Daniel carefully made his way up stream. The waters lapped against his boat as he slowly pushed into the steadily flowing stream. He was like a specter in the night, hooded and cloaked, in case he had to run. He strained to hear anything but the rushing water and wind blowing the reeds and grasses of the plains their kingdom was founded on. He heard nothing, which made him both at ease and tense. These clandestine meetings always put him on edge, despite their value in gold.
Slowly he made his way up the winding rivers until he found their usual meeting spot. He picked up his lamp and opened and closed it three times in a slow pattern towards a clump of trees. At first nothing happened. He held his long rod into the soft earth below and waited. Slowly, dark shapes moved among the trees and out came three people. All were concealed, but one was pushing forward the other two. They moved roughly, almost as if they were drunk. As they got closer however, he noticed the two in front had their hands tied and mouths gagged.
“Two for his Lord.” The gruff voice of a man who had been drinking more years than not, croaked out from the hood in the back. Daniel nodded and pushed his boat to the shore. They labored on board and the gruff man joined behind them. Slavery wasn't unknown in these parts, but it was frowned upon for the most part. But, the Lord Timber was likely too rich to matter in those unsavory terms, if he wanted slaves, he could buy slaves.
He pushed off the shore and sped them back down the river. He pushed quickly now that he had his cargo. Night would only last so long, and if any rumors came forth it could reflect badly on Daniel, his trade in ferrying or smuggling, or all three. With practiced ease, he launched them downstream, using his well polished staff to push off of bank and water bed alike.
Soon they were near enough to see the small port town Lord Timber resided in, and sure enough, Lord Timber was there with his stage coach. The young Lord yawned long into the night as he pulled his boat once more into the small port. “Well done once again Mr. Tait. As promised, the rest of your pay.” Lord Timber held out another small pouch which fell heavily into his open hands. “Pleasure is all mine, mi Lord.” The cloaked figures were quickly pushed into the waiting carriage as Timber moved to join them. “See you on the morrow, I'm thinking of a another date with Miss Catavan. Anyway, the night has been long, farewell!” He closed the door behind him and the driver carried them off into the night.
Daniel made his own way home, careful of every shadow and sound as he went. He was all too aware how much his pockets jingled and how much more was hidden at his home. He unlocked his door with a key, the lock had been expensive, but the added security was far necessary. He slumped inside, not bothering to turn on a light in the blackness of his home. He peaked out each window, wary of anyone that may or may not have followed him home. Finding no one, he pried up a floor board from under his dresser, he had to move it to the side every time. Below was a small series of sacks and a chest. He opened the chest and carefully poured the coins he'd earned that day into it.
With a long sigh, he carefully placed his plank and dresser back in place. He then went further into the house where he had fake hiding places more or less carefully placed as decoys. Each had enough to make almost anyone satisfied should they be discovered, and he hoped that would be enough if someone broke in. He looked over his inventory, he was a fence after all. He had three silver candle holders stolen from a church far up north, and a carefully packaged painting about as big as his chest.
He turned on a lamp now and picked up a piece of bark from his firewood. He chiseled into the bark with some carpenter's tools, he listed his current stock in a simple cipher and chucked the piece of wood at his front door. It hit with a low thud and fell only a couple feet away. He sighed and leaned into his bed and wondered what tomorrow might yet bring.
Daniel woke with the awareness of an old man. He slowly rose, blinking the sleep away from his eyes and yearning for the rest his bed had to offer. For some reason, he had yet to quite fathom, he felt most comfortable on his bed after sleep but rarely before he rested.
With stiff motions he slowly pushed himself from the sheets and swung over the edge and stood. He stretched long, hearing a cascade of pops and snaps as his limbs and back popped. He grabbed an apple and munched it down quickly with a swig of ale. He picked up the bark he had worked on the night before and tucked it into his pocket and left his home.
He carefully locked his door and made his way down to the dock. He nodded and wished good mornings on those he recognized as he passed by. He got to his boat and knelt down to check the fastenings when he dropped the bark into the water. His contact down stream might find it, and if so, might come to collect some of his stock. Mean while, if the bark was found by someone else or got caught on the reeds or banks along the route it was no matter, he could make as many as he needed to. All anyone would find was a curiously carved hunk of wood with no way of knowing how to read it.
He loosed his boat from the dock and waited, rather patiently, for Lord Timber.
Seraph polished her breastplate. The armor felt thin between her fingers, but the scratches on it's surface showed time and time again that it had blocked more than it's fair share of attacks. The shine of the metal reflected her features, contemplating and dark, worry etched into her features like a masterwork sculptor. It was her nervous tick, her idle busywork, her mental sanctuary. Here she could be left alone with her thoughts for hours maintaining her gear, and she was brutal to those under her command about gear maintenance.
A loose strap, a worn belt or a damaged weapon, anything could be fatal in the field, why accommodate other risks when you could narrow your chances with some maintenance? She left her tent, tossing her polishing rag aside. The yard was full and busy, men and women gathered their gear and provisions in a noisy cascade of calls, clattering, and uneven footfalls. She looked around cautiously, eyes open for any problems arising and marched to one of her General's tents.
She brushed them open and found General Addavan in his leathers going over reports. “The word?” She asked as she entered. He quickly saluted before replying. “Commander, supply trains are being organized and we should be ready in an hour. I have reports from the footmen that they're already crossing bridges, they expected us with them.” Seraph frowned, she had told them time and time again the heavy calvary needed more preparation time. “A joint army indeed.” She growled. “Write them a detailed explanation out of spite, use our lingo, see how they like that.” She slumped into one of his few chairs. “All the other generals overseeing camp breaking?” She asked, glancing out at her soldiers. “Yes, ma'am.” He responded curtly.
“Any word from our unlikely allies?” He shrugged. “Last report we received they were amassing just like us, building up their forces on the border. That wont go unnoticed, trade between all the known kingdoms flourishes, Venfal will be ready.” Seraph sighed and nodded. “I figured that as much out. I am thrilled at the prospect of joining the Exile King's war, I really am.” Her sarcasm would have been laid on too thick if she had been speaking to her father or her brother, but in the presence of Addavan, she found confidence. He chuckled, a deep rumbling thing more from his chest than throat. “We share the sentiment. But we both have work to do, let's not get our men killed unnecessarily. We also both know we'd eventually have to go to war. The poisoning of our streams from their mines is a root cause for our alliance.”
Once more Seraph nodded. “I don't trust him, the Exiled King, he venerates his forefather like a monk worshiping a god. He's been building his kingdom for this one purpose, to do what, be King on another throne in another kingdom? If he cared about statecraft so much, should he be satisfied with his position? What exactly does Venfal have that Parse doesn't?” Addavan shrugged his shoulders again, combing through his thick black beard. “I have no idea. Perhaps it's that City of Kings crap that they spew out of their mouths. Even so, I doubt we'll get a piece of that pie.” Addavan tossed aside his reports into a waiting travel bag he'd latch to his horse. “I'd better go check on my men, Commander.” He saluted and bag in tow, left his command tent. Seraph soon followed and checked on her own unit.
She wandered through the packed earth to her unit's section. As usual, they were all standing and waiting in basic rider gear, their equipment packed, and ready to ride. A hailstorm of near automatic salutes greeted her as their squad leader called her presence. “As usual, you are the finest unit this company has to offer.” Seraph spoke, taking measured steps down the line of men and women. She checked the odd equipment here and there, and found everything from saddles to boots to be satisfactory.
“Today, we begin our journey into the heat of war. Some of you have been preparing all of your lives for this moment, some of you far, far less. Under my orders, you will fight, you will kill, and you will die in the name of Levhold!” Each soldier saluted, snapping their boots together at the heels in unison. “Levhold!” They cried, their combined voices rang above the clatter of the rest of the troops. “You are the spearhead, you are the point, the center. If you cannot break through, there's no one in this calvary who can. You must not fail when the time comes. Keep that in mind. At ease.”
A slow clap made Seraph slowly turn her head. An eerie smile played about her lips as her gaze turned to fixate on the person who dared to mock her. Standing several feet away was a horse and rider. His colorful robes and sparse ridding pack would have led Seraph to riddle him with verbal holes over his lack of gear and preparation, if it wasn't for that single thing. Recognition dawned across her features like the rising sun. “Junior? Burn me, why are you here?” She was shocked, she had not expected her brother of all people to join in their camp.
“Father insisted and he sends his regards. We have too few wizards in our units, so he sent me specifically to help yours. Rousing speech by the way, Father would be proud!” He trotted his horse over. “Am I too early? I thought you'd be nearly underway by now.” She shook the shock from her mind and met his gaze once more. “Soon. We're finishing up our packing. The army is already crossing bridges, we'll be on their heels before sundown.” She informed him. He nodded and looked over the camp from his vantage. “Well. I suppose I'll fit right in.” He smiled and trotted away.
She watched him leave, her mind racing. He had no armor she could see, and his colorful robes would have him stand out like a torch in a dark room. She could already see the directed hail fire of arrows slamming into his thin frame, pinning him to the earth. If a soldier has something he can lock onto in combat, chances are he'll aim for it. If a single unit stands out in color or type, they're usually aimed for unless ordered otherwise. She raced after her brother. “Junior!” He turned his horse to look back at her. “Yes, sister?” She came up to his saddle.
“Seriously? You can't go into battle looking like that?” She hissed up at him. “You'll be shot full of arrows!” He smiled down at her. “I didn't think we were going into battle today, are we?” She shook her head, her eyes awash with profane amazement. “Even if we were, you're a prime target. You're heir to the throne!” He continued to look down with an unwavering smile. “I'm sure it'll turn out alright, dear sister. I'm here now, I'll protect you.” Though the sentiment was appreciated, she couldn't help but think he was in over his head. “This is war, not some burned adventure you read as a kid! People will die and get hurt.” His smile fell into a line and he nodded slowly. “I know. I know.” He straightened into his saddle and his smile returned. “I'll protect who I can though, especially you.” And he pulled his reins and trotted through the camp, waving as he went.
“He thinks he's in a burning parade.” She swore under her breath. Memories. What was she going to do with him?