1Despite the forest's natural preference for silence, humans and other beasts had constantly denied it even the semblance of quiet for eons; perhaps that was why the birds did not cease in their chirping and the animals in their foraging as yet another tired army tromped unenthusiastically through the dead leaves...the third in as many years. And yet, there was something different about this army; battered from a never-ending war, yes, their hides and their armor dented and scratched from blade and spell and tooth and claw…exhausted, yes indeed, tired eyes and tired arms dragging weapons and equipment through the loam. Fresh from a recent battle, in fact; a tenth of their men had fallen but hours ago. And yet...there was that strange difference. Hope. For they called themselves the Army of Hope, a lofty title and yet they wore it well. The hope of the world rested on their shoulders, or so they believed, and for good reason; the King of Bae had died, and vile men sought the throne. To the Army of Hope, every man other than their own Lord Willem was a vile excuse; for their own Lord Willem, they'd march to Hell and drag the Devil's own throne to him.
A young man rode at the front of the army, atop a black-feathered Gryphon, who yawned as his master tugged gently on the reins, signaling a stop that trailed backwards along the serpentine column of men and horses and wagons pulled by beasts of burden; oxen and stranger creatures moaned impatiently as their indecisive owners halted for what seemed like the millionth time this unnight. Pale green sunlight, filtered through dead leaves and heavy branches, played a mottled pattern across the young man's dark red armor, which seemed to have a light of its own and glowed softly with stored energy. Sharp eyes, once described as a soft brown until battle gave them a permanent edge, flickered over the forest ahead and then, as the youth turned, the long line of men behind him, most of whom returned his gaze with an expectant grin, as if their young Lord Willem would pluck some sort of miracle from the air. He sighed, drawing back the chain-mail hood from his head and running his fingers through damp, startlingly white hair, and then turned back to the forest. A sharp hiss from his mount focused his eyes to the west, and shortly a cloaked figure stepped into view.
It was the Gryphon who spoke first, causing a grizzled soldier a few feet away to shift in surprise; he was not alone, unfortunately, in his misconception that Lord Willem's mount, that Gryphons in general, were dumb beasts. "And what would our sssspy have us learn?" The low grumble of the Gryphon's voice caused the cloaked figure to retreat a step, but Willem gestured encouragingly, gave a smile as if to say, Sorry, he's not at his best this unnight.
The cloaked figure paused nonetheless, before shuddering and pushing back its hood to reveal a lanky human, not yet free of his teenage years. "...I-Inn ahead, M-M'lord. Large, rather spacious...under the name of Able Hill, or so the sign says. There's another, according to Janos, five miles further and yet another five after that. The first is rather pricey - not that, I mean, M'lord couldn't afford it, no sir - but looks rather well-kept...the others are less expensive, I think, but look pretty good...according to Janos, sir." He swallowed visibly, ducking his head as if expecting some sort of blow. Willem sighed; all his new recruits were like that. That this boy was particularly useful in scouting didn't make it any better. Not that I have any right calling him 'boy'... The rueful thought was quickly discarded and Willem made up his mind. "Rejoin the rest of the men. Tell Eric and Markus to come to me. And good work, Matrim...tell your superiors to give you a few extra gold pieces." Matrim's face a mixed bag of emotions - delight that his Lord Willem had remembered his name, confusion over the delight and embarrassment over the confrontation that would surely follow should he actually request the gold from his captain, who would doubtlessly believe the boy was lying - as he scurried off into the solemn mass of soldiers, Willem turned to more pressing matters, narrowing his eyes as if to stare right through the trees in an attempt to see Able Hill.
"What ssssay you, Willem?" The Gryphon prompted after a few moments of silence, but before he could answer two grim young men in plate mail, also atop Gryphons, made their way over to him. Their mounts nodded in greeting to Willem's, but did not speak; Willem had heard that his officers discouraged idle chatter between the creatures, especially during brief conferences such as this one. Markus, a long dark scar trailing down the left side of his face and sealing his eye shut, threw a sharp fist-to-chest salute, followed quickly by Eric, who did so with a grimace; his cousin had fallen in battle hours ago...by Eric's blade. Willem briefly wondered if Eric held as much faith in the Army of Hope as he once had. Tonight would be a very bad time to find out.
"Eric. Divide the Army into three groups; you'll head one. Find a trustworthy man among your officers and tell him to lead the other. I'll lead the third, which will consist of most our officers and equipment. Take yours and the other to the two furthest inns, while we stay here. We'll meet tomorrow unmorning. Understood?" Another grimace met his request, but he nodded and snapped off another salute before wheeling his Gryphon around and riding away, the beast's feathers ruffling as it sensed its rider's agitation. Willem frowned, and shook his head; his men would refuse their Lord Willem any but the best of inns, but Eric would only see his move as laziness. He wondered again if, tomorrow, he might need to find himself another third-in-command. Markus watched his Lord without expression, neither approving nor disapproving; he knew the situation as well as Willem...perhaps even better.
"Shall I tend to the men and cannons, M'lord?" Armor gleaming, Willem gave a tired nod. "I'll send word when I have the sleeping arrangements figured out and paid for; wait until then. If I don't return...find some other puppet, eh?" It was a warning, or perhaps a threat...but not a serious one. With the Rose Armor, Willem was beyond normal swords and sorcery...but that was not what he referred to, though his chance for abandoning the Army of Hope had come and gone long ago...or at least, that was how it felt. He nudged the dark Gryphon's side with a boot, turning about and riding off into the woods without a second glance before Markus could fire off his own salute, far more honest than Eric's had been...
Able Hill was not the best inn in Bae, but it was more than enough, especially on an unnight such as this; Willem was filled with reassurance simply looking at the warmth spilling from its windows. Extracting a promise to stay put from his Gryphon, he dismounted, spiked boots crunching the fallen twigs and detritus of the forest beneath him as he approached the door. Heat washed over him as he made his way in, eyes struggling to adjust to the level of light, and he was immediately struck by how empty the place was. The commons, though filled with tables, had only a wizened Ork slumped in the corner, snoring loudly through the grasp of liquor-induced sleep. But his first step, as if tripping some sort of spell, brought an immediate result; the Ork snapped awake, eyes groggy but still glowing red, and then charged, ancient frame trembling with his roar, lifting skeletal green hands over his head as if wielding some sort of weapon - and then stumbled to a halt, wheezing and shaking in surprise. Willem, hand on the hilt of his faintly humming weapon, blinked as a warm, feminine voice filled the room. "Forgive Gelrik. He forgets the Treaty has been standing strong for eighty years, now."
Willem stared in quiet wonder as the owner of the voice revealed herself; a beautiful Ork maiden, the opposite in the old warrior in every way. Once again, he wondered at the fact that female Orks looked simply like gorgeous human women with green skin and pointed ears, while males were ugly, pig-snouted and heavy-jawed brutes...but such thoughts were considered racist, in these days, and he promptly forgot them, especially when there were other things to consider. His silent appraisal of her did not pass unnoticed, and she returned his gaze with a quick glance of her own, pausing at his hair, so uncommon a trait in young humans. She was dressed modestly; a fine blue silk dress not so rare among nobility who wished to avoid openly lecherous eyes, but carried a dagger at her side, as was custom among her people...whether or not she could use it was a question Willem hoped he would never have to learn the answer to.
"I am Aely, Mistress of Able Hill...and you..." Her eyes lingered on his armor, lingered longer on the sword at his side. Her full lips tugged downwards for an instant. "...Must be Lord Willem. We hear of your crusade, even here in Aeksvon." He matched her frown for frown, just as brief. How unfortunate...
The remnants of the candle flickered, struggling to stay alight even as the flame dipped lower and lower into the growing puddle of wax, as Willem struggled free of his last item of clothing, feeling the ache and pull of tired muscles even as he imagined the ache of his men, all settling in for the night. His thoughts drifted over Krzy, his black-feathered mount, warm in the stables and sneezing at the thick odor of horses...over Eric, his stubborn lost cause...the arrangements had been made. Aely had made it quite clear, through actions if not words, she would not converse with an aspiring conqueror beyond the business of purchasing rooms and space in the stable...how ironic that, had Willem been asked but five years ago, he would have refused to talk to some arrogant would-be king as well. Sad, too...his opinion had not much changed, but he was stuck with his role. He did not much like talking to himself.
With a sigh, he dropped to the bed and slipped beneath the covers, mind wandering even further, back across the five years that suddenly felt more like ten, or even twenty. What found him here, exactly? What put him on this path? That, unfortunately, would be the stuff of his dreams...
A/N: Well howdy-doo. Another story that wanted to be told. Maybe I'll finish this one, eh?