The Gathering

Chapter 25 Disillusioned

Denchar, Anboria

22nd Harvest, 506 AG

Viktor Constantine swung his broadsword in one hand, a war- axe in the other. On all sides men fell. He pressed forward, striking again, left, right; before and aft. He swept a path through the opposing army. If you could call it an army. More a skirmish. He fought for Lord Dutton against the forces of Lord Callan. He'd fought for Callan the year before. Some of the men he killed today he'd probably supped ale with. They'd won that time, with him on their side. They wouldn't win today.

Afterwards, Viktor laughed when men clapped him on the back as he headed towards the nearest inn. He strode into the tavern, assuredly confident. His shrewd eyes swiftly assessed the room as he stood alert, ready to fight or equally prepared to relax.

A group of mercenaries at a table in a corner hailed him. Viktor strode over, grinning. He could have killed them today. Might yet another day. That rested in the hands of the gods. Dutton had paid him well for his part in the battle.

A servant-girl flirted with Viktor when she brought him a tankard of ale. Viktor laughed and slapped her behind. A few tables over a young couple sat with their children at supper. A fat baby squirmed on the young woman's lap. A boy of seven or eight wandered the room. He stopped before Viktor, eyeing his weapons.

'Come here, Luk.'

The boy's father called out uneasily.

'Nay, he's fine.'

Viktor smiled at the boy.

'You want to be a warrior when you grow up?'

A huge mercenary known as Boldar the Brave grinned at the boy.

'He'll never make a warrior. Boy's too skinny,' a mealy-faced customer observed.

'Don't you listen, boy. I was smaller than you at your age.'

Viktor grinned at the crest-fallen boy.

'Truly?' Luk asked.

'Truly. I was a skinny, little runt. Always gettin' picked on.'

'That's hard to believe.'

A grizzled soldier laughed.

'It's true,' Viktor insisted. 'I had to beg the master of an academy of combat near my home to teach me. Master Ogden refused at first because I was so skinny but I wouldn't give up. Stubborn, I was, even then. In the end he gave me a go. Probably thought it the quickest way to get rid of me.'

Viktor smiled at the memory.

'Mind you, that was a long time ago.'

A long time since he had been a scrawny, hungry boy on the streets of Quodin, an easy target for older, more affluent boys before Master Ogden took him on as an apprentice at his battle academy.

'I remember you straight out of school at your first battle,' Boldar said with a nudge. 'You weren't so skinny then.'

'Gods, I'd forgotten that. Lord Clane's army, one of those petty wars of the lords of the west.'

'Offered you a position first time out, didn't he? But Viktor here wanted to be a mercenary like us.'

Baldor slapped his flagon on the table and grinned round at a handful of mercenaries.

'We had some adventures, didn't we, lad?'

Baldor slung a drunken arm around Viktor's shoulders.

'We done some travelling, that's for sure,' Viktor grinned.

'And some fighting,' red-haired Ruairi added.

The mercenaries roared with laughter. Frightened by the cacophony, Luk backed away.

'It's alright, boy. They're just a tad drunk. Fighting is thirsty work,' Viktor grinned.

Viktor signaled the servant-girl back and ordered another flagon before enquiring about a bed for the night. He grinned and assented when she offered to share his bed.

Vicktor woke with a start and sat up in bed. A glance around the darkened room showed him nothing was amiss. He'd had a nightmare. His heart slowed its pounding. He lay down once more in the big bed that sagged from the weight of countless past travelers. It had been weeks since the last nightmare. He'd hoped they'd left him in peace at last.

Outside, a cold north wind whistled around the walls of the inn. Harvest had come to Anboria. The courtyard he crossed earlier in the day had been littered with rust colored leaves. A dog yowled mournfully in the distance. An early wagon rattled down the main street.

Soon he'd aid the Lord of Darrent in a quarrel against his neighbor, the Lord of Temel. Another tedious squabble. The western lords on the main were bullying braggarts. Just the sort of people he'd hated since a small boy. They paid dearly for his skills in their interminable wars however. In battle, men fell before him like wheat beneath a scythe. He had a charmed life.

Yet petty wars where men's lives were valued less that dust disillusioned him. He'd learnt to abhor the brutality and rapine of foreign wars just as bad. He despaired of ever finding a just cause to fight for. He'd come home to Anboria, fighting once again for the lords of the west, carousing and fornicating in taverns across Anboria between battles. Men admired him. Women loved his powerful body. It wasn't a bad life.

Viktor pulled close the warm body of the servant girl asleep beside him, He pushed memories of the past from his mind. By the time he'd kissed the girl awake and she'd turned willingly towards him, all shreds of nightmare had disappeared.

(a/n a bit short)