Zornhut: Chapter 7
Author's note: Zornhut, or Guard of Wrath, is one of the main guard positions in medieval sword techniques. Also, I've opted for the game's default name for the tactician, Mark.
"How long before we reach Bern?" Lyndis asked. It was dusk; the swordswoman was seated near the fire with her friends, while the rest of the company were getting the camp ready. Almost a week had passed since they left Pherae, following Archsage Athos' counsel to seek the Shrine of Seals at Bern.
Mark studied the map laid out on the ground before him. "We're not far from the border," he answered, "if we keep to the highway, with luck, we'll reach Bern tomorrow afternoon."
"One more thing, Mark."
"Yes?"
"When was the last time you had any decent sleep?" Lyndis asked, peering closely at him. "You're looking rather tired lately."
The tactician flushed slightly, a look of guilt on his face. "Well, I..."
"Go to bed," Hector ordered.
"But it's still too early, and I need to--"
"Go to bed," Hector repeated, "before Mother there gives you a paddling. Whatever errands you need to do can wait until morning."
The corners of Mark's mouth twitched ever so slightly as he stood, rolling up his map before he placed it into one of his pockets. "As you wish. Good night--err, evening, milords. Milady." He nodded in respect to each of them, then walked off to the tent he shared with some of the mages.
"You do know that he's going to sneak out later to check our supplies, or pore over his books and maps, don't you?" Hector said, shaking his head. "Tacticians. I shall never understand them."
Eliwood smiled. "I'll go and check on him later. The last thing we need is our master tactician to fall asleep in the midst of battle, since he hadn't any sleep the night before."
"That lad does need more rest," Lyndis observed, "his colouring is a bit too pale for my liking."
"He's probably stressed," Hector said.
"Probably? I'm surprised he hasn't collapsed in exhaustion. I've never seen him this fatigued--not even when he helped me find my grandfather," Lyndis said, absently tossing a dry twig into the fire. "But then again, this campaign of ours is longer than my little quest back then."
"Don't worry," Hector replied, "when we get to Bern, we'll make sure that we have decent accommodations for everyone. Nothing beats a proper good night's rest in a proper bed. In the meantime, Mark can sleep in my tent. Oswin and I still have room to spare for another occupant."
"Ah, I don't think that would be a good idea, Hector," Eliwood disagreed.
"Why not?"
"Hector," Eliwood said, "you snore. Loudly. Oswin is used to it, but Mark isn't--and Mark's a light sleeper."
Hector chose to ignore the look of mirth on Lyndis' face. "Right," he said, "I suppose we could get a new tent then--one that he can share with someone else who doesn't."
"Yes, I suppose we could."
---
Raven carefully stacked the firewood he had gathered next to the small pit Lowen was digging for their cooking fire. "Is this enough?" he asked.
Lowen glanced at the pile of wood and nodded. "Yes, that'll do nicely, Raven," the cavalier said, brushing his bangs away from his eyes, and smearing his cheek with dirt in the process. "Supper will be ready in a bit, once Rebecca gets back from hunting."
Raven nodded in acknowledgement and walked away, wondering what he should do next, now that he had finished all his usual chores and had some free time on his hands. It was not his turn on watch, Lucius and Priscilla were busy with their own duties, and he was not quite in the mood for some practice on his own.
A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention; the mercenary turned and saw a familiar figure clad in simple travelling robes, silently making its way to one of the bigger tents. "Mark," Raven said softly to himself. He then remembered his conversation with Eliwood some days ago on how some of the more timid members of the company were more than intimidated by his presence, and that he should assure them that he did not bear any grudge against them.
No time like the present--I suppose I'll go talk to him now.
Raven walked briskly to the tent; there was a dim glow illuminating the tent's interior now, indicating that Mark had lit a little lantern of some sort. He stood hesitant before the opening of the tent, one hand drawing a flap aside, and waited for his eyes to grow accustomed to the faint lighting.
Mark was laying out his bedroll on the ground, oblivious to Raven's presence. The mercenary called softly, "Mark?"
The tactician started slightly. "Yes?" he asked, turning to face the other man. "Oh, Raven," he said, blinking. "What brings you here?" He stood up, staring more intently. "Please, come in."
Raven accepted the invitation and at Mark's gesture, sat on the bedroll, while the tactician laid out another one. He waited for Mark to take his seat, at the same time studying the other man. Mark's features were firm and grave; his deep-set eyes were dark, and his hair was light brown. Despite the slightly haggard cast to his features and the hint of dark circles under his eyes, he looked barely older than Raven, even though Raven was sure that the tactician was a few years his senior.
Mark also did not seem to be intimidated by his presence in any way, and Raven wondered if Eliwood was mistaken, until he noticed how Mark's fingers shook slightly in nervousness as the tactician smoothed out the folds of the bedroll.
"So," Mark said once he had settled down, "what was it you wanted to talk about?"
Raven decided that the blunt approach was best, so he said, "Lord Eliwood said that I ought to make this clear--I've nothing against you, Mark, so there's no need for you to be so uneasy."
Mark's reaction to his statement was rather surprising, and somewhat comical. The tactician stooped and let out a heavy sigh of relief; when he looked up again, he was grinning. "For a moment there I thought you were going to bite my head off!"
Raven raised one eyebrow. "Whatever made you think that I had a quarrel with you?"
Mark laughed nervously. "Ah, it's just that some people here have found my tactics a little bit unconventional, and they do not really approve. And I noticed that you've been glowering a lot lately, and I thought... you know." He cringed.
"I was glowering at Wil--or perhaps Bartre. Not you. Nor do I question your orders."
"I see. By the way, I've been meaning to ask--"
Mark then proceeded to ask detailed questions on Raven's new weaponry and techniques; Raven answered them as best as he could. "I need to know how my men fight," Mark explained why he wanted to know all this, "so I can deploy them better."
Their discussion was halted however, when they realised they had a bigger audience. Both men turned to see Sain standing within the tent's opening. "Mark!" the knight greeted cheerfully. "Ah, and Raven," he added in a somewhat cautious tone, once he noticed that the tactician had company.
"What is it, Sain?"
"Well, I was just wondering--that is, if you would spare--"
Mark held up his hand and sighed. "How much?"
Sain beamed. "A hundred gold?" he asked, hopeful.
"Absolutely not."
"Fifty?"
Mark let out another sigh before he asked, "What do you need the money for? If it's for buying drinks for the local beauties once we reach Bern tomorrow..."
Sain grinned. "Aha, how did you guess?"
The tactician rolled his eyes. "Go ask someone else, Sain. If you had wanted money for weapons, then maybe. Not that we have a lot of gold to spare anyway--whatever's left is for paying the men." Mark glanced at Raven. "Say, Raven," he asked with a straight face, "want to contribute part of your wages so Sain can buy wine for a few girls?"
"No," Raven replied, at the same time fixing a sharp look at the knight, who flinched slightly.
"Ah... I'll see if Kent would loan me some gold then," Sain said with forced cheerfulness before he walked away, muttering something about how tacticians were more tight-fisted than archers.
"I have been keeping you from your rest," Raven said as he rose to leave; he had noticed that Mark had been blinking a lot throughout their entire conversation--an obvious sign of someone who was trying very hard to stay awake. "Good night."
"Good night, Raven. And thank you."
---
Eliwood stood up and stretched. "I think I'll go and see if supper's ready," he said, "and stop by Mark's tent."
"Eliwood, why don't you go and see how Ninian is doing instead?" Lyndis suggested innocently. "Hector can go and check on Mark."
"What? But I--" Hector began, but Lyndis elbowed him sharply in the ribs to silence him, a gesture that Eliwood did not notice.
"Well, all right. If you'll excuse me," said the young lord, before walking away.
"What was that for?" Hector grumbled, rubbing his side.
"I just thought that it would be a good idea for them to have some time together," Lyndis said, an impish smile on her face. She had noticed the way Ninian looked at Eliwood lately; it was plain to her that the gentle girl was attracted to the lordling.
Unfortunately, what was clear to a person could be murky to another.
"Really? Why?"
Lyndis covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter, while Hector stared at her in confusion. "Never mind," she said, once she recovered her composure. "I'm going to spend some time with Florina. Now make sure our tactician has not wandered off to inspect our inventory."
"Of course, I'll be sure to tuck him in. Shall I read him a story too?"
She could not help but laugh, and with a parting wave, left to find her friend. Hector marched away in the other direction and when he reached the tent Mark occupied, was startled when he very nearly collided with Raven, who was just leaving.
"Sorry," Hector apologised.
The mercenary shrugged. "No harm done, milord," he said, his face without expression.
Now while Hector was not familiar with normal folk, he knew soldiers well, and had been around them more than long enough to detect a touch of hostility in Raven's tone. While it was common knowledge that professional mercenaries like Raven generally did not care much for their paymasters, only for their gold, there was something about the man that hinted there was something much deeper than that.
Hector found it puzzling.
"Milord?"
"Ah--where's Mark?" Hector asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had loomed over them both.
"Asleep." Raven glanced over his shoulder at the tent, then back at Hector. "Is there anything else?"
Again, the barest touch of enmity in the mercenary's voice. Normally Hector would have just shrugged it off, but now that he had the time to do it he might as well determine if the mercenary bore him any grudges, for the last thing this company needed was dissension in its ranks.
And knowing how the minds of soldiers worked, there was one easy way to find out.
"Well, there is one thing." Hector stared at the other man. "Would you care for a sparring round?"
Raven's eyes narrowed ever so slightly before he nodded. "I'd be honoured," he answered.
