The Unfortunate, стр. 69
“I would never have taken you for a murderer,” the young soldier commented once the story had been concluded. “Outside war that is.”
“Not all men are easy to judge,” Atelic interrupted with a chuckle. “Some maintain secrets and guard them as well as they fight.” He looked to the former champion and smiled.
Awiergan returned his friends expression. Knowing what had been implied, he thought of the mysterious symbol on his shoulder, a mark he had had since he could remember but something about which he was entirely ignorant. Its meaning, the reason he had been branded with the mark and who had done so, all were mysteries to him.
“And what is your secret?” the young man, having turned his attention to the champion’s friend, asked curiously. “How did you become a member of … of—what did you call it?—the Unfortunate?”
Atelic nodded and sighed. “I have always claimed theft.” He paused momentarily. “But that is not entirely true.”
The comment caused Awiergan to set his food aside and yield his complete attention to his friend. He had never heard Atelic speak of his crime, let alone mention there was something more. Not even when King Beadurof had asked about the fighters’ pasts had Atelic claimed any more than theft.
“My crimes also occurred during my youth when I, along with several other men I had known since childhood, were outlaws who patrolled the woodlands near the outskirts of Carlingford. Usually our confrontations were simple robberies of passersby. Nothing major. It was one of those times that led to my arrest, and I was probably spared mutilation because I had been only a lookout.”
Atelic chuckled, and then as if he did not wish to be heard except by the other two men, he adopted a hushed tone before adding, “But I am guilty of a worse crime, one that occurred more than a year before my arrest and one about which I have never spoken. On one occasion my band of outlaws encountered a lone hunter and, this I swear is true.” Atelic paused momentarily before resuming. “Before even one of us had unsheathed a blade or had even spoken—the stranger, a young man not much older than I—insisted we leave, that the forest was his area to hunt and his alone.”
Both Awiergan and the young soldier stared at the other fighter, not just waiting but also yearning for the story to continue.
“And I should have listened, but no, and by the time one of my friends had tried to intervene, emotions had already escalated, and swords had already been drawn.” Atelic paused and offered a partial smile. “As I would eventually discover, but do so too late, the stranger was the son of a high-standing official, a foolish youth, but he was a noble.”
Tranquility again resumed and was interrupted only by the crackling of the fire and the murmurs of distant conversations.
“So, yes,” Atelic finally concluded. “It was a misunderstanding. Had the man done something to identify himself, the outcome probably would have been different. But it was my fault. My anger but more so my pride was the cause of the man’s death, and since then, despite the years of punishment, I have never been able to free myself from the burden of guilt.”
Awiergan was prepared to comment, but before he could, a man approached and inquired, “Is there one among you by the name Awiergan?” The individual who had spoken paused until he had obtained the former champion’s acknowledgement and attention before adding, “The army’s commander wishes to speak with you.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Awiergan and Atelic navigated their way through an endless labyrinth of shelters. Sleeping quarters were the dominant structures, but occasionally they would pass storage tents—some for weapons, others for food. Despite what was stockpiled in each, the tents all served a similar purpose, to create as many obstacles as possible between the outer-most shelters and the center where Prince Banan’s tent was located.
They were fewer than ten paces away from the commander’s pavilion when a sworn shield advanced, stopped them, and instructed them to wait. “He is speaking with the commanding lords and will meet with you shortly.”
Atelic sighed and waited until the knight had returned to his position at the side of the tent’s entrance before he expressed his discontent. “Did you hear him? The commanding lords.”
Awiergan hushed his friend whose louder-than-necessary tone had attracted numerous stares, but his warning was to no avail.
“We are proven fighters, you a champion, yet we are still not respected!”
“Prince Banan would not have chosen us for Armania’s army had he not sensed potential,” Awiergan calmly reminded, ensuring his tone was nothing more than a hushed whisper. “We are fighters, yes, but we must prove we can also be leaders.”
Another sigh.
“I know you do not care for this—”
“No, I do not!”
Awiergan ignored his friend’s pouting and continued, “But you must learn to follow before you can lead.”
Atelic spat and shook his head as if he were reluctant to agree, but before he could counter his friend’s advice, several men emerged from the commander’s tent and dispersed in multiple directions. A few of them strode past the fighters and offered slight nods but nothing more. The waiting resumed, and the moments crept. With each second their patience was further tested, but the sworn shield finally departed his post at the tent’s entrance and approached the fighters.
“Banan will see you now.”
Once again being only paces away from the tent, the fighters were stopped promptly, and they were ordered to surrender their weapons. The men did as