Elfborn: The Quest

Into Town

"Burn me to ash, isn't that something!" Oleg Kile exclaimed in a voice that bordered on hero worship, the soldier that slept in the bunk beneath Garrett's, breaking the brooding Hybernian out of his reverie. The hatchet-faced Gaul looked over at his fellow soldier from out of the heavy hood that hid most of his face.

"Have you ever seen anybody move so fast, Garrett? I haven't."

"Me neither, Oleg," Garrett replied smoothly with a half grin. "And I would wager that not even our noted expert on world affairs, Corporal Hent has either." He looked to his left with a grin at the hunched over Hent.

"Have you, Corporal?"

For once the bitter twist that marked the young non-com was gone as he slowly shook his head.

"Nope. For once you're right, ColmDonal," The former mercenary rasped softly, his eyes wide as he watched Lash carefully walk around the downed Denis, his staff held lightly in one hand as he stared down at the groaning, barely conscious knight.

"I haven't seen a man who could move either that fast or hit that hard!" He abruptly grinned a broken-toothed smile. "Gives you something to think on, don't it?" Then the grin grew slightly.

"Looks like the show is over, lads. Back to the barracks. We have some hard training ahead of us tomorrow."

There were several mumbled 'yes, sirs' as the small knot of soldiers broke away from the large crowd that had gathered around the practice yard to watch the spectacle, pushing their way through to the outside. Once there the soldiers fell in with comrades and friends to talk about the fight they had just witnessed as they walked swiftly through the rows of tents towards the big tent that marked the barracks they called their home.

"Hoi, but the lad has some moves." That from thick-lipped Jon Thomas, a bastard of a local lord that hadn't been able to prove his birth fast enough to avoid being swept up by the recruiters. His heavy-lidded gaze took in both Garrett and Oleg, who were walking side by side.

"I'd wager that he could take the lot of us out without even breaking a sweat!"

That elicited a snort from Oleg.

"As if I would throw my coppers away on a fool's wager like that!" the Gaul rasped with a grin. He glanced over at Garrett, who looked thoughtful.

"Although I would imagine you could get our Hybernian friend here to toss in a coin or two against you. Eh, Garrett?"

Despite looking as if he hadn't been paying attention, Garrett quickly smiled.

"If only to get under your thick skin, Jon," he quipped and the three chuckled softly, Thomas's almost legendary ability to withstand barbs about his dubious parentage well known to them. As squadmates, they didn't talk much about it but made an occasional joke to make Thomas feel more accepted.

Cutting between two knight's tents, the squad, a unit of about twelve men, including the corporal in command, found themselves striding through the small open area that separated the final line of knights' tents from those of the footsoldiers.

"Is it dinner time yet, corporal?" a red-faced soldier by the name of Juarez asked, his Anglo accented. He was an Iberian, a merchant unlucky enough to be peddling his wares north of Iberia when the recruit squads swept through the town he was visiting. With Iberia much more temperate than Gaul, he had yet to get used to the chilling temperatures of the cold winters along the Straits, even though he layered almost all of his clothing on just to go outside.

"Feel a little hollow in the middle, Juarez?" Hent asked with a lopsided grin. From northern Germanse, he was well used to cold and biting weather and had gone both bare faced and bare handed despite the chill.