The sun shone bright and dirty across Lorate as men trundled about, polishing weapons, sweeping beneath beds, and dusting every surface. Plumes of dust wafted into the sky and swirled with orders and general complaints.
Tristan sat on the stoop of his barracks, scrubbing his saddle. Styrax and a line of five other men sat next to him, all bent to their tasks of scrubbing leather down. Some saddles, some boots, others leather breastplates in various levels of decay.
“Don’t understand why we put this show on every six months,” one said, splashing a little bit of spittle onto the leather and scrubbing it out. “We all know this place has gone to the roaches.”
“Have to impress his highness Sedick somehow, don’t we?”
“More like his lowness,” Tristan muttered out of the corner of his mouth to Styrax. “Can’t be taller than my hip, can he?”
Styrax snorted and huddled closer over his saddle, trying to hide his laughter.
“No,” someone else responded to the original question. “I’d just as soon throw him under a plow and bury him in manure.”
They all laughed at that but quieted as one of the captains strolled by to check their work. Once the captain left, they warmed back to their topic.
“What’s he supposed to expect from folks like us, anyway? We all know we’re a token fort a nothing more.” The other soldier straightened his back and peered down his nose, frowning with mock imperiousness. “Bringing ‘hope to the common folk’ and becoming ‘heroes to the people’,” he said in an affected drawl. He dropped the act with a scoff. “What a stinking pile of manure those promises were.”
Tristan shrugged in reluctant agreement. In the five years he’d been at Lorate, they had not seen a single moment of action. No battles, no rebels; not even a rogue highwayman. Those were reserved for nobles and knights and career soldiers. Not a bunch of rag-tag farmers and merchants. They hadn’t been much of anything except a joke to the rest of the King’s Men. Their fort inspector, Lord Sedick, always made that abundantly clear when he made his visit every six months. The people of Lorate were supportive and kind, but the rest of the kingdom…Fort Lorate did nothing to help their waning hopes. Tristan couldn’t help but wonder why King Osmen had created Lorate in the first place.
“Wet that for me, would you please?” One of the men asked, handing a brush to Styrax. Styrax handed it back sopping wet in the blink of an eye. Tristan couldn’t remember seeing him put it in the soap bucket. The other man didn’t seem to care that it dripped all over his trousers and went back to work. “You know, when I found out that General Laire used to lead the Vanguard, I was actually excited. I thought maybe I could learn something. Look where that got me, scrubbing boots that’ll never be clean.” He motioned to the boots, covered in dust and grime and mold.
“There are better things than learning how to fight,” Styrax said, taking a drink from his water skin. “I consider it a blessing that we have that luxury.”
“The old sage strikes again,” Tristan said with a smirk.
Styrax rolled his eyes.
“I agree with Styrax,” one of the others piped in. “I’m all for not having to fight a war I didn’t start, so long as I and my family get paid for it. There are worse things that could happen.”
“Exactly!” the one on the end crowed, setting a breastplate down and moving to the next one. It almost crumbled in his hands. “Like getting caught in General Shadowalker’s clutches.”
The man with the boots scoffed. “I don’t think he exists. What kind of general’s never been seen on a battlefield?”
“A coward.”
“Nah,” the man with the breastplates said, giving up on his pointless task. “He’s been plenty successful over the past few years to prove he’s real. Did you hear what happened at Gravaym?”
“That’s got nothing to do with it! It’s all that filthy magic they’ve got. No wonder they turned on us and started this whole war. We were easy targets!”
Styrax stiffened at Tristan’s side. It looked like he meant to say something, but he shook his head and mumbled to himself. “Everyone loves to conveniently forget Brahmon.”
Tristan furrowed his brow. “What’s Brahmon?”
“A half-blood village. Or it was, until Osmen burned it to the ground. That was the start of the war.”
Tristan looked askance at Styrax. “How do you know these things?”
Styrax shrugged, his focus far away as he scrubbed aimless circles on his saddle. “I’ve been around the kingdom a time or two.”
The other men continued with their tirade. “It’s not fair, them talking through trees and addling people’s minds and whatnot. I mean, look at Tristan and what they’ve done to him! What kind of sane person believes in the Dragon Scales?”
“A smarter one than you, old man!” Tristan threw a rag at his face.
“Tristan! Catch me!”
Tristan hardly had time to register the words before a small blonde girl launched herself into his arms. His freshly cleaned saddle crashed to the dirt, cleaning supplies and all, as he tried to keep her from the same fate. She squealed with glee. That sound alone kept Tristan from begrudging her the two hours of wasted work. He grinned and swung her around a few more times, much to her delight.
The men scoffed at the saddle in the dirt. “Never would have gotten away with that with General Tal around,” one of them said, but he still smiled at Tristan and Linae.
Styrax whacked the man over the head with a wet rag. “He wouldn’t have let you be a lazy sod, either, so you take your pick!”
“Linae!” Lady Vinea strode across the fort yard as quickly as her skirts allowed, her lips pressed together in the worried sort of irritation only mothers seemed to possess.
“Uh-oh,” Tristan said, his hand cupped to Linae’s ear conspiratorially. “We might be in trouble.”
Linae nodded. “Uh-huh.”
Tristan bit back a chuckle and set Linae down.
“Hello, Tristan,” Lady Vinea said with a harried smile.
Tristan bowed his head. “Lady Vinea.”
She waved her hand. “You know you don’t have to call me that.” Without skipping a beat, she frowned at her daughter. “Linae, how many times have I told you not to run off?”
“But mama, I—”
“How. Many. Times?”
Linae scuffed her shoe and swished her skirts. “A lot,” she grumbled.
“That’s right. And do you see the weapons and big animals and people running?”
Tristan saw a much different Fort Lorate than Lady Vinea did; at least the one she tried to portray to her daughter. The “sharp” objects were nothing but a collection of hunting daggers fashioned into a passable warrior’s weapon. The soldiers had repurposed their farm horses as battle steeds. Shaggy and sway-backed, some of them might have been big, but they didn’t have a mean or rebellious bone in their bodies. And the men…well, he wouldn’t bet a copper coin on any foot-races. The fort itself posed more danger than its occupants. Draped in an unholy stench fueled by mounds of manure and other waste, it crawled with rats, mice, roaches, and feral cats. The years hadn’t been kind to Fort Lorate.
“This is no place for running wild,” Lady Vinea continued. “I need to keep you safe. Now, will you please listen to me?”
Linae nodded, her bottom lip quivering. She balled the seam of Tristan’s pant leg into her fist.
Lady Vinea sighed, gathered her skirts about her knees, and crouched to meet Linae’s eyes. “Do you remember the surprise?”
Linae lit up like a gold coin in the summer sun. She tugged on Tristan’s trouser leg. “Mama says you have to come to town with us!” She produced a wilted, half-smashed crown of braided dandelions. “And you have to wear this!”
Lady Vinea passed a hand across her eyes and stood. “I said we would ask him if he would come.” She looked ruefully at Tristan. “We thought it might be a welcome break from preparations for the esteemed Lord Sedick.”
Tristan grimaced. “My lady, I’ve heard it’s best not to invoke such wrathful spirits.”
She chuckled. “You are right. Talking about him will only bring him to Lorate faster.”
“A fate we all hope to avoid, I’m sure.” He bowed his head. “I’d be happy to escort you to town, m’lady.” He took the crown from Linae and affixed it atop his head. “And I would be honored to accept this gift, my lady.”
Linae beamed with pride.
Tristan smiled and turned back to Lady Vinea. “Would you like for me to invite Styrax as well?”
She hesitated a moment, thoughts flashing through her eyes faster than Tristan could read them. Finally, she splayed her hands and donned another smile. “I don’t see why not. He would be welcome. Thank you.”
“Of course!” Tristan grinned at Linae and hoisted her onto his shoulder. “Will you help me call for him?”
Linae giggled and nodded.
Tristan cupped one hand around his mouth while he kept Linae steady with the other. She cupped both hands around hers. “Hey, fish boy!” Their shouts floated across the fort yard. Linae broke into more giggles.
Styrax rose from his perch with a world-weary sigh. “What do you two hooligans want? I don’t think they quite heard you three towns over.”
Tristan waved him over. “We’re escorting Lady Vinea and Linae into town. Let’s go!”
“Do I have to go with you?” Styrax trotted to them with a grin. Styrax was still the only one that actually appeared to belong on a military base, and Tristan tried not to feel too woefully inadequate as he stood next to him.
“Seeing as how they requested me first, I’d say yes, you do,” Tristan said. He sniffed in mock disdain and nearly choked on himself.
Styrax elbowed him. “Careful! Don’t want to hurt yourself!”
Tristan rolled his eyes and fought back a grin. “My apologies, Lady Vinea, for this empty-headed simpleton. He’s not much for educated conversation, but he’ll be the perfect sacrifice if we run into any danger.”
Styrax bowed low and kissed the back of Linae’s hand. She accepted the gesture with the dignity only a five-year-old could muster. Styrax winked at her. He bowed to her mother and offered to take the shopping basket slung over her arm.
Off they went—a grand procession through the rancor of Fort Lorate—with Tristan’s saddle and other chores abandoned in the dust. They could wait a few more hours. While Linae giggled on his shoulders, arms outstretched to take in the sun and the sky, Tristan could almost forget the piles of manure and refuse, the rats and roaches in every dark corner, and the omnipresent stench.
Almost.
Tristan, Styrax, and the two ladies left the fort into the soft, broad-leafed forest around it. There was no hint of a breeze, but the trees provided a gentle liveliness. Leaf edges caught the sun’s glint, and the drops of light they failed to catch speckled the ground below. The grass sparkled with dew that dampened the squirrels foraging for seeds. They scampered back to the waving canopies, where the melodies of bird-song met in light harmonies that faded into the still sky. The embrace of the Phoenix Ridge mountains surrounded Lorate’s valley on every side, and, if the breeze blew just right, the scent of the sea on the southern side of the mountains carried over their peaks.
As the minutes grew long, Linae slumped against Tristan in boredom. When it seemed she couldn’t take it any longer, she tugged on tufts of Tristan’s dark hair. “Tell me about how Papa found you!”
“Linae,” Lady Vinea said, voice sharp with reproach. “It’s unkind to demand things, and that story is too violent.”
“But, Mama!” Linae protested. “I want to hear about Papa being a hero! You always say he is!”
Lady Vinea watched her with pursed lips and raised eyebrows. A single corner of her mouth twitched, as if she fought back a smile. “You could make an excellent negotiator one day.” She brushed back an errant strand of hair with a sigh and brushed dust from her skirts. “You may only hear the story if you ask Tristan politely, and only if he agrees to tell it.”
Linae craned her neck to look at Tristan upside down. “Please?”
Styrax laughed. “How can you say no to that?”
“It is difficult,” Lady Vinea said with a wry look.
“How does this sound, oh great mistress, so none of us get in trouble?” Tristan asked Linae as he swooped low under a branch to her delight. “Why don’t you tell the story?”
“Okay! I’m better at telling it, anyway.”
“Linae!” Lady Vinea said with mild horror.
Linae ignored her and puffed up self-importantly. “You were on a secret mission to the most magical place of all—the Dragon Scales! You had to fight hundreds of elves, dwarves, and other monsters to protect the kingdom, and you were beating them all!”
Tristan walked a little taller. He liked this version.
“But one snuck up and hit you on the head. You almost died!” She bounced with excitement as she warmed to her favorite part. “But Papa saved the day! He fought them away and brought you home to get better. And now you’ll live with us forever and ever!”
“Maybe!” He lifted her from his shoulders. Her foot caught the leather strap around his neck and pulled the two rings it carried from beneath his tunic. “I couldn’t have told it better myself! You should be a bard someday.” Linae tried to protest her unceremonious dismount, but Tristan told her she was so big and grown up now that she made his shoulders ache. She seemed grudgingly content with his answer and trotted to hold her mother’s hand.
“That was different,” Styrax said with a crooked grin. “I seem to recall fewer ‘evil things’ and less fighting on your end.”
Tristan laughed, keeping the bitterness at bay. “You’re lucky you recall anything at all! Better than an empty-headed sap like me.” Much as he tried, he couldn’t keep all the bitterness from his voice. The scar on the crown of his head burned. He toyed with the rings around his neck. “All I have about that night is whatever Laire told me. That and the Dragon Scales, which he refuses to mention.”
Styrax gave him a sideways glance. “Are you all right?”
Tristan sighed. Five years around Styrax and his observation skills still surprised him. The knucklehead. “It’s stupid.”
“Are we ever not stupid?”
“No, really. You don’t need to worry about it. I’ll be fine.”
“Tristan,” Styrax faced him, walking sideways. “I met you when you were more bandage than face with little improvement since. You can stop the dignified act and just tell me what’s wrong.”
Tristan rolled his eyes with a self-deprecating smile. “You’ll laugh.”
“It’s my favorite pastime, second only to swimming. Go on.”
Tristan rubbed his forehead. “I just…” He shook his head and sighed. “It really is stupid, but when Linae suggested staying forever, it—” he waved abstractly, fishing for the correct word. He didn’t find it. “I can’t stay here forever. I can’t. But I also can’t help but feel that may be all I’m meant to do.”
A squeal from Linae fractured their conversation. “Look, we made it!” She pointed to the smoke and dust rising above the forest canopy. Amiable clatter bounced through the trees.
“This isn’t the best time to have a lengthy conversation,” Styrax said as his attention darted between Lady Vinea and Linae and Tristan. “But two quick thoughts. One, listening to what everyone says you’re ‘meant’ to do is almost always wrong. Two, don’t worry about where you’ll end up. You’ve never been one to settle for mediocrity.”
Tristan smiled at him. “Do you practice your sageness, or does it come naturally?”
Styrax bowed with a great sweep of his arms. “Would that I could tell you, but alas, my secrets are mine alone to bear.”
Tristan rolled his eyes. “Someday I’ll figure it out. You can’t hide everything forever.”
Styrax smiled, a knowing look behind his eyes. “We’ll see.”
They trotted to catch up with their charges.
Though smaller than most in Loralan, Lorate’s town bustled with all the fervor of a community three times its size. Tristan attributed it to the townsfolk’s nature. Descended from Phoenix Ridge miners, Lorate’s villagers knew how to enjoy their time in the sun. Luthiers and ale makers rivaled the farmers in numbers. Anything from weddings to blown dandelions could become an excuse for a town-wide celebration. Cheap drinks and even cheaper food flowed in abundance.
At least, that was the Lorate Tristan used to know. Over the past five years, although the bustle and busyness remained, the tone had shifted. Laughter rarely punctuated conversations. The wellsprings of food and drink had faded to occasional trickles. Celebrations became fewer each year.
Linae brushed past Tristan as she ran to the center market of town in pursuit of a group of children chasing a honey-colored squirrel. Lady Vinea tried to call her back to no avail. Tristan snapped from his haze.
“I’ll keep close to her,” Tristan assured Lady Vinea, trying to dismiss the unsettled feeling in his stomach. “Styrax can help with your shopping.”
“What if I wanted to watch Linae?”
“No!” Lady Vinea glanced around the square and up at the rooftops, eyes darting from one building to the next. After a few moments, she realized Tristan and Styrax were watching her, taken aback by her tone. “Oh! I apologize. Styrax, I hope you know that that was not a reflection on your character at all.” She touched his shoulder briefly in apology. “I would just so appreciate it if you could come help me, and if Tristan stayed here in the square.”
Tristan and Styrax shared confused looks but shrugged at each other.
“Absolutely, my lady,” Styrax said. “Whatever you need.”
Lady Vinea smiled. “Thank you.” She turned to Tristan. “And thank you, too. I’m sorry she insists on being such a whirlwind. Just stay in the square, and I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
“Not to worry.” Tristan waved and loped after Linae, smirking at Styrax’s silent dismay at being the pack-mule.
Shop owners called to him as he passed.
“Morning, Tristan!”
“Good to see you!”
“Any luck finding the Dragon Scales? I heard it’s hiding out with a group of friendly elves.” Uproarious laughter followed the remark.
Tristan smiled and waved. “Not as much luck as you have finding the bottom of your tankard!”
Another roar of laughter from onlookers as the man sulked.
Tristan found Linae entrenched in a passionate debate between tag or hide and seek. She clenched the squirrel to her chest as it tried to escape. The poor thing’s eyes looked ready to pop from its skull. Linae nuzzled her face into it, blissfully unaware of its plight.
Tristan leaned against a nearby building to watch. Linae was fine. No point in interfering with her fun.
“…Don’t understand why it’s gone on so long.”
The voices of two women—probably hawkers for the stall by how well their voices carried—drifted to Tristan as he sat at the wall. He glanced their way. One younger woman with a riot of freckles across her face brushed the dust from her vegetables as she chatted with the portly, graying baker beside her.
“Twenty-years since the Day of Bluest Blood… I’m not sure how many more times I can raise my prices before people accuse me of robbery!”
The baker wiped the hair from her face, leaving a smudge of flour on her temple. “We’ve all had to adjust to the war. If you need anyone to blame, blame the rebellion! Their prince died in battle years ago. They don’t even have a claim to the throne anymore, but they still fight anyway and prolong this mess. Stupid beasts, the lot of them.”
“Finest potatoes this side of the Phoenix Ridges! A dozen per copper!” The freckled woman frowned and put her potato back in its stacks while a group of people passed her by. “They never found the prince’s body, though.”
“They’re just saying that to keep us guessing,” the baker said through smiling teeth as she accepted a coin from a passerby and handed him a loaf of bread. “They’re trying to hold out long enough to wear us out.”
“They’re doing a good job of it.” She nodded to the group of children Linae played with. Her freckles creased. “I’d sign a peace treaty right now if it kept those little ones away from war.”
“Just wait until you met the Ancient Races in person. You wouldn’t be so eager to have anything to do with them, then.”
Their chatter fell away to mild-mannered bickering. Tristan relaxed the hand he didn’t know he’d clenched.
King Osmen had established Fort Lorate as a morale boost for Loralan’s commoners. But a single gesture couldn’t erase twenty years of pain. These people needed more. They needed an end to the bloodshed. Tristan wished he could do more than sit in a useless, backwater fort and play soldier.
He stewed over that, watching Linae play through the merchant stalls, until Lady Vinea and Styrax—overburdened with fresh food and yards of textiles—came to fetch them. Lady Vinea smiled until she saw Linae. “What is in your hand?”
“A squirrel!”
While Lady Vinea haggled with her daughter to let the rodent go, Tristan helped divide Styrax’s load. Styrax made grand theatrics of his broken back and splayed knees from all the work he’d done. Tristan rolled his eyes.
Lady Vinea’s and Linae’s argument ended when the squirrel finally extricated itself from the girl’s clutches and scurried off. Lady Vinea snatched Linae’s hand before she could chase it, and away they went. Tristan and Styrax hurried to catch up.
As they left, Tristan brushed against someone in the crowd. He turned to apologize, but the words froze in his throat. A pair of green eyes framed by dark curls looked back at him, stunned. His heart clenched. The crowd continued to part around him, but for a moment, time froze for him. Not moving. Not breathing. An inexplicable feeling came over him as if he’d watched the world turn from silver to gold in an instant. A feeling of home washed over him.
“Who—?” Before the word finished, she was gone. She’d slipped into the crowd and away from him. “Wait!”
Useless. She had already disappeared from view. He stood in the crowd, staring at the spot he had last seen her. No. No, she couldn’t be gone. There had been something there. Nostalgia. A memory? His heart leapt to his throat at the thought. He had to find her. For the first time in five years, something from his past stirred within him. He couldn’t let her go so easily.
He was about to dive back into the crowd when a tiny hand grabbed his. “Tristan, come on! Momma says it’s time to go!”
“But…I…” Tristan scoured the crowd again, his heart feeling like it might shatter. The blood drained from his face. How could he have lost something so important so quickly? He couldn’t have imagined it, could he?
“Tristan, come on!”
He nodded mutely, looking one last time. Nothing.
“Tristan!”
He looked at her and smiled, even though it felt hollow. “All right. All right, I’m coming. Let’s go home.” He left, feeling like he had abandoned a piece of himself in that square that he would never get back.