Chapter 2: The Long March

Grey skies loomed over the land. Clouds that stretched from roof to ground and formed apparent mists that limited seeing up to no less than a thousand yards. The air had a peculiar dampness to it that set the tone along with the lack of morning melodies from entomons and birds alike. Morning was but gloom and it was shown in the slow arousal of the city.

Over at the south gates, a lone figure stood waiting for the guards to change shifts and open the set of steel reinforced wooden doors along with the portcullis beyond that. They wore a green tunic with open sleeves over a set of mail that drew the eye of many a passerby which so happened to be the city watch. A sack hung over one shoulder whilst a sheathed blade was tied to her waist.

A cloudy breath escaped her lip. Licking her lips, she brought her hands close and blew into them, hoping that the warmth within her could heat her palms.

Ding! Dong!

Green eyes shot up. Ears twitched at the sound of the bell ringing, marking the start of the new day. Her heartbeat went from inconspicuous to persistent rhythm as she turned to face the gate.

Sure enough, the men in charge of maintaining vigilance over the entrance were assembling for morning roll call. Her hearing filtered out the needless details the sergeant was listing out for the dozen and a half men he had under his charge. Most of which was just the expected time of arrival for the usual caravans. Not wanting to let her unrest get the better of her, she slid a hand into one of her belt pouches to find a peculiar leaf she often munched on to pass the time.

"Oi, lady! Wait!" someone called.

Pivoting on one foot, she turned to face the voice. There, running her way, was a young lad with a shaved scalp. He wore a sleeveless tunic with baggy pants that barely passed his knees along with sandals. Most notable, were his bulky physique and brisk pace that kept one hand close to his chest and the other loose; it was all the marks of a soldier out of duty.

The lad closed the distance fast, coming to a hasty stop. Lorraine kept calm and aloof. Eager to see just what he'd do.

"I'd heard you were leaving," he spoke after a brief moment to catch his breath.

"I don't remember requesting a grand festival for my departure," came her reply.

His features began to scrunch. "Well, you could've at least told me."

"And what for?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

Dragging his feet across the stone path below, he began making subtle twitches and biting his lips. He stole a glance behind her, prompting her to do the same despite her instincts telling her she was in no immediate danger. Rather, she was starting to feel a certain sense of familiarity with the current bout of tension from the lad.

Whether because he found some hidden strength or otherwise, he ended pulling something out of an unseen rear pocket. Bringing it up, he showed the item that lay in the middle of his palm.

"Take this, please," he spoke, voice uncharacteristically docile.

'Oh,' she thought. 'And what might this be, I wonder.'

Using a practiced movement, she took the item from the lad's hand. Immediately, she took note of the shape and how it bared resemblance to a particular part of the body.

"It's a charm," the lad suddenly spoke up. "Our people have these for warding off foul spirits. I was hoping it'd give you good tidings if you kept it close."

"I see," she nodded, carefully observing the object held in her hands. "Any reason as to why it was me who received this? You don't be happen to be in any way enticed by me, no?"

The tail end of her sentence was as subtle as an orc having its way by the road. Yet, if the lad was offended, he didn't show. Rather, he smiled.

"Nothing like that lady," he added with a shake of his head. "Though I do find your presence in the field to be nothing less than shrewd, I have to say that my heart goes elsewhere. No, it's in spite of that, I give this to you."

Straightening his posture, he continued. "I came to pay my respects as a soldier of this city and the son of a proud family of warriors. You and your people, who stood in place of our own, are truly respectable and, in my eyes, heroes."

She scoffed. "Quite a mouthful you said there. You sure you aught to be wasting something like this for a bunch of sellswords and foreign killers."

"It's those same killers who were quick to uptake on addressing the demons when others turned a blind eye."

"It's our job, and furthermore, we're paid to handle this. So, stop blowing this out of proportion. You're making this absurd."

"Some may think that way," the lad's tone turned sombre. "However, what I saw that day said otherwise. So, please do keep that charm close to you milady. I can't imagine what might happen if we lost someone like you in these times."

She rolled her eyes. "Should that day come, then by all means I'm just going to be replaced and forgotten within a month."

"Still," she regarded the charm briefly. "I'll accept this if you don't ever speak like that again. Flattery does nothing. Actions do."

"And that is all I could ask for," he said, face full of radiance. "As for that latter bit, I'll see what I can do to get the old man to play his tune to urge the magistrate. Shouldn't be too hard once I find a way to let it slip past his usual vigilance."

She blinked. "You'd do that?"

"With all due respect, lady," he shifted to a serious look. "It's either we grasp the boon of a reliable auxiliary now, or we end up having to shoulder a bloody burden alone in the future. And contrary to what some might think, the days of the tight, impenetrable formation are long since gone. Believe me when I say that there was nothing glorious with getting hammered by a towering pig on two legs."

"Now, that we can agree on," she said, unable to control the tug on her lips.

"Stay safe, Piu. Get that arm healed up quick. I wanna hear some grand stories when I get back here."

She patted him on the shoulder. Unexpectantly, a large hand suddenly caught the limb as she pulled it back and gripped it close to the elbow before shaking it up and down.

"You too, lady. Maybe I can finally get a chance to spar with you once."

"Oh, that we can arrange."

With that, she turned to leave. There wasn't a need for anymore pleasantries. Not that she had the time given that she should've been underway long before then. Striding past the stone and arch and out into the world, she spared one last look to see if the lad was still there. Upon seeing only the morning crowd, she assumed he had the same thought as her and left to do other errands of the day.

Her host had made camp within an hour's walk outside of the settlement as per the norm. It was actually visible on a clear day, but this particular morning made the place particularly unsettling for any traveller who would come across it.

For her, this wasn't the case, of course.

Unhurried, she walked into the camp with her features set straight and devoid of glum or merry. Her eyes fell on the tents that lined the flanks, noting how devoid they were of occupants. Save for those who carried out tasks acquitted from fighting.

Reaching the centre of the camp, she dropped the sack onto the ground. Turning around, she stood with her stance wide, and her hands pressed to her back. Stiff and straight like a pole, she remained. Waiting.

And waiting.

Moments passed. The air was still cold, but light was finding purchase in gaps within the mist. Lances of bronze and orange danced with the grey. A noticeable trill filled the air as the entomons finally found their song. Birds soon joining after.

That was when the rhythm started.

Drums and thumps. A foreign beat that concurred with the sound of nature. Unlike the song of the woods, however, this one started barely heard but grew in its intensity.

"Quadragínta annis próximus fui generatióni huic, et dixi :

Semper hi errant corde ;

ipsi vero non cognovérunt vias meas :

quibus jurávi in ira mea :

Si introíbunt in réquiem meam."

'Paul lives on,' she bitterly mused.

From the fading mist, came two columns of men. They only had leggings to cover themselves. Some had boots, but a majority were either bare footed or their feet were enclosed within their legwear. They repeated the hymn thrice as they approached at a jog's pace towards where she stood.

The columns turned in opposite directions as they neared the centre of the camp. Breaking of ten men each, they formed tight squares kept men pressed almost shoulder to shoulder. Those further back who couldn't join the formation simply stood at attention where they were.

"Ma'am!" A voice summoned her attention. Snapping her head to the right, she came face-to-face with the bare chest of her skirmisher chief.

"Chief of the morning training reporting on schedule. The men are wide up, and tight! Prepared to continue with the drill!"

"At ease," she replied, turning to the assembly she then bellowed. "I hope you lot have had a nice rest these past few days. 'Cause your now going to give back THRICE the effort! I want to see your skin more soaked than a leather piece left in the rain! I want to hear voices cracking and throats choking! More than that, I want you to earn those beatings! DO. YOU HEAR. ME!"

"Yes Lady Lord!"

"LOUDER YOU PIG-BORNS!"

"LADY LORD! HER WILL BE DONE!"

"Good! Now get to it!"

With a single slam of their feet and a chest salute, the soldiers broke off. A gap of silence, then the camp's liveliness returned.

Just in time for there to be a muffle hacking noise.

Still standing to her side, Analach watched bemused as the 'Lady Lord' valiantly fought to keep her throat from leaping out of her mouth. It lasted a good bit, but the scowl that followed it up discouraged any mentioning.

"Has Misha been prepared?" she asked, voice sounding slurred and rough.

"Oh yeah," he nodded. "Stable boys saw to it she got the best treatment. Also, Gil has the guard detail ready."

"Good," she breathed. "I'll have to tell him I'll be needing an extra wagon fit to support a full company."

The skirmisher had to take a double take. "Pardon?"

"You heard me, I need extra supplies."

"I know that," he frowned. "I just don't know why you'd go recruiting when it's out of season. This close to autumn, even the most omen struck village isn't going to part way with any slave."

"I'm aware of that but do know that I have the recent losses to consider."

"Here we go again," sighed the skirmisher. "You're seriously still stuck up about that?"

"It's not just about what I feel, Analach," expressed Lorraine. "Have you forgotten the aftermath looting? Do you forget just how many proper equipment and armaments we procured?"

Analach had no reply to that. He was no big thinker or forward strategist, but he knew how to tell when and where there was trouble abound. One of them being that of the apparent disquiet from both his superior and that damn noble.

"Everything alright, my lady?"

'Cussed noble,' he inwardly cursed.

Sure enough, heartface was approaching from behind the lady. Already, he was wearing the usual tight-sleeved, straight coat that he wasn't sure how never got dirtied or soaked from sweat.

Turning around, the battlemaiden greeted with a warm smile.

"Gilroy, about time you showed up," she addressed.

"I pardon for my tardiness," he said with a bow, much to the skirmisher's chagrin.

"Any news that I should be aware of this morning?" she continued.

"The usual, and then some. Come, let's take it in the campaigner."

Gesturing with his head, the two wordlessly agreed and followed the aide to the second largest tent in the encampment. It was a large thing built from two pavilions. As in this case, the tent was also stitched together with a few smaller ones so that it could serve as the officer's quarters.

Of course, the only ones who practiced this were the ones who saw themselves as landed gentries or, of course the actual toff in their ranks.

"I'll endeavour to keep this short and brief since you are needed elsewhere," said the highborn. "As you know, the recent loss has left us with some surplus in terms of food, clothes and miscellaneous supplies. However, what we're severely lacking is now medicinal and armaments."

"How about the ones we salvaged from the battle? Some should be of use, no?" suggested Lorraine.

Morose, the aide shook his head. "I'm afraid not all of it. Granted, we had them cleaned of the usual filth and any possible curses. Still, even with the above quality metal most commonly found amongst their ilk, most are just too unwieldly for the soldiers to make use of. Our smiths are doing their best, but even they seem eager to trade them off for real armaments."

"And the armour?"

"That can be arranged. Granted, most are ruined and of poor material. Yet, our armourers believe that they could use some of the larger pieces for crafting padding for the horses. The rest are being thinned out for patching the wears of the troops."

"Good," the maiden breathed, her frame visibly bend ever so slightly. "Now, about that matter you wished to talk about?"

The pale man cocked his head up, his features becoming impish.

"Right," he cleared his throat. "It concerns your summons to Ken-"

"Oh, how splendid! Oh, I'm so glad that you've given this matter much attention, Gil!"

"Now, now, don't start being so astringent, milady. Afterall, this meeting could be of worth if it improves the standing of the company."

"Or it could be a waste of time, and just the Queen asking for people to listen to her hokum about a brighter future," interrupted Analach.

Gilroy instantly scorned him. "I would not take such blatant disregard for the Goddess."

"Oh, and what she's gonna do? Plead for me to sto-"

"Don't."

Both turned to look at their leader, who now wore a flattened expression.

"This is part of why I'm not keen on leaving," she sighed.

The two men shared a glance; some silent message being passed. Together, they approached the openly dour maiden.

"I apologise before making you worry before your departure, milady."

"Sorry about that, Lori," Analach tapped her shoulder. "I-We'll keep our heads in check, promise, alright?"

Said warrioress didn't respond at first, only muttering something that neither could hear. Hence, it was a small surprise when she suddenly went ramrod straight with her head facing forwards and beam.

"Right! Well, I'll put my trust in you both. Or else…"

Her line trailed off, but both knew well enough the danger that lied behind the pleasantness. A familiar 'smile' that was often followed by fists. Sometimes, even teeth and it was by no means hers.

"So you were saying, Gil?"

Said man blinked twice. "Right, uhm, I was about to say that I've taken the liberties of having a set of garments prepared for the occasion. I've even taken the care of having it treated with the best care this settlement could provide."

"If you used the gold from the treasury then so help me-"

"It was my savings!" he stressed, earning a snicker from his wild counterpart. "There's also the guard detail. I handpicked the men, and even prepared a second wagon for when you wish to being recruitment. The quartermaster accompanying you should be able to see to your needs as you see fit."

"….Okay, I'm impressed and pleased," said Lorraine, face taking on a look of amazement. "I only told Analach right before you arrived what I needed."

"He should by all accounts know there isn't a thing that'd stop you once your mind is set to it. Doubly so considering how long he's been in this host."

"Hey!"

"Anyways!" Lorrain snapped. "If that's all there is to it, I suppose that concludes the major details of this morning's meeting, yes? I do wish to see the soldiers now, before I depart that is."

Resisting the urge to bite back at one another, the two men begrudgingly agreed. All three then got to work in planning out for the long period of her absence.

Very quickly, it was agreed upon that no action was to be taken that placed their forces away from the current region. Furthermore, any form of advanced training had to be supervised directly by either the aide or the skirmisher. Neither of these two edicts could be revoked until her return. Not even by the currently missing Ser Connery, but the same couldn't exactly be said for those under his direct command.

Alas, such immobilisation also would inevitably attract the attention of the nearby settlement. The leader of the company ended up groaning as she realised that she needed to draft an immediate letter to be sent, explaining just why her company would probably end up staying for an extended period out on the fields near the place.

Overall, the morn would pass, and the sun would be at its height before a well and annoyed Lorraine would exit the campaigner.

Cracks filled the air. A steady tempo of exertion with hoarse yells to complement.

Sharp taps. Tap. Tap. Tap.

SMACK!

The sound of bludgeoned flesh was followed by a cut-off yell. Someone landed hard on the earth bottom first. The man in question was younger than his full beard would imply, but that did little to simmer the glare he gave to his opponent, or the wooden construct used for a training sword they held.

"That beard just for show, lass. Or are you in need of a trim both under and under?"

Low howls and cheers with a few claps filled the air over the verbal jab. The victor, who wore only a simple sleeveless vest and baggy pants, leaned her weapon over her shoulders with the flat side pressed on her nape. Her clearly toned visage for all to see along with an impressive set of scars.

"Up! Treat yourself to some water and be mindful of that last hit. It's not serious, but it'll be blue for the day," she added.

"Damn, she-beast," muttered the man as he left for a bench at the sidelines.

Said beast clicked her tongue before shouting "Alright, next!"

All around her were men in simple pants, plenty sporting bruises and all were sweating from the day's exercise. Veterans were keeping the crowd in line, but the reason they'd encircled the lady was on their behest.

A new man emerged from the crowd. This being a clean-faced youngster who had yet to earn his welts. In his hands, a shorter stick meant to typify a short sword.

"Ah, skirmisher, are ya?" said the lady, sword perpendicular to the ground and a cheeky grin about her. "I must say, I didn't think Analach would be falling back on his training regime. I seem to remember something about picking fights carefully as a big rule."

"Pah, forget that! I follow a better rule. You miss every chance you don't catch!"

The lean man didn't waste a moment in rushing headfirst. Kicking off the ground, he launched himself into the woman, arms wide. He enjoyed a degree of success when his body collided with the woman, and both began to spin on the ground. However, his glee waned when he realised at some point he was still rolling not because of his momentum, but of his opponent's forcing.

Next thing he knew, he was on the ground with a knee pressed under his ribcage. Another thing he noticed, was the fist hanging in the air. He didn't register when it came down, just a strange sea of stairs and the feeling of his skull being rocked.

Outside, some of the men winced upon seeing the failed tackle. Or perhaps too successful one at that, seeing as the young man had the lady straddling him and forcing the daylight out of him with her knuckle. When she was done, the man's head was red and swelling, leading to some discomfort amongst the younger recruits.

"Oh, don't worry. He'll be awake before dusk," commented the woman nonchalantly. "Next!"

"Is she always like this?" someone asked within the crowd.

"Oh, no worries. From where I heard, this is just her having fun with the men. If she were here to train, it'll only be with the auldfellas," answered another.

"Ald Fellers?"

"Those who've pledged full service to her. You see the ones with the sham shield?"

A finger pointed to one of the men who had a small coat of arms tied to his waist. A strange heater shield design where the bottom curved inwards into a sharp spike. Other than that, the man didn't look too different from the rest of them.

"Those with the sham shields are some of the oldest in the outfit," the other man continued. "You'd need to serve for a total of three years or one long campaign to be eligible. That, or if there's an actual recruitment drive but I doubt that's going to happen anytime soon even with the last battle."

"WHOA!"

Both men snapped back to attention, focusing on the happenings in the ring, they noted the man lying on his back breathing heavily. The reason for the man's predicament was standing close by, facing away and in a low stance. Her breathing was laboured, but still consistent.

Turning on her heels, she pointed the tip of her weapon into the crowd.

"Last one! You there! With the lady's stash!"

The person the blade was pointed happened to be the first of the two men who visibly shrunk. His fellow -whether out of amusement or self-concern- was quick to nudge him forward with a few pats on the back.

"Come on, lad. Show her up!" he encouraged, earning a glare from the man.

Like previous bouts, the two fighters readied themselves at the center with the crowd giving them a wide berth. It was only slightly pass noon, with no clouds overhead. Both were drenched in sweat by the mercy of the weather and effort.

The young man entered a basic stance. One drilled into him by his instructors. It was meant in case one's shield went flying or lost by some act of tomfoolery. Close left, with the hilt to the waist.

His opponent took a different stance. Inside right, with the left shoulder forwards. Blade perpendicular to where he was facing.

'Guard your undersides. Most sought after is the neck and armpits, if your foe is your size or smaller.'

The scene played in his mind. One of the mandatory evening classes for footmen like him. There was also another detail he should be recalling…

'Shit!'

Acting on instinct, he lunged forward. Just barely he saw something bend away from his pointed stick. Muscles moved without mind's consent, and he found himself taking three steps forward.

Something broke against his left shoulder. Moving on memory, he turned with the pain and spun right to face the source.

"Watch it! Don't space out!"

The voice was stern, but he had no time to ponder. His senses had come to bear that he was under attack. First strike isn't a must, it must be fought for.

'No matter how big or mean the foe, be sure to get the first hit in. He who bleeds first dies second last. He who bleeds second, may his corpse be food for carrion.'

An opponent this fast, must be countered with a strike with equal speed. He didn't put much thought into where to strike. Rather, he thrust and flicked around where assumed the center was. His opponent, however, has no such problems or at the very least they were conflicting ones.

Both fighters shared the same double-handed grip use. The man used sheer mass and deliberate movements to try and force a reaction. The woman used her lithe form to keep her opponent on their toes. Neither was willing to concede ground.

Each strike threatened from her served to loosen his grip. Occasionally, he'd feel pins and needles on his joins and thighs. Something nasty would occasionally flare, but he ignored in favour of a chance to strike.

"Urgk!"

Something had planted itself on his belly. He barely had time to notice the brown pants pulling back from him before a hard swipe impacted the side of his head. By virtue of the discipline instilled in him, he didn't drop his guard. Rather, the sword held straight in his arms shifted just right to catch and soften the oncoming blow.

His vision went white right after.

"Not bad," a warbled, distant voice sounded. "Oi, somebody get him squared up. I'll be taking him for the road.

The talk thereafter proved to be an interesting one.

Time passed some more, and the shadows were beginning to become longer than their bodies when the departees began to gather.

Two lances were assembled for the journey to the capital. Each lance had four mounted men-at-arms with four times the number of footmen and ten archers each. It was a significant force, but necessary even despite the time sensitivity of their journey.

Many of those who make up the party had only recently earned their seniority from the most recent battle. The only exceptions were the mounted troops who were handpicked by Gilroy for the mission.

The group gathered at the entrance leading further outwards into the woods. Final preparations would be completed solemnly and with a impassionate form of quietness to the whole ordeal. Particularly, Lorraine herself finished Misha's prep work. Grumbling to the mare all the way.

"…meeting close to the frost. Wonderful! Wonderful! Know what, they should even have a banquet where they invite the demons. Why not, eh, Misha?"

A snort was heard in response.

"Great! Glad we both think alike."

She finished a final brush before setting the comb aside and grabbing her steed's winter blanket.

"The boys made this with specially for you," she said whilst tying the blanket behind the saddle. "It's one of a kind so I hope you'll like it."

Another snort followed.

"Sometimes, I wonder if you had gotten hit in the head too hard and developed animal linguistics from it."

Joy faded from her face as she turned around to address the man behind her. He stood there, clearly smug whilst holding a large pouch which he was quick to give.

"And what to I owe the pleasure of this late visit?"

"Herbs and seeds, for both dame and mare," the smile faded to be replaced with a face full of worry. "Take care and come back safe. Both of you, and the others."

"It'll be fine, Analach. This trips probably just going to be vain attempt for that woman to manage some form of ruling over everyone. Same as always."

"Not to sound like Ser Dark O Lot, but that's not something you should be saying for a letter with a high-class magic seal on it."

"That still doesn't mean I'll be doing whatever she wants," Lorraine said sternly.

"I ain't implying that," shook the skirmishers head. "But if its serious, then get back to us fast so that we can sort it out together, alright?"

"Alright," she sighed.

A moment was spared as the two fighters looked each other in the face. In another instant, they embraced. The male giving the other a few earnest pats in the back.

"Safe travels, War Hind."

"Stay alive, Mud Prince."

Breaking their embrace, the two soon took notice a familiar approaching presence. Gilroy approached, his demeanour tranquil and, as usual, ever self-pleased.

"All preparations are in order, milady. The supplies are loaded, and I've taken the lead in the arrangements for both during and after the meet. Should you be in need of anything, refer to the quartmaster."

"Many thanks for your planning as always, Gilroy," Lorraine extended a hand, to which the aide reciprocated and shook heartily.

"I do as my duty wills."

Warm smiles were exchanged. With some hesitance, the maiden reached up and clasped the shoulder of the man and gave it a gentle shake. She then turned to climb her mount.

Not wanting to waste time, she had her steed trot to the front, just shy of stepping outside. The party that would be accompanying her were quick to form two columns abreast. Horse riders up front and footmen behind with archers in the rear. Four wagons followed behind, their stewards taking one last opportunity to say goodbye to their fellows and even kin amongst the crowd.

A gentle tug, and Misha turned slightly so that her right flank faced the assembly.

"Listen, everyone! I'll repeat this once. I want this visit with the capital to be short and quick. Time is not exactly with us, and there's the matter of hopefully finding fresh blood to fill the ranks. I know some of you may wish to have extra time, but alas that's not what the fate wants of us. Pray, tell me what we say to that, men!"

"Yield not, fail naught. Nos homines bellicosi."

"To whom you owe that to?"

"Ourselves, our forebears and the promise of good."

"May the trees bless thee, this season, men," she spoke high, a hand raised just as high. "Now come, we march!"

With that, the convoy began to move. It was neither a short nor fast movement. By the time they were the group became smaller than a hand on the horizon, most of the camp had returned to its daily life. The last to break away from the sight of the leaving convoy were the two lieutenants of the lady.

"What you reckon she'll find in Ken, broad head?"

"Maybe something to keep that pungent maw for a mouth shut for a long while."

Turning heel, the aide made his way across the path towards the center of camp once more.

"You know, I'm kind of bored already. You think she'll mind if I take some of the me-"

"Finish that, and I'll have you digging landfills for a week."

"Awe, you're no fun."

Early Autumn, on route to Ken

It's the first night of the march. Our lady had us camp at a bend in the road. My stomach still hurts from that blow I received for 'training'. Frankly, my astonishment over that woman's apparent brawn still hasn't faded in the slightest.

Near me, the men had gathered in merry for the sake of muse alone. I still wonder, just how they could remain so cheerful despite the atrocity that was our last battle. It couldn't be the ale since its regulated. Pure apathy, perhaps? I'm not certain.

The mere thought as to what happened that day still manages to make me fall into a trance. I hated it. Some of the seniors who survived the ordeal said that those kinds of fights were outside the norm in this time of year, or, at the very least, was something reserved for until footmen like me had a full year under our belts. To what end then, did the lady of this warband had to challenge such number of demons.

As of now, I have yet to ascertain whether writing my experiences will aid me in dealing with the nightmares and anxiety. However, I doubt another visit to the healers would be in anyway beneficial for me. Last time I was there, he looked certain to-

"Ah!"

A pinprick sensation impacted his cheek.

"Hey, Geoffrey! Get over 'ere will ya!"

The writer turned to glare at the one who threw the tiny pebble. Well, tried to anyways. It could've been anyone of the three archers sitting near the firepit. Taking one last look at the book in his hands, the man cut off the last line and went to sit with the rest of the band.

"Still brooding over that day, Geoff?" asked a footman.

"It's for the sake of my mind. Just can't get those stupid nightmares out of my head."

"Easy there, brother," spoke one of the horsemen present. "You'll find your will to push past it in time."

"Are they always like that?"

The veteran shrugged. "Can't say that it's exactly the same. But, uh, everyone has a way to deal with it. Just take your time and don't let the evil get to you, alright?"

He gave the rider a dead stare, before inevitably shrugging.

That was when the music was heard.

It was a steady pull of strings. Distinct enough to be heard pass the crackling of the fire. The men gathered around it turned to the source.

Approaching them, with both hands on the bandore and serene expression was their master and lady. She wore her armour still, and her measured steps was much like those used in battlelines than in ballads. Yet, the voice was what entranced them. An unexpected, dulcet tone.

He rode through the streets of the city,

Down from his hill on high

O' er the winds and the steps and the cobble

He rode to woman's sigh,

For she was his secret treasure

She was his shame and his bliss,

And a chain and a keep are nothing,

Compared to a woman's kiss.

A stanza and a strum. She lifted her head to regard the gathering.

"Might I take your time tonight, dear men. I assure you, I will do my best to entertain you with a ditty."

Wordlessly, the men nodded in close unison. Smiling all along, she continued her ballad. The elders of the company simply smiled at their leader's antics. For the more recent additions, it was still a surreal experience, despite having known from their betters and even heard her singing on occasion.

For she was his secret treasure.

She was his shame and bliss.

And a chain and a keep are nothing ,

Compared to a woman's kiss.

Claps sounded and even a lone whistle. For her part, the maiden simply bowed.

"By heavens, milady, I still can't get over just how damn good that damn voice you have!" praised a footman.

"Thank you, ser," she pondered a bit before asking. "Tell me, may I have your name?"

"Dennis, madam."

"Then, thank you Ser Dennis." She repeated before taking a seat in the grass.

For a while, all was silence, save for the fire and the sound of crickets in the night. Scouts kept the darkness in check, and had there been a threat of demons, then they would've felt it long before they even heard one approaching.

"Ma'am, can I ask you something?" a footman broke the silence.

"Ask then."

"What's Ken like?"

Turning to the man, she eyed him with mild surprise before answering.

"Big, if that's one way to describe it. Big towers, big walls…. And even bigger quarters."

"Well, obviously," he shrugged. "But I'm more about what kind of furore stirs the people there. Outside of the goddess that is."

"Well," she pondered. "There's always the Templar Festivities held annually. Maybe on occasion the City Guard's would be mobilised for an extermination campaign."

"On occasion?"

"Ken's a big enough place as is without having to worry of a demon incursion. Personal advice, stick to the middle districts where you see other mercenaries and the rare adventurer hanging about. Last thing I need is another case of someone getting shanked in an alley down at the outer areas."

"Y-You mean armed burglary even exist in the Holy Fortress?" an archer sputtered.

"Oh, don't sound so surprised," a horseman interjected. "Ken, Geofu, Rad, or wherever the hell you are. So long as there's people, then there'll be plenty of hicks and prats looking for an early funeral. Let's not even mention those toffs, bunch'a nice-looking cutthroats. No offense, lady."

"None taken," she hummed.

"So, we reached Ken. Then, what?" someone asked.

"Most of you are only there to look nice and dandy, I'll be upfront with that. Only me, and a few others will make journey to the Undyed Citadel where the meeting is to be held."

All heads turned sharply at the mention of the sacred sanctum of the grand ruler of the land. For her part, Lorraine remained completely unfazed by their gazes.

"Don't give me that. It's not like this is going to be some knighting ceremony or sort of triumph."

"….Ma'am, you can't just downplay the summons like that," a man-at-arms frowned. "This is Celestine you're going to meet. You know, High Queen of all Eostia. The representation of the goddess of the land."

"Watch me," came the bitter reply, like a whip strike. "I'll say what I like, as I please."

Murder. That was the only way to describe it. Pure, unshielded murder was fixed on her face. Those present withdrew instinctively. Such was their apparent unsettlement, that the moment the baleful gaze faded, so too did the maiden shrivel up and hugged her knees.

"I-I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean…"

Her voice trailed off. A moment went by, and so too did she; her form disappearing into the dark of the night.

Once again, silence reigned into the camp.

".. What's her feud?" someone asked.

Another man-at-arm, arguably the oldest present sighed. "None too sure. Maybe the officers know, but believe me, you're better just keeping your assess out of her business."

"The way she got fuming, you think she'd get labelled a heretic by now," another joined.

"She'll be composed by the time we reach the city, no worries. Just do your damn jobs and earn your pay. Anything else, keep it in or take it out with ya, hear?"

There was a disconnected series of agreements from the crowd.

"Well, speaking of jobs, I think it's best we be off," an archer rose and dusted his behind. "I'll see ya'll in the morning, hopefully."

As the archers left to begin the night rotation, most of the men still present dissolved into smaller groups of conversation. A few had even dozed off for the night. Once more, the writer was left to his own thoughts.

Unwilling to pick up the quill once more, he set about checking his possessions once more.

First off, his circular shield was still of use, but the iron edge had a clip from an axe, and he didn't even bother putting much effort in polishing the umbo these days. Perhaps, some sprucing was needed especially if they were heading to Ken.

The same could be same for his sword. It was a regular bastard sword, but even then, it was far better than the falchion he used in his militia days. Some part of him was certain to miss the spear if he ever considered officially joining the Core Troops.

For armour, the current gambeson was just starting to be a lot more comfortable, if a little loose. A few old geezers stressed on 'keeping it tuck tight' always, but he found it ridiculously uncomfortable in battle. It then occurred to him, that mayhaps he could get himself jack chains like he'd seen veterans use. Ken must have them, right?

Then, there were of course the regular supplies when on the march. With an easier to access supply wagon, most of the men were only carrying with them food to last a day and a half. Baggage per person was also light in this case.

It when fumbling through the satchel to check his ink stash did he find a note. One that filled him with equal parts ease and worry.

He called it a divine miracle that it happened. By chance, an actual caravan heading out of Eostia, and one that was willing to take an extra hand. He still remembered her look; the pure, unfettered joy for being set free and away from these damned lands. He didn't blame her, but at the same time he wished that he'd been able to come along.

Smelling the flimsy thing, he could almost imagine the scent of flowers that had been on it. Though the smell was long gone by now, he hoped to one day walk that same path she went.

He fought back his own revelry. Looking around, he was surprised yet glad that no one had looked upon him and his act. He carefully place the note into its place in the satchel, and proceeded to take out the ink bottles he'd been looking for.

One, two, three. Sure enough, there was enough of the black liquid to last him for three months. More could be acquired at some point, he reasoned.

Stuffing his stuff away, he placed his pack flat on the ground and lay his head on it. Settling in comfortably, he opened his eyes to see all the jewels that dotted the heavens. A wooden click beside him was the only indicator that the fire had been fed again, spreading new heat into the surroundings.

One exhale. One inhale. Another… and then…

A lull.

A/N: There and back again! This is a nice break from the flagship. Per chance, this story may see another update before I go back to RGK.

Not much to say as usual, other than I am working on this as a side project but an interesting one nonetheless.

So, next stop, Ken and the Court of All-Things Nope, featuring badly disguised mutts and the entire dictionary of Roman things for savages.