Sohryn (1)

A bit more than a week after leaving Falrum, Quinn was panting as he held a steel longsword in both hands. Across from him, Markus stood waiting, flourishing an arming sword in his right hand, a kite shield shaped like a teardrop in his left, ready for their next bout.

"Focus on relaxing your muscles. If you can't do it here, training with me, you'll never achieve it in real battle."

"That-that's easy for you to… say" Quinn complained between painting breaths.

"It is. Because you're too tired and weak to make me tense. Come, channel the Gallery and we'll go again."

With a long, drawn out-breath, the boy's eyes grew dazed for a moment, and Markus waited patiently. He knew Quinn was looking inwards, connecting with his Gallery of War, and channeling power through his body.

'Still too slow. I need him to channel it seamlessly before he steps back on the field.'

Eyes sharpening, Quinn stepped forward and performed a series of sword forms. Waves on the Rocky Shore, Dancer's Return, Painting the Horizon. One strike after another, he attacked relentlessly as Markus defended with shield and sword.

"You're still too anxious!" As he spoke, he met a thrust with a not so simple deflection, the Twisting Gale, and bashed his shield onto Quin's exposed side and head.

"Don't exert yourself so much if it won't achieve anything. Come on Quin, this is beginner stuff."

"I know already, I know"

Watching the boy rubbing his head in frustration, he gave a brief snort, then in a calmer voice, continued:

"You're overthinking things. The Gallery doesn't need thought, and you don't need to put it all into every swing. It's just like another muscle, give it your all when you need to, but only when it's needed."

The boy nodded and held his sword forward once more.

With a nod from Markus, he advanced again.

They did this every day after leaving, whenever the horses needed rest, or whenever sitting in the saddle became too uncomfortable. With every bout, Quin lost but improved. Gradually he became better at relaxing when he fought and swifter at channeling the Gallery.

The Gallery of War was a unique thing, considered proof of one's merit as a warrior, and by focusing on it, a type of power would fill the body. Of course, the Gallery alone would not make the difference against real skill, but within the gallery, there was something else.

The Gates of War, said to be the gift of Al'ajor, The First Knight. They were opened only by one's comprehension, familiarity, and skill with war and combat, and every gate flooded the body with power surpassing that of the Gallery.

It was the opening of three such gates that made one a knight.

Quin's longsword made contact with his shield, and Markus could tell the boy was tired. Learning to channel the Gallery was exhausting at first, the body took a long time to get used to that power, but it became easier with time and practice.

With a swift flourish of his wrist, he whacked Quin gently on the top of the head with the flat of his blade. "Alright, that's enough." He said with a small chuckle. "You're doing well, Keep at it, and you might even open a gate or two before you leave my charge."

That was a great understatement. To have found his Gallery at 16 was an incredible achievement, and he was sure to open at least two gates before his 21st year. But the last thing the boy needed was a bigger head.

"Of course I will," Quin said. "In the company, who else found their gallery as quickly as me? Brutal Dom? Aunt Julia? And they were both knights around the time of their 21st."

"Don't believe everything Don tells you boy, he'll brag for days if you give him the chance."

Quinn chuckled but obviously didn't take it to heart, working his shoulders as if ready to go again, until his face fell, confusion overriding his smile.

"Hey," he said quietly with a nod to something down the road.

Turning, Markus saw a procession of mounted soldiers kicking up dust in the distance. From this far it was hard to make it out, but he'd guess there were a dozen or so.

"Just stand aside, they seem in a rush."

Their horses were already tied to trees a small distance from the path, so the two moved aside and waited for the horseman to pass by.

Sheathing his sword and stowing his shield on one of the horses, he looked back to Quinn who still watched the oncoming procession, gleaming long sword in hand.

"Put your damned sword down boy. You want them to think you're a brigand?"

"They wouldn't think that." He mumbled as he sheathed the blade. "Me, a brigand?" He almost seemed offended at the thought.

His concerns were unwarranted however, as the procession of armored men never slowed, galloping past with a ruckus series of thudding, dirt clouds filling the path for a moment after their passing.

"What's the rush?" Quinn grumbled amidst coughs as he watched their retreating figures through the dirt clouds.

"They're probably bound for Lenios. Either way, there's no point guessing at their motives, those were soldiers, nobles' business. We need to get a move on anyway, come on."

To most the word "soldier" would apply to himself as well, but as a mercenary, he put stock in the distinction between 'soldier' and 'warrior'. Markus was the latter, he fought for himself, his interests, and his comrades, not any particular noble house.

Pulling himself onto the high back of Strider, he took the reins for one of the packhorses and started down to the path once more. They still had many weeks left to reach the Dragon Gate.

****

A week later, they arrived at Rival's Crossing, a village situated at the convergence of two rivers, known as the Sohrynian Forks. To the east of that village, the colossal Oakheart Lake could be found, a beautiful place and the heart of naval trade to, from, and within the kingdom of Hadrial.

The bulk of the village was located on the southern side of the Sohrynian Forks, and so there were few buildings to greet them on this end. Yet even still, there were people about, making a living, and he could see in the distance, one of two ferries transporting people across the wide river.

None of those moving about batted an eye at the appearance of he and Quinn, despite the plainly visible steel arms and warhorses. War was commonplace, and anything less than a dozen men already donned in armor would attract no wary eyes in a place so well-traveled.

The buildings this side of the forks were of great make, some incorporating stone rather than brick, and very few with thatched roofs. For a village, Rival's Crossing was doing very well indeed.

The building he dismounted before was also of great make, but small, a simple house bordering the Sohrynian.

"Stay here and keep the horses, I'll arrange the way across." He said to Quin.

With three solid knocks on the door of the small house, Markus waited a lengthy stretch of time before it opened to reveal an older man dressed in colorful but comfortable clothing.

The man swept a gaze up and down him so quickly Markus might not have caught it with a moment's distraction, before smiling. "Yes? How can I help you?"

He was a rather plump man with short blonde hair, and a tuft on his chin so translucent you could easily miss it.

"My name is Markus Nabora, I'm looking for passage."

"Ah, of course." The man rubbed his chin as he looked up at him with weighing eyes. "And how many would be joining you?"

"Just myself and a squire."

"Right, right, just the two of you then? And horses?" The man prattled on without a moment's pause.

"Four."

"Four horses, I see. Well, I could take you onboard for two Sails each, cheap on account of your status, Sir Knight. Wouldn't want to impede the Kingdom's justice?" That last he said questioningly as if trying to ascertain his direct allegiance, but Markus only grunted as he fished through his coin pouch.

,Two Silver Sails each! A robbery is happening here! I'm being robbed in broad daylight.'

Despite his thoughts, he maintained a cool face as he pressed the four silver coins into the fat man's hand tightly.

"Four Sails, and you answer a few questions for me."

He kept his hand on the coins, and his eyes on the man as he spoke.

"Of course Sir, call me Henry. How can I help?" The fat man—Henry, beamed as he snatched the silver coins, not shying away from Markus' overcast look even a little.

'Perhaps I've lost my touch' he thought wistfully.

"Alright Master Henry, I was hoping you could fill me in on recent events to the south. The Dragon Gate specifically."

Recognition flashed in Henry's eyes as he realized where they were headed, and he turned around, waving for Markus to follow him inside.

"Come in for now, It's cold out, and I won't stand in the doorway all day. The Dragon Gate you said? Aye, their building Stonejaw again, that blasted fort. But it's our side that has it now, if they can hold long enough to finish the thing."

After entering the home, it seemed Henry's accent became more relaxed.

"Last I heard, there'd been a few skirmishes already with the Hasshan savages. To what I know, there's a duke in charge, calling for recruitments everywhere. More mercenaries down south than in the rest of the kingdom if you ask me, and soldiers rushing through here to spread the call every week."

The two sat in cushioned chairs as they spoke.

"And the construction? Any word on its progress?"

"No sir" Henry said with a small chortle. "Nobody cares to talk about something so mundane on their travels. I only know what I hear after all."

"Of course. And what about the road from here? Sorhyn, Goldharte? Anything I should know?"

"Nothing in particular. Sorhyn is as it always is, busy and loud, not that I've been in recent years. Had a few groups from there heading west through here, said they were going to Sangild, all abuzz with promises of wealth beyond the mountains. And I've heard no word from Goldharte in a long while, 'side from merchants praising those overpriced trees."

Speaking of those 'overpriced trees', Henry's face became petulant, like a child denied a toy. Surely he spoke of the Goldleaves, beautiful trees featuring metallic leaves that shone like gold under the sun, an incredibly sought-after material.

"Oh, I guess there's that conflict of inheritance at Sohryn, but that's old news now. No danger either mind you, just a contest of trade if I hear right."

"Alright, thank you for that. Those heading across the western mountains, how many have you seen pass through here?" Liane had mentioned this expedition, but he had refused to participate as he doubted they had enough men to risk the Wildlands safely.

"Oh, I don't know. Probably a hundred or so by now I'd think. Half of them with a sword at their waist."

'As I thought…'

It was a little disappointing though. If they had enough men he really would consider joining the expedition. He may even see that Runa again.

Markus stayed in the small house to finish the tea Master Henry had prepared before asking how long the ferry would take to be ready.

"Ah, right. Probably never if I don't get the men moving. A bunch of damn lizards my team, the warmer the sun the more braindead-slow they are."

With a groan of discontent, the plump man rose from his chair and started towards the door.

"You sure that's all you want to ask? I was expecting... more."

"Not unless you've remembered something worth mentioning?"

Master Henry shook his head as he opened the door, chilly winds greeting them as they left, along with the warmth of the sun above. It truly was a nice day.

"Quinn! Come on now, we're all sorted." He called out as Quinn brought the horses and handed him Strider's reins.

'So the skirmishes have already begun, and the commander's recruiting en mass? I hope we make it in time.'

"Come on you two, I'll see that the ferry gets moving now for you."

Master Henry walked south towards the wide river, where the ferry dock could be found, and called out to a plump young man a year or so Quinn's junior.

"Peter! Wake the crew and get them moving, you've got passengers."

The boy seemed caught off guard by the shout, his brown hair falling over his face as he nodded and rushed off to the docks.

"That ones my boy, he'll look after the preparations for you. Got a good head on his shoulders when he's not taken by wild fancies. Why, just the other week he went off and bought himself a sword if you can believe it! All the soldiers passing through here, their words have him fantasizing about some great adventure or making a hero of himself. Fool boy's looking to meet a fool's end."

Quin glared at that, he himself had taken that 'fools' path'.

"Ah, put your glare away boy, I meant no offense," Master Henry said dismissively before turning to Markus. "It's just, my Peter isn't exactly a fighter, he takes after his old man." He stroked his round stomach with a chuckle as he spoke, and Markus returned the laugh.

"None taken Master Henry. I have a young one of my own, and if she ever dared have thoughts for the sword I'd bend her over my knee before she could finish saying so."

Henry guffawed, and the two men shared a sympathetic moment while Quinn remained strangely quiet. A moment later, the ferry master's son, Peter, finally returned with a: "Dad, the ferry's ready".

He was closer now, and Markus could see the shining, polished pummel of the boy's sword, sheathed at his waist, shaped like an eagle's head of all things. It was a longsword again, as it always was for the young and stupid.

"Alright Sir Markus, and Squire Quinn was it? I'll leave you in the charge of my son and the crew now. Travel safely."

"Thank you," Quinn replied distractedly, obviously thinking about something else.

"Have a good day Master Henry."

The son, Peter, led them towards a large wooden platform on the water with a few other men onboard, and Markus took his time slowly coaxing Strider onto the ferry. By comparison, Quin's mare, Ness, had no problem embarking.

"Old Man. Would you really have a problem if Eve chose the sword?" Quinn asked as the wooden platform started forwards.

'So that's what he was thinking about.'

"I don't know boy. Probably. It's not something any father would want for his daughter."

The consternation on Quin's face deepened at his answer, and Markus knew why. Quinn had grown up in the shadow of his aunt Julia and himself. They were both titled warriors and leaders of one of the most prestigious mercenary companies in the world. To him, tales of the crimson banner, the Red Falcon, and the Unkillable Knight were like stories from the Age of Heroes to other children.

He felt bad that he might not live up to the image Quin had of him, but everyone was human in the end, regardless of titles or reputation.

"Come on, Eve is only Four and you're already trying to give me these sorts of headaches. Leave it alone and mind your own career for now."

That seemed to quiet his thoughts a bit, but he still looked constipated. When the Ferry reached land on the other side of the river, they led their horses back onto land to find the southern half of Rival's Crossing bustling with activity, and set about finding an inn.

Ordinarily, a typical village would have only a single inn, but Rival's Crossing was almost large enough to be called a town, and prospered greatly from traffic between the great trade cities of Lenios and Sohryn. At least three large inns could be found, and they were often packed with customers.

"H-how about this one?" Quinn asked hesitantly.

"The Maiden's Embrace?" He read the sign with a wry smile. "If that's the one you want then go ahead, the choice is yours."

Directing a teasing look at the boy, he watched Quinn falter and flounder.

"N-no, of course not. You need to learn to take a joke Markus, I was just joking."

"Joking? Oh of course, how silly of me."

With that same smile, he threw an arm over Quin's shoulder and pulled him into the inn. "But this old soldier could do with a maiden's giggles. Come on."

Amidst arguments and laughter, he dragged a red-faced Quinn into the peculiar inn and passed some coin to the boy before walking off to find a cheery smile and something to drink. He'd never forsake his vows to Liane, but he never swore to ignore a pretty face and flirtatious words.

When dawn broke, Markus woke alone on his single bed and dressed before heading to the common room for breakfast. When Quinn joined him an hour later, he laughed and ruffled the boy's hair roughly.

"Eat up, we'll go another week without food like this, so enjoy it."

"Stop it, I get it, I get it." He grumbled while trying to push Markus' hand away.

"If you get it then eat already. And pass me your sword."

"My sword? Why?"

"No reason why, just hand it over. I bought you the damned thing, I'm not going to run off with it now."

"Fine, take it."

The few patrons in the common room turned their heads at the sound of steel being drawn, but soon lost interest.

"I'll be outside if you need me."