CHAPTER 5 - Egon
Timothy rode wearily besides his master. The boy was barely sixteen, but by the expression on his face he seemed nearly as old as the ranger next to him. And that ranger was very old. Egon, with his gray-white hair and lined face had been fast approaching retirement. However, with the ranger corps severely understaffed from Morgarath's attempt to destroy it, he had accepted the responsibility of training one last apprentice.
That apprentice was Timothy, or 'Tim' as Egon usually called him. "No time for long names in a war!", he would say, but Timothy suspected it was really out of affection.
Timothy had been training for well over a year now, and that year had been more eventful than the rest of his entire life combined. The reason for his weary look was the images of heaps of dead bodies and wargals that he could not get out of his head. He had been in fights before, when working with Egon in Seacliff fief. He had fought some bandits and the occasional deserter from Morgarath's army.
However, those skirmishes were nothing to the battle they had just been through, which put those terrifying memories in his head. He had been standing among the other apprentice rangers on a barricade with his seemingly inadequate recurve bow, shooting under the command of ranger Farrel. The wargals had terrified him, and he had seen many good men die.
As the two ranger horses plodded on, the battle of Hackham Heath was already becoming the stuff of legendary tales. To ordinary people, that is. To those who fought in it, it was something all too real that would haunt their nightmares for years to come. They felt joy, of course, at the victory. Pride, at the brilliance of commandant Crowley and ranger Halt who devised the tactics that turned the tide in their favor. However none of that could eclipse the horror and sadness of loss.
Egon contemplated his apprentice's despondent expression as they approached a familiar fork in the road.
"Wait Tim, we are turning left. There is something I want to show you before we head to the cabin."
Timothy obediently steered his horse towards the other path than the one he had thought to take. He knew this one led towards the village near Seacliff castle. Curiously he noted that he could hear the noise of the tavern already halfway down the path. It was only Wednesday now, but it had to be noisier even than normally on a Saturday. As they got closer he noticed that there were a lot more people than usual, and they were a good deal more drunk than usual. The Tavern was filled to maximum capacity, with many more drinkers sitting outside on wooden benches.
"Is there some party going on?", he asked confused.
"No, not a party.", Egon sighed sadly as they reined in their horses. "The aftermath of a war. Do those men look familiar?"
As Timothy studied some of the men brawling outside the tavern, he recognized a few faces from a battalion of regulars they had escorted to Hackham Heath weeks ago. They would have already returned to their farms while the rangers finished cleaning up after the battle.
"They have seen some crap these last weeks, just like we have. And they may be a little older than you are, but as foot soldiers they saw it from a much closer distance."
"And now they are having a party?"
"No, they are trying to forget. Think they won't feel pain anymore if they just feel numb. Think they won't see the face of the man that went down beside them anymore if all they see is the bottom of a glass."
Egon seriously looked over to his apprentice. "Promise me, Tim, that you will never resort to that. Whatever they are looking for, they will not find it in a bottle."
He almost regretted this detour when he saw the broken look in his apprentice's eyes.
"Is there anything we can do to help them?", the boy asked earnestly. Egon hesitated.
"Well, there is one thing.", he finally said as he grabbed an arrow from his quiver and carefully removed the broadhead. "And it is great target practice for you as well."
He drew his massive longbow and aimed the now blunt shaft of the arrow at one of the drinkers. Timothy held his breath as it sailed across the marketplace, then sighed in relief when it did not hit the man but the tankard in his hand. It was flung away, dousing others in the cheap ale it previously contained. The arrow disappeared in the night.
Egon chuckled with grim satisfaction and nodded to his apprentice. "That is what we can do, we will encourage the friendly people here to limit their inebriation to reasonable levels in the coming period. Your turn, don't miss."
Late that evening, once they were finally settled in their comfortable armchairs in front of the fire, Egon had one confession to make. He had debated whether or not to say anything for most of the ride to the cabin. On the one hand, he was ashamed and feared his apprentice might think less of him. On the other, he wanted to arm the boy against the harsh realities of life. The latter won out in the end.
"You know, those drunk soldiers… I was like that once. That is why I was so insistent on talking to you about this. I slipped in that dark hole myself and could just barely be dragged out of it. I do not wish that on anyone, but most certainly not on you."
He paused and took a sip of his already lukewarm coffee, gathering his courage. He was glad to see the boy did not appear judgemental at this revelation.
"It was in the run-up to the war, after Morgarath discredited me. Once stripped of my position and thrown out of the cabin I spent my days in the pub drowning my sorrows in brandywine until Crowley showed up to recruit me.
"What happened? How did he do it?"
Egon chuckled grimly. "Our esteemed commandant threw me in the sea."
"Commandant Crowley threw you in the sea?", Timothy repeated with wide eyes.
"To be fair, he was not the commandant yet at that point."
"And he was still chosen to be, after that?" The dubious undertone greatly amused Egon.
"Yes, I voted in his favor. Held a rousing speech to convince the rest even."
Before they went up to bed, Timothy would gently reassure his mentor that he did not think less of him because of that moment of weakness. Or rather, that he thought it showed remarkable strength of character that Egon managed to pull himself back together after it at all.
The tavern keeper would soon come to deeply resent the evil spirits that made his customers' glasses explode when they drank too much. He missed out on many sales, and replacing glassware was costly.
He never figured out that the rangers were behind it, but if he had there was little love lost between him and Egon anyway.
Three years later Egon and Timothy sat together as they listened to Crowley's final announcements at the end of the yearly gathering.
"And now it is time for reassignments! First up is the issue of what is to be done with Seacliff. We all know Egon should really have retired years ago, and only stayed on because the rest of us were stretched as thin as we could be already. I had been looking forward to finally handing him a gold oakleaf during the next gathering when the first cohort of apprentices is set to graduate. However, after the crisis with the large Skandian raiding party two months ago Egon has very honestly indicated that he just is not fit for active duty anymore. He assures me that if it had come down to him, there would be Skandians feasting up in Seacliff castle right now."
By the sad smile on Egon's face you could tell that in his younger years he would have managed to send those Skandians packing. And how much he hated letting his country down. Crowley briefly glanced over at him, then continued.
"Araluen must be very, very grateful that Egon has been training as capable an apprentice as young Timothy. His quick thinking and bravery were enough to turn the battle in our favor, and his subsequent tireless efforts to mobilize and coordinate the troops in the adjoining fiefs' coastal towns ensured those pirates could not cause any trouble inland either. His collaboration with the local rangers on that front shows a flair for leadership we can all learn from."
Crowley paused a moment for dramatic effect.
"And that is why we are allowing him to graduate a little early! He was the first of the new recruits after the reorganization of the corps and only has about half a year of training left of the customary five. While Seacliff is small, its situation offshore makes it hard to combine with another fief if one ranger has to cover two. I do not want to weaken our position on the east coast so shortly after that raid, but cannot pull a ranger off another fief either. Timothy already knows Seacliff like the back of his hand from his apprenticeship and has shown himself capable of defending it. It is the best option really, so I invite you all to come congratulate our new graduate, ranger Timothy of Seacliff fief!
"But… what?", spluttered Timothy.
"What what?", Crowley asked gleefully. He had been anticipating that toying around with apprentices during their graduation would be one of the biggest perks of being commandant. So far it was every bit as fun as he had imagined. "I did think you would appreciate that I am waving your final exams? If you were looking forward to those I am sure a few of our fellows here can put something together. Perhaps we can start with hand-to-hand combat? Farrel, have you cleared away the practice area yet or can we still make use of it?"
"Just give the word, commandant.", said Farrel with a mock salute and a maniacal glint in his eyes. Timothy visibly panicked.
"Oh, you do not want to take exams. What is it then boy?"
"I.. errr…"
Crowley decided it was time to put an end to the suffering. "Aha! You mean to say I have yet to give you the silver thingy! Of course, nothing would be official before that."
At that cue Egon stepped forward and lifted his own silver oakleaf necklace over his head. It was somewhat battered after over forty years of use and the custom was for a graduating ranger to get a fresh new one, but Egon had correctly assumed that Timothy would value the sentimentality of a hand-me-down more. Both mentor and apprentice had suspiciously moist eyes as the white-haired ranger replaced the bronze leaf with the silver and hugged the younger man tightly.
"You deserve it Tim.", he whispered quietly, then gave his now-former apprentice a hearty slap on the back and turned to face the rest of the corps and receive his own gold oakleaf.
When Crowley later called for a toast to the new ranger, Egon cheerfully raised his old, dented mug that was filled solely with coffee, and not a drop of alcohol.