The Conciege
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(THOB) Chapter 72: A Scary Feat
🕑 Added 2023-09-21 05:49:37 +0000 UTCAt the foot of the tower, and the grounds of the fort, were smaller buildings where the soldiers lived. Ezril walked the fort grounds, returning nods and greetings from various soldiers. They may not like him and his brothers but they had gone on enough expeditions hunting down the Merdendi hordes together to build a minute form of comradery. In these expeditions they had shown the soldiers that their skills were completely beyond theirs. Ezril’s skill with the bow had served to marvel.
The smithy was Ezril’s least favorite part of the fort. Unlike his brothers, he never approached it to sharpen his Sunders. The seminary had taught them that Sunders could go for years without needing to be sharpened but advised they sharpen it every once in a while as would be done with a regular realm sword. However, Ezril left the care of his Sunders to the dirt of Vayla whenever he could.
He was the only one of the brothers who visited the infirmary, though. Nothing about the work of taking care of the sick intrigued him, but he made his way there. Their last encounter with the Merdendi horde was over a month past and it had brought a lot of casualties. The infirmary still housed many wounded soldiers whose injuries ranged from almost healed to almost completely infected, even now.
Nixarv, the fort head doctor, reminded him of Father Jael. He was a no nonsense aging man who would sooner split a man’s rib cage to reach his heart without the application of any anesthetics than be nice about anything. He was a short man with a shaven head that left most wondering if in truth he was simply bald. Age had not been favorable to him but he refused to succumb to it. He walked with a hunch and had to look up to address most men.
“Father Antari,” Nixarv greeted him at the entrance of the hospice. “Here for another one of your look around?”
Ezril shook his head. “Not today.”
Nixarv rarely ever displayed a fear of him. Ezril didn’t find it all too surprising, the old man had been a doctor in the fort for near three decades and had been a doctor before he came to the fort. The realm may not have had any wars in over a century but they still saw violence and horrors. Nixarv had seen them all. Ezril doubted much would scare him.
Every man has his fears, a voice said in his mind. Even one so old… faced with his mind Ezril braced himself for the next words. Even you.
He shook the voice from his mind and spoke. “I was just passing through.”
Nixarv mused a moment. “I see.” He scratched his chin. “But if you ever want to learn, I would be more than happy to teach you.”
Ezril smiled politely. “I will let you know if I do…” … but the little I know is enough for me, doctor. I take lives. I don’t save them.
He offered Nixarv a slight nod then turned to leave, his cloak swishing with the motion. He was the only one of his brothers who wore his cloak more than he did his cassock. But while the rest wore them in equal measures, Salem wore his cassock at all times, even during their hunts. Ezril felt a sigh creep out of his lips as he left the hospice. Today it had held little interest for him. It made him wonder at what the day would hold for him.
The sky was warm with the first light. It signaled his requirement at the war camp. Lord Commander Oddor was not one who liked to wait, and Ezril figured he’d not give the man a reason to gripe at him. They may be priests, but the man was the Lord Commander, and he did possess a modicum of command over them.
Lord Commander Oddor was a man somewhere in his late fifties. Despite his age, he carried himself with an air of authority that reminded Ezril of Lord Edavi. His lips were held in a constant scowl and Ezril couldn’t remember ever seeing the man smile. He was skilled with the sword as they had seen on occasion when the soldiers trained and the man took it upon himself to have a hand in it. In summary, he was nothing like the soldiers Ezril had come across.
“Father Antari,” Oddor greeted him as he stepped into the room. “So good of you to join us.”
Despite reminding himself, Ezril had shown up late by the least five minutes and had walked into a room filled with angry faces. Apparently, the meeting had been put on hold for his sake.
“I see no reason why a second priest should be here,” one of eight men in the room said. “Father Tenshaw should be more than enough.”
Ezril had seen the man around a few times. A captain or maybe a commander. Ezril wasn’t so sure. And he found he couldn’t care less.
He turned his attention from the man and faced the Lord Commander.
“My lord,” he greeted.
“I will only say this once, and I will not say it again,” Oddor announced, his attention on every soldier in the room. “Father Tenshaw has informed me that Father Antari is required to hear the decisions we make that involve the priests, first hand. And I have decided to comply with his wishes, regardless of what any of you think. From here on out, Father Antari will seat in on every meeting we have. Is that understood?”
The man who had spoken bit back whatever he had to say, whether from respect or fear, Ezril didn’t know.
“The king has decided we see this as a threat of war and handle it as such," the Lord Commander continued in a hoarse baritone. “The seminary has been kind enough to lend us their priests a while longer, but I will remind you that this is not a war that concerns them. That said, they can be called back at any time.”
Ezril glanced at Darvi. The news of it being handled as a threat of war was not surprising, neither was their extended stay. But the idea of him having to attend every meeting from now on was a stress he agreed he could do without.
“And the King’s guard?” a man well passed his thirtieth year who Ezril identified as Ricktar, and a commander of his own contingent, asked. Clearly he didn’t like the King’s guard.
“They should be on their way,” Oddor answered. “They have instructions to come in when they arrive.” He turned his attention to the map on the table before him and continued. “The hordes have hidden themselves in the forests, and our scouts have had problems finding them for the past week.”
“Just yesterday Mini came back with three arrows in his leg,” Ricktar said immediately, as if following a script Oddor had laid out. “They could have killed him, but they chose to torture him in such a way.”
Oddor sighed. “Commander Ricktar, they did not capture him because they could not capture him. Do not credit them with a skill they do not possess.”
“No one can put three arrows in a person’s leg and call it an accident, My Lord.” Ricktar objected.
“No man is capable of such a feat. Mini said they were too far out to be heard, and the forest was too dark. It was an accident,” Oddor insisted. “Nothing more.”
Ezril knew there was room for error in the Lord Commander’s words. Deeming it wise not to bring it up, he maintained his silence. The Lord Commander hadn’t said what he did simply because he disagreed. There was a chance he did because he couldn’t have one of his commanders thinking their enemies capable of feats that could scare a man, for such a feat was scary in its own.
A knock on the door drew their attention. All heads turned in silent anticipation. It opened gently and a man stepped into the room. His visage was demanding and he wore upon himself the uniform of the King’s guard.
He offered the Lord Commander a courteous bow, a grace in the action.
“Lord Commander,” he greeted.
Oddor turned to him but did not bow. “Commander Vardil,” he greeted. “Nice to have you here.
Behind Vardil stood eight men well uniformed, and in perfect order. Ezril noted the minute traces of bags under their eyes that spoke of nightly indulgences, no matter how small. He spotted Alphex easily and there was a brief moment of understanding. A realization that last night hadn’t had to end the way it did.
It took Alphex a moment to spot him. But Ezril knew when he did. Alphex frowned. It was an odd frown. Confusion grabbed it at its edge. A hint of fear tainted his eyes. Alphex’s eyes moved from Ezril’s face to his cassock. They twitched, uncomfortable, then shifted awkwardly to Darvi. Ezril watched the fear deepen. Clearly, he wasn’t old enough in the King’s guard to replace his fear of priests with the distaste most of them had.
“I have been sent by the king, with the command of eight of his soldiers,” Vardil told Oddor. “If the crisis should escalate, I am to send word for the summon of greater numbers.”
Oddor nodded gladly. “Your help is more than welcome.” He turned his attention to encompass the room. “The men you see in the room are under my direct command. And…” He turned, gesturing to Darvi. “This is Father Tenshaw from the seminary and…” he turned to Ezril. “Father Vi Antari. The seminary has been kind enough to lend them, and three other of their priests, to us.”
Ezril met Alphex’s eyes. He watched the man’s face grow pale. Where he had seen fear for Darvi he now saw dread. Vanity, he reminded himself, should be controlled.
He suppressed his grin. It would only serve to incite things he knew weren’t necessary.
Commander Vardil offered them a brief nod. “I heard a lot about you in the reports. Very respectable,” he said. “Quite rare for such a thing to be said about a priest, less five. And by Lord Commander Oddor at that. I will assure you that my men will be of the best behavior. And should any of them do anything out of place, do not hesitate to report them to me.” Vardil’s eyes drifted to Ezril’s bow, brightening at the sight. “Ah! I see. Father Antari.” He smiled knowingly. “Father Vi Antari. Your title as First Bow and your reputation in battle precede you.”
A few replies came to mind but Ezril offered none. He wasn’t one for false modesty. Having no plans to present himself as arrogant, he offered Commander Vardil nothing to confirm or deny his acclaimed reputation.
“If you’ll be kind enough to join us commander,” Oddor began, pulling the conversation, “we would like your input on our next course of action.” He returned his attention to the map. “Now, my men say there are Tainted amongst the horde.”
Vardil’s gaze moved from the Lord Commander to the Ezril and Darvi, then back, confused. “Do the priests have nothing to add to that, My Lord?”
“They have been with us as aids, commander,” Oddor said, his gaze never leaving the map. “They were not with us during the events that drew these suspicions. They were rather… indisposed at the time.”
Though they were priests, it was no news that Vardil would have better knowledge of handling the Tainted. He had been doing so before the brothers had joined the seminary, perhaps longer than they were alive. Ezril watched him now. As obvious as how much older than them Vardil was, he couldn’t place a number on the man’s age.
Vardil’s gaze settled on Ezril. “And what do you think about this, Father Antari?” he asked, shifting attention back to him.
Ezril’s brows furrowed. His eyes flickered to the map. It was a brief move, almost too subtle to have been noticed. “I know of no Tainted in the forest, Commander,” he answered. “Until I encounter them, I can say nothing for certain.” His gaze sought to descend to the map. Thinking better of it, he kept it on Vardil.
Vardil smiled. “That is true, Father.” He scratched his jaw, lips poised in thought. “But how would you advise we handle ourselves, should we come across them?”
Ezril paused. The men in the room awaited his knowledge. Even the soldiers of the King’s guard seemed genuinely interested in what he would say. Why? he wondered. There’s no real way to handle a Tainted.
When the answer came, it was clear and concise. They seek the knowledge of the brother who would not fall.
They care nothing for the thoughts of a simple priest.
Ezril frowned.
When he spoke again, he kept his tone bland, and his words religious. “Do not hesitate. Trust that you are doing Truth’s work, and pray the strength he gives you is one you can harness.”
“I see,” Vardil observed, disappointment on the edge of his voice.
He does not disbelieve the stories, Ezril realized. He sought to test me.
It seemed Vardil thought him in possession of a secret he would not share. Or perhaps he was disappointed that Ezril couldn’t teach the secret.
He came with expectations. It was a knowledge that promised stress.
Ezril sighed. When him and his brothers first arrived at the tower a year ago, they had been simple novice priests, unknowing of how the military truly saw them. The soldiers had held them with just a hint of fear. They had also held all of them in equal standards.
In the months that passed, Takan proved himself a priest the soldiers could build a rapport with. They drank together when he could spare the time, and they talked together.
Olufemi spoke only with his brothers, and so rarely that the soldiers thought him mute.
Salem and Darvi had been held in higher esteem. The former for the way he carried himself, and the latter for his sense of leadership displayed during their times hunting the horde. Save the form of his Sunders the soldiers had grown accustomed to quite quickly, the soldiers saw Ezril as a simple priest.
Everything had changed one dark night.
They had chased a group of Merdendi savages deep into the Arlyn forest. The night was dark and the moon had refused its place in the skies, leaving them with naught for light. Even the stars that flocked the skies had proved banished that night. In truth, they were led more by their horses than their horses by them.
Ezril liked the forest. It was prone to a form of darkness even in the day, reminding him of the Umunna forest of the seminary. In the darkness they had kept their chase till the latest hours of night. In time they had slaughtered all but two who seemed more determined than their brethren to survive the massacre. The archers had proven useless in the darkness and, while the Lord Commander bellowed his orders to bring the Merdendi down, they could do naught but chase.
The Merdendis had ambushed them as the night drew near, beating a hasty retreat when their attack had proved a failure. At that, the Lord Commander had commanded their execution. The Merdendi mounts proved swift, increasing the distance between them with each gallop. Even Olufemi’s mount’s speed paled in comparison.
Over two hundred paces from the two men, Darvi had turned to Ezril as they bounded through the forest. He had requested he bring them down. In the early months after his ordination Ezril would have deemed the task impossible. But his time in the forest, chasing and hunting in the dark nights, had made his eyes better in their sight of it.
He had nocked two arrows as Apparit galloped through the thick of the forest. Ignorant of who watched, he’d drawn the bowstring all the way to his chin, taken aim, and the moment no tree obstructed his view of both men, he let his arrows fly. They cut through over two hundred and fifty paces to strike their targets in the necks with a speed superior to any Alduin long bow. It had been powerful, and with it his aim had been true.
Before that night, the soldiers of the fort had known the title of the First Bow of the seminary. That night, they understood the strength of the first bow of the seminary; the little they could. The ones that had been present had told tales which spread across the fort. One version of it claimed he felled the men with one arrow from near four hundred paces.
It was the only legend the fort knew of him, and it had no name.
Ezril observed Commander Vardil one more time before returning his attention to the battle plans being discussed. He would have to get along with the King’s guard for the time he would share the fort with them. His gaze wandered to the other soldiers. Alphex consciously avoided it. These were men from Ardin; men from a place where rumors of him flowed. Now it will know the legend of the brother who would not fall.
“… Then Father Antari will take charge of the archers,” the Lord Commander concluded. “Any confusions?”
There was none, and Darvi turned to commander Vardil. “Your men will have no problems working with us, will they?”
The commander shook his head. He wasn’t saying they were well behaved that they wouldn’t. Shaking his head had been a command of its own to his men. Darvi and Ezril noted it.
“Considering your brothers will not,” Vardil added.
Ezril and Darvi exchanged a brief glance. The action did not go unnoticed by the commander.
“They will not,” Darvi answered.
The sun was close to its peak, and its heat washed over the fort when they left the room. Lord Commander Oddor had decided they attack tomorrow before first light. Apparently, Ricktar’s wounded soldier…
Ezril stopped, appalled that he had forgotten the man’s name so easily while wondering if he’d ever even heard the man’s name. He shook the discomfort. They knew where to find the horde, and they were determined to bring it down as quickly as they could. And they would need a captive this time. The horde may not speak the realm tongue, but there were ways of understanding a man without having to say a word.
Ezril wet his dry lips. Salem had an exact copy of the Lord Commander’s map in his room. He decided he would seek his brother’s opinion while they indulged in a game of war when night fell.
For now, he had to feed Shade.
