***AUTHOR'S NOTE: I want to express my thanks at the wonderful and positive reviews I've gotten thus far. Writing this story is a treat and I have quite a ways to go. What you've been reading is one of four parts of the prelude. The chapters and the real meat of the story have not even started yet! Thank you very much for your patience and again for your patronage. Your time is precious and I'm honored you would spend some of it reading my work."***
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"I am sick of this rain," he poked his ember lazily into the dying embers of the fire and spat.
"Aye, and the lightning, and the hail, and all this blasted cold. It's supposed to be just so you'd need a good breeze to cool you off by now," his patrol partner answered. He was pacing in his armor, away from the lean-to, the rain pattering off of his leather pauldrons. He kicked at a soggy glob of mud and nearly slipped, cursing.
The storm had been steady for four days straight with no one believing it would be ending anytime soon. Constant downpours had made an absolute mess of the roads and the column of soldiers had had to form camp until the rain stopped. Three days of being encamped. Three days of inaction. To a soldier, three days of sitting out a storm, waiting for the road to dry was boring enough to ask for trench detail. Orson and McClut were quite happy the day before when they'd been assigned to forward guard but even that brief excitement had worn away into memory, as did staying dry.
McClut had taken a favored stick, his "mud stick," and had proceeded to wipe the heels of his boots down yet again. It was a good waste of time and there was plenty of security in it as in a few moments, his boots would again be caked in mud. He didn't mind the rain as much as Orson, but he hated the cold. He'd grown up in warmer climes and waking up shivering every morning for the last week had given him a cough.
"You know that's useless," Orson sighed, not taking his eyes from the embers. McClut turned his head from his heal and just looked at Orson mindlessly probing a dying fire. After a moment, Orson looked out at McClut and the two started laughing, each shaking his head at the absurdity of the moment. A horse quickly rode from behind the lean-to and reared, whinnying, the rider looking stern at his subordinates.
"Attention, men!" the metal clad officer said sharply. McClut stood swiftly and Orson quickly joined him hitting his head on the roof of the lean-to on the way. "You two having a good laugh?" the officer said at length. The two stammered.
"Sorry, milord."
"Beg your pardon, sir."
"Save it, "the officer finally smiled and raised a mailed hand, "You two are a sorry sight and I'll not have your belittle yourselves any more than you already are, you soggy rats." The smile under the helmet was full and bright, assuring Orson and McClut that they were not in any trouble. Officer Heilbach dismounted, shaking the rain from the yellow cloak of his station. The weight of the armor sank him an inch into the soft ground. He reached under his cloak and drew out a small canteen.
"Pepper ale?" he offered.
"Thank you, sir," McClut replied and took the canteen. After taking a draught, he handed it to Orson. "Any orders, sir?"
The smile on Officer Heilbach faded, "We'll get to those." He moved to the lean-to and appeared to give it a brief inspection. Orson handed the canteen back to McClut who tried to take another drink. Holding the canteen upside down and shaking it, he looked sidelong at Orson and shook his head.
"Would you two say that things are quiet out here," Heilbach said looking at the embers.
"Yes, sir, quite."
"Safe?"
"Oh yes, sir," Orson said. "Very. No one has come this way in all the time we've been here."
Officer Heilbach turned and moved back to face the men. "Good, then you two are to gather your things. We've been sent after the Seer."
Orson's and McClut's shoulders both sagged and the color in their faces drained. Seers were sorcerers in the employ of the King, many foretelling the outcome of stratagems and plots years before they were put into motion, sometimes with disastrous errors. The word of a Seer could sway a King's judgment and often meant life or death to those around him. They were shrouded in mystery and fear.
"S-sir?" McClut asked, a look of horror on his face.
"I don't like it any more than you two seem to," Heilbach responded, "but we've our orders and some oddities have occurred that the other officers think the Seer could shed some light on. I'll give you five minutes to break camp." He passed them then and remounted his horse. Orson and McClut moved quickly and were soon packed and ready, each slinging a leather rucksack over his shoulder and trudging after Officer Heilbach as fast as he could in the mud.
"Sir, this Seer, is he far?"
"I don't believe so," Heilbach replied without looking back, "He was with our column when we left the city. When we stopped to wait out this storm, he headed for the trees." Heilbach considered a moment then thought the two behind him could use a little more detail. "I don't think we were supposed to have him with us, I think he tagged along of his own volition."
Orson gulped, "Sir, is it true they eat bread made of a babe's bones?"
"Stories I think," he said with less conviction than he'd wanted. They pressed on to the beat of the steady rain in silence for hours.
The grey, soggy day was hinting at nightfall when the men stopped to make camp inside the feeble shelter of the forest. Somewhere in the distance, thunder clapped and rolled in low, but powerful resonance. Soldiers are men of routine and setting camp is a standard in their regiment.
Orson silently set up the cloth tents and planted tent steaks while McClut wandered the perimeter, looking for any dry firewood, even though he knew he'd not find any. Officer Heilbach tended and hobbled his horse. Then he set about finding rocks and loose stumps for seats. Dinner was damp, salted pork and mushy rolls washed down with glorious pepper ale. If it weren't for the alcohol, the entire mood would have been painfully low.
They slept reasonably well until a bright flash and a scream from off in the forest brought them scrambling from their tents. The rain was ever present and the pattering of tens of thousands of raindrops upon tens of thousands of leaves confused where the scream came from, but the soldiers knew it was human. With it being too damp to have a fire, the night was unforgiving and the darkness was total. Heilbach quickly whispered instructions to his footmen.
"We stay together, if something attacks us, we form back to back to back. Follow me; I think it came from this way."
The three men, with swords drawn and ready, jumped like children when another scream pierced the night in the direction they were headed. Another flash erupted, painfully bright, some twenty yards through the trees. As they cautiously approached, they could smell the pungent fumes of sulfur and hear a man's screech.
"Back to the foul pits that bore you, beast! I am not your meal this night!"
Yet another bright flash followed. This time they could see a phosphorus bolt arcing down from an upper limb in a tree. It struck the ground in a shower of sparks and something growled.
"Rush the beast!" shouted Heilbach and the three men charged the base of the tree. They all stopped short as what stood before them shocked them and nearly loosened their bowels.
Standing at the base of the tree was a beast six feet tall and covered in damp, matted fur. The beast's features were visible in the dying sparks of the errant bolt of energy. Its legs were haunched like a wolf's or a dog's but its arms were long and muscular, ending in sharp talons. The muzzled face barred inch long fangs and the eyes glowered red at the intruders before fading into the blackness of night. As if to politely concede, it almost bowed its head and emitted a growl, then bolted into the coverage of the forest. At length, the men lowered their swords, horrified at what they'd just seen.
"Well, I think it's gone now," said the man in the tree, climbing down. When he'd landed from the lowest branch the air around him shimmered with light, apparently a spell.
"Ah," Officer Heilbach addressed the man. He was dressed in a simple leather cuirass, tattered pants and a dripping woolen cloak. "Are you the Seer that accompanied us from Fort Bechralden?"
The young man smiled wiping sweat and rain from his brow, "Aye, I am the Seer Moebius."
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"I am sick of this rain," he poked his ember lazily into the dying embers of the fire and spat.
"Aye, and the lightning, and the hail, and all this blasted cold. It's supposed to be just so you'd need a good breeze to cool you off by now," his patrol partner answered. He was pacing in his armor, away from the lean-to, the rain pattering off of his leather pauldrons. He kicked at a soggy glob of mud and nearly slipped, cursing.
The storm had been steady for four days straight with no one believing it would be ending anytime soon. Constant downpours had made an absolute mess of the roads and the column of soldiers had had to form camp until the rain stopped. Three days of being encamped. Three days of inaction. To a soldier, three days of sitting out a storm, waiting for the road to dry was boring enough to ask for trench detail. Orson and McClut were quite happy the day before when they'd been assigned to forward guard but even that brief excitement had worn away into memory, as did staying dry.
McClut had taken a favored stick, his "mud stick," and had proceeded to wipe the heels of his boots down yet again. It was a good waste of time and there was plenty of security in it as in a few moments, his boots would again be caked in mud. He didn't mind the rain as much as Orson, but he hated the cold. He'd grown up in warmer climes and waking up shivering every morning for the last week had given him a cough.
"You know that's useless," Orson sighed, not taking his eyes from the embers. McClut turned his head from his heal and just looked at Orson mindlessly probing a dying fire. After a moment, Orson looked out at McClut and the two started laughing, each shaking his head at the absurdity of the moment. A horse quickly rode from behind the lean-to and reared, whinnying, the rider looking stern at his subordinates.
"Attention, men!" the metal clad officer said sharply. McClut stood swiftly and Orson quickly joined him hitting his head on the roof of the lean-to on the way. "You two having a good laugh?" the officer said at length. The two stammered.
"Sorry, milord."
"Beg your pardon, sir."
"Save it, "the officer finally smiled and raised a mailed hand, "You two are a sorry sight and I'll not have your belittle yourselves any more than you already are, you soggy rats." The smile under the helmet was full and bright, assuring Orson and McClut that they were not in any trouble. Officer Heilbach dismounted, shaking the rain from the yellow cloak of his station. The weight of the armor sank him an inch into the soft ground. He reached under his cloak and drew out a small canteen.
"Pepper ale?" he offered.
"Thank you, sir," McClut replied and took the canteen. After taking a draught, he handed it to Orson. "Any orders, sir?"
The smile on Officer Heilbach faded, "We'll get to those." He moved to the lean-to and appeared to give it a brief inspection. Orson handed the canteen back to McClut who tried to take another drink. Holding the canteen upside down and shaking it, he looked sidelong at Orson and shook his head.
"Would you two say that things are quiet out here," Heilbach said looking at the embers.
"Yes, sir, quite."
"Safe?"
"Oh yes, sir," Orson said. "Very. No one has come this way in all the time we've been here."
Officer Heilbach turned and moved back to face the men. "Good, then you two are to gather your things. We've been sent after the Seer."
Orson's and McClut's shoulders both sagged and the color in their faces drained. Seers were sorcerers in the employ of the King, many foretelling the outcome of stratagems and plots years before they were put into motion, sometimes with disastrous errors. The word of a Seer could sway a King's judgment and often meant life or death to those around him. They were shrouded in mystery and fear.
"S-sir?" McClut asked, a look of horror on his face.
"I don't like it any more than you two seem to," Heilbach responded, "but we've our orders and some oddities have occurred that the other officers think the Seer could shed some light on. I'll give you five minutes to break camp." He passed them then and remounted his horse. Orson and McClut moved quickly and were soon packed and ready, each slinging a leather rucksack over his shoulder and trudging after Officer Heilbach as fast as he could in the mud.
"Sir, this Seer, is he far?"
"I don't believe so," Heilbach replied without looking back, "He was with our column when we left the city. When we stopped to wait out this storm, he headed for the trees." Heilbach considered a moment then thought the two behind him could use a little more detail. "I don't think we were supposed to have him with us, I think he tagged along of his own volition."
Orson gulped, "Sir, is it true they eat bread made of a babe's bones?"
"Stories I think," he said with less conviction than he'd wanted. They pressed on to the beat of the steady rain in silence for hours.
The grey, soggy day was hinting at nightfall when the men stopped to make camp inside the feeble shelter of the forest. Somewhere in the distance, thunder clapped and rolled in low, but powerful resonance. Soldiers are men of routine and setting camp is a standard in their regiment.
Orson silently set up the cloth tents and planted tent steaks while McClut wandered the perimeter, looking for any dry firewood, even though he knew he'd not find any. Officer Heilbach tended and hobbled his horse. Then he set about finding rocks and loose stumps for seats. Dinner was damp, salted pork and mushy rolls washed down with glorious pepper ale. If it weren't for the alcohol, the entire mood would have been painfully low.
They slept reasonably well until a bright flash and a scream from off in the forest brought them scrambling from their tents. The rain was ever present and the pattering of tens of thousands of raindrops upon tens of thousands of leaves confused where the scream came from, but the soldiers knew it was human. With it being too damp to have a fire, the night was unforgiving and the darkness was total. Heilbach quickly whispered instructions to his footmen.
"We stay together, if something attacks us, we form back to back to back. Follow me; I think it came from this way."
The three men, with swords drawn and ready, jumped like children when another scream pierced the night in the direction they were headed. Another flash erupted, painfully bright, some twenty yards through the trees. As they cautiously approached, they could smell the pungent fumes of sulfur and hear a man's screech.
"Back to the foul pits that bore you, beast! I am not your meal this night!"
Yet another bright flash followed. This time they could see a phosphorus bolt arcing down from an upper limb in a tree. It struck the ground in a shower of sparks and something growled.
"Rush the beast!" shouted Heilbach and the three men charged the base of the tree. They all stopped short as what stood before them shocked them and nearly loosened their bowels.
Standing at the base of the tree was a beast six feet tall and covered in damp, matted fur. The beast's features were visible in the dying sparks of the errant bolt of energy. Its legs were haunched like a wolf's or a dog's but its arms were long and muscular, ending in sharp talons. The muzzled face barred inch long fangs and the eyes glowered red at the intruders before fading into the blackness of night. As if to politely concede, it almost bowed its head and emitted a growl, then bolted into the coverage of the forest. At length, the men lowered their swords, horrified at what they'd just seen.
"Well, I think it's gone now," said the man in the tree, climbing down. When he'd landed from the lowest branch the air around him shimmered with light, apparently a spell.
"Ah," Officer Heilbach addressed the man. He was dressed in a simple leather cuirass, tattered pants and a dripping woolen cloak. "Are you the Seer that accompanied us from Fort Bechralden?"
The young man smiled wiping sweat and rain from his brow, "Aye, I am the Seer Moebius."