Their expressions became cold with disappointment, and they lowered their arms slowly. Even the archer looked at his grandfather, as if he knew he should not have started their conversation this way, given that they had only recently escaped death.
His sudden laughter shook the squad from their nightmare as if a tub of ice had been poured over them. “Come now, there is no need to strain your faces. It is a far better fate than having your heads in a basket.” Warneńczyk rested a hand on his heart and reminded them of what could have been. “For all I care, you saved General Nikola from self-destruction.” Thanking them, he sounded sincere in his words even though it was the squad who had been saved.
Julien looked around him, his comrades unsure whether they should speak without permission, but he felt that it must be done even if he were breaking orders again. “Thank you, general. If it weren't for your interference, we—” He tried to keep a facade of courage for the sake of his squad, but eventually, his eyes turned downward as well.
“Save your breath. Your lieutenant has already delivered your gratitude.” Warneńczyk chuckled as he crossed his arms.
As Nikola’s soldiers continued to tear down their camp, the general looked at the faces of the members of the squad standing before him and came to understand that each had a horrible past that barely equated what they had witnessed on the day of their first battle, memories that were difficult to forget, but after suffering defeat and antagonism under both enemy and ally, their souls had yet another layer peeled off of them.
The air brought the hill a sudden chill, and crossing his arms, he attempted to store his warmth. “Fret not now. We’re glad enough that you had not betrayed us.” The elderly general said with sincerity.
“It wasn’t that hard.” Colt interrupted him, making him the centre of attention. “He didn’t even offer us anything.” The Easterner boldly recalled as he kicked the flowers beneath his feet about.
Warneńczyk let out a soft chuckle, trying to stifle a smile. “As I heard. Alas, his inability to predict your worth has failed him.” The elderly general looked over his shoulder in the direction of the Confederate army, and although they could not see who he spoke of, the squad knew.
Furrowing his brow, Arber wondered what he meant by that. “Worth?” The short soldier muttered to himself.
While their eyes were pinned on the distance, Károly felt himself take flight, lifted up by his collar like a pup. His face reddened with panic as the squad stared at him, weightlessly being moved before his grandfather, whose initial appearance betrayed his true strength. The archer sought to hide away his unseemly sight, but he was trapped by two hands placed on his shoulders holding him in place.
“Take Károly.” Warneńczyk used him in his demonstration, and only then was he introduced by name. “He is an archer, yes? It is a calling of many abilities.” He began his lesson as if he had entirely forgotten about the emergency of their retreat, but he had good reason to tutor the squad first.
Although their bodies were screaming in pain, the squad’s mental fortitude allowed them to remain silent and patient as they listened to the general, but what intrigued the squad was different from what intrigued Julien. It seemed unimportant to the others, but his pulse quickened as a visage of what appeared to be a memory tried to form. Károly? He repeated his name, which pained his head as if a knife was being dragged across his scalp.
After releasing Károly, the general raised his hand and began counting the attributes that one would expect an archer to have. “His bow, his agility, his sight, his dexterity—all of which make an archer’s worth, but anyone can see that.” Even if some did not understand him, Warneńczyk seemed to have interested most of them, who considered it a test. However, the general had not revealed why he wished to teach this lesson.
One member of the squad, who had always been the brightest of the bunch even if he did not show it, spoke up, albeit quietly. “Worth, in your words, would be how we use… his uses?” Lev answered the general, unsure if his wording would allow his comrades to understand what he meant.
“Exactly. That is your worth, which I see value in.” Warneńczyk expressed surprise at the half-blood lancer’s wit before lowering his hand behind his back. “But until you reveal your worth in my army, I suggest that you heed your commanders.” The elderly general finally informed the squad of his intentions and forewarned them of their known behaviours, leaning on his stronger knee as his other knee creaked and ached.
The youths widened their eyes when they realised what it was he implied, but as the more sensible soldiers and lancers among them had thought, it was not going to be an easy path even if they had been saved from the grasp of death. The squad braced up when the general dismissed them with the wave of his hand, and clapping their heels together, they saluted at once. Standing at ease, one by one, they filtered away, their expressions restored of what little joy they had and their worry disintegrated with each sigh of relief. As Károly watched their backs turn against him, he sensed regret simmering within, wanting to learn more about the squad who he had only admired from afar. His usual braveness seemed to have forsaken him when a hand held onto his back, ushering him forward.
His grandfather gazed at the squad, which was disappearing into the maze of the Bohemer camp again. “Károly, accompany them and help them find their way to my camp.” Warneńczyk pushed him on, although it suggested to him that he should become acquainted with those his age.
Károly elatedly nodded, and he skipped towards the squad, passing by Julien, who shed but a brief glance at the archer in wonder, before he joyfully introduced himself to his heroes. They had not seen anyone quite as energetic as he was, and perhaps, they thought, such a warm light was needed in their ranks, and they welcomed him into their fold, driving away the darkness with the brightness of his smile and childish laughter, a contagious affliction that the squad could not keep away. Julien stayed as if his every sense was being blocked by the fear of a fading vision, but he was shaken awake when he was asked a question by the elderly man who remained beside him.
“Was hu rængen, Karlstad? (What do you remember, Carlstadt?)” Warneńczyk took one step forward before asking the blonde-haired lancer a peculiar question.
But Julien did not recall ever introducing himself, and he paused with one foot ahead of the other. He had no recollection of ever seeing this man or anyone foreign, given his sheltered upbringing. For all his life, he had been forgotten in his house, alive but alone, on the windy shores of a spit of sand which his grandfather rarely visited, and his only journey beyond the reaches of his homeland brought him across the North Sea into the hands of the Calamity, where he met Arminius, so it would have been impossible for him to know this general, yet he should have. Banners and tents were being felled and hauled away by an endless train of caravans as the heavens caressed the grass with the sun, which re-emerged from the clouds, but the blood in the boy did not warm, nor had he ever felt warmth ever since his memories began five years ago. Julien brought his feet together and turned around with questions he hoped the general would be able to answer.457Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGoFEUjHzmJ
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