Below is the first chapter of book three! (Note, there may be changes to the final version of the text in editing)
, who had been discovered to be an elf—the key being his pointed ears—had Darrien thinking more about magic than he ever had before. He found himself replaying the events of the morning in his mind, over and over again. He had managed to drag one of his new cohorts, Barty, out of the blaze caused by the elf’s magical inferno, but not without some burns. Darrien glanced over his shoulder to the covered wagon that was being driven by the quartermaster, Stix. Barty—who he had grown close with in their short time—was resting in the back, along with some of the group’s supplies, mostly food and tools.
By midday, Darrien was exhausted. The morning’s events had seemed to drag on endlessly, making it feel like it was already a world away with the city at their backs. He had been looking forward to taking the day to get to know the other members of the Silverbows better, but a tired silence seemed to have overtaken the whole group, or at least those he was riding near. Captain Titus Ironclaw, who had also been up since the attack that morning, had seen how tired Darrien was, and had thus assigned him to be a part of the main protective force—where the captain could keep an eye on him. The captain informed Darrien that he would be rotating the duties that Darrien would perform, both on the road, and when they made camp, so that Darrien could understand the duties and responsibilities, and to determine where amongst the group Darrien’s talents lay.
The group’s progress was halted by evening, with the mountains that Darrien had skirted during his trip up to Rocknest still miles away, looming large, highlighted gold by the setting sun against the dark of night behind them. Darrien was actually a bit excited to make camp, as doing so would mean breaking the spell that had seemed to make everyone mute. He had also been excited to show off some of his skills setting up camp, collecting firewood, pitching tents, perhaps searching for provisions. This would be his opportunity to really make himself invaluable.
That made it all the more disappointing when, after the lieutenant of the Silverbows, Robin, finished distributing the work, he got to Darrien, and told him to dig trenches. The young, brown-haired officer of the mercenary band had justified the decision by saying that the work was “mindless”, and would make him stronger. What was worse was that he had been assigned to the task with Rudolph, the burly brawler with shoulder-length black hair, who had not taken too kindly to Darrien to begin with, and was certainly not going to like him more after being involved in the attack on the mansion that morning.
Darrien reported to Styx, the quartermaster for the group, though it seemed that title failed to cover the whole breadth of the man’s responsibilities. In this case, he was needed for a shovel, but the array of vials, barrels, racks of tools, and even paper documents made Darrien wonder if there was anything that the small, wiry man did not have. He hardly had finished the thought when Styx whipped back around, shovel in hand, hardly giving Darrien a moment to breathe, the man’s matted, almost dusty hair flipping around in clumps, filling the air with dust.
Styx dropped the shovel into Darrien’s hands, and dismissed him with a grunt. Darrien tried to at least give him some common courtesy, but found himself coughing on the thick, dry air instead. Styx once again grunted, and Darrien stumbled and coughed out from the back of the supply wagon, filling his lungs instead with the icy air that was flowing down from the pale, blanketed mountains just a few more miles southeast. He was washing the last bits of grit from his mouth using his waterskin when a harsh, thick voice gave him a start and induced another fit of coughing.
“So I’ve got you first? Of friggin course.” It was Rudolph, who seemed to dwarf Darrien, shovel already in hand, the spade slung over his shoulder at the ready. He was a few inches taller than Darrien, but Rudolph’s immensity came from how thick he was, with Darrien feeling like he could fit two of himself in Rudolph’s chest. “Boy, this is how this is going to go, I don’t trust ya, ‘specially not after that trouble that you brought around this morning. I ain’t convinced that you weren’t in it with him…” The man moved his thick red cheeks and bright red beard in towards Darrien’s face, until the world in view was carpeted in red and smelled of strong booze. “But, you didn’t let Bart die, so I’m gonna watch ya dig until I do.” Rudolph pulled his face back and Darrien, who had been holding his breath, from the tension, and the stench, exhaled, and nodded, not wanting to prod the burly man on what had been a trying day for everyone.
Rudolph pointed to a spot, and Darrien would dig, until he pointed to a new one. Rudolph casually leaned against his shovel, like a walking stick, taking frequent drinks from his wineskin, disapproving look on his face the whole time. Rudolph had him dig half a dozen trenches in all, most barely more than a foot deep, not even reaching dirt in most cases. Darrien was not sure that this was the right way to do it, as they seemed to be of little use more than to relieve themselves, but he certainly was not going to raise the issue with the man whose fists looked like they could, and had, crushed skulls. Darrien finally got some help on the last trench that he was digging. Rudolph pulled his shovel up from the snow, and began to help, grumbling that, “You’re takin’ too long, all the food‘ll be gone by the time you’re done.”
As it turned out, there was still a bit of time before the collective efforts of Styx, and Khalar, who doubled as the camp cooks was ready to be served, leaving Darrien with some time to sit down in his tent, which he would be sharing with Barty, if Barty was not going to be staying in Khalar’s supply wagon while recovering from his burns tonight. Laying down on his bedroll, he was hit with waves of exhaustion and soreness. Digging trenches for the better part of two hours had not been that difficult of work compared to the days that he put in back home, but when combined with the strain of the morning’s conflict, followed by the half-day’s ride had managed to wear out every muscle he had, leaving him unable to summon the will to get back up.
Or so he thought, but the smell of garlic and rosemary on hot meat wafting into the tent after a few minutes drew him upright, and gave Darrien the strength to find his feet once more. Most of the men had finished their respective duties around the camp, and were lounging near the cookfire. It seemed though that the smell of dinner broke the day’s tensions, as now the silence was filled with the chatter of conversation, and even some soft laughter. Darrien felt himself let out his breath, finally also beginning to relax, and moved over towards the campfire.
“Well, if the farm boy isn’t done with the trenches finally!” The voice came from the middle of the group, but the nasally tone was unmistakable. Despite the short time they had known each other, it was only possible that it could have been Barty, who it seemed was doing quite well after his day riding in Khalar’s medical cart.
“I’m glad to see you’re doin’ better too.” Darrien managed to get out.
“It was nice to get off my feet for a bit though, I should get injured more often!” Barty exclaimed with a laugh, and looked over towards Khalar, who was rummaging through some supplies.
Khalar gave a short huff and threw back, “Or next time you nearly burn to death, you can walk through the snow instead!”
Barty’s face froze for a moment, his head filled with icy imagery, and his response was softer, “I was just kidding, you wouldn’t make me walk through that? Would you?” Barty gesturing out to the snow.
The medic though, just chuckled to himself, as he continued moving things around, his uniform like the others’, but with a white cross across the chest to signify his role, and wearing robes instead of armor, but keeping the forest green and silver bow pin. Objects in his robes jingled together softly as he continued to shift things within his cart.
A few minutes passed and the conversation around Barty settled down, giving Darrien the opportunity to really talk to him, with at least an air of privacy. Barty began by checking in with Darrien.
“Yeah, I’m fine, but you should be more worried about yourself,” Darrien told him.
“Hah! I had all day to worry about myself, and I’m still here, I couldn’t check in on you while I had Khalar…” Barty paused and glanced over to Khalar who simply gave a side eye to Barty while going about his business. “Taking care of me.” Barty finished slowly, with a smirk. “In any case, how was your first evening of real work setting up camp?”
“Honestly, it wasn’t too far off from mucking stables, or the like, but it’s definitely been a long day,” Darrien finished while stretching his shoulders.
“There’ll be a lot more long days yet!” Barty retorted “Though hopefully with less fireballs. I haven’t met a ton of casters or elves, but my impression of both has soured.” Barty said the last part with a bit of a grimace, and Darrien realized that for all the strength that Barty showed, he was still in a fair amount of pain. Barty looked at Darrien, and seeing Darrien’s face, Barty’s grimace transformed back into the smirk that he was wearing earlier. He continued, “I heard that you were there with good ol’ Rudy. I hope he didn’t give you too hard of a time?”
Darrien wasn’t quite sure how to answer Barty’s expectant tone. He didn’t want to complain, or worse, to tattle on someone who he would be serving alongside. However, Darrien also wasn’t sure sure that he wanted to keep the event a total secret either. “I just don’t think he trusts me very much, but it wasn’t more than I can handle.”
“Doesn’t trust you? After you dragged me outta those flames?! Why I-” Barty stopped himself and took a breath. “Listen, I know you want him to like you, but Rudy is stubborn as an ox, and strong as one too, so if you know what’s good for you, you won’t do anything reckless trying to get on his good side.” Barty leaned back, “I suggest you just stay out of his way for a bit, do your job right, and he won’t have anything to complain about.”
Darrien nodded, but the advice did not really feel right to him. He couldn’t really explain it to Barty properly it seemed, but it was more hostile than that. Darrien felt he needed to prove more than just that he was useful, but that he was part of the group, that he wasn’t going to betray them, and that he really was on their side.
Darrien only made a little bit more small talk while serving himself a bowl of stew, before he said good night and went to his tent, to eat alone, and to finally rest after the long day. Darrien had wanted to come clean about misleading the Silverbows about his relationship to the man that had attacked them that morning, but failed to find an opportunity to get Barty alone. He crawled into his tent, propped up near a bare tree on the outskirts of the camp. He laid out his bedroll, and within minutes of doing so, he had finished his dinner, crawling into his bed, and quickly fell into the dark embrace of sleep.
/rant 