Chapter 7

Hasn't been edited yet, so please forgive all the errors and mistakes =) This is the first translation from handwritten to type written =x

Chapter 7 (S2P2)

        The early morning sun bathed Leoric in light and he cut a fine figure. His gossamer mail shimmered and seemed to turn with the wind as if it wanted to catch the morning breeze and leave this world behind. It seemed to move with him and he wore it more like a second skin than a protective coating. No sound escaped its interlocking pieces save a gentle rustling, more akin to feathers than the metallic clang of steel. The ever punctual eastern breeze danced through the citadel of the courtyard, whistling its dawn call through the gates as they opened before Leoric.

        He strode up to the night watch as they finished the ceremonial changing of the guard. Once completed Leoric walked up to the retiring Sergeant, warmly clasping his hand whilst his darksteel gauntlet made a barely audible murmur.

        “A silent night I trust?” Quipped Leoric with a tongue in cheek grin that implied it was always silent.

        “As calm as could be wished for captain.” Returned the sergeant somberly, clearly putting on a display for the mass of troops doing their very best to watch the exchange without being obvious. As such they were all overtly noticeable in their curiosity.

        “May it always be so, unless of course its not your watch and the wenches are willing” Leoric said with a mild grin followed by a small rumble of stifled laughter from the nearby guardsmen. Those who had finished their watch looked at each other a moment, eyes still bleary from a night spent staring at nothing. Soon the humor dawned on them, and the fact that they were off duty and seriousness was no longer required. As such they stared at Leoric for a few seconds and then just started laughing uncontrollably, far more from the shock of seeing their staunch captain make a joke than the actual humor of it.

        “Or can be persuaded,” the sergeant retorted quietly once the cacophony of guardsman's amusement had died down.

        “Hah! Let me buy a drink, for I sorely require one, for medicinal purposes of course.” Leoric said with pained grin that thinly veiled a deeper purpose for his unusual decision to drink.

        “A rough night sir?” he questioned in a serious tone and a raised eyebrow, the equivalent of a less calm individual jumping a span in the air with shock.

        “I wish my friend, I wish. A rough day and a gentle eve of thoughtless musing to banish the memory of the day.” Leoric said with scarce concealed melancholy.

        “Ahh.” Replied the sergeant knowingly and quickly concealing the pity in his voice he replied. “Nothing a few strong pints of dwarven stout won't cure!”

        “Indeed! Old thunder lips has a new concoction I hear.” The conversation then degenerated into shop talk as they meandered towards the officers mess whilst discussing the finer points of dwarven brewing. This was naturally followed by the inevitable discussion concerning which brew was the best, followed by which brew was the sweetest, sourest, foulest, and finally the final question of which brew was the strongest. All of these fine discussions were naturally accompanied by the necessary sampling and subsequent analysis as to said qualities. Thus the reason for the final discussion always being a question of which was the strongest, for only when completely inebriated could any good soldier truly discern which brew was stronger than another. At least this was the general Valerian consensus on this matter of great import to the wellbeing of the Valerian Empire.

        As the sun approached its zenith Leoric half drug, half carried the friendly sergeant to his bunk amid a round of applause from the officers mess. All the while they tunelessly belted out a time honored favorite saved for this most auspicious of occasions.

Ohhhh, I know a good captain and valiant is he!

If he were a fish he could out drink the sea!

Captain, Captain,

come drink this tankard for meee, for meee!

Captain, Captain,

come drink this tankard for meee, for meee!

Ohhhh, I know a good captain and valiant is he!

If he were a forest he could out drink a tree!

Captain, Captain,

come drink this tankard for meee, for meee!

Captain, Captain,

come drink this tankard for meee, for meee!

Ohhhh, I know a good soldier and valiant is he!

But Captain, my Captain, he needs help from thee!

Captain, Captain,

come drink this tankard for meee, for meee!

Captain, Captain,

come drink this tankard for meee, for meee!

        While the sergeants reedy tenor didn't really compliment Leoric's somber baritone, what they lacked in quality they more than made up in volume.

        After unceremoniously depositing the hapless sergeant in his bunk, much as one tosses a sack of potatoes, Leoric went for a walk whistling come drink this tankard for mee, for mee. In his wake followed an audible buzz accompanied by ear to ear grins rarely exhibited by Valerian soldiers. Chuckles soon followed and more than one chagrined smirk was exhibited when their captain stutter stepped or missed a stair here and there. The men loved their strange captain, he was often aloof, distant and harsh. But he was fair, honest and well known for quietly handling a plethora of various indiscretions with a certain gentle efficiency. And so they accepted his eccentricities much as he accepted theirs. For Leoric, being intoxicated was a rare and much lauded over event that occurred perhaps once or twice a year. It also was perhaps the most entertaining occurrence per year as it provided the basis for drinking stories for the subsequent months to come, all of which involved some nameless drunken captain.

        The reason for this was a specific tendency of Leoric's. Unlike most individuals, he rarely slept after the fourteenth tankard, instead he preferred to examine every aspect of the fortress in this particular state of mind. As a result many rumors, gossip and various plots came to light during his drunken conversations with the men. Most assumed he wouldn't remember their conversations and cheerfully answered questions they wouldn't dream of responding to if he wasn't irretrievably “down a well” as they liked to say in Valenoch. As such, Leoric learned a great deal about his men and many of the older guardsmen wondered if he did it on purpose. It certainly seemed to bolster morale and expose a great deal about what the various houses were up to. It also gave Leoric quite a good impression of how much trouble the guards were getting into while off duty.

        Sometimes a grizzled veteran with balls of solid rock would ask a sober Leoric about his occasional “drunk walks”, a topic generally not mentioned whilst Leoric was sober for fear of discovering his legendary temper. To this query he generally replied with one of his rare grins, “it seemed like a good idea at the time.” This always brought muffled laughter and a round of grins and closed the subject.

        Leoric began his tour in the barracks amid thunderous applause as he began to belt a particularly well loved drinking song, most especially so as the men were afraid to sing it when the captain was around for fear of repercussions. In spite of this fear, they all knew it and loved it all the more for its “forbidden” aspect. And since the captain himself was singing it today they all cheered and abandoned whatever activity they were currently engaged in to join in with wanton abandon and enthusiastic glee.

Ohhhh, There once was a legend,

Of a fearsome dark place,

Where they cut off your nose if they don't like your face.

The women are feisty, the merchants are sheisty,

They'll take all yer money for a taste of their honey.

But the worst deed of alllllll,

Was done atop the city walllll.

The captain and queen had a mighty big brawl,

So the fearsome old queen pushed him right off the wall.

But oh never feeeear,

His end was not heeeere.

Lucky for him the stables were near,

His life was saved by manure so dear.

So before you say,

I hate all that dung,

Listen now to the song that was sung,

Of a captain saved by the dung.

Of a captain saved by the dung.

Of a captaaaaaain saaaaaaaved byyyyyyy the dung!

 

        The rowdy drinking song was still roaring as Leoric grinned, remembering the incident that had birthed it. He recalled quite clearly the actual events, the song neglected to mention the queen laughing hysterically for days on end and encouraging the song for years to come. Such details were often forgotten and perhaps better left as such. He did like the song as it reminded him of a time when Valmora still had a sense of humor, morbid and twisted as it was, it was better than none at all. As a result he had kept the bawdy tune alive and always claimed he had written it about the captain before him. It still made Valmora blush whenever she heard it and that rare loss of composure on her part was well worth any amount of self-effacing required by him.

        To the men she was ice and stone, an eternal creature whispered about in dark corners. He preferred being “the tough ole cap who was harsh but fair.” At least thats what they said when he was around, he had it on good authority that the only addendum when not present was the addition of being “a fantastic drunk”. He rather liked the description as it made him feel a little less like a monster. It also reduced the questioning about his age. Always a point of contention among the young, the recruits always wanted to know his exact number of years. The fact that they probably couldn't even count that high never seemed to bother them. The veterans knew the truth of course, once they had been in a battle everyone present knew his nature. None of them liked to talk about the truth naturally, it was far more fun to make up fantastical fantasies about “the last captain” who apparently was perpetually drunk and fell down quite often at the most inopportune moments.

        He encouraged them in his own subtle way, occasionally adding a bit of truth here and there. He had always found a story was always better with a hint of truth to it. It was like a lie, a half truth was always far more believable than a true lie. Besides, no one really liked the truth anyway, it was far to painful to accept. Besides, it tweaked Valmora's nose and that was always well worth any amount of effort. He'd rather be known as a rapscallion anyway. Even if only for a day or two a year.

        He allowed himself this particular luxury today. He careened out of the barracks amid hollers of praise and meandered over to the engineers' college. He perused the various ballistas and contraptions of death. There hadn't been a siege in three hundred years, but he remember the last one extremely well. He had learned well the value of defensive siege equipment. In response he had long since had a standing reward in gold for any amateur who could create an effective and novel design for a new siege weapon. The term effective was lose and while it was a little expensive the result was the massive hall of contraptions before him.

        In order to actually receive the reward the design had to maintain momentum and “destructivity at a distance” of no less than a thousand spans. While most designs were total rubbish that failed utterly, every once in a while one gem would find its way out of the midden heap and make its way to this hall. Each creation had been personally tested and tweaked by him and none remained that couldn't destroy entire legions in the course of a siege. As an added bonus to his bounty the engineers college was born out of the contest. It had been refined under his careful eye, from a distance of course. Many knew of his uncanny knowledge concerning the contraptions and simply added it to the already long list of his eccentricities and strange projects.

        He lovingly caressed his latest creation, a result of various casual suggestions to friends of engineers and a gentle hint of combining certain fellows into certain project teams. The subterfuge and subtlety entirely unnecessary, but it was far more fun and made the whole process far more entertaining. As an added plus, the result was never quite what he had in mind the filtration through fifteen or twenty individuals added a certain amount of creativity. The engineers were always so proud when they presented it to him, and he loved smiling and commending their efforts with his tongue firmly in cheek. He never mentioned his involvement, though he suspected a few knew whilst others merely suspected.

        He had no desire to take credit, he much preferred to work from the least visible position possible as it raised far less questions and thus created far fewer problems. Thus his permanent captaincy. The legions had their generals and the navy had its admirals, but he was The Captain. He preferred the relative anonymity and the veterans always chuckled when he promoted them above himself. He had long since delegated most of the day to day aspects of the Valerian Empire to others better suited to various tasks. Each were hand picked by him for merit with utter disregard for social standing. Some few of the more powerful factions were aware of this and it drove them absolutely mad. This was just a bonus of course. Besides, delegation left him free time to pursue his multitude of various projects and distractions throughout the empire, he did love his toys after all.

        He caressed the hollow stone cylinders lovingly, examining the various runes etched in shimmering relief across their surface. Their wings were similarly adorned and lovingly crafted and the care spent in their creation was obvious. He had seen this particular beauty in action it was wonderfully impressive to behold. Each was filled to bursting with blasting powder, grudgingly provided by the resident Alchemica Academica. Once prepared thusly, a particularly volatile conction was filled in a thick glass globe and surmounted on the head of the strange bird. The engine itself was similar to the standard ballista with a few of his own minor modifications thrown in to improve range and accuracy. As a result of the increased size of the ballista and the gliding potential of the wings it had five times the usual range. The ultra thin cylinders filled with powder allowed for lower weight than standard wooden ballista ammunition as well. And since wood was scarce and quite expensive in Valenoch, it was actually cheaper to manufacture wooden tubes filled with blasting powder than to carve a massive rod of wood with a metal arrowhead.

        It had taken months to convince them to use thin stone. They just couldn't seem to get the hint that any apprentice mage could char dried wood at will, but even an Archmage had difficulty calling fire on pumice! He couldn't actually explain that to them of course, it would have spoiled the challenge. It took several hundred hints and rumors dropped all over the place before a clever fellow had come up with the notion of magically lightened stone, as wood was so rare and expensive in Valenoch. In the end it had been economics that had sold the engineers on the idea, rather than the obvious combat implications that Leoric had intended as explanation. He had been quite happy that day and the memory rekindled the rapidly fading warmth of his ale binge.

        With a muffled belch he perused his other children before continuing to the legion barracks outside the citadel. Their proximity to the citadel was a simple matter of military efficiency. Inside the inner city he could easily inspect the facilities and they could still be deployed in the event that the outer walls fell. Despite the extreme unlikeliness of that particular event, seeing as they were veritable mountains that could and had withstood decades of catapult fire with little more than a shudder and not so much as a nick to mar their perfection.

        The nobles however had some peculiar notions about rank, namely that the closer they were to the citadel the more puffed up and pompous they were. As he recalled it was all due to a comment made by a Corvinian matron, whose manner house was in the very shadow of the citadel. The Mal'Zeth's had promptly bought up four or twenty homes across from the Corvinians' and built their current over exaggerated gold encrusted monstrosity.

        As it were the Legion barracks were also quite close to the citadel. This caused the nobles no end of annoyance to know common legionnaires lived in a better neighborhood than the majority of the lesser nobility. The fact that the entire eastern portion of the inner city was consumed by Beloch's cairn did little to alleviate soaring real estate prices in what is now nobles row.

        The immaculately clean structure was organized meticulously. He took a guilty pleasure in hand picking the most fastidious soldiers he could find to serve as staff sergeants. Cleanliness was an important aspect of discipline after all. Over the last millennium it had gone to unbelievable levels of foolishness that he watched with stern approval, only to collapse into a fit of uncontrollable laughter the moment he was alone. Why the captain of the city guard would be in the legion barracks on occasion was a question that was never openly asked. He was assumed to be a not so secret inspector and his visits caused a frenzy of “afternoon sir”s and a maelstrom of rushed cleaning.

        He liked to keep the Legions on edge. They had none of the daily duties of his guardsmen and he knew the danger of lax discipline. He painfully recalled the first few centuries of sieges before he had ironed out the kinks of the legions. They were now rotated constantly in two year tours to various forts throughout the Valerian Empire. The months of marching kept them in shape and the occasional and much anticipated “city tour” kept them sane. It also kept their neighbors on their toes. Any one of the ten compliments could be on their borders and ten thousand of the finest fighting force in the east on your doorstep now and then tends to discourage invasions. As a result of his preventative militarism, peace had reigned for a boring seventy odd years give or take.

        He completed his tour of the mammoth barracks around dinner and found his way over to the Academica Medica just in time to join the nurses in training for their evening meal. The younger novitiates feared him quite openly, but the ancient headmistress had been a close friend of his for well over half a century. He began to seat himself next to her when she scowled openly at him at tut tutted. He chuckled and carefully removed his gauntlets and mail shirt, placing them silently upon the simple stone bench beside him.

        “Just don't be upset of some fool novitiate touches them whilst you distract me with your feminine wiles.” He spoke the words softly, but his comments tended to cut through conversations. Perhaps it was a result of his voice being several octaves lower than anyone else in the dining hall, because as soon as he said the words every person took an involuntary jolt in any direction possible away from his gear as if it had suddenly transformed into a basilisk.

        She tut-tutted again and scooted closer to Leoric saying softly, “you old scoundrel, must you always terrify the poor girls?”

        “As I recall I didn't frighten you.” Leoric replied impishly as he reached for the ale pitcher.

        “Ahh,” she replied knowingly.

        “Indeed,” he replied somberly.

        “Do you want to talk about it?” She said tenderly laying a withered hand upon his.

        “Well, I already got drunk once today, I guess I might as well try talking too.” He said as if weighing the two options momentarily. His tankard hand seemed to be weighing the possibility quite literally as well.

        “How you manage this stone cold facade I never could understand. You've always been nothing but a rogue to me.” She replied in a mock chiding voice that sound several decades younger than her looks betrayed.

        He drained his tankard in a single gulp without a breath and look at her as if considering the more alcoholic option in a new light. “Only those I trust get to see my inner beauty.” He said with a completely straight face.

        “You're hopeless you know.” She said with a girlish grin.

        “I try.” he replied with a lopsided smile.

        “So are you going to tell me the reason for your Stonecaller swim or do I have to persuade you.” She said the last with a mischievous glint in her eyes that belonged more in the eyes of a sultry tavern wench than aged headmistress. Her playfulness was instantly destroyed by Leoric's response.

        “I lost another one, each time I tell myself it's the last. Sometimes I make it five, ten, once I even made it twenty years.” He said with a haunted look that chilled the marrow of her bones. She had watched nearly everyone she had ever known pass away in her seventy eight years. She had developed a kind of numbness where death was concerned. To her it was simply a part of living, others died and she just kept on going until it was her turn. But it still hurt, it didn't have the raw raggedness that had lacerated her heart when her first loved one was lost, but it still hurt. A part of her was glad that Leoric still felt the pain of death, it made him seem more human somehow, that he still felt the pain of loss after his untold ages.

        The thought of losing loved ones again and again for eternity was dreadful to her. No, she had no aspirations for immortality. She knew the suffering of living beyond those you love. It was no dream, it was a nightmare. She considered words of consolation and knowingly remained silent, simply listening to Leoric's tale from the beginning. It began in a whispered hush that barely reached her aged ears, she strained and leaned on his shoulder to hear it better. Perhaps her touch offered more consolation than words could provide as his voice seemed to gain a little volume when she laid her head upon his shoulder.

        The story itself was fascinating, spanning decades and completely engrossing her to the point she didn't even notice the passage of time. The woman's agelessness was particularly interesting. The appeal to a man like Leoric was obvious. Not only that, this woman didn't seem to pay the price that Valmora and Leoric required. A foul custom to be sure and the reason she had never born children, but an accepted necessity none the less. Perhaps the woman was a mage of some sort and had found another method, or maybe she held the blood of something else in her veins. She kept her thoughts silent however, fearing that her speech might break the spell and end this rare moment of confidence gifted to her by her peculiar friend. She knew many of his secrets, but this was an entirely knew area of which he had never spoken and she was completely entranced by his tale and hadn't moved for untold hours whilst he spun his tale before her eyes. He had a way of speaking that brought his memories to life, she was there, she could see the events unfold and it was magical. A rare treat that returned her to the tender age of seventeen when Leoric had told her his first tale whilst she wept at having been assigned to the Academica Medica, receiving a rare gift of friendship from the least likely of places.

        By the time his tale was finished the evenings candles burned low and the hall had long since emptied. After an indeterminable period of silence he stood and helped the aged headmistress to her apartments. He embraced her gently and cupped a hand to her face softly uttering in a very tender voice, “You're an angel Antonietta.”

        “I think I'd rather be a goddess,” she replied with an impish grin beneath exhausted eyes, but his face had returned to stone and he simply nodded and departed, The Raven Lord once more.