The skies were grey and were turning dark. The winter sun was low and snow began to fall again, restoring the land to a pristine whiteness as the riverside winds sieved through alleyways and streets. The cold air was sharp on the cityfolk’s skin, hurrying as their noses began to redden and their joints stiffened. They returned from their daily callings to the embrace of their homes, unsure of where the path began and where the gutters ended over the cobbled roads submerged beneath the ice. The doors to rows of townhouses closed, their shops beneath or between such buildings clearing down after another quiet day of trade. Seeing away their final customers, who were mostly soldiers, the people anticipated an ancient tradition that awaited them the following day: a day of rest. Curtains were drawn and fireplaces warmed. The indoors lit up with lamps and candles that transformed the city into one radiating light. Large braziers burnt atop towers and walls, in squares and on boats. The roaring flames served as beacons for the garrison, but there was little need to care for anything beyond their walls lately. A few patrols marched up and down the streets, passing by the many checkpoints that were keeping order. The local militia and their guest army jointly defended their homes, leaving no corner uncharted. They helped the needy whenever they could, when war did not call. It was the beginning of winter. Armies would camp on fallow ground, waiting to recover from the blood it had soaked from spring to autumn. But for some children, war was always present.
Racing down the street of Seding, a fortress city on the River Wada that stood as a bridge between two great rival kingdoms, two boys in their village garbs skidded and slipped. They were not of the city, and even if they were, like those their age, their parents or guardians would have sent them away, far from the frontlines, for their safety and their futures. The eldest towed the youngest by his hand, their feet quick, ignoring the warnings of ununiformed soldiers waving at them to be careful. However careless the pair were on the unpredictable ice and snow, their urgency did not relent.
Through buildings they weaved. The boys followed the street north until the road opened up. A burst of wind blasted at them, and their bodies staggered. Finding themselves on an avenue that led along the river downstream, they fought their way against the frequent gusts. From their hindered vision, they could make out the abandoned boats which were anchored at bay, with some sunk or scrapped. Before them were numberless soldiers drilling along the bank as more messengers rode in and out the nearer they got to the heart of the hive, a standalone building overlooking the river with its imposing style.
Its architecture surpassed, in glory, anything else in the city. On the brick Gothic elements of a cathedral-sized hall, an astronomical clock was mounted on its centre tower, its spire extending out of the roof and reaching for the heavens. The boys crossed the street, paying no attention to the structure, caring instead to avoid the trotting horses and waggons fleeting north and south. Leaping up a block of stairs, skipping over every other step, they passed by soldiers who were confused by their appearance. Their chatter stopped and their eyes stared, wondering who it was that gave these children permission to enter, yet they did nothing to prevent their entry. When the boys rushed inside, they stood within an interior unlike what its facade implied.
The stationary and material art piece of historical architects was a town hall. Carved within it was an expansive lobby, lively. However, the crowd that filled the lobby consisted of neither councillors nor burghers. Their voices, summoning regiment representatives, drove the machine that formed the core of the city’s defence. More crowds gathered in a once-church-like mess hall behind one doorway, while an armoury was accessible through another. The administrative divisions and offices had been transformed into an army’s headquarters fit for a man who held the rank of general. Over the smooth tiled floor, a humble chandelier hung, but the hundreds of lanterns that surrounded the hall produced enough light for its residents to mistake it for forever day. The upper floor was higher than usual, with an open balcony corridor running along its edge. Low walls guarded its rooms, fashioned with holes for rifles to fit through in times of defence. In the centre, where every part of the building joined, there was a grand staircase.
The two boys, their clothes soaked in melted snow, hurried towards the stairs, their shoes squelching and leaving a wet trail. But when they placed a foot on its first step, they both felt a soft tap on their shoulders. Pausing, thinking that they would have to answer a curious soldier who wondered what they were doing in the hall, the pair spun around, ready to splurt out an explanation they had long rehearsed. However, they realised that he was no stranger.
“The snow’s been harsh on you two.” Julien, the only uniformed soldier around, noticed their shivers when they stood still. “Go get changed before you catch a cold.” He suggested it at the foot of the stairs, before the boys took another step.
They looked at their clothes, their minds less aware than their bodies were. It was for the best, they thought, and without a word, they obeyed him, hurrying off the steps and scurrying past the waves of soldiers washing on the shores of the stairs. The corporal watched as they filtered through the crowd into the armoury, their heads disappearing beneath the throng until they were no longer visible, leaving ripples in the path they had taken.
With a slight smile, Julien turned away, continuing on upstairs, cradling a set of documents tied into a file. Following the railings, he took the shortest path possible not to obstruct the officers who ran up and down the rough stone steps. After a short hike, he reached the second floor, and all that was on the floor under him had shrunk, the height of the balcony making him uneasy. Moving closer to the wall where a pair of doors to a room opened, he made way for a group of captains and lieutenants to exit first, passing by him, who saluted them. Their eyes were, however, fixated on their notes, discussing the meeting that they just had. The corporal slipped past them before the doors could shut on him and entered the chamber, which he often felt as though he did not quite belong in.340Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡad7xTZO3Og
and then Add to home screen.