Oh Crap, we must do what we think we cannot.
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Conrart turned in his saddle at the commotion going on behind him. Men were shouting obscenities and one of the horses was rearing about half way down the line. He reigned in his mount. "Control that animal soldier." He snapped, flushing slightly in embarrassment at the situation. Oddly enough it turned out Jonathan the man Greta had married was in fact the illegitimate son of the former King Belar, his mother had fled and taken young Jonathan across the sea to one of the human villages in Shin Makoku's boarder territories when the new King Belar had started exterminating anyone who could challenge his claim to his uncles throne.
Jonathan and Greta had met shortly before Conrart had gotten pregnant with Ayden, and had been wed about a month before Ayden had come into the world. They'd been happy together for the past 7 year. About a year and a half ago however men had come to Shin Makoku, they'd been looking not for Jonathan but for Conrart. A desperate rebellion had broken out in Big Shimeron and then men desperate for a new leader had gone to the last living son of the Weller line since the throne had been there's before the Belar line had taken the country. Conrart had agreed to help with the rebellion but had refused the thrown. He'd wanted nothing to do with a throne that had not belonged to his family in 4000 years.
It was then that Jonathan had stunned their family by revealing his connection to the Balar line. So now here they were leaving Big Shimeron with an escort made up of a small troop of Jonathan's men after escorting Jonathan's Queen, daughter Annalisa, and newborn son safely to their new home. They'd stayed a few days to give Heika Yuri a little bit more time with his daughter and grandchildren before they'd headed for home, hence his annoyingly formal clothing. It wasn't often that he unbent enough to were something other than his purposely plan military uniform. But circumstances kept throwing him into 'clothing better suiting his actual rank – and not his hard earned military rank. So today he was garbed in the least formal of the formal outfits he'd brought with him, at Wolfram's request and would remain thusly garbed until they passed back into Shin Makoku.
Unfortunately one of the horses had been lost during a hunting accident just before they were due to leave. Jonathan had been kind enough to see that they had a replacement, but Big Shimeron's warhorses were known for their fierce temper and hard mouth. Shin Makoku warhorses on the other hand were known for their fierce and often deadly loyalty to their handlers. Sadly Ryan wasn't one of the best of riders in their platoon even on his normal warhorse, and this particular brown beast didn't seem too much like … anything really.
Conrart sighed, wondering if he was going to regret his actions, at the very least Yozak was not going to be happy when he found out. Conrart dismounted and motioned for his king and his men to move on, the men filed past him one at a time until Ryan drew abreast of him. He took the other man's reigns and gestured for him to take Kaze's reigns.
"I'm the best rider out of the men here, you ride Kaze no dansā*1 and I'll take this one, at least until we're off this damned Cliffside." Conrart said simply as they exchanged horses. That done he mounted the admittedly huge beast, mindful of the hem of his dress-cloak and carefully made his way up to the front of the line, it didn't take him long to reach Yuri's side and he deftly positioned the fidgety horse in front of his kings mount. Idly he wondered just how Günter managed his cloak on a daily basis, he felt like his was going to get caught on something.
After 30 eventful minutes he was feeling nauseous in a manner that had absolutely nothing to do with morning sickness and was cursing quietly under his breath and threatening to geld the damned stallion as soon as they made camp for the night. He wasn't normally this short tempered with the horses, but he was currently 3 months pregnant, and it was making his temper shorter than normal – although part of that was probably the fact that his stomach was rolling. He'd gotten pregnant the night before they'd left to escort Greta to her husband's palace. It had taken nearly seven years for him to conceive again – and he couldn't help but smile at the thought of the look on Yozak's face when he told him. No one else knew he was pregnant; he wanted Yozak to be the first to know.
Then it happened, a leaf fluttered by its stem scraping the ground and stirring up minimal dust in its wake. The stallion reared, his ears laying flat agents his skull as he screamed in outrage, dancing to his left and bucking. Conrart clung to the saddle horn and tried desperately to stay in his seat as the damned beast went berserk, spooking the entire formation and generally making a nascence of himself. Conrart cursed as the beast reared again, hooves flailing and backed up until his hind hooves scrapped the rocky precipice and sent pebbles careening down the cliff face.
The stallion came down onto all four hard, his sides heaving. Conrart clung to the horse, with all his might, his eyes wide with alarm. It had been a very long time since the last time he'd had a ride like that from a saddle broken horse. His back was not happy, for that matter, neither were his men – if the muttered curses were any indication. He distinctly heard Wolfram muttering about 'glue'.
At the moment he agreed. He'd only just managed to calm his racing heart when, a rather loud and distinctive cracking noise rang out and the rock under the stallion's hind hooves shifted lower. Conrart froze, his eyes going wide again as the truly stupid stallion reared up placing all of his weight onto his hind legs. He had just a second to comprehend how bad the situation was before the rock the stallion was standing on fell out from under them.
The world lurched as he tried desperately to free himself as they fell.
Terror gripped him when he realized his foot was caught in the stirrup and he couldn't get his boot free.
The world spun, he could hear screaming but he couldn't tell if the screaming came from his men or his own throat. He tried desperately to free his foot. He stood a better chance of surviving if he wasn't connected to the horse. He grabbed for his sword, if he couldn't free his foot from the hard metal stirrup, then he'd just have to sever the stirrup leather – hopefully he wouldn't cut off his foot by accident.
His world flared with agony as his belt snagged on a sharp rock, and the stirrup leather snapped taunt as the horse continued to fall. His sword was smashed between him and the rock and idly he wondered what would give first – his damned metal ornamented belt, the stirrup leather or his ankle.
His question was answered in one agonizing second; a sickening crack heralded the snapping of his ankle a split second before his belt broke under the strain. He only just had the sense to hold on to his sword as he and the horse continued their tumble down the Cliffside. Despite the pain, he tried to free his ankle from the stirrup. However it was no use, his boot was thoroughly trapped in the stirrup; which meant despite the pain, he'd have to pull his foot free of his boot.
The endeavor was agonizing
But he managed it.
In a single, less then dignified frantic movement he stripped the sword of its sheath and after flinging the currently useless leather away, drove the sword point into the ground in a desperate attempt to slow his head long rapid decent. The muscles in his arms burned as he fought to hold on as momentum pitched him into something akin to a flip and he slammed back first into the unforgiving rock.
He smacked the back of his head on a rock as he tumbled down the Cliffside, and his world went briefly black. He came to in a terrifying tangle of cloak as he continued to tumble down the Cliffside. He screamed in shocked terror when he plunged into the unforgiving cold waters of the river that ran at the base of the cliff. He fought desperately to free himself from his tangled cloak, the wool and velvet growing steadily heavier as the water soaked into it despite its expensive waterproofing treatment.
Managed to free himself from the volumes folds and fought his way to the surface, the cloak threatening to drag him back down. He broke the surface and gasped for air as the current pulled him steadily downstream. He needed to ditch the cloak, before it drowned him. He reached up and started to untie the laces that clasped the thing closed, but the waterlogged laces refused to budge. The damned cloak caught on something before he could get the water logged laces undone, and the next thing he knew he was underwater again. After a few terrifying seconds that felt like a lifetime he managed to yank the cloak free, shredding the hem in the process. If he got out of this alive he was so never wearing one again!
He fought his way to the surface again.
He never saw the log, before it hit him sending him back below the surface, and his world went black again for the second time that day.
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Yuri sat quietly in his horse's saddle, watching as his escort broke camp. It had been three days since Conrart's accident. They'd found the horse, dead of a broken neck with Conrart's boot still stuck in the stirrup. His sword belt and sheath had been in the river, the sword itself had been found about 20 meters up the cliff face, the tip wedged between two large stones as if Conrart had tried to use the sword to slow his decent. They'd also found a trail of broken undergrowth, mixed with a lot of blood that led down to the river.
They'd searched the river a day and a half ride down stream and found nothing. Finally after three days Wolfram had given voice to what they all knew 'Lord Conrart Weller, the Lion of Luttenburg' was gone and there was nothing any of them could do to change that. They'd spent the night after that statement calling out to the great one and imploring him to lead the spirit of a Mazoku soldier would fallen in human territories home to the Mazoku version of the afterlife. Then after the sun rose they'd started to break camp.
When the last of the men had mounted, they turned and headed for home and Yuri couldn't help wondering just how he was going to break the news to Yozak and his beloved nephew – was Ayden even old enough to understand that his mother was never coming home? The boy was seven, but that translated to about three. Regardless Yuri did not envy Yozak the task of explaining this loss to his son.
The brightly colored wagons of a band of traveling trade-folk caught his eye but it seemed so very out of place with the rest of his currently very grey world.
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Yozak smiled as he chased his young son and niece around the palace courtyard pretending to be the 'infamous tickle monster' to the delighted squeals of the children. He could have easily caught them both but it was by far more entertaining to let the children 'escape the monster'. He knew from experience that they'd either keep right on running or turn around and 'attack the scary monster' together. Either way they'd tire themselves out enough to take their naps without protest.
Of course that was assuming he didn't drop from exhaustion first.
He paused and caught his breath when the sound of a lot of hooves rang across the courtyard. The sound of that many approaching hooves could mean only one thing, Yuri and his entourage had returned, and that meant Conrart was finally home. Not that he didn't love his King and his brother-in-law, but it had been far too long since he'd been able to look into Conrart's beautiful liquid brown eyes. Next to three and a half months of an empty bed, Yuri's return seemed wholly unimportant beyond the fact that his return brought Conrart home to him.
He froze the smile falling from his face as the first of the men rode into the courtyard, bearing with them banners in the deep purple of Mourning. His eyes franticly searched through the ranks of men and he felt only a mild sense of relief when his eyes landed on Heika Yuri and Wolfram. Then his eyes landed on the rider less horse, tethered to Yuri's saddle. The Animal was adorned in the deep purple Trapper*.
He would recognize Conrart's horse anywhere!
He'd constantly teased Conrart about the Animal's perfectly symmetrical blaze and four perfect coronets*2. Only Conrart would have a war horse that looked as if he spent hours in grooming naturally. Not a single hair out of place just like Conrart himself.
He very nearly fainted at the sight of his beloved husband's horse draped in mourning colors. He held himself erect through the expenditure of more self control then he knew he had, and franticly searched every face for Conrart, his heart screaming at him that this could not be true.
"Yozak," Yuri's voice was gentle but firm and he gulped before slowly, hesitantly heading over to his king.
The younger man dismounted and wordlessly held out Kaze no dansā's reigns.
Yozak carefully petted the animal's nose, trying desperately to hold back tears – he'd always teased Conrart about the mouthful that was the animal's name. Apparently it meant 'wind dancer', which really did suit the animal. Briefly Yozak wondered if he had lost his mind. Conrart was supposedly gone (he still couldn't wrap his mind around that bit of information despite the fact that Yuri had just gently verbalized it) and he was contemplating the ridiculous name Conrart had given his horse and waiting for the other man to pop up and tell him this was all just some sick joke.
Conrart had died riding a Big Shimeron beast that one of his men couldn't control?
No they were wrong!
They just hadn't looked hard enough!
He shuddered at the feeling of Gwendal's strong hands on his shoulders and wondered just when his knees had buckled.
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Milo sighed as he walked into his mother's wagon, the old woman sat quietly on a stool tending to her patient.
"How is he?" he asked mildly, as he gazed down at the bandaged young man asleep on one of the few spare cots in the healer's wagon. He couldn't help thinking that the boy was a year or two younger than his own son Philip. "It's been two weeks has he awoken yet?"
"No," his mother replied softly. "His sleep is uneasy, he keeps calling out." She shook her head, I wish I knew how long he'd been in that river and how he got there in the first place. He's pretty banged up. I can't help wondering if he fell down the cliff side."
"If he did, then he is luckier than we thought." Milo replied softly. "Was there anything in his belongings that might tell us who he is?"
Maria rose to her feet and crossed the small room, the young man's clothing was folded on a small table – despite the fact that they were ripped and torn. "Only this," she replied softly holding up a small gold necklace shaped like an oval. "Philip took it off him when he pulled him out of the river. Boy planned to sell it in the next village." She shook her head, and handed him the necklace. "Honestly I don't know where we went wrong with that boy."
"What am I going to do with him," he said sadly. He was about to ask how the necklace would be helpful in identifying the boy when he realized it had a small hinge. He looked the thing over. The front had an engraved rampant lion and there were strange markings engraved on the back. It wasn't writing – he may not have been able to read every language on their world. But a lifetime of traveling with his caravan had given him a chance to become familiar with every language. He'd never seen anything like this; it looked like little a cluster of random lines.
He bit it gently raising his eyebrows as it gave slightly, so it really was gold. It was beautiful and the lion engraved on the front was a miniature work of art, he could see why his son had wanted to sell it. It would likely fetch a rather nice price, but only if they sold it in one of the larger cities, maybe the capital of one of the nations their caravan passed through. Still it belonged to the young man and his son had no right to sell it. They were honor bound to help strangers in need. He glanced down at the boys clothing it was plain, very light brown almost sand in color with a tattered reversible velvet and wool cloak in a light tan. The cuffs and collar of his shirt were a deep midnight black with silver wire embroidery. The collar and hem of his cloak matched, soft black sued laces hung from matching silver clasps. The clothing itself was simple but the cut and the quality of the tattered fabrics told him this young man was wealthy. At the very least someone was going to miss him.
With a sigh he slipped his nail between the two pieces of gold and flipped the little piece of jewelry open. Two images had been engraved into the inside of the jewelry. On one side the image was of two men, he recognized the smaller of the two men as their visitor. The second image was of a small child.
Nothing to help them identify the young man, but hopefully they wouldn't need to.
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Yozak held Ayden to his chest and leaned heavily against Gwendal, the other man supported him quietly, as he tried desperately not to break down crying again. They were burying Conrart today, despite the fact that there was no body to bury. He still couldn't believe that Conrart was dead. Part of him knew that the likely hood of Conrart surviving the fall and then the river – well … it wasn't good. But another part of him flat out refused to believe that Conrart was dead. His heart told him differently, despite logic.
"Papa?" Ayden asked quietly. "When's mama coming home?"
Yozak swallowed, "he's not baby," he whispered sadly not wanting to give his little boy false hope even if he personally was clinging to it like a life line. But how did one explain a parent's death to someone so young?
He felt Gwendal squeeze his shoulder gently in reassurance.
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Maria smiled at her patient as the young man finally rejoined the land of the living after three weeks in a coma. The young man glanced around and she felt shock rush through her. A demon the boy was a demon.
"Where am i?" he asked softly.
She forced down her shock, "you are in my wagon, I'm this caravan's healer and we found you in the river about three weeks ago. Can you tell me who you are honey?"
The boy blinked, brown silver flecked eyes, and seemed to consider that. "I – I'm, Shinou, who am I? Why can't I remember?"
Maria gave the boy's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "From the looks of it you had a very nasty accident. You cracked your skull; frankly I'm glad you don't seem to have addled your wits much. We'll figure out something. I'm going to go get Milo; he'll decide what to do. You wait here."
It didn't take her long to find her son. Milo was exactly where she thought he'd be sitting around the men's fire, eating and talking with the rest of the caravan's men. She nodded to the men respectfully as she approached, though her station both as their healer and as their leader's mother and an elder to boot made the action unnecessary. The men fell silent and inclined their heads in respect in return.
"The boy's awake," she said softly.
Milo set his plate of stew down and rose to his feet, "so who is he?" he asked softly.
Maria sighed, "He doesn't know, he must have lost some of his memories when he cracked his skull."
"I see," Milo replied mildly, "well that does pose a problem."
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Milo smiled kindly at the young man, who still bore more of a resemblance to a mummy then a person, and handed him his necklace. "This is yours maybe it will help you remember something."
The boy took it and looked at it for a few minutes, gently touching the engraved mini portraits on the inside. "I wish I knew who they were." He confessed sadly before closing the odd necklace. "They are so familiar it almost hurts." He ran his fingers over the lion engraved on the top cover. "It's all so familiar."
Maria sighed, "This is yours as well." She said gently handing him a slim platinum ring.
The boy looked at it for a moment before absently slipping it onto his left ring finger. It slid easily into place covering the remnants of an old tan line. With a sigh the boy flipped the necklace over and gazed down at the odd etchings.
"I know those are meaningless, they must have happened while you fell." He said gently.
The boy shook his head, "it says, 'happy anniversary'.
Milo smiled, "for now just concentrate on getting better." He said gently. "Then will work on finding out where you belong, and find something for you to do around here until we do. However until we find out who you are you're going to need a name. I can't just go around calling you boy. So until we find out who you are, you'll be Erik."
Erik nodded. "Thank you sir," He replied quietly; "for everything."
A.N
*A Horse's Trapper or Caparison is a covering, of cloth or leather used in medieval times and normally displayed the knight's coat of arms, it was a part of the horses barding or armor that was usually worn during battles or tournaments. They were made in two halves that met at the saddle so that it does not impede the horse's movement or cause a friction burn. It came in two types one that covered the horses head and one that stopped at the chest more like an elaborate blanket.
*1 Kaze no dansā means wind dancer
coronets*2- a marking on the legs of a horse where the white is just above the hoof and no more than an inch high.