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Part 10a - The Making of Zechs Merquise

Relena couldn't see anything. Her abductor had blindfolded her before they left her bedchamber. She was still not sure how he had managed to get her out of the castle unnoticed. The night air was frigid, and since she was dressed only in her nightgown, she was glad that he had draped a blanket around her.
Outside the castle her kidnapper had a horse waiting. He put her in the saddle in front of him and held her tightly. After a short ride they stopped. Relena heard noises and realized that they had met up with somebody as the other person spoke.
"For God sake, you have finally lost you mind, haven't you? Do you have any idea who you have kidnapped?"
The man in the saddle behind her let out a low chuckle, but it didn't really sound amused.
"Believe me, I do. Ride ahead and meet with the others. Have them break camp. We will move out as soon as I return. If for any reason I'm not back by noon you will leave without me."
"But…" the other man started to protest, but was cut off.
"No arguments! Go now."

Relena could hear the sound of retreating hoof beat, as the other man rode off. Her kidnapper dismounted, then helped her to the ground. He removed the blindfold from her eyes, and she blinked at first, as she looked up at him. He was wearing a shiny silvery mask that was covering his face all the way down to his mouth. But she knew who he was even before he removed that mask. She had recognized his voice at the first word he spoke in her chamber.

"Milliardo!"
Quicker then Relena could think, she was in his arms and hugged him tightly.

"Princess," he whispered.

For the longest time they just stood there, holding each other. Relena couldn't fight back the tears and she sobbed, letting out all the grief and pain, all the anguish and hope she had kept inside her for too long. When she as done, she stood back to look at him. Then, without warning, she slapped him in his face as hard as she could.
"May I ask what that was for?" her brother inquired, slightly confused, as he rubbed his burning cheek.

"That was for making us think that you were dead for all that time. Do you have any idea how much that hurt?"
He lowered his gaze, as he spoke very softly: "Forgive me, Princess. It was never my intention to cause you, or anybody else, pain."

"Why Milliardo? I don't understand? How could you let us think that you were dead? What happened to you? Where have you been all this time?"

"That's why I needed to see you; I need to talk to you. But if you don't want to speak to me I'd understand. If you wish I will take you back to the castle right this moment."
"I take it that you are not intending to return together with me?" she asked.

 He shook his head. "No, I don't. Do you want me to take you back?"
"No," she answered. "I need to know what happened to you. I want you to tell me."
"There is an old abandoned farm not far from here. Not much more than the barn remains, but it provides some shelter."
It didn't take them long to reach the farm. Relena watched as her brother tethered his horse outside the barn. He hadn't spoken a word during the ride. He looked very different from the Milliardo she remembered; so much more serious. He had been still a boy when he had left, but over the past 18 months he had turned into a young man.
They settled down on some bales of straw. He sighed, then finally spoke.
"This is going to be a long story. I'll try to make it as short as possible. Soon they will notice in the castle that you're gone and knowing Heero and Treize they will be after me like the devil after a soul." He gave her a wry smile.

:::Begin of Flashback:::   (This flashback begins basically right where Part 7 left off)

Pain…Nausea…Cold… His entire world seemed to consist of nothing but those feelings. His head was hurting, his body stiff from the cold. Hands and feet were bound. He could feel the stickiness of blood, his own blood, beneath his body but was too weak to move away from it. Fighting fatigue and pain, he finally managed to raise his head and noticed that he was alone. The part of his brain that was still working told him that he needed to free himself if he wanted to survive. He struggled against his bounds, but realized soon it was of no avail. Darkness threatened again to overcome him and the thought of slipping back into the pain-free oblivion was a tempting one, although he knew that he would probably never wake up from it again. But he had reached a point where he really didn't care anymore and finally he stopped fighting and let the welcome darkness of unconsciousness submerge him.

***

Howard had been a soldier for most his life. He had been in more battles than he cared to remember. He had seen the Aotherian Kingdom, his homeland, crumble under the attack of Emperor Tubarov's invading army; had seen his men die to the hundreds in the battlefields. It was only thanks to his skill and experience that he and a handful of his men escaped the slaughter. They managed to stay alive by attacking small convoys of imperial soldiers and taking what they needed where they could find it. Surprisingly the band, calling themselves White Fang, not only survived but also grew. Some of the people that joined the group were runaway slaves; others came after their villages had been destroyed. And there were even a few ex-imperial soldiers who deserted their troops. Howard wasn't picky. Anybody who was willing to fight and pull his own weight was welcome. They were a bunch of people who had nothing to loose but their freedom, and had decided to take revenge on those who had taken everything else from them.
The group had started moving camp regularly since it became increasingly difficult to hide such a large number of men and horses. Soon they would start to head west to reach the mountains in the northern regions of the Sank Kingdom before the first snowfall. The caves in the mountains would provide enough space and protection to wait out the winter.
Howard was leading a small scouting team, consisting of four members. They had split up and were checking the surroundings of the area where the group had set up camp for the night.
The noise of approaching hoofs made the gray-haired man snap around and reach for his sword at the same time. He relaxed when he recognized Hilde. The black-haired girl was one of his youngest followers. She could be a real hothead at times and was a little daring, but Howard knew her heart was at the right place. Hilde reined her mount to a hold next to Howard's horse.
"Nichols and Rens found something they think you want to see, Sir."
She turned and let the way to a small clearing, where they found Nichols standing next to Rens who was hunched over a third man lying on the ground. The gray-haired man dismounted and walked over to them.

"We thought he was dead when we found him, but he is still alive, Captain. Barely if I might add." Rens explained.

The brunette had been part of Howard's troops, a promising young soldier who would have had a great career ahead of him under other circumstances. "I only moved him far enough to untie his arms and legs."
"Hmmm…"Howard frowned as he stepped closer and let his gaze wander over the tall and slender figure on the ground. "He isn't one of our men and since he doesn't wear a uniform I assume he isn't one of theirs either."
"What are we going to do with him, Captain?" Rens asked, looking up. It was out of respect as well as out of habit that he still addressed the older man by his rank.

"If you asked me I'd say we just put him out of his misery and safe ourselves some trouble." Nichols suggested coldly, his hand on the hilt of his weapon.

Hilde gave the man a deadly glare. "That's why nobody asks you," she spat. "Once again I ask myself why you actually left Tubarov's troops, since you seem to prefer their ways so much."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Nichols glared back at her.

The girl was about to reply something but Howard cut her off. "Enough!"

He crouched down next to the unconscious figure on the ground and pressed two fingers against the side of his neck. The young man's face and long blond hair was covered in dried blood and dirt. His breathing was shallow and his pulse faint and unsteady. Rens was right, he was barely alive.
"Hilde, ride ahead and tell Catherine we are bringing an injured man. She should be prepared for head injuries, blood loss, most likely some broken bones and…" He shook his head and sighed, giving up on trying to assess all the injuries. "Just tell her he looks bad."

The girl nodded in acknowledgement, spurred her horse and galloped off.

Howard rose and looked around. The remains of a fire told him that somebody had camped here; most likely the same person who had beaten this young man to the brink of death and then just left him to die. The thought was disgusting.
Meanwhile Rens had taken his sleeping roll and tied pieces of rope to all four corners. Nichols helped him securing it between two of their horses, creating a makeshift device that could carry the injured young man.

He moaned when they moved him onto the blanket.

"Just hang in there," Howard told him, checking once more for the young man's pulse. "Don't give up now, kid."

***

"Catherine, Catherine."
A young woman with reddish brown hair looked up from what she was doing, as Hilde rode into camp screaming out her name.
"Catherine, Howard is bringing in a wounded. They should be here soon."
"A wounded, what happened?" the young healer asked alarmed. "Did you ran into a patrol?"
The black-haired girl shook her head as she dismounted her horse. "He isn't one of our men. We found him along the way. Howard wants me to tell you he is in bad shape, in really bad shape if you asked me."
Catherine nodded in acknowledgement, as she went to gather her healing things.

"I'll need hot water," she told one of the men standing around.

By the time their leader and the rest of the scout team rode into camp, a large pot was heating over the fire. When she took a look at the unconscious young man they had brought with them, Catherine noticed at once the bruising and cuts around his wrists.
"He was bound when we found him," Howard explained at her questioning look. "It seemed as if he had tried to free himself before he lost consciousness. Where do you want us to put him?"

The young healer determined that it would be best to bed him in one of the supply wagons. That way he wouldn't have to be moved when they broke camp in the morning. A makeshift bed of straw and blankets was the most comfort they could provide him with.
"Hilde, get me some water," she ordered, as she knelt next to the young man and opened her basket. When the girl came back with a large bowl of warm water she started to clean the injured man up. Once the caked on dirt and blood was washed from his face she realized how young he actually was. He barely looked old enough to be called a man. His features were incredibly handsome. Even a large bruise over his right cheekbone and a swollen and split upper lip could not hide that fact. His long, pale-blond, hair was dirty and crusted with dried blood. As she checked to see where the blood had come from, she found a relatively minor laceration behind his left ear and then another larger wound on the right side of his head. The cut was wide and deep. She knew from experience that head injuries like that bled heavily. He probably had lost a lot of blood.

 She wondered how long he had been unconscious before Howard's scout group had discovered him.
Probably not longer than a day or two, she thought. I doubt that somebody in this condition can survive the frigate night temperatures for long.
When she carefully dabbed the dried blood and dirt from his head wounds he moaned slightly but didn't wake.

Catherine took a jar of disinfecting salve from her basket and opened it. She spread the ointment generously around the gashes then wrapped his head in white linen bandages. Then she started cleaning his wrists. She was relieved to see that the cuts were only superficial. When she noticed some movement behind her Catherine turned to see Howard climbing into the wagon.
"How is he?"
"It's hard to tell yet?" the young woman answered. "It looks like he took a few rather hard blows to his head. – Can you help me get him undressed? I'm afraid the rest of his body doesn't look much better."

The gray-haired man nodded and helped her to ease the torn vest off the blond man's body. There was no way they could slip his tunic over his head without causing him more pain or even injuring him further. Howard pulled his dagger, cutting the front of the shirt, peeling the material back. What he found was uglier than he had expected. Catherine suppressed a gasp at the sheer number of bruises and lacerations on the young man's torso. She felt a wave of anger. Somebody had beaten this young man within an inch of death and then just left him to die. Or maybe the people who had done this to him had believed he was dead already when they left.

"For god sake," she whispered in shock and sympathy. "Why would anybody do something like this?"

Howard shrugged. He had seen a lot of death and destruction in his life and it didn't surprise him anymore to see how cruel humans could be.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" he asked after a while.

 The young woman shook her head and smiled a little. "I don't think so. In fact the best help right now would be if you get out of my way and let me do my job."
He nodded understandingly and climbed out of the wagon, waiting for her outside. When she was finally finished and joined him she looked tired. The older man gave her a questioning look.
"Most of his wounds are not too critical and should heal pretty easy." She told him. "But I'm concerned about the injuries to his head. They look serious and I'm afraid he might just slip away without ever regaining consciousness."

The man nodded in silent acknowledgement.

"Howard," she looked up at him. "What are we going to do with him? I mean, we don't know really anything about him. His garments are dirty and torn, but you can tell they are made from fine material. I have never seen pants made from such soft leather before. He is definitely not just a simple peasant and he seems barely old enough to be a soldier."
"One thing is sure. We can't just leave him here. So we will take him with us and deal with anything that might arise later on. As you say yourself we can't even be sure he will survive. If he does wake up and we know who he is, we will decide what to do with him."

***

For a long time he drifted in and out of consciousness, half-aware only of people around him, gentle hands touching him, comforting words soothing his mind. When he finally fully awoke at first all he could feel was pain. Every bone and muscle in his body ached. Keeping his eyes tightly shut he prayed to sink back into the pain-free darkness of unconsciousness. But instead his other senses started to return. He realized that he was covered with a thick blanket. Next he noticed the ground under him was moving. Curiously he opened his eyes and found that the ceiling above him was made from tan-colored canvas, thin enough at some places to let sunlight shine through. Slowly he began to register other things around him. He heard the squeaking of wooden wheels along with the sounds of hoofs pounding dirt. Putting everything together he realized that he was traveling in a covered wagon. He tried to remember where he was, how he got here, but his brain wasn't cooperating. Trying to think made his headache even worst and he decided that he didn't want to deal with any more pain right now.
He closed his eyes again and winced, as the wagon hit a hole in the road. When he lifted his hand, to move a few strands of damp, pale-blond hair out of his face, he made another curious discovery. His head was dressed in bandages and so was his wrist. He checked his other arm he noticed it too was wrapped.

Suddenly the movement stopped as the wagon came to a hold. He opened his eyes again and tried to sit up at the same time, but regretted it immediately when his head began to throb in protest and a wave of nausea hit him. With a moan he sunk back into the blanket-covered straw he was lying on, waiting for the vertigo to dissipate.
Moments later a canvas covering in the back of the wagon was moved and a gray-haired man dressed in brown trousers and a beige colored tunic, climbed in. With a satisfied nod the man noticed that their guest was awake.

"How are you feeling?" Howard asked in a surprisingly soft and pleasant voice.
"I have been better," the young man answered. He lifted his hand wipe some sweat from his forehead. "How…How did I get here?" he asked, surprised how weak his voice was.

"One of my scouts found you. Somebody beat the hell out of you and left you for death. When we found you we brought you back to our camp." Howard told him. "Are you hungry, kid?"
Without waiting for an answer the older man stuck his head out of the back of the wagon calling out.
"Catherine, your patient has awoken. Bring him some food will you?"

"Where are we anyway?" the young man asked, as Howard turned back toward him.
"A good 100 miles west of Landsbourgh," the old man told him. "We should leave the Romefeller Empire and cross into the North Sank Kingdom by tomorrow."
"Sank Kingdom," the blond echoed thoughtfully, as though it was something significant. He knew he had heard those words before, but wasn't sure when or under what circumstances.
The canvas in the back of the wagon moved again and a young woman with shoulder-long reddish-brown hair entered with a bowl of steaming food in her hand. At the delicious smell his stomach reminded him with an angry growl that it had been neglected for quite a while.
"Sounds to me like you are hungry, that's a good sign," she said with an amused smile. "It's only vegetable soup, but it has proven to be all you have been able to keep down so far."
He gave her a questioning look. "How long have I been here?"

"It has been 4 weeks to the day. You were unconscious most of the time but I was able to feed you a little soup and some of my herbs during that time."
The young man tried to push himself up into a sitting position. Howard moved forward to offer support, but the blond quickly held up his hand to stop him. "Please don't, I can do it myself."
The older man nodded understandingly.
Only when he was sitting upright and the blanket slipped from around his chest he noticed that he was wearing little more than those bandages around his head and his ribs and for a moment that made him feel rather uneasy.

"Sorry, but we had to undress you to take care of your wounds," the girl explained as if reading his mind. "I got your pants cleaned and fixed, but I'm afraid your tunic was a lost cause. Howard do you think you can find a shirt that will fit him?"
The gray-haired man nodded. "I'll see to it later."
When the young man reached out for the bowl of soup Catherine shook her head. "I think it might be better if I give you a hand with that. We wouldn't want to add scalding to your long list of injuries now, would we?" The way she gave him a smile and a small wink made his unease dissipate somewhat. She held the bowl to his lips allowing him to take small sips of the broth.

"You are mercenaries?" he asked once he had emptied the bowl.
She smirked and exchanged a look with the gray-haired man. "I suppose in a certain way we are. This is Howard our leader and I'm Catherine. And who might you be?"
He opened his mouth to answer, then frowned and looked at the girl for a moment before he his gaze and shook his head slightly. "I don't… don't remember."
Catherine and Howard exchanged another quick look. "Do you remember what happened to you? Who beat you? Anything?" the gray-haired man asked.

The young man shook his head again as he eased himself back onto his makeshift bed.
"Hmmm…" Catherine frowned. "I have heard of people loosing their memory after injuries to their head. I suppose you will remember in time. For now all we should worry about getting you back on your feet."

***

Catherine noticed with satisfaction that her patient was sitting up, when she climbed into the wagon. Since he had regained consciousness nearly three days ago his condition had improved considerably. He seemed stable, was eating on his own now and slowly the color started to return into his pale cheeks.
The tunic Howard had given him fit almost perfectly and the color brought out the blue of his magnificent eyes. She had taken off the bandages around his head the other day and with his long hair framing his perfectly shaped face he looked like the statue of a god.
"How are we doing today?" she asked with a smile. "Remember anything yet?"
He shook his head. No, he still had no memories of what had happened, only nightmares. But he wasn't willing to share those with anyone.
"I brought you your tea. It seems to be helping. You look much better." She handed him a cup with the steaming hot beverage. "I know it tastes like hell. My mother used to tell me that in order to work properly medicine has to taste bad. But I'll see if I can get Howard to acquire some honey so I can sweeten it a little."
"Please don't trouble yourself for my sake," he told her, before he took a sip from the tea. "I'm grateful for everything you and Howard have already done for me and I'm more than happy with anything you can provide."
She gave him another smile. "I'm sure it won't be any trouble.  How is your head?"
"It is getting better. I can sit up without getting dizzy and when I move slowly it barely hurts anymore," he answered.
"That's good to hear. But you shouldn't be moving too much yet," he warned him. "I think I'll bring you something more substantial than soup for supper. Once we get your strength back up you should be on your feet in no time at all."
"I have been thinking…" After all that was all he really could do at the moment. "I'll need some kind of name till I remember my real one."
"Yeah, that would be helpful," Catherine agreed. "Unless you want the rest of us call you "Kid" like Howard does."
"I'd prefer not," he answered with a ghost of a smile. "What about Zechs?"
"Zechs?!" she echoed with a questioning look. Since he didn't seem inclined to give an explanation she just continued. "That sounds nice."

***

Catherine had been right. Physically, he recovered rather quickly. His broken ribs were still healing, but all bruises and marks on his body had faded away. Mentally, however it didn't go quite as well. At times it frustrated him extremely that he still couldn't remember his past, but then there came moments when he wasn't sure if he really wanted to remember. His nightmares frightened him, since he wasn't sure how much of them were based on reality and how much was pure imagination. When he woke up he pushed them out of his mind, unwilling to deal with them.

It did not take him long to realize that the word "Mercenaries" didn't quite fit Howard and his followers. Outlaws or bandits would be more precise. They called themselves "White Fang." But no matter if he agreed with their way of living or not, Zechs didn't feel that it was his place to pass judgement. These people had saved his life. They had cared for him and given him a place to stay when he had nowhere else to go. They deserved nothing but his utter most respect and gratitude.
It seemed that everybody in the group was helping out around the camp. Although nobody ever asked him or told him that he had to do anything, Zechs did his best to do his part too. It wasn't easy but he was a fast learner and he adapted quickly to the harsh life in the woods and on the road. The band managed to reach the high country before the first winter storm. The mountain caves were spacious enough to comfortable house an entire army. Once ice and snow made the roads impassible the group was trapped in the higher elevations, but at the same time also safe from attacks. Until spring came they had to live on the supplies they had brought with them and on what the forest had to offer.

After a day of hunting Zechs and Rens returned to the camp, their packhorses loaded with game.
"Courtesy of Lord Alnwick," the dark-haired man announced mirthfully, as he dumped two large deer from one of the horses.
"Let me guess, Rens. The animals were sleeping when you shot them, or did you in fact manage to hit a moving target?" Nichols remarked scoffing.
"Actually, Zechs shot them." Rens answered calmly. "One arrow each. I've never seen you do that."
"So what?" Nichols snorted. "Everybody gets lucky sometimes."
Zechs glared at the man without saying a word. He didn't like Nichols and by the way the man looked back at him he could tell the feeling was mutual. He walked off into one of caves that served as a stable to feed and water his mount. Once he had taken care of the horse he went down to the nearby stream to fetch a couple buckets of water. He grimaced at the pain in his ribs as he crouched down by the water's edge. The bones were still sore. He braced his ribs with his hand he willed himself back onto his feet.

Sure, he could go to Catherine and asked her for something to ease the pain, but that would confirm that she was right when she told him that he wasn't fully healed yet and should take it easy. He was too proud and too stubborn to admit that. Leaning against a tree he waited for the pain to dissipate.

***

Hilde was outside collecting wood when she saw Zechs down by the stream. The young girl stopped to watch him for a moment. She wasn't sure what to make of the young man. There was something about him that distinguished him from the rest of them. It wasn't only his looks, but how he carried himself. She had seen people, like Nichols, trying to pretend to be of noble blood. But to Zechs on the other hand it seemed natural. He couldn't hide it. The way he walked, the way he spoke left no doubt that he was of noble breeding and upbringing. He always had this overly polite manner to him. Yet at the same time he seemed distant and sometimes even cold. He kept mostly to himself and aside from Rens, barely socialized with anybody in the group. He didn't like Nichols, so much was clear, but then who actually did? There was something definitely mysterious about this young man. Who was he and what was his story anyway? How did he end up where they had found him?
Zechs had filled the buckets and leaned against a tree. By the way he braced his ribs with one hand Hilde could tell he was hurting.
"Need some help?" she asked, as she walked closer.
Zechs turned toward her.
"I do appreciate the offer, but I can handle it," he declined in his usually polite way.
"Fine, suit yourself." The girl scowled at him. "I'm just trying to be friendly, you know." She was about to turn and walk away, but Zechs stopped her.
 "May I ask you something? Have I done anything to anger you, or do you always react so defensively toward everybody?"

"Me, defensive?" she snorted. "If I remember right I was the one who offered help to you, and you were the one who declined it."
Zechs blinked. "And that offended you?"
"It's not only that," Hilde answered, crossing her arms in front of her. "You know it wouldn't hurt you to be a little friendlier, to join the rest of us every once in a while and stop treating us like we aren't worth your time."
"What? You believe, that's how I think about you?"
"Why else do you always keep to yourself? You even sit and eat by yourself," she snapped.
"Simply because nobody ever invided me to join you. I don't like to intrude where I'm not welcome,"

Hilde could hear a tinge of hurt in his voice and suddenly felt embarrassed. The girl grinned wryly. "I'm sorry about that. I suppose I should use my brain before I use my mouth more often. And maybe you are right; I do get a little too defensive too quickly. You suppose we could just start over fresh? - My name is Hilde, I'm pleased to meet you." She offered Zechs her hand, expecting him to shake it, but was surprised when he bowed and placed a soft kiss onto her fingers, his lips barely touching her skin.

"The pleasure is mine," he told her with a ghost of a smile and she blushed.
"I have been wondering how you ended up here," he asked suddenly. "I mean you are rather young for a…how should I put it…warrior."
A trace of sadness fell over her face, and Zechs regretted instantly that he had asked. "You know, you do not have to tell me if you don't want to talk about it."
But she shook her head. "It's just fine.  Tubarov's army attacked our town. Before they came most of the villagers hid in a cave in the mountains. But eventually the soldiers found us. The men were able to hold them off for a little while. The smaller kids and I were able to crawl through a hole in the wall and hide in a neighboring cave. But there was no way out so we could only sit there and pray that they didn't find us, all the while hearing the screams of the people killed by the soldiers. After what seemed forever the screaming stopped but we were too afraid to look if the soldiers were gone. So we waited till hunger and thirst finally made us leave our hiding place. That's when we ran into Howard and his men. They fed us and took us to the orphanage of the Saint Gabriella nunnery. The other kids stayed there, but I told Howard that I wanted to go with him. At first he didn't want to hear anything of it. But when I told him that I would go and fight on my own he agreed to let me stay."
Zechs had grown quiet, wondering once again if he was better off not remembering at all. There was outrage, sadness and shock in his ice blue eyes when he finally said. "Forgive me for stirring up such painful memories."
"Don't worry about it." She answered quietly, then changed the subject. "So, Catherine told me you don't remember your past. You might have been a soldier? A knight perhaps? No you're probably too young for that, a squire more likely."
Zechs shrugged. "It's possible. I do seem to remember how to use a weapon more than anything else. And sometimes I have dreams…nightmares…about fighting, a battle. Sometimes it feels so real I can still smell the blood."
"Is that all you dream about?"
"Sometimes I dream of people. Faces aren't always clear. There is a girl I see more often than others. She has long blond hair." There was a trace of a smile on his lips. "She is a young lady more than a girl really."
"She must have been important to you, I suppose. Your lover or fiancée perhaps?" Hilde guessed.
His smile deepened then grew into a smirk. "If she was, I definitely have good taste in women. I Believe that I must have lived somewhere further south, much further south."
The girl frowned. "Why is that?"
"I don't remember it ever being this cold."
Hilde laughed. "Yeah, we should go inside. Let me give you a hand with the water. You know Zechs, it has noting to do with weakness to accept a friend's help, but it is rather foolish to decline it."
"I'll try to remember that."

***

When Zechs' eyes fell upon the majestic white walls of Alnwick Castle he knew immediately that his decision to come here had been the right one. It was such a strangely familiar feeling as he crossed the large wooden drawbridge and headed toward the castle's outer gate.
After his wounds had fully healed Howard had offered him to stay with the White Fang as long as he wanted, and Zechs had told him he would think about it. By the time spring came around, and the group prepared to head southeast into Romefeller territory again he had made up his mind.

:::: Begin of Flashback::::

"You are sure this is what you want to do?" Howard asked, and gave him a piercing look.
Zechs, who was riding along the gray-haired man, nodded. "Yes, I am. I know I'm greatly in your debt for saving my life and taking care of me. And I do have all intention to come back some day and repay that debt. But for now I feel it is better for me to leave. I need to find out more about my past before I can concentrate on my future."
Howard nodded understandingly. "You are probably right, Zechs. Living amongst town-folks near the castle might trigger memories in you.  I do hate to loose you; that much I have to admit. But I won't force you to stay. If you wish to leave I'll provide you with a mount and a weapon, and hope to see you again soon."
:::: End Flashback::::


Zechs had spent several days in town. A small room in the local inn, food for himself and a place for his mount was all he could afford till he was able to find a way to earn a living. But finding a job was easier said then done for somebody with little experience.
When he had learned from the inn's keeper that Lord Alnwick was recruiting men for his troops, Zechs thought that this might be a god-given opportunity for him. It was definitely something worth checking out.

He reined his horse to a stop next to one of the guards at the gate.
"Where do I go to sign up as a new recruit for his Lordship's troops?" he asked. The man pointed him into the direction. Zechs thanked him and rode on.
The recruitment officer looked him over in a scrutinizing manner, after he stated what he had come for. Then the man nodded, obviously satisfied with what he saw and asked.
"What's your name?"
"Zechs Merquise, Sir."
The man nodded again, put his name down on a list and called for one of his assistants.

"Toar will show you to your quarter. Captain Ventuno will evaluate all the new recruits tomorrow morning and make his final decision," the soldier told Zechs. "But I wouldn't worry if I was you. They usually take whatever they can get."

The room he was taken to was a large crew quarter that he was going to share it with a number of other soldiers. Not that Zechs expected anything else, but he knew nevertheless that it would take some getting used to. For the rest of the day there was not much to do for the new recruits. Most of them spent the time getting acquainted with each other, talking and playing cards.

 The next morning they met the Captain in charge of the troops at the training grounds. He was a tall man with eyes as cold and piercing as a steel blade.
"I'm Captain Ventuno," he announced. "I'll teach you how to fight and how to survive. If you think you know better than I, than all I can teach you is how to die." After his introduction the captain paired the new recruits up to evaluate their skills in sword fight. Zechs was dueling with a young man with short brown hair.
"You must fight better, recruit Walker," the captain addressed Zechs' opponent. "His Lordship will be investing lot of time and funds in your training. If you go into battle he expects you to survive and come back."
"I understand, Sir. I'll try to do better," Walker answered.
"Don't try. Just do better. Fools die trying." Ventuno turned toward Zechs. "Merquise, who taught you to use a sword like that? Your skill indicates a lot of training."
"I'm not sure, Sir," the young man answered.
The Captain gave him a look that might have made a lesser man cringe and snapped in exasperation. "What kind of an answer is that, Recruit?"
"An honest one, Sir. I do not remember who taught me to fight. I was badly injured last fall and I don't have much memories of what happened before that time."
Ventuno gave him another look, then he nodded. "I see. Nevertheless, you show a lot of expertise. I'll have to keep my eye on you."

For the next three months Zechs went through a hell of drills, tactical training and more drills. Some of the lessons were not much to his liking, others suited him just fine. Obedience, discipline and loyalty were drilled into them at all times.  Zechs loved to fight and he hated to lose. Every sparring match was a battle he intended to win, and more often than not he did so. Captain Ventuno, true to his word kept a close eye on the recruit's progress. He could tell a good soldier when he saw one and this young man seemed to have everything it took. Ventuno was convinced that he would make his way up to the top quickly. On a few occasions the captain tried to bring Zechs to Lord Alnwick's attention, but his Lordship was too busy with "more important" issues to be bothered with it. His usual answer was:
"Captain, I trust your judgement fully. If you think that young man's weapons skills are extraordinary I don't have to see it for myself to believe you."
But it was really nothing else but a polite way of saying: "Why in the world would you think I want to be bothered with that kind of stuff? That's why I'm paying you, to take care of such things."

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T.B.C.

Author's Note:

Feedback is greatly appreciated, constructive criticism is welcome :-)