Well, it worked. That’s about the best I can say for what happened today. I could tell you more about the battle, but what’s the point? The bandit’s who attacked us are captured or dead, and they will not prey on innocents any longer. We sprang the trap at dawn, just as planned, and it worked perfectly. We only suffered two men killed and a half dozen with wounds of varying degrees – a slight butchers bill for the removal of a score and a half of bandits. And so, to quote the old joke, “There was much rejoicing.”

So why am I not happier?

Honestly? I’m not sure why I’m sad this night. I mean,besides winning a ferocious fight, we’ve been told that because of this mission, we will be skipping the graduation ceremonies. Not that I was looking forward to them all that much what with no one coming to see me become a soldier anyway. Nope, they’ve told us that we’re already soldiers, and that there is nothing another ceremony will do to change that. In fact, most of my command is being ordered to a little border town called Traazon Keep, and, as I am the only member of my unit with “noble blood” in his veins, I’ll actually be in command of the unit for the five weeks it will take us to arrive there.

Hells, I was surprised about that as anyone else. Of course, I won’t really be in command. Old Baldy is going along as well; according the orders that Mage Tiller received from Albeld, the garrison at my new post is depleted after a series of raids by several orc clans. From what I’ve been told, their garrison is depleted enough at the moment that we’ve been told to “expedite our arrival.” Or, in plain speak, we get to ride instead of march all those leagues.

So I should be happy, right? For the first time in as long as I can remember, I know what I’ll be doing, who I’ll be doing it with, and that I’ll actually enjoy doing it. On the other hand, I’m leaving behind everything I’ve ever known; on top of that, I’m leaving behind a lot of dead friends here as well.

Oh, I didn’t mention that yet, did I? Turns out Anhil was killed in the fighting yesterday. I mean, I’ve only known him for a few months, but he was the closest thing I’ve had to a real friend in as long as I can remember. So, yes. I’ll admit it: I’m pretty torn up about it. I’m trying to put up a good face and not let how hard his death is hitting me show in front of the other men, but his death hurts. Really hurts.

And he died in such a stupid, stupid way, as well! The battle was over; at least it appeared to be. We were routing the last surviving bandits out from their hold-out inside a pair of overturned wagons they were using for cover.They had to know they were beaten! Of course, I suppose they also knew they faced a death sentence if they surrendered. That meant we had to dig them out. And Anhil, being Anhil, called a group of men to him and led a charge.

Oh, they took the position all right. But those bastards took out Anhil in the process. One of the last arrows they loosed before our men were upon them found a chink in his armor, and that was that. Right between the joints in the mail plates covering his throat.

For what it’s worth, the healers say he didn’t have time to suffer. That’s a small consolation. On the other hand, I’m sure that won’t make his family feel any better. Unlike me, he had a family, even if he hadn’t seen them in years. I don’t know how much they’ll miss him, but anyone at all is more than would miss me if our positions had been switched.

Shrug. I can’t dwell on it too much. I’m a soldier now. A Kings Man! As Old Baldy said, nothing can change that now, no matter what happens.

I guess that does mean something; and that there is something to be said for the “brotherhood of arms.” I may not have any family to miss me, but I do have brothers in arms now. I do know that while the men may not have wept at the little roadside burial we gave Anhil and the others, but they’re wasn’t a dry eye, either.

At least I have that knowledge. Hells, I may die tomorrow in some other pointless skirmish, but even though my father may not want me, the army does. And that my brothers there will remember me – even if no one else does.

That has to count for something, right? At least this time I can say it does.

RIP, Anhil. You will be missed.

Not much time to write tonight. Yesterday, we pushed hard, working to catch up to the bandits. Then, I don’t know how, but someone – or something – tipped them off. Result? They knew we were coming, and fled there camp. Thankfully, they’re still bandits. Fleeing into rough terrain may stop most people, but not the king’s soldiers.

That means that we pushed hard today as well, trying to “steal a march” on them. Oh, not all of us. Most of the men are still back at the head of the valley the bandits moved down, “demonstrating,” in military terms. In other words, 2/3rds of the troops are back there doing the best they can to look as loud and conspicuous as possible. Meanwhile, one of the Captains from Kooman’s Keep took the other third on a forced march to the narrow end of the valley, and all of the survivors of our training march where with him.

Why? We’re the attacking force, of course. Come dawn, the main force will stop “demonstrating” and begin their “attack.” The bandits, being bandits, may stand and fight, but will probably flee down the valley.

Straight into us.

In other words, they’re situation is hopeless, and they don’t know it. Either they flee into our trap, or they stand and fight, in which case we attack them from the rear shortly after the festivities kick off. Whichever happens, they’ll be dead by noon.

Well, that being said, I need to get some sleep. We marched forty miles today to get into position- not that we needed to march that far as the crow flies, but we needed to stay hidden. So we marched two or three times the length of the little valley, just to make sure no one saw us. Between that and a coming battle at dawn… Yep. I’m as tired as I’ve ever been.

Heh. Guess all that training in full kit really was worth while.

I’ll try to write more tomorrow, assuming I live. If not, and someone finds this… Well, I leave all my worldly possessions to Anhil. He’s been a true friend, and hopefully he can make use of them, somehow. Hells, if nothing else, he’ll buy a good ale for the men in my memory before he spends the rest on cheap ale and cheaper whores for himself.

With that, I better get some sleep. To continue after that last thought would just be too damn depressing…

Who would have thought that a bandit raid would have turned into such a major issue? I mean, sure, a crime was committed when those scum attacked us last week, but two hundred men to hunt down a couple dozen bandits? If I wasn’t so upset at the death of my comrades, I’d say it was overkill.

Yet, when we started out from the Keep at dawn this morning, that’s exactly what there was. One hundred professional soldiers from the Keep. All forty-plus able bodied men from my own unit. Father Khelvan and two of his acolytes. Grooms. Squires. Gra’than the scout. Even an apprentice mage, who, I’m told, specializes in third order magic – a battle mage, so to speak. Heh. Once the scouts find those bandit scum, they won’t know what hit them.

I certainly hope so. After all, who likes a fair fight?

Gra’than says he has the trail, and that their lair isn’t more than a couple days from here. “Tracking them,” he says, “Is about as hard as tracking a pack of mongrel dogs.” (Strange metaphor coming from him, I think…but that’s another story.) “They have no trail sense. They move as if they are the only thing out there, and as if nothing can harm them. They act,” he snorted, “Invincible.”

On the other hand, I do have to admit that, despite all the things they have stacked against them, the bandits do have certain advantages. They’re few in number (as far as we know), they’re mounted, and they know the terrain like the back of their hands. Yet, even so… they are only bandits. They can be the best organized and led bandits ever, they’re still only bandits. Unlike us, they do fight like a pack of mongrel dogs. After all, what else did we just spend the last six weeks learning how to do?

Yep. Discipline. Even a number of troops as small as this will use “proper” infantry tactics. Shield walls. Hedgehog pike formations. Linear formation tactics. And more – after all, what good are twenty men on horseback if they lack in ability to hurt us, simply because they can’t get at us? But that’s what discipline will do for an army. It’s why Averim conquered the orcs, defeated the Highlanders, and keeps the elves and dwarves at bay.

Or so the officers would have us believe. I mean, we recruits had that same training, right? And didn’t our officers tell us that we did nothing wrong? Yet, if that were true, then shouldn’t we have not lost anyone at all?

Heh. Truth is, even if a leader performs perfectly, he’ll still lose men occsionally. I mean, the other guy trains just as hard as you do, right? OK, maybe the bandits don’t. But they’re still not idiots. Idiots wouldn’t be smart enough to kill my comrades; these guys are.

That’s why we train. I think I’ve just realized that. I mean, the other guy trains to, right? So the key is to train more and better than he does. That way, when the arrows really do start flying, you’ll be more prepared than he is. That’s our advantage over the orcs – they’re bigger, stronger, and generally faster. But they fight stupid. Orcs “scream and leap,” relying on their ferocity and physical strength to win. These bandits are pretty much the same. Killing an unarmed merchant is one thing, but a king’s soldier? That’s a different story. We know how to fight. We won’t break and run at the first sign of blood, or a fallen comrade. And we’re smart enough to rely on each other to do the same thing.

I hope. I mean, I can speak for myself. I can speak for my comrades, too. I trained with them, after all. And these men from Kooman’s Keep are veterans, right? But…

I just hope that I can silence the doubts in the back of my mind. Either that, or ignore them. Because these men need to pay for what they did.

Or so I keep telling myself.

Well, we made it. Kooman’s Keep. I never thought a bare bunk room would look so good.

Kooman’s Keep is nothing like Vale Keep. Old Baldy tells us that this “fort” is far more normal. I knew that Vale Keep was big, I mean, one look at it and you can tell that. Like I said two months ago, Vale Keep is far and away the biggest place I’ve ever seen. So yeah, Vale Keep is big. But Kooman’s Keep seems tiny by comparison. I guess I just assumed that an army fort would be… bigger.

But, thank the gods, it’s big enough to do the job. We’ve turned over the two bandits we captured. They now have nice cozy cells in the stockade, and they will be tried as soon as a magistrate arrives from Vale Keep. Heh. Tried – and executed, with what they’ve done. The Empire of Averim does not look kindly on those who attack and murder the King’s soldiers. Even when they are only green recruits like us.

More important, they have reinforcements. A full company of regulars – another hundred men – to join us. Mounts and remounts for the officers. Supplies and provisions. A priest of Urnomax who has trained with the army to heal the worst of the wounded. And most important of all, a tracker. And not just any tracker. Gra’than isn’t regular army. Nope. He’s a mercenary, and a very interesting one at that.

He’s a gnoll.

Very interesting person, Gra’than. The dog people are a lot like orcs, I’m told – not that I’ve ever met an orc. From what he’s said to me in the few times we’ve spoke, most of his kind tend to follow Grummish, or go off worshiping some dragon as a god. “Silly,” he says. “Everyone knows dragons don’t have that kind of power.” I don’t know, though. Humans know even less about gnolls than we do about dragons – and that isn’t much. Hells, before now, all I knew was the old saying, “Never trust a gnoll, or he’ll bite you in the arse.” Heh.

This one seems honest enough. I mean, once you get used to the fact that he pants a lot and his nose is always wet, he’s a pretty normal guy. Of course, he wasn’t raised by his own kind – he says humans raised him, saving him after his parents were killed raiding a human settlement on the far side of the Ishkar river, so that might explain him as well. He won’t say more than that. I guess that’s his right.

But yeah, Gra’than is very good at what he does. After all, gnolls track by scent. (Yeah, I knew that – honest!) According to what the commander of Kooman’s garrison says, all Gra’than has to do is get a sniff of the scent of whoever he’s tracking, and he’ll follow ‘em back to their hideout better than any hunting dog or bloodhound he’s ever seen.

I hope so. We’ve been given a day to rest and heal up; thanks to Father Mahlcom, the priest I mentioned earlier, we’re all well now. He’s so good you can’t even see the wound Anhil took. Then, tomorrow, we set out to hunt the bandits down.

I’m just glad to be here at the fort. Yeah, I want to go hunt them down, just as much as the next guy. And I’m glad for Gra’than, and for the troops that’ll be coming with us. But for now, I’m tired. As tired as I’ve ever been, I think. And not just physically. Sure, I’m sore. But I’ve been sore before. Nope. It’s the fact that I’ve been through my first real fight.

Old Baldy and the good father tell me that’s normal. I suppose it is. But that doesn’t help the fact that I’ve hardly slept since that fight the other night, and that I don’t seem to be very hungry, either.

I’ve dropped some hints at the old timers, and they say what I’m feeling is normal, that the feeling will pass with time. They say that “your cause was just,” and that the killings we did were fair and right. Heh. I’m sure every orc’s momma tells him that before he sets out on a raid; and I’m just as sure that the bandits we killed felt the same way.

Oh, I know that they were bandits, and deserved what they got for preying on the weak. That helps – a little. I just hope that when we do leave tomorrow, we can find the scum who attacked us. Somehow, I can’t help but think that I’ll rest a little easier once those scum are brought to justice – even if I have to do it myself. Somehow, I imagine that I’ll rest a little easier when they’re gone.

Well, I hear the chow bell ringing. I’d better go try and eat some dinner, at least. If nothing else, it helps to not be alone. Alone, all I do is sit and brood. And I know that’s no good…

I will never forget the screams.

Not of the men. Oh, they were bad enough. What I will never forget is the screams of the horses. Horses aren’t like men, you know. A man can overcome his shock, his pain – his fear. A horse can’t. A horse is an animal, and when its sides are laid open by a sword, the only thing it knows how to do is react to the pain.

Thank the gods we didn’t have many horses with us. We were supposed to be marching, after all. But the bandits didn’t know that. They only knew we were passing through “their” territory, and that we didn’t have the horses needed to run them down if their raid went badly.

That was their plan, you know. Prevent any pursuit. That means they went for the horses first. They didn’t care that our half-dozen horses were only pack animals – just about as far as could be from cavalry mounts as they could be and still be horses. So before we knew they were there, the horses were all dead or dying. Horsebowmen, we later learned, striking from horseback. Not so much penetrating power as a bowman on foot, but more than enough to wound, even if shot poorly.

Then they were among us. Were we a merchant’s caravan, we’d all be dead by now. That’s what they must have been expecting. Merchants will set guards, but not enough to fight off twenty men on horseback. Not when attacking at night, certainly.

But we were different. Every one of our men was armed, even if they were attacking at night, and so when the first shouts of warning were raised, our men were grabbing for swords and helmets even as they ran from their tents. I know that saved us. Some of us at least. The others… Well, we did kill several of them before they fled.

We captured some of them, too. Bandit scum to be sure, but effective enough fighters. They thought we were a merchant’s caravan – never bothered to scout us out properly. Gods be praised that they were so long on fighting and short on brains. They watched us for parts of a day, and simply assumed we were merchants. Stupid bastards. Good thing for us they were, though.

I suppose that’s something open to debate, though, isn’t it? I mean, it would have been better for us if they’d had some brains and not attacked us at all. Now, eight men are dead, and seven more wounded to some degree or other. And six of those murderous swine are dead as well. Not that their deaths bother me – they were robbing murderers after all, but even so….

It’s hard. And it always will be, I suppose, knowing that I killed a man last night. The fact that he deserved it doesn’t make it any easier. And the fact that it was him or me doesn’t make it any easier, either. His blood is on my hands. And it always will be.

Old Baldy came to me later, after the fight was over. He told me I’d done well; that there was nothing that he could have done better or differently. That makes me feel so much better. Now, eight men are dead, and Anhil is sitting across the fire from me with a sword gash to his arm that may never heal right, seeing as how we have no healers with us. And the fact that Old Baldy assures me that we’ll come back here and hunt the scum down doesn’t make me feel much better either.

But we’re soldiers now. That’s what we do – fight and die in other people’s wars. All we on the sharp point of the spear can do is hope that the wars we fight and die in are worth it. For what it’s worth, the fact that I will be back here to hunt this scum down does help a little.

Now, though, we’re still a day or two out of Kooman’s Keep. Obviously, with the wounded men, we aren’t moving as fast as we were. It’s too bad we’ve got no horses left – we can’t even send anyone ahead for help. And like I said before, we’ve got no magic users with us, so we can’t call for help that way, either. So the pace is much slower now.

I’m just more tired than ever. Tired of marching. Tired of carrying on my back what the horses had been carrying. Tired of fighting. Tired of worrying about what’ll happen if the bandits come back.

Old Baldy is with us now, though, so some of the responsibility of command is gone from me. Not all of it, but enough that I can handle what’s left. Enough that I can handle it without crippling up in fear and doubt. Enough that I can sit here around the fire and collect my thoughts. But enough of that. I have other things to do.

Like making sure my sword is cleaned and sharp for whatever comes next.

Writing a journal by campfire light is hard work. Well, truth be told, doing anything by firelight on a night after we marched half a dozen leagues is tough. In fact, you won’t have to twist my arm to get me to admit I’m exhausted.

The first part of our little trip has gone well enough, even though I’m so tired I can barely stand. After all, the first day was easy enough. I just sat in the back of a wagon watching the prairie roll by. Honestly, the worst thing I can say about that day was that my butt was sore from sitting down on a hard wooden seat all day. They could have at least put some hay in those wagons or something. But no. That would be too much effort!

Ha. Pity that a sore bottom is the least of my worries. When Old Baldy dropped us off, he told us we were the better part of forty leagues from Kooman’s Keep. In other words, if we don’t put in twenty-five miles or so a day, we won’t make it on time. Twenty-five is pushing it, let me tell you. I mean, in theory, we could do thirty miles. For a day or two. With healers at the end of the line to magic away our hurts. But, “After all,” Old Baldy joked, “If Justarias’s legions could do thirty miles a day and fight at the end, so can you”.

Riiiiighhttttt. His reassurances an a gold piece will get me a drink of warm spit in a good inn back in Vale Keep. But it sure in all nine hells won’t get us to get all that marching done. And then we still have to follow the practice of the old legions and set up a “proper” camp each night, compete with a ditch, palisade wall, and watch towers. Never mind that there is nothing to make the towers and palisades with out here. I mean, come on! We’re in the middle of the bloody plains here! “Rules are rules for a reason, boys!” Old Baldy said. “If you can do this, you can do it anywhere, at any time. If not…” So reassuring.

So, yes. I am exhausted. And in the minutes it’s taken me to write this journal, every other man around me has already fallen asleep. And me? I honestly don’t know why I’m still awake. Part of it must be what the chuirgeons call “Adrenaline,” what ever that actually is. I’m told, though that it’s something in your blood that keeps you going when you’re wounded or excited or stressed – something like that. All I know is that I should be curled up inside the tent the good King was kind enough to provide for me, yet I’m too excited to sleep. After all, directing fifty men for two days now has had the opposite effect you’d think it would. Rather than be tired, I’m so keyed up, I don’t feel like I’ll have to sleep all night.

I’m sure I’ll pay for it tomorrow.

At least the sentries are awake, even if no one else. Of course, with the way my luck has been running lately, I may be wide awake now, but have to fight to stay awake when I’m supposed to be on watch in a few hours. Sigh.

Wait a minute. What was that? Oh, the wolves off in the distance are suddenly quiet. I wonder why? Huh…. Maybe I should go check in with the sentries. Or, on the other hand….

Well, Here we are, just a week from graduation. Time for the final field exercise – the one where we prove all the training they’ve crammed into our heads over the last two months was actually worth all the time and effort they spent doing it. That, and they also want to make sure we can survive in the field by ourselves.

Those of us that are left, at least. And that isn’t near as many as I thought there’d be. Turns out that even though the army is just about desperate for warm bodies, they actually do mean to stick to the standards they claim to. I guess that the saying of “a warm body is better than no body at all” isn’t really true. Well, maybe so in wartime, but really not even then. Yeah. Turns out that all that talk about nobles conscripting peasant levies is just that – talk.

Look at the Narvics, for example. The train their bowmen even more than we do ours. A Narvic longbowmen won’t be accepted into one of their field armies unless he can get off six aimed shots in a minute. And those are their “levies.” Yep. All those nobles who conscripted peasants, handed ‘em a pike, and said “Have at it, boys!” during the hundred years war were dumber than stumps. Turns out that all those peasants did was get in the way.

Of course, the nobles back west still think that way, I’m told. And when they fight their little border wars, they call up their levies, their nobles still complain about how all those “bloody peasants” are in the way of their fancy cavalry charges. Some people never learn. What good is a man when all he’ll do is break and run at the first sign of the enemy? All that does is cost the crown money and food – and the work of a man who’d be more useful tending his crops or shop.

But we know better out here. At least so I’m told. That’s why even though the Army of the East spends most of its field time performing mounted patrols and sweeps, we still spend all that time learning how to fight as infantry, performing the old-style drill from the days of the old empire, back hundreds of years ago. Back, I’m told, when we still fought as the Narvics still do – heavy infantry, marching everywhere on our own two feet.

Uggh. I hate to think about all that marching. But that’s what I’ve got to look forward too!

Especially in the immediate future. That’s our final exercise, after all. We’re to be brought by wagon out into the field – where, we won’t know, but at least a days march from here. Then, we’ll have to live off the land as we travel by foot to Koman’s Keep, a weeks march from here. Oh, they’ll give us enough food to survive, and the sergeants will be watching us from a distance, but this is to test our skills. See if we really can make it in the field. Working with mages and clerics for centuries. I mean, I know that sending people places by magic is hard, but from what little I know, words aren’t – that’s something even your youngest apprentice or acolyte can handle. So when will we ever be without at least one apprenctice mage when we’re in the field?

I know. I know. assume the best, but train for the worst. That way, when you really do step in dragon poo, you’ll know what to do. Uggh. If there is one thing I learned in all those classes, it was that. Who would have thought there was as much to being a soldier in the classroom as there was stabbing bad guys with sharp pointy things? Live and learn, I suppose.

At any rate, we leave t dawn. Those of us who are left, anyway. I have to admit, the attrition rate has been a lot higher than I thought it would be. We’ve barely got half the number of men left that we had at the start of training. Some men just couldn’t hack it. Some we’re injured and will go through training when they’ve recovered. Some, like Kholtan, just plain deserted.

At any rate, fifty of us leave at dawn. And it’s up me to make sure they arrive at Kooman’s Keep six days from now. I know I can do it. I’ve paid attention over my training, and I’m confident I can lead them there safely.

But I will admit to being a little scared, as well. What if something goes wrong? There will be no magic users along, like I said. We’ll be cut of, unless something truly major, like say, oh, a plague or a full-fledged orc war band comes along. So all fifty men will be looking to follow me.

I wonder if Justarias the Great was this afraid before he led his Hundred Companions into the breach at Dorfam’s Gate? Or if Lefricthalanassa was this afraid when he broke Narazon’s charge during the Hundred Years War. I suppose not. They were great leaders. I’m just a kid.

On the other hand, what could go wrong on a training exercise in the heart of the Western Marches?

Oh, yeah. Lots. Don’t remind me….

All I will say about the rest of my journey back to the castle is that it is better left not talked about. Bad enough that I was naked in the middle of one of the largest cities in the empire, but I was also AWOL – absent without leave. In all honesty, the first problem presented me with a minor hardship. The second left me in the same position as that bastard Kholtan. Then again, I have to expect that was part of his plan all along.

After… negotiating… with one of the city watch (who weren’t very happy to see me again), I headed back to the castle as fast as I could. Thankfully, the two soldiers guarding the gate recognized me, but they also informed me that the Captain was “right pissed at me,” and that he wanted to see me as soon as I got back. Joy. I thought. He probably intends to do worse to me than I ever thought of doing to Kholtan.

I headed to the Captain’s office without even stopping back at the barracks to change clothes, and came to attention before the him wearing the constables’ tunic the city watch had provided me with. I stood there like stone, waiting for him to tear into me, but he didn’t.

Nope. He simply sat there quietly for a long while. It seemed like minutes, even though I know it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. After that pause, he looked up from the papers he’d been signing and asked “What did Kholtan have against you that he would hang you out to dry like that?”

That was hardly the question I’d expected, so I stuttered a non-answer rather than saying anything meaningful. He looked up at me, a hint of a smile on his face. “What did you expect? That I was going to take your head off?”

I was too honest to say anything else but the truth. “Ah, yes, sir.”

He laughed next. He actually laughed. “Tarn, you’re taking this way to seriously. After all, you broke no regulations other than being taken in by a con artist and a scum bag like Kholtan. And,” his smile crinkled his eyes, “I think losing your money – and your dignity – has taught you a better lesson than anything I ever could.”

I still didn’t know what to say, so this time I didn’t say anything. The Captain continued to sit there in his chair, tipping it back as he put his feet up on his desk. “Cat got your tongue?”

“What should I say, sir?” I replied, my arms held at my side as I stood rigidly at attention.

The Captain chuckled softly. “Tarn, you have the making of a fine officer, but quite honestly, son, you need to stop taking yourself so seriously.” Here it comes, I flinched. “I have been the commander of this training unit for over five summers, and you show more potential than any recruit I have ever seen. The fact that you are of noble birth with a knighthood ahead of you only adds to your promise. In fact, you have only one flaw, as far as I can see.”

I tried to keep my voice steady and even, but what I said came out as a squeak. “And what would that be, sir?”

“Stop taking yourself so seriously, son!” My head came up; I was sure I hadn’t heard him right. “First of all, you went out of your way to keep Kholtan in the service in a position where I would have flushed him out in a heartbeat. Then, you went further out of your way to try and befriend him. No, don’t deny it,” he replied to my protestations. “Word gets around. But that just proves my point. You did everything possible to turn Kholtan around. You did far more than you had too – far more than I would have. So stop blaming yourself!”

This was about as far from the lecture I had expected as I could imagine. “Tarn, if you learn only one thing from all of this, you have to learn that you must pick your battles, and that some of them aren’t worth fighting. Some people – like Kholtan – simply aren’t ever ‘going to get it.’ Should you try to save people that can be saved? Of course. But people have to want to be helped. Kholtan doesn’t.”

“But sir,” I stammered. “He’s a… a deserter! A traitor!”

“Yes, I suppose he is. But he isn’t the only one, that’s for certain. On the other hand, if we were to spend the time and effort to bring him back, let alone turn him into a serviceable solider, how much time would we spend on him that we wouldn’t spend on other soldiers who don’t have Kholtan’s issues?” I must have shown I was confused, because he continued, “We only have so much time in each training cadre session. Now, if we were to spend the effort required to beat sense into someone like Kholtan, we’d have to ignore other people. People with real promise – like your friend Anhil.”

I blinked, a hint of understanding coming into my head. After all, hadn’t Minica just said something very similar to that earlier this morning? How ironic. “So… you’re saying I should focus on the ones we can save instead of dwelling on the ones we can’t?”

“Something like that,” the captain nodded. “Now as for what happened, Kholtan’s name has been turned over Lord Blainesdale’s mages. Some of his apprentices need practice with sending spells, and will transmit his image around the empire. We’ll find him, and then he’ll be doing time in the mines of Ark-nohr for certain.”

I felt a smile come to my face. “Now,” the Captain grinned, “Beyond that, don’t you have something better to be doing than standing here listening to me?”

I snapped a salute and replied, “Yes, sir!”

“Now get out of hear,” the captain replied, “I’ve got work to do,” and he waved me out of his office.

I rolled over, looking for the source of the laughter. It sounded familiar somehow, even through the pounding in my head…

Wait. There wasn’t one voice laughing at me. There were two. And only one of them was feminine. The other…

I rolled over quickly now, despite the pounding in my head. There were indeed two people staring down at me. One of them was Minica, my coin pouched clutched in one hand, even as she clutched a mug of caf in the other. A smile spread across here face – a face I had formerly considered so lovely – a smile that could only be considered dung-eating.

It wasn’t her presence that surprised me, though. Rather, it was the man standing next to her. Kholtan.

He stood there with my clothes in a pile at his feet. He had a torch in his hand, and as he bent down, his laughter could only be described as maniacal. “Ah, Sir Tarn!” He sneered, venom dripping from his voice. “You’re awake! This will make this soooo much more enjoyable!” He stepped back even as he dropped the torch onto my clothes. I wasn’t surprised to see them catch fire; even from the distance I was sitting at I could smell the turpentine on them.

I struggled to clear the fog from my head. “Kholtan.” I replied, keeping my voice far more level than I felt. “I can understand why you would want to do this to me. But why you, Minica? What’s in it for you?”

Kohltan answered; she just laughed. “Her? I just hired her. After all, she owed me a favor.”

“Favor? What do you mean?”

“Silly boy,” she giggled. “How do you think I can afford to eat a place like Graysons? Men pay me to do them… favors.”

“So you’re a whore?”

“Nothing so base, dear boy. I don’t sell my body, at least. I just allow men to do things for me, and I for them, in exchange for money. I’m more of a… wealth acquisition specialist.”

“A what?” I asked, unsure of what she meant.

“A thief, you moron,” Kholtan sneered. “A thief who specializes in ripping off naïve boys like you. And after I helped her out last week while I was on patrol, well, she owed me a little favor.”

“And,” she giggled, “With my share of the profit off you, and what Kohltan here is paying me… Both of us can get out of Vale Keep and no one will be the wiser. Perfect way to end suspicion of me in a town where the water was getting just a little too… hot, shall we say?”

“You’ll never get away with this, Kohltan. And Minica, if that is your real name.”

“Won’t I?” she replied. “What are you gonna do to stop me? I’ve ripped off dozens of green little boys like you. And I’ll do it again.” She stepped closer to my clothes, kicking at the pile deftly, avoiding getting the fire anywhere near her. “Pity. You were more fun than most. And even rather attractive, in a boyish sort of way.”

I just sat back, my modesty forgotten in my anger. How could I have been so stupid? Oh, right. Too much good ale and a pretty face. Minica must have sensed my thoughts, for she said, “Don’t worry, boy. I’ve ripped off better men than you. Worse, too. But you were fun. I’ll give you that.”

I knew I’d been had, and that she more than likely would get away with it. After all, she was an experienced thief, and I was a green kid of eighteen summers. Even so, I had to know. “Why?”

“Why?” Kholtan sneered. “Because you deserved it, you self-righteous bastard. And because I – we – could.”

“The army will track you down, Kholtan. You have to know that. You’re a deserter now.”

“Maybe. They’re welcome to try.”

He turned and started to walk away. “They will, you know!” I called after him, trying to convince myself as much as him.

Minica answered for him. “Will they? Will they really spend the time to track down one deserter, a deserter who, by your own admission, wouldn’t have made a good soldier anyway? I think not.”

“But… he could have changed his life around. Made a decent, honest living in the army!” I knew how naïve I sounded. I just didn’t care.

Minica’s laughter held no amusement. “Oh, Tarn. You really are dear, but you have a lot to learn. Some people just can’t be saved, no matter how much you want to.”

I looked straight into her eyes, looking for something – what I wasn’t sure. “Like you?” I asked.

“Especially like me.” She spun around then as well, and hurried into the darkness, away from the rising sun, leaving me to figure out how to get back to the castle without a thing to wear.

Gherard returned shortly, and I ordered a simple meal of roast fowl. Minica, though, ordered Thalanari duck, something I’d only heard of before. All I knew was that it had originally been made by the high elves in their mountain holds out past the orc lands, and that it was supposed to be really good.

Well, I suppose it was. She fed me several mouths full, and it did indeed taste good. Yet as far as I’m concerned, it just tasted like spicy, overpriced fowl. But she seemed to enjoy it, even if it did cost me half a dozen gold crowns. I just couldn’t understand why it had to cost so much more than my own fowl, yet not taste a whole lot different – or better. Elves.

We ate our meal in slowly. Well, at least Minica did. She felt the need to share our food, and tried to feed me small little bites of her meal. I tried to do the same thing, but only ended up smearing my meal all over her face. She took it in good humor, though, laughing, and her laughter put me at ease. Soon enough, I was enjoying myself thoroughly, all thoughts about how much this meal was going to cost put out of my mind.

Eventually we finished our food, and Gherard whisked away our plates. Yet before I had a chance to say anything, though, Minica had pressed Gherard to bring out desert – something called “chocolate mousse.” I had never heard of it, but between that and the fine elvish wine she ordered with it, my mood had switched to downright giddy.

So when she pulled me into the street after we’d finished, I followed. O course, I’ll admit that I did try to pull her back toward the castle, telling her we’d find someplace quiet, and I’ll admit she agreed.

Or so I thought.

Things got kind of fuzzy after we left Graysons. I remember kissing Minica, and I remember the sweet promises she made me, promises of more. In the atmosphere of that night, I believed her. After all, I felt good – between the food, and the wine, and her hot breath on my cheek… Hells, things were going better for me than ever before. I mean, didn’t I deserve a little happiness in my life?

We stumbled into an allyway next to an inn, and I thought, “This is it! The gods are finally going to stop using Tarn Nohmahl for sport!” I remember her hands clutching at my cheeks, her kisses raining down intently. I remember the smell of her perfume, and her giggles as she led me into the inn, and I remember her laughter as she started to pull my clothes off.

Sadly, though, That’s all I remember.

I woke up early the next morning, and the first thing I noticed was my head. It hurt. A lot. I swear, it felt as if Voluge and Grummish had used my head as the ball in their own little ballgame. I groaned, rolling over, and it was then I realized something else was very, very wrong.

I was naked. More importantly, I was naked in an ally, face down and lying next to an inn that I didn’t remember going to. At least, not all that well.

With a groan, I tried to roll over, attempting to cover my privates with one hand even as reached with the other to try and do something about the horrible pounding thing that was my head. Yet even as I did so, I realized I couldn’t even try and sit up. I slumped back face down as all that expensive food and wine came back to haunt me as I sicked up there in the street.

I lay there prone as I finished, waiting for my stomach to settle. Eventually, after what seemed like forever, I twisted my head feebly from side to side, trying to see where I was; at least where my clothes where. But it was no use. Another wave of nausea came upon me, and I sicked up a second time.

After I finished, I rolled over gingerly, wiping the vomit from my mouth with one arm as I groaned. Just what had I done to myself? My head felt as if it were going to explode, and I clutched both hands to my head, not caring if anyone saw me in such a state. I just had to make the pain – the pounding! – stop.

That’s when I heard laughter coming from behind me.