Aerham opened his eyes and flung himself upright. He stared in confusion at the eastern horizon alive with fiery light, the top edge of the sun flaring beyond the snow-capped mountains. His cold fingers clawed at the dusty ground at his side, finally closing around the hilt of his sword. At first, he didn't recognize the small cottage or the weathered barn behind it, and then he remembered the events of the previous night.
His life was dung. What was he going to do?
Aerham had fallen asleep while sitting there. He still wore his chain hauberk and tunic, which was now dampened by dew. The smell of smoke and fried sausage clung to the air. His stomach groaned, reminding him that he hadn't eaten dinner on the previous night.
The stone chimney, seeming to lean outward in defiance of gravity, released black tendrils of smoke into the sky. The door of the house was closed, but visible through an open window to the right of the door, a woman moved back and forth across a room, pans and skillets on the wall behind her.
Aerham stood, stretching his back. He had grasped a handful of dirt when he had grabbed his sword. After returning the weapon to his scabbard, he raised a leg and rubbed his hand against the top of his leather boot.
Had they come while he had slept and taken the girl? It was unlikely. They wouldn't have allowed him to sleep. He had succeeded in thwarting Uth Garenthil's filthy desires, or at least done all that he could to prevent them. They may have found another family to terrorize, but he doubted it. They had wanted to join the festive activities at the inn, activities for which the Brotherhood had paid.
The door to the farmhouse creaked open.
"M'lord," the farmer said. "Perhaps ye'd like to join us for breakfast?"
"Aye, good sir." Aerham was hungry enough to eat the leather from his scabbard. Also, he needed time to consider his next meeting with Uth Garenthil. Killing the man would go against the Light of the Blessed Lady. If Aerham learned that Gendis had returned and taken the girl while he had slept, then it was likely that he would try to kill both the Brother and the Initiate. The Light find him afterward. "Breakfast would be just the thing."
The front room of the farmhouse was small. A fire crackled in a stone hearth on the left wall. Two closed doors stood on the right wall. The shutters on the windows were open and orange light from the rising sun spilled onto the table, illuminating an array of wooden dishes. Places had been set for five.
A plump woman, wearing a brown blouse and skirt, stood by the hearth. Her back was to Aerham, but the edge of her black skillet was visible. The delicious aroma and sizzle of sausages were unmistakable.
Aerham followed the father across the room, floorboards creaking beneath both of their feet. The father gestured for him to sit, so he sat in a chair at the table. At first he had welcomed the warmth of the fire, wearing damp clothing, but he quickly began to feel overdressed, wiping at perspiration on his forehead.
The father was in his middle years with a leathery face and sunken eyes, though his ponytail remained solid black, making him appear younger. His hands were rough from farm work and he seemed like a good man, reminding Aerham of some of the kinder tenants who worked his father's orchards. His brown shirt was stained and patched in many places and he had not bothered to shave which intensified his haggard appearance. He did not look like a man who had slept well.
The father smiled weakly across the uneven table, then looked away, eyes darting over the different dishes as if seeing them for the first time. The man's wife had forced him to offer breakfast, more than likely.
"My lord," the farmer began. "May I ask by what name are you known?"
"I am Aerham Hathaen."
"I am Jenkin and this is my wife, Laeda," said the father, bowing slightly. His wife turned from the hearth offering a friendly smile.
"I'm a simple man, my lord. I hope whatever happened here last night will have no bad happenings on my kin. Our life is simple. We live under the Light of Ravyn." Jenkin gestured to the sun emblem with crossed swords on Aerham's soiled tunic, and his eyes lingered, taking in the details and betraying his lack of intimacy with the symbol. "And we respect the lands as Lineas has taught us, of course. We pay our taxes and ask no trouble."
They were only farmers and Aerham took no offense to the shortening of the name of his goddess. It was true that the Brotherhood referred to its religious soldiers as Ravyn's Might rather than Ravyneira's Might, but that was part of a long standing tradition. As farmers, this family likely put Lineas above all other religions. Ravyneira was not a jealous goddess, and she didn't demand sole homage from those whom her Brotherhood protected.
"I assure you, sir, your family will be safe from any repercussions. In fact, I apologize on behalf of the Brotherhood of Light for what happened here. When the Lord of Light learns of it, there will be justice. I assure you." Aerham was eager to report the events to Uth Arthgrin. There would be justice.
Laeda quickly dumped sausages and eggs from a wooden platter to a ceramic platter of the same size. Wiping her fingers on a white apron, she moved to the table, setting the platter in the center. Her round face was too wide to be pretty, but she carried herself well, strong and proud. Deep wrinkles creased beneath her brown eyes, revealing her age to be near that of her husband, but she did not appear as weary.
The air was heavy with butter, grease, and sausage spices. Two chips marred the rim of the ceramic platter, likely the best dinnerware that Laeda had in her kitchen; although such dinnerware would have never been placed upon his own father's table. It was heaped with buttery eggs, which had been beaten and fried, and greasy sausage links. She had made certain there would be enough food for their guest, enough to feed six or seven men, and with the coin Gendis had given them, they could now afford it.
Jenkin lifted the platter, taking a large serving spoon in the other hand, and shoveled a large portion of eggs and five sausages onto Aerham's plate. Jenkin buried his own plate and placed smaller portions on the other three plates, setting the platter in the center of the table before asking, "Well, my lord, what of the coin the man gave me? Seven silvers? You won't be taking those back?" His brow creased with concern. "It's a lot of coin for such as us, my lord." He swallowed hard before adding, "And no services were performed."
Seven silvers would have bought a week at the Emerald Lion, including meals and wine. Uth Garenthil was loose with his purse, indeed. No farmer could turn down such an offer, especially if he knew saying 'no' meant they would still take his daughter. That amount was a good deal of coin for a commoner, yet a pathetic gesture for what they had tried to take.
Laeda set wooden cups next to each plate and poured into each.
"I apologize, m'lord, but water is all that we have," Jenkin explained.
"Water is the best drink," said Aerham, echoing the words of his father.
A small boy, maybe five years of age, ran from one of the back rooms. He was dressed in a brown cloth gown and wore no shoes on his feet. His black hair was cropped short around his head. He yelled to his father and hugged him, before climbing into one of the chairs. He studied Aerham's chain mail sleeves and the large emblem on his white tunic. After filling his eyes, he turned to his father.
"Papa, what is a rampart cushion?" He had obviously been eavesdropping on their conversation.
"A repercussion is a..." began Jenkin, lowering his brow in thought. "Oh, look at the sausages. They smell great. How many do you want? Fifty? One-hundred?" He smiled at the boy.
"Papa, I can't eat so many!" The boy laughed. "I can eat this many." He held up four tiny fingers.
"Seven? You are a little pig," the father teased.
"It's only four, Papa," corrected the boy. He turned his hand around to double-check from his father's perspective. "Four," he repeated after the inspection.
Aerham thought of his own childhood for a moment. He recalled few such moments. His father had been dedicated to teaching him to be a Brother of the Sun, thus his childhood had been games which involved swordplay, soldiering, and etiquette. Aerham thought how disappointed his father would be if Uth Garenthil somehow turned the events of the previous night around and prevented him from fulfilling his destiny.
A slender girl with brown hair and dark eyes slowly stepped from the same room from which the boy had emerged. She froze at the sight of Aerham, her face losing all color.
"It's okay, darling. He is a friend. He helped us last night," Jenkin assured.
She looked a bit relieved, but not completely trusting. Aerham didn't blame her since it had been the father who had pushed her to the door. She moved slowly to the table and sat between her father and brother. She kept her head down, casting nervous glances through her hair. Her large eyes radiated innocence. She was just a child, maybe only twelve or thirteen.
Uth Garenthil was a disgrace to the Brotherhood. Aerham's face began to grow hot. He should charge into the man's room at the inn and cut him down while he sat behind his table writing his lies. The Blessed Lady taught that they should be guided by her Light and not human failings, such as anger. He tried to calm himself and put food in his mouth. He couldn't taste the eggs or sausages, and a storm of stronger emotions swept away his hunger pangs. He looked at the girl again and his anger boiled over.
"Pardon, good people, but I must go." Aerham stood, trying to sheath his anger behind a friendly smile. He knew they could see that his face was flushed. He didn't want them to think that they had done something to offend him.
"The meal was and is absolutely delicious, my lady." He bowed to Laeda and she blushed. "I have duties which I have put off too long and I must hurry."
"Many thanks to you, my lord Hathaen," Jenkin offered, rising from his chair.
Aerham gave a curt bow and moved swiftly through the front door.
The sun had shifted from orange to yellow, having risen above the distant trees. Aerham felt the warmth on his hands and face. Today would be hot. He would make certain that his soldiers drank plenty of water, assuming Uth Garenthil didn't remove him from command. Or that he didn't kill Uth Garenthil. In fact, it was premature to consider soldier commands until he had confronted Uth Garenthil.
Climbing on his horse, Aerham realized it had been left saddled all night. He would have to switch to a fresh mount before the army marched, assuming the camp hadn't already began to move.
Aerham rode hard through the morning mist. Farmers stood in the green fields with tools in their hands. Some stopped to watch him pass and others did not. He returned more than one friendly greeting, though he felt only bile rising within him.
He wished that the peaceful ride had lasted longer, but he had responsibilities.
The smoke of cooking fires rose above the white tents. The picket lines were still in place and no one had filled any of the trenches. It was clear that no effort had been made to disassemble the camp. The sun should never know what an army's camp looked like. He hadn't awakened so early himself; otherwise he might have chastised the guards for not awakening everyone at dawn. Well, there were no guards posted at the break in the picket lines, so he couldn't chastise them anyway. The only soldiers in view were half-dressed, unarmed, and eating. The situation was pathetic and it would have made him angry, except that it all seemed minuscule next to Uth Garenthil's lack of honor. He rubbed his chest, recalling how Uth Garenthil had struck him with the Radiance. The sting of that embarrassment had been wiped away.
Aerham rode across the camp. Through open flaps, he saw many men sleeping. This was unacceptable, like most things lately. He dismounted at the makeshift horse pen and ordered a servant to saddle a fresh horse before walking to the tents of the fifty men which had been placed under his charge.
"Finish up that breakfast," he shouted.
The breakfast was bread, white gravy, and sausages. It smelled good, but nothing like Laeda's cooking. He wanted to eat, having cut short his previous meal, but his stomach felt like it had been tied in knots. He would have to confront Uth Garenthil before he would ever settle his nerves. He did not know what would happen at that meeting.
"We have to march soon! Get these tents down! Eat and get these tents down!"
A few men ate faster, and others emerged from their tents and looked around with sleepy eyes. One shirtless man walked out of a tent, rubbed his round belly, waved a disgusted hand, and went back inside.
"Get out of those bedrolls!"
Aerham dismounted and went from tent to tent shaking men who still slept. This was disgraceful. When he had been a Learner, he had been too busy to realize how undisciplined the soldiers were. He finally understood the obstacle before him. There was neither discipline nor leadership here. Waking before noon shouldn't be a difficult task for an army on the move. He didn't see the other Initiates. They were as bad as the worst among the soldiers. He wouldn't be surprised if they were still asleep as well.
The one-hundred Saroken soldiers were theoretically under the command of a captain, who had authority when no Initiates were around, such as now. Aerham found Captain Meagus and woke him. He ignored the stench of alcohol on the man's breath and instructed him to have the tents down and trenches filled within the hour. The man groggily agreed and immediately headed to the tree line, making no effort to hide the fact that he intended to relieve himself. There were other soldiers who relieved themselves next to tents, but there was no time to correct them all. The chaos at the camp would have to wait.
Aerham returned to the makeshift horse pen. A livery servant had prepared a fresh horse for him. He could smell the leather of the saddle as he put a foot in a stirrup and slung his other leg over the horse's back. He patted the side of its head, recognizing the white markings.
"Let's go, Bastiaen."
Aerham didn't fantasize about glory or great battles on his ride to Arnich. He had too much else to think about. Would Uth Garenthil charge him with insubordination? Aerham had struck another Initiate and two bannermen, and he had also drawn his sword against them. Of course, they had been committing an immoral act, and Aerham had tried to stop them. Yet, he felt uneasy about the situation. He felt like a prisoner among the army of undisciplined men. What if the other Initiates and Uth Garenthil conspired against him? What if they all created a lie and stuck to it? What if they accused Aerham of committing the very crime they had tried to commit?
The snow capped mountains to the north stood against the bright blue horizon. A break in the skyline marked Blood Gap. The Fortress of Light was there, though too far away to be seen. He wondered what the Blessed Lady thought of her army. He was sure Uth Arthgrin would disapprove of Uth Garenthil's orders and desires, and he tried to take comfort from that. Surely, once everything was settled, Aerham would be vindicated and Uth Garenthil would be punished.
Arnich had awoken with the dawn, unlike the Brotherhood's army. Aerham rode along the dirt street towards the Emerald Lion, passing many men and women dressed in simple clothing. Some carried baskets or sacks slung over their shoulder, others carried tools. A few men waved cheerfully at him as he passed, though he noted several women who made sure to find something of interest elsewhere as he neared. Not everyone approved of Uth Garenthil's revelry, it seemed.
The front door of the Emerald Lion stood open. No curtains decorated the bare windows and shards of glass glittered across the road. Two of the four yellow banners of Uth Garenthil had been knocked to the ground. The lion on the third banner appeared to be vomiting; brown stains, which might have been tobacco spit, streaked downward from the lion's head. The fourth banner was remarkably clean and fluttered in the breeze.
Aerham dismounted and tied his horse to the post in front of the building. He took a step towards the door, noticing movement beneath one of the toppled banners. He pulled the yellow cloth aside to reveal a filthy man with stains covering his shirt and pants.
"What's the idea, mate?" The man squinted and covered his face with a hand. "I paid for a room 'til the 'morrow."
Aerham gagged at the stench. "Apologies," he said dryly and dropped the banner over the man's face again. He disgustedly heaved the fourth banner from the ground and flung it onto the man. A cry of pain told him that the pole had struck the man's head. He considered kicking the man in the side, but stopped himself. He was misdirecting his anger.
Aerham walked through the open door of the inn. The shutters were open, several unlatched and swinging slowly in the breeze. The stench of strong liquor and vomit stung his nostrils. Amid the tankards and broken glass, at least a dozen men slept on the floor or lay over tables, snores rattling the furniture. A beastman attack would have done less damage. This had all been accomplished with coin from the Brotherhood. It was such a pathetic embarrassment. Undoubtedly, the repairs would be paid by the same.
"Splendid! What a party!" Uth Garenthil stepped from the stairs, dressed in a red shirt, black vest and crimson pants, shaven except for his oiled mustache. He slipped in liquid but caught himself on a table and held his temples for a moment. He chuckled at his own near misfortune but his smile melted away when his eyes fell upon Aerham.
Gerran and Werdas emerged from the stairs behind him, wearing chain hauberks and yellow tunics, each with a swollen nose, and Werdas having a purplish spot on his jaw as well. The two bannermen exchanged concerned expressions.
Aerham stood with one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other clenched in a fist at his side. He wasn't sure what he was going to do. He could feel sweat forming on his forehead and back. His face tightened and grew hot. The Blessed Lady taught that he should not be guided by his anger. If he was going to be a Brother of the Sun, he would have to control his anger. He had always know that. He took a deep breath, but it did nothing to ease his rising pulse. If it came down to a fight, he doubted he could win against them all, though he wondered if Uth Garenthil even knew how to hold a sword.
"Ah, the deserter returns," said Uth Garenthil cheerfully. "Did you come to get the rest of your things? Most people just run and keep running when they desert. I was certain we would have to send your things to your father once we returned."
"I am no deserter," Aerham declared, hand tightening on his hilt. In his mind, he kept seeing the young girl at the breakfast table, those innocent hazel eyes. He knew his anger was getting the better of him. He couldn't allow that.
"Ah, of course, you aren't." Uth Garenthil eyed Aerham suspiciously, surely seeing his anger and the hand on his hilt. "I hope you aren't planning on doing anything rash." He stroked his mustache, eyes darting to Aerham's sword. "I heard about last night and I reprimanded my men for their misunderstanding of my orders."
Aerham remained motionless. He was a statue of anger. He didn't believe a word of it, and it would be so easy to draw steel and end the charade.
"You are exactly like your father. I wish I had remembered who he was before I chose you for anything except cleaning stables." Uth Garenthil put his hands on his hips and sighed. He walked across the room to stand before Aerham, speaking only loud enough for him to hear. "You live in a fantasy world. There are no valiant knights like in the stories. We are all men and we do what men do. Nothing more. When you finally grow up, you will see that. I am going to overlook this incident and I think its best we both forget about it. You were insubordinate, but apparently it was over a misunderstanding, so I will forgive you, this time."
Aerham drew a breath to speak, but stopped himself; instead, only exhaling forcefully. There would be nothing to gain from arguing with the man. It required all of his willpower to keep his hand from ripping his sword free. Killing the Brother would prevent him from ever being a Brother of the Sun. He would save his words for Uth Arthgrin. Then there would be justice.
Uth Garenthil seemed to understand what Aerham was thinking. He gave a last look at Aerham's sword before stepping around him and moving through the front door. His two bannermen followed, keeping several paces between Aerham and themselves.
Aerham was left standing in the room, alone except for snoring drunks. Why hadn't his father told him how the Brothers really behaved? Maybe Uth Garenthil was the only Brother with no morals. Even if he was the only one, why had his father ever allowed the unscrupulous liar to sit at their dinner table and spew his lies? Aerham had many questions that would not be answered soon, and he had more time to dwell on them than he would have liked. He wouldn't allow Uth Garenthil to deter him. He was going to be a Brother of Sun. He swore by the First Flame that he would. And then he would show them what a Brother was supposed to be. He would show them all.