“Are yous awake, boy?”

  The words pounded in his head like a smith's hammer, shocking him awake.

  “What?” He yelled, and even that was too much; he rolled to the side and ejected the meager contents of his stomach into a waiting wooden pail.

  Eventually, his stomach was satisfied and he rolled back. “Water!” He called, keeping his voice a bit quieter.

  “Wael, at least it was no wine.” The voice drawled in a thick Basic accent.

  He cracked his eyes open. Flinching briefly at the morning light, but eventually seeing an older man, hair shorn short and clean shaven, his face well lined with years, scars and exposure to harsh weather. It had strength, this face. And the rest of him, too. Muscles stood out obviously on his bared neck and the pauldrons beneath that showed shoulders of impressive size.

  He was also sitting on a cushion with a drape of canvas behind him…. Where the hell..?

  “Water!” He called again, where was that damn servant?

  “Yous can call all yous like. Won’t change notin. But that pitcher is full.” He pointed halfway across the tent.

  Why..? His mind was starting to actually work but what it was telling him wasn’t making sense. This wasn’t his room. His servants weren’t here. And the man across from him was far too well-armed to be a bandit.

  That was knightly plate. And damn high-quality plate at that. And the inspection portion of the Vassalage skill was pinging him with a concurring opinion. With care, he sat up. Taking his time so as not to revisit the already foul-smelling pail.

  Finally, he made it upright and dared to take a better look around. He was sitting on a camp bed. A piece of canvas stretched between two slats held apart by three X-shaped wooden legs, each hinged at the center. With care, he stumbled upright and over to the waiting pitcher.

  A small sip he swirled around in his mouth before spitting back into the stinking pail, then a deeper draught. Draining fully half the pitcher in an effort to settle both his head and stomach. A bit of the remainder he poured over his head. Cooling it, but somehow making the stench of wine and even stale beer that surrounded the rest of him all the more obvious.

  Almost enough to send him back to the pail.

  Almost.

  “My thanks for delaying, but would you be so good as to tell me where I am?” he rasped. His voice as dry as his mouth.

  “Yous is in da caravansary beneath yous father's keep.”

  Well. That wasn’t so bad. Just a short walk home then…?

  “And you are, Sir Knight?”

  “Sir Conner. Of Alfwin Pass.”

  The name wasn’t familiar, but it didn’t matter. Even without plate or inspection, this man was no fraud. He had a way about him. And if it lacked the polish and grace of a courtier it made up for it with years on a battlefield. Or many battlefields. His arms master had that kind of air. “Well, My thanks Sir knight. Once I return to the keep, I’ll make sure to send you an ewer of fine wine as thanks.”

  “Das not a bad offer. But it’s no’ gonna happen.”

  “Wha-?”

  “No, boy. Let me lays it out for yous. It’ll save us both sum time. Yous fucked up. No two ways to say it. Yous fucked up and bad.”

  His stomach was beginning to crawl with something other than nausea beneath the simple, uninflected words.

  “Embarrassed youself first. Yous father second. An’ almost embarrassed da nobility at large. Yous know how dat ends.”

  He did. He looked down his hands spasming and eyes suddenly over wide. He did indeed. He struggled to remember the previous evening, but it was all mostly a blur.

  “-Are you taking me to a rift then?” It would explain his armor, sword and shield on a stand beside the tent flap. But! It wasn’t- He couldn’t. It couldn’t be! The tournament. Lydia! He had so much to do-

  He took a deep breath, training stiffening his spine. Ancestors watch over me. I will make amends. I will die well.

  “No.”

  What?!

  “Excuse me?” What else was there?

  “Yous not going ta die this day, boy. Nor tomorrow. Nor even this month. Yous might die before da year is out if yous don’t learn to think a bit more.”

  He scrambled for a moment, that wasn’t… that wasn’t how things were done!

  “No. Tis exile for you. Young nir-Baron Adelbert. Yous coming wit us to a brand-new fief on de edge of de world.”

  “Nir?” He breathed, sitting down sharply.

  The older man sighed, then stood up. “Nir. When yous got a hold of youself, den come on out. Armed and Armored. I’ll give you a few minutes to get steady. But no more dan dat.”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  He turned and walked from the tent, leaving a boy struggling to understand how it had all gone wrong so fast.

  ___

  “You’re thoughts?”

  “Tough kid. No whining. No caterwalling. Looked loike he was nerving his self up to die loike sum kind of hero. He’ll do. If I’s can knock a bit of sense into his head.”

  “It worked with me, didn’t it?”

  “I’s wondering about dat.”

  “Hey. What brought that on?”

  “Yous took da kid sight unseen, yous did. Could of been pig metal. Could of been an unsavable spoiled brat. Yous didn’t think. Yous didn’t check. An if he don’t learn better, yous made an enemy. A man as willing to beg a stranger for a chance… He may say he will, he may plan to, but he won’t forget if we fail him.” He spat to the side then glanced out of the side of his eyes.

  “Dumb.”

  Ethan let out a tired sigh. It had been a long night. And this wasn’t the first dressing down he’d gotten over his decision. Ermina had been even less kind in her description of his intelligence.

  “I’d have made an enemy too if I’d refused.” He offered weakly. And he would have, just much less of one. Here a day, gone the next wasn’t much of an enemy, not much of a memory. But hope made a failure all the more bitter.

  Conner gave him a disdainful glance, “Roight you is, as always Your Lordship.” He muttered sardonically.

  Ethan grimaced. “I get it. But we agreed to take him.”

  Conner coughed. Loudly.

  “I agreed.”

  “Better.”

  “That means we have to make the most of it.”

  “True. And yous might have rolled sixes. He might be fixable. Still, Why? Why take the risk?”

  Ethan let out a tired sigh and looked away. A half minute passed and he forced himself to turn back. “Weakness. Mine. I couldn’t look the man in the eye and tell him no. Not when he begged. Not when I could see his soul breaking in front of me. Not when there might be a chance.”

  Conner nodded. “Just sos long as you knows it, fine. I’d as soon not follow a heartless ass.”

  “A ringing endorsement.”

  Conner laughed that raspy wolf-like chuckle of his and turned away. “I’ll get him up and training first thing.”

  “Hungover?”

  “He’ll sweat it out. Best to keep him from thinking about it for a bit. Till we’s well out and away from his home at least. He’ll have to deal with it ‘ventually. But a bit of time will help.”

  “Fair enough. You want the rest of the command group in that practice?”

  “Na. I’ll grab a century of Hastati. His tier an level, but experienced loike. Shake some noble arrogance out of him.”

  “As you see fit. I’ve the camp to see to.”

  “Ya, ya, leave it to me again. Yous owe me for dis, Ethan.”

  “I do. Let me know when you decide to cash in.”

  “I’s gonna do just that!”

  ___

  Ethan shook his head with a wry grin as he watched the boy, still half sick with ale and emotional shock no doubt sprinting past him again on his way to the front of the column, surrounded by the rest of the blue-marked Hastati of his temporary squad. This was the second rotation. Conner was working them hard today.

  But it was a thin distraction. A delay of his own training by an hour. And an opportunity to hear a few more lectures from Rainer, interspaced now with context and clarifications from Ermina.

  “-so Imperial custom is to offer a libation at the gate to Brundi before marching off to war. “

  “By imperial he means at the Capital and those close to it. The customs fray the farther you get from the Emperor's, may his light ever shine, seat.”

  She waited out the usual echo before continuing. “I doubt even the Count of Auenland pays more than lip service to it here.”

  Rainer grimaced but nodded. “Indeed My Lady. Yet the Lord needs to know the real tradition. For in an Imperial call up, they are the manners one is expected to espouse. Before you default to slang, one should at least know the proper words.”

  “Slang?” Ermina objected shrilly. “No! I will give you the necessity of knowing the Imperial standards, but our regional variations are not Slang!”

  Ethan carefully hid a smile as the two fought. Politely. And despite what it seemed at first, both were all the more cheerful for the opportunity. Something to fill the long boring travel hours with.

  Ethan could relate. Still, as night began to fall, a change occurred. The light was growing gradually brighter, despite the advancing time, till at last he saw the sun again in all its splendor.

  Or at least pieces of it. Spreading around and through ever sparser tree trunks till at last they stood on the edge of a massive plain in its last few rays.

  “Auenland, My Lord.” Ermina offered, pointing down, then towards a shadow that was merely a bit taller than the rest to the North. “They say the soil here is shallow. Sandy and with great sheets of rock close to the surface. The great trees won’t grow in it and grain crops do poorly. But despite that, or perhaps because of it, they have the best wine grapes in the Empire.”

  And even in the fading light he could see it. Shallow rolling hills in all directions had their sides covered with long rows of grape arbors bedecked in vines, while the tops of those hills sported structures. The closest were a ring of small forts. Little more than a tower fit for 10 men and a ballista atop it facing towards The Forest.

  Something to keep the beasts in check no doubt.

  But beyond the towers it turned to barns, corals, filled with sheep, goats or cows, and the occasional village.

  “It’s quite picturesque.” Ethan offered, and it was. The lines of grapes giving a pleasantly ordered feel. Deep green rows contrasted against the light brown of the soil and emphasizing the pastoral scenes of stone cottages that peaked above stacked stone walls. Or rather, tall fences Ethan reflected.

  “Indeed.” Ermina agreed with a smile. “Tis a favorite of artists the Empire over. And images of it grace the walls of many a manor in even the heartlands. Especially at the season's end when the first frost strikes and the peasants scramble to harvest the best of the grapes, left for just that occasion.”

  “They harvest grapes in the snow?”

  “Frost, not snow.” She corrected gently. “But yes. It does something to the grapes and from them they make the Ice Wine.” Now that even Ethan had heard of. It was highly prized and exceedingly expensive. And as such, he’d never had the pleasure. “It’s…wonderful.” Ermina continued with a fond, wistful smile. “Father acquired an amphoriskos for my sixteenth birthday. I still remember that day fondly. It’s a different taste. Sweet without being cloying. It has a bite to it that lets you enjoy the sweetness without it coating your mouth. It’s.. well you have to try it I guess. Though that’s not an easy thing to do. I’ve tasted it twice in my entire life. The count lets very little go into open circulation.”

  Rainer nodded with a bit of longing. “Little of it is produced to start with. And of that little, none is strictly for sale. I heard in the capital that half is reserved for the Emperor’s table, a quarter for his own and the rest he gives out as gifts or in exchange for political favors.”

  Ethan nodded slowly. That was… quite intelligent. When something became that much of a luxury, it wasn’t just gold it could be traded for. Indeed, if it could not be bought for gold, why then, it was nearly priceless, was it not? He’d have to remember that if they ever found such a niche resource.

  Unlikely, but he could dream.

  Still, it was a passing fancy and quickly gave way before real work. There was a caravansary placed behind the sparse row of towers and with Leo having ranged ahead, and for a very reasonable fee, there were large pots of stew cooking on low fires waiting for them.

  And even a few amphorae of local posca. Even its vinegary taste somehow elevated by the nobility of its origins. That or the taste of anything while looking up at an open, star-studded sky was such a relief that even his taste buds agreed!

  The people might be some of the most pleasant he’d ever had the pleasure of accompanying. But if he was never trapped beneath those verdant canopies again, with the God’s bedamned ferns, it would still be too soon!