Sides of War

Chapter Eleven: Braid

The following succession of days passed as a blur. Jorlin passed the long hours by either running around the courtyard in laps to build her muscle or sparring with Ancis. Even though he resented her leaving, he was willing to help her. A week after she eavesdropped on her uncle, Ancis told her that the army was departing in six days. He began to train her as the day drew nearer.

Eventually, her fighting style became more fluid and she mastered the basics of swordplay as best she could in such a short time frame. Her blows were sure, and her arms were strong.

One day, Jorlin picked up the small mirror that had been face-down on the table in her room. She was caught off guard by how altered her face looked. Much of the former baby fat in her face was gone, leaving her with a much sharper and sterner countenance.

Sometimes Jorlin would try to see if she could find anything else out about Draven, but he had seemed to disappear, leaving behind only suspicion and doubt. She tried to ask around, but barely anybody knew him, and even if they did they couldn't give her a solid answer concerning his whereabouts.

The night before the army was going to depart, the true gravity of Jorlin's situation settled over her as she waited anxiously in the armor room for Ancis to see her off. Her hair was braided tightly, and once again she wore men's clothing. The silence that settled around her felt unnaturally heavy. The faint sound of movement echoed quietly from the stairwell. Her stomach felt double-knotted with anticipation, and she wiped her palms on her pants. She inwardly scolded herself for fretting, but it was impossible to feel strong enough to face the events that were beginning to fall in place.

She jumped off of her seat on top of the table when she heard someone approaching in the dark hallway. It was late in the evening, but she felt no fatigue in her limbs as she nervously picked at the latches on the vambraces near her.

When a shadow spilled into the room, Jorlin looked up to see Ancis standing in the entryway. He wordlessly trudged into the room and retrieved a chainmail tunic from the rack on the wall.

"Most soldiers wear armor similar to the guards, unless they're wealthy enough to afford better," he muttered as he helped her into it.

She belted on the purple surcoat and felt the tattered, frayed edges nervously.

"Ancis, I..." She swallowed. "I'm sorry for leaving you here."

He looked up at her as he picked up the vambraces from the table. "No, Jorlin. Don't

apologize. What you're doing now is something that I would never be able to do myself, so don't say you're sorry."

The page strapped the vambraces to her forearms and then began to work on putting the greaves on her shins. Jorlin pulled on a pair of warm gloves and fastened a sheathed dagger as well as a longsword onto her belt. Ancis turned to grab the helm, but he stopped dead in his tracks.

She began to ask, "An-?"

"Shh!" he hissed in an undertone. "I thought I heard Slater's voice down the hallway."

Jorlin's heart began to beat faster. "It was probably your imagination," she whispered nervously.

Heavy footsteps came from outside the door, and Ancis scampered behind the open door and into the shadows. She looked around for a hiding place, but it was too late. The room darkened temporarily as Slater's frame appeared in the entryway, and Jorlin stood in plain sight.

"You," the general growled. "What are you up to this time, serf?" He stepped into the room.

Anger and fear flared up in her chest. "Why do you think I would tell you?" It was more of a challenge than a question.