Legacy (Daughter of War #2)

Chapter 5: ...And Into Darkness (Part 1)

Music is Echoes of the Roman Ruins from the Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood OST, composed by Jesper Kyd. Play it!

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The tents are duly pitched; Sir Kendrick and the three men return after collecting the firewood; and a tripod stand is set up in the centre of the camp. Soon, we have a jolly-looking fire roaring away in the depths of the night.

One of the men—the young corporal I saw this morning—starts boiling the stew that will be our dinner. A comrade helps him, while the others take to relaxing and chatting amongst themselves to pass the time.

Minutes tick by. I continue to revel in the atmosphere, letting the heat of the fire sink into my travel-weary bones. The flames lick the air, spiralling upwards, dancing a dizzy waltz of red, amber and yellow. Sparks float upwards and disappear into nothingness. Something in me stirs. The parts that yearns to tame the fire—be part of it. But as always, I cannot afford to allow my powers to come into their full potential. So I quell the yearning.

It still burns in the pit of my belly.

I close my eyes, tuning out the idle chatter engulfing me. There is peace in the forest; it feels like we're invaders trying to mark their territory. The men are trying to fill the silence, but they don't realise that the forest doesn't want to be filled with silence. What is Pst. Maia thinking of them right now?

A strong mixture of onions, herbs and some gamey meat tickle my nostrils. My stomach growls in return. The spell of the woods over me is broken. For now, there are more urgent matters to tend to. Our lunch had been stale bread accompanied by cheese. Barely enough to satisfy one who has been riding all day. My eyes flicker open.

"Stew's all ready! C'mere an' get yer share!" cries the young Corporal in a thick southern Perinian accent. So he's from the more rural areas of the country. It's rare that Southerners move to the northern cities to seek their fortune. The only person I know of who shares his accent is Leigh, a Galennus-in-training back in Cordair.

Everyone instantly comes alive at those blessed words. They scrabble towards the pot. The Corporal looks slightly stupefied at the sight of the ravenous beasts shouting at him. Sir Kendrick walks up front, gives them all a glare, and they fall into line.

Then he flashes a wicked grin. "Last one to earn his meal will be scrubbing pots tonight!" he announces.

Chaos resumes.

I smile to myself. Looks like I'll be the foretold pot-scrubber for tonight. I get up from the log I'm sitting on, walk over, and patiently wait for all the others to get their stew.

Eventually, the men dissipate, tucking into their meal like a pack of voracious wolves. Then I see that Sir Isaac hasn't gotten his share yet. "Sir, you go first," I say, when he hovers uncertainly.

"Looking forward to scrubbing pots, boy?" he counters.

"Not particularly. But I'm not letting an elder do the honours instead," I reply evenly.

He releases a grunt. "Always the chivalrous lad. Very well, don't say that I never offered to be the sacrificial lamb."

The Corporal hands the bowl in his hands to Sir Isaac. When I step forwards, his lips slowly curl into a grin. He passes the lukewarm stew to me. "Will be marking ye as the official pot-scrubber, aye?"

"It's just for tonight," I grumble. "Why is everyone so eager to dodge the role?"

"Well now, never meant to set yer nerves so sharp. Jest a joke, that's all."

I look over my shoulder. The men seem to be wrapped up in conversation, but I sense their eyes flickering towards me from time to time. They laugh, as though they were sharing a hidden joke. I have a profound feeling that I'm the hidden joke. "Doesn't strike me as funny," I say.