened the revolver and ejected the casings. At the precise moment she held the first of the next bullets between the fingers, but had not inserted it, Dorian retched, a burst of blood shooting out from his mouth. Surprised, Tristan jerked. His right hand hit Isolde's elbow. She dropped both the bullet and the gun, and the impossible happened. The items met on the way, the bullet got into the right place, the gun reassembled when it hit the ground, and somehow fired. Everyone jumped back.
"Whoa!" Tristan gasped. "Is everyone Oh, kay?"
"Gah!"
With a reproachful look in his glassy eyes, Dorian fell on the ground, immobile, a red spot growing on his chest. Pops rushed to press his chest, trying to apply mouth-to-mouth.
"Pops, pops, it's OK, he can Rezz," Isolde said. "
"Is he dead?" Tristan asked.
"Moment," Big Hair said, hitting Dorian's body in the back while Pops was yelling at him. "Yep. Felt the same yesterday. Rubbery."
"How long until he gets back?"
"Dunno... I found him like that, and it took a few minutes. When he opened his eyes, I almost bleeped my pants."
"Gather the casings; I can reload them," Aldric said. Everyone gazed at the ground, avoiding Tristan's eyes.
To make time pass and avoid even more embarrassment, he asked Isolde to train with him, directing her on how to hit with a lance from horseback, imagining she was stabbing at an enemy face, an effective and easy technique. She was a natural, and working with her was a pleasure, but the embarrassment persisted. He stopped after fifteen minutes. By then, Dorian was back on his feet, Cedric patting his back, everyone looking at Tristan like he was a monster.
"I didn't mean to," his mouth said by itself. It was bad. An officer was not supposed to excuse himself.
"'s OK," Dorian whispered.
"Do you hear or feel anything when you're... err... not with us?" Max asked.
"Everything. I'm just stuck, unable to move. It kinda sucks, but today it was better. In the river, lying face down in the water, it was worse. At least I didn't suffer from the poison for too long. I got killed by that at the same time."
"That's fast for an Amanita," Cedric said.
"We shall return to the castle; it's already late," Tristan said.