[ 𝙞 ] 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘿𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙮 𝙊𝙛 𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚

Chapter Three

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the camp

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The wagon trains moved at a steady pace after that, resting the horses every two hours or so. Before long they'd passed into the Northern territories, just as the sun was slipping into the horizon. Grian and Ronin were amazed at how quickly it got colder, and as they traveled, snow drifts evolved along the roadsides. The trees became scarcer, mostly firs standing tall in the cold, their branches evergreen in defiance to the frosts. The train passed villages, a few of them made of the shells of cabins with scorched walls and no inhabitants. They made Ronin think of home. How that this deadness and forsakenness might one day reach Kyril. His heart thumped in anger to the Queen, with newfound vigor for a cause he wasn't even aware of yet. He wanted to fight for something, but just what that was he didn't know. Grian felt it too, but it scorched her thoughts just as the painful memories of Heirsa and the days passed. She was reminded that that was all gone now.

The sun had set entirely by the time the head wagon called out to the others announcing their arrival at the camp. The sky had turned black with thick snow clouds, and the wind was elevated slightly. Ronin overheard the drafting officers mutter about how off-schedule their arrival was. The train neared the camp, or fort as it more appeared to be. There were high timber walls surrounding it by all sides, and hide tents pitched all around with activity buzzing from each one. The wagons stopped just outside the walls and the draftees were lined up to be processed as they entered. Each one was given a wooden tag tied around their left wrist with a four-digit number and a circular symbol drawn right underneath. Grian's number read 13 - 12 and Ronin's 13 - 18. The draftees were pushed along, and after getting their numbers, the men and women were separated into two lines. The men were directed into one tent and the women into another. One by one they were stripped of their over-garments, drenched in water and then given fresh over-garments. These weren't like the clothes they'd previously worn. These were made of something much like leather, only more flexible. They all had a shirt and pants, the men and women alike. The torso of the shirt was made of the dull brown leather, and the sleeves were wide and of a softer fabric but tapered snug at the wrist. Somehow they reminded Grian of a court jester's clothes.

The processed draftees were given one blanket and shown to boarding tents, filled with rows and rows of narrow cots. Each was built on a wooden frame, a numbered paper pinned to them to tell whose cot was whose. The men were to board in one tent, and the women in another. Grian subconsciously followed Glas as the two looked for their cots. There were dozens of other women around them, some with tear stains on their faces and some with expressions of numbness. Grian sympathized with all of them, but she kept her head high. Glas' number was 13 - 21, and since the cots were numbered in order, her's was a ways away from Grian's.

"These are your lodgings." The officer showing the women in said, "Now that you all know where you sleep, follow me to tent number seven for the evening meal."

Tent seven was one of the largest, crammed full of wooden tables and long benches. There were draftees all around, some new and some old. The new ones were informed that lock-in came straight after the evening meal and that their processing would be completed tomorrow. Grian and Glas found their way into line for food, although Grian wasn't interested in sustenance of any kind. She wanted to find Ronin and that was the only thing on her mind. Thankfully, she spotted him at a nearby table with Alexander. Neither of them had taken any of the stew or dried meat that was offered. Grian hurried to join her brother, surprised when Glas followed after her, carrying a plate of stew and meat.

Ronin immediately wrapped his arms around his sister, thankful that she seemed fine despite the ordeals of the day. Her eyes held darkness; a stony blankness that he'd never seen in them. It cut him at the heart.

"You're new then?" Two men took the spots left on either side of the table, each with a plate of food and the older-looking one directing a question at Ronin.

"Just drafted from the South." Ronin answered with a slow nod as he leaned forward on his elbows.

"The South. Well, the queen's gotten desperate then," The man responded. He was maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, with his hair cut the same as Ronin. His eyes were shadowy with the precision of a marksman. "So far it's just been from the near Eastern territories."

"You know a lot about the drafting?" Glas inquired without interest before taking a large spoonful of the brown stew.

"The entire war." Came the man's reply. "But I don't count that a credit to me." He added.

"A veteran of sorts?" Ronin guessed.

The man's eyes flickered with a wry smile as he ate. "Of sorts," He agreed.

"Khana wouldn't likely be honored as a veteran on this side of the lines," The other man inserted. His deep-set blue eyes and sharp jaw created a look of charm and playfulness. He looked to be in his early adulthood, without the knowledge of hardship like the older man, Khana, seemed to have.

"How come?" Grian questioned.

"I'm a Republican marksman, trained in Zee," Khana replied.

Ronin's eyes widened slightly. "Republican?" He repeated. The Zee Republic in the far West was the very country that Shard was against.

"I was taken prisoner in one of Shard's raids of my city, and they thought my skills too invaluable to kill me with the rest of the captives. Now here I am, fighting against my own country."

Authors Note .

Yay! Chapter four finally! What does everyone think of Khana? I think he's pretty awesome personally. I hope this chapter satisfied some of your questions about the actual war and stuff...anyway, have a korious day.

All my love,
Kori Kalon .