Future King

9: on the march

Cal "Blondie" Whitesnake

We march for three weeks before Emmerich consents to give us three days off to rest. I argue bitterly with him over it, however in the end he consents that the men need rest, and fresh food. We're well into the mountains now, and though the dust has stopped us a few times it has been surprisingly clear, with only brief storms. I for one am exhausted, the men are bored. We need to hunt, spar, and in general do something other than march. The horses need to be grazed. And we have more than a few repairs that need to be made to wagons and weapons. Which means setting up the forge. I fear the dust will come the moment we try to get any of the chores done.
"It wouldn't DARE," Cypher hisses, glaring at the horizon, so I'm taking that to mean they and their non existent witch powers have willed it away.
We set up camp in a decent pass, where we can easily defend ourselves and be a bit sheltered from the dust. I give Riot and my other commanders instructions to set up shifts, hunting, tending horses, and the like. We need sorely to train, and I want to get a better feel for what sort of level of soldiers I have. I set them up in groups, sparring with sword, shield, and knives. Most of them have mail, and decent weapons, though those without I send to go and see Cypher, who has somehow a wealth of spare metal and a surprising willingness to actually help.
Emmerich runs his men in a similar fashion, though he delegates some of it to his top men, one of whom I know by name now, Jack Saxon, who's nearly my grandfather's age, though quite fit. He helps the young prince with their much more plentiful numbers.
"Tomorrow, let's work them against each other, they could use fresh opponents," I tell Emmerich.
He glances at my men a little disdainfully.
"It would be good for them, it would also build some camaraderie, they know nothing but marching and sleeping now. Like it or not we're all more than a bit stuck with each other; we could use to be friends," I point out.
He nods, "Get with Jack tomorrow."
"Fine," I say, grateful he listened, for once.
I spend so much of the morning slightly micromanaging my own men, I don't even bother to catch up with my fellow clan leaders, or train myself. It's past noon when it occurs to me that I can leave things be. They're running all right. And my constant presence is probably making everyone more nervous than not. If I want them to actually relax and have a good time I'll leave them to it; they're not gonna do that with my yellow eyes in the back of their heads.
I find Ryker with his Abilogn troops, all like, ten of them. He's got them set up on a flat stretch of ground by the horses paired up, and then he'll hop into any spar on either side. He fights with his axe though he has it turned so that the sharp head of it is facing away. The men block his blows but not easily, and the small force is clearly accustomed to each other.
Meanwhile, not far away, Covey and Dev are sparring, with wooden spears. They're laughing and talking through it largely, as they do most everything.
"Are there—fewer of them than we started with?" Emmerich walks up behind me, drinking from a canteen and gesturing to Abilogn.
"Ah—," I close my eyes a moment. He came with twelve there are now ten. Unless maybe they're off doing chores, but I know they're not. "No, I don't think so."
"Not like it makes a difference," Emmerich scoff, "You doing anything? Only I was going over the maps, could use a second set of eyes on it."
"Yeah, all right, later if that's all right, I needed to exercise myself," I say, stripping off my shirt and hydration vest to drop by the edge of the tents
"As you will," he says, giving me an—appreciative?—glance. That was weird. All right. I mean, not really, he's not bad looking, but I think I've made it clear to anyone who will listen I'm engaged.
I pick up a practice sword from a pile and go to join the sparring. Eden is working out farther up field, and Emmerich saunters to join them.
I make my way over to Ryker, who has just finished with his men, leaving them to their pairs. He broke a practice sword and is fetching another one, where Covey and his man Dev are drinking water and being sweaty together. They're both shirtless and coated in fine red dust. Covey is pale and nearly sunburned, his hair standing on end.
"What are we at? Day Twenty nine that Cure still hasn't noticed you're short two men?" Dev is asking Ryker.
"Shut up," Ryker laughs, as Covey catches him to grind his fists into his skull.
"What—you've lost men?" I ask.
"Day twenty seven," Dev corrects, laughing as well.
"Not lost," Ryker says, finally twisting free of Covey, with an odd tug. Then he moves over against the water barrel to —relocate his shoulder?
"Did you—did you just dislocate your shoulder to wrestle him?" I ask.
"Yeah, he does that," Covey, with obvious affection, like I just pointed out a particularly skilled hunting dog.
"It doesn't hurt! I do it all the time," Ryker says, shoving his shoulder back into place.
"Okay, I'm gonna worry about that later—,"
"It's really fine—,"
"Are you really short men?" I ask.
"Yeah," Ryker nods, "Well, I didn't lose them. I sent them home. We brought a few extra to make a good showing, then I figured I could let them get off home soon as we actually departed. They had land to work, and families."
"Jesus, Ryker, you can't just send people home from the army!" I sigh.
"I can. I did. We don't need them anyway. I don't mind doing their chores, I don't get tired much," Ryker says.
"You know what? I'm not gonna worry about it, yeah, fine okay—back to dislocating your shoulder?" I ask.
"I've got a really high pain tolerance," Ryker says.
"Okay," okay the child I'm now responsible for has a high pain tolerance. Right. Just move on Cal it's not like he's actually your kid.
"Did you need something?" Dev asks, methodically sprinkling dust onto an unaware Covey's head.
"To relax, anybody want to spar?" I ask, holding up a wooden sword.
"Oh, I will!" Ryker says, happily.
"I don't fight anyone but him," Covey says, pointing at Dev who is now putting rocks in his boyfriend's red hair.
"Why?" I ask.
"I don't trip out for him, I might for other people, and he's ready if he does set me off. I don't want to turn into a homicidal maniac against someone who's not ready," Covey says, a little upset, twisting his fingers.
"But if you don't practice on other people who aren't him how are you going to get better?" Ryker asks.
"I'm not but—I can't control it," Covey says.
"Come on. I'm not affected by pain I really don't mind if you stab me, he can watch," Ryker says, cheerfully, "How are you going to learn to control it if you don't practice?"
"Ryker, mate, I am begging you to never again repeat the phrase 'I really don't mind if you stab me'," I choke out.
"Why?"
"Just—just for me," I say, breathing deeply, "Just, as a personal favor, to me, would you mind removing that phrase from your vocabulary?"
"Sure," Ryker shrugs.
"Here, drink some water," Dev says.
"I hasn't been two hours—,"
"Yeah I know," Dev hands him a canteen.
"Please fence with me? The only person who I ever get to fence with is my brother and ever since Ruby was born he's busy," Ryker says, pathetically.
"The other boys don't play with you?"
"No, they say I hit too hard, and I try not to! Annie—that's my friend—she used to as well but before she died her mother forbid her so now she won't," Ryker says, in between chugging water at Dev's insistence.
"I'll fence with you, but I'm calling attacks before I make them, and you're not doing anything but blocking, fair?" Covey asks, sighing a little. To be clear, he does not look like a threat. He looks like the sort of person that gets pushed down the stairs. He's barely taller than Ryker, and he looks like Lyla could beat him at arm wrestling.
"Okay!" Ryker cries, cheerfully.
I shrug at Dev.
"I have to watch," he says, shaking his head, as the two move out with wooden practice swords.
"Is he that bad?" I ask, quietly. I'd heard of men who went into battle rages, not knowing friend from foe, unaware of any injuries, knowing nothing but bloodlust. But those tales are associated with actual battle. Not bar room fist fights or mid day practice bouts with seven year old boys. I should find out how old Ryker is. But I feel like it'll depress me.
"Worse," Dev grunts, "Believe me when I say that he'd not hold back from murdering a thirteen year old child."
"That how old our Ryker is?" I wince.
"Yeah."
"Damn."
"Yeah, wouldn't be the first time. There've been more than a few mistakes in handling him, less so when he was living at home with his mothers, but his step father doesn't take it as seriously as he ought," Dev says.
"But you can get him out of it?" I ask.
He nods.
"Why? Can I ask? Why you? Is it a word or a phrase—,"
"No, hell no, I'd tell people. It's just me, well, his mothers usually could. But it's more than a bit hazardous to our health, especially if he's armed," Dev says, "Point of it is; I can survive long enough to get close to him."
"Until the day you don't," I say, quietly.
He shrugs.
"What gives you the magic touch?" I ask.
He looks away, clearly debating his answer.
"Recall, I'm the person who brought Cypher Kiss to this war there is no answer you could give I could possibly debate," I say.
"Oh you're responsible for that person? I have been flirted with aggressively by them, yeah—no I just, lived near Covey, when we were little. He killed my dad's guard dogs, they'd attacked him but. Anyway, I didn't know he was in his, whatever. I just walked up and put my hand on him, he threw me to the ground, made to kill me. I shouted at him to stop it. For whatever reason, he did. We've been friends ever since," he says, shaking his head, "When we were boys, his mothers would watch if he played with me. Soon we figured out I could talk him around myself. I'll never leave him, not until the day I die, I'm sure by his hand. And I dread it, because he'll not live long after that."
"That's dark, yeah, we're gonna try to avoid that in this war, to circle back I do need to do a blanket apology for Cypher as it happens—,"
"I don't mind being flirted with, especially not when a rejection prompts an offer of exploding arrows," he grins a little.
"Those are literally the greatest, absolutely take them up on that if they offer it," I say.
"Oh, I did. Evidenced by my life story I don't have a great sense of self-preservation," he says, smiling a little.
"You and Ryker both," I mutter, watching as the boy flips and twist, easy blocking the blows that Covey is calling. The older boy is clearly nervous, intentionally going slowly and not doing anything like damage. Ryker, for his part, is grinning and chatting happily with his new friend. "I'm lucky I'm already white haired, that boy is a trip."
"Yeah, I suppose," he says, smiling, "Covey's sister's about the boys' age. That's why we're used to him running around."
"I'm entirely an only child," I admit, leaning on my practice sword, "What's waiting for you? Back home?"
"Home's with him. It always will be," he says, shrugging, "We'll go back to his family I suppose. Ideally? Live on a farm someplace. He never has to see combat again. Ever. Nobody has to die. But that won't happen. That's not him. There's always going to be a fight in this world, and he's not ever going to turn it down. So we live as long as the fates let us. We're not going to go on, without the other."
I nod.
"What about you? Got someone waiting at home?"
"Fiancee, and my grandfather, my clan," I say.
"Is that the order?"
"Pretty much. But usually something of a package set," I say, sighing a little. I can't just walk off into the sunset. Too many people depend upon me. "I don't mean that badly—I love my fiancée she's my match. That's it, we're right for the other."
"Good for you. I'm sure you miss her. It must be very inconvenient having an opposite sex lover you have to leave," he says.
"It is actually," I say, laughing a little, "She completely tried to come. And by that, I mean I helped her. We were caught. My grandfather and multiple people threatened to call the engagement off—,"
"Is that why you were almost late—,"
"That's exactly why we were almost late."
"Good for you."
"Right?"
"I mean, wouldn't have even gotten you found out, you and Ryker are the only clan leaders enjoying celibacy during this war," he says.
"What—wait, Emmerich has someone? Who?" I ask. Please don't say Cypher please don't say Cypher. Please don't say Cypher. Please don't say Cypher.
"I don't know who the fellow is, but there's a rather pretty swordmaster from his clan, they're forever looking at the other when the other isn't looking, and I saw them both leaving his tent once," Dev says.
"Good to know," I say. I almost like him a little better? Maybe that's why he's so miserable half the time he's trying to hide it? Why would he? I think Dev and Covey with the help of Cypher, have made it clear nobody cares who you're sleeping with. "On a completely related note, you and Covey are coming with me to his tent later to look over the maps."
"You afraid of him coming onto you?" Dev chuckles.
"So, no. I have no problem turning someone down. Cypher has given me really great practice with that. I have a problem turning down someone who isn't fond of the word no and has the ability to make my life hell," I say, "Easier if I avoid the situation all together."
"Well, what do you need me for?"
"Is Covey gonna go someplace my himself?"
"Okay no, fine, but it sounds boring."
"You say that like you and Covey won't make pointless conversation through it or you won't spend the whole time stacking random objects on his head."
"Okay, you have a point," he rolls his eyes.
"Thank you," I say. This is going to be so awkward.