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A Rebel Soldier

In the overwhelming plains of Nalore a soldier walked purposelessly. He wore standard issue armour: chainmail impregnated leather boots and gauntlets, chainmail leggings over black leather pants, a chainmail shirt over a black leather shirt, and his over-all red tabard. All the chainmail was made by a young, if highly respected, blacksmith. It was made with utility in mind not beauty. On his belt swung a red leather coated sheath and in it a military issue long sword with its regular non-slip chain wrapped hilt. On his left arm he carried his light metal buckler. These weapons -and all others of the king's army- were made by the more experienced hands of the master-smith of the armoury from which they were issued. The symbol illustrated on his tabard and shield belonged to the great-house of Lore, the family of the present king of Nalore. The symbol was composed of the red regal condor with wings spread over a dark purple landscape. This was to signify the family's triumph over darkness and evil. How true to word this symbol is was not to be taken lightly. As well made as his armour was, it was easy to see the wear and recent stressful use that it had suffered. The shine had been taken off the chainmail, his tabard was ripped in places, and his shield was bent. It would have been obvious to anyone that the warrior had recently been in a battle of significant magnitude.

The soldier himself was much more imposing than his armour if also worn and tired. He was one of the last of his people; the reptilian humanoid race known as Malens (in common elven) was a dying race. Even by human standards Malens were a beautiful people. They all had shining black scales and markings the colour of the Malen's hair on their backs. The colour of the scales softened to a light gray on their palms, the soles of their feet, and on a stripe running down from the underside of their jaws down their chests, in between their legs, and to the tip of their tails. The marking were carried on from father to son and from mother to daughter; in this way females had markings much different from those of their male counterparts. Curved and sharp talons instead of nails on fingers and toes led to shoes or boots of a slightly different shape to those of most other races. Draconic yet elegant snouts and straight horns on their heads also meant a special or no helmet in the case of the soldier. The graceful way that Malens walked also drew eyes making them one of the most beautiful races in the world. While many had attempted to capture a Malen to keep as a servant or a possession to show off many assailants died and none prevailed. Provoking a Malen's wrath could invoke death as fast diving into an abyss. Most can wield Aura as a weapon and all are stronger and faster than any human and most elves. Only one remains of the once glorious race, one soldier with hair and markings as white as the purest of water lilies. Yet at the age of twenty winters he carried all his race's beauty and prowess.

The soldier collapsed with one final ragged breath. Before receding to the dark reaches of his dreams he heard two creatures approach and a motherly voice say: "He is still breathing, let us get him inside. Get the Mother... quickly you old fool!"

The soldier dreamt of a battle. A battle fit to take place in hell. Blood, ashes, death, his shield blocking, and his sword swinging were the only things he concentrated on as he struggled to stay alive in the chaos of faceless opponents swinging swords and maces. "Hold his arms," he heard. He only struggled further until finally his hellish nightmare receded to more peaceful dreams of shade and comfort.

Rational thought started to creep into the soldier's mind. He tried to lift a hand but found that covers were impeding its movement. It took a lifetime for him to work up the strength to open his eyes. When he did, everything was blurry as if he was seeing through cheap glass. He blinked until things took a definite if not completely normal shape and tried to form words with his mouth. What came out was merely a grunt, but something that through his blurred vision looked like a human rushed to his side. "Ah, your awake, you shouldn't be, she said not until a few days," she sounded frantic and excited, "oh yes, I'll go get mother!" The humanoid shape scurried out of sight and the soldier continued blinking. Things started to take their proper shapes and the soldier was able to recognize that he was lying on a small bed with white sheets. He looked around to find furniture he might find in a middle-class farmer's house indicating that he probably was. A night-table lay to the left of his bed, against one of the four walls in his square room. A wardrobe and a wooden chair lying rather far away from the desk that it probably belonged to were undecorated and well made, much like his bed. He stared at a beautiful painting of a young girl hung on the wall to his left; he reasoned that the family must know a good painter. Growing mutters and noises drew his gaze to the door on the opposite side of the room. The door opened to admit a motherly looking plump woman and a gnarled veteran. At the sight of him looking at them, they both cut off the talking.

The plump woman gave him a sharp look as if to lecture the soldier and said in a stern but kind voice: "you do not even think of getting up." He recognized her voice and opened his mouth to protest but the plump woman arched an eyebrow and the soldier swallowed his protest. "Just because you are gorgeous does not mean you are getting up any sooner than when you are healthy as a young bull," the young soldier blushed and once more opened his mouth but at her sharp gaze gulped and changed what he was going to say.

"I thank you and your family for the kindness that you have shown me while I was... ah... unconscious." The plump woman blinked in surprise at his clear voice.

"If only I had met you when I was twenty," she said so only she could hear. She sighed, "well I am Marla and this old prune is Garlon, what is your name Malen?" She smiled at the soldiers widening eyes. "I will not take the credit. I did not know what you were, he did," she pointed at the veteran. This time he spoke, "hello my good lord, I hoped with all my might that the Malens had not all truly died. I am truly sorry for your loss." His raspy voice sounded adoring if not awed.

The soldier responded, "I thank you for your kind words but I fear I am of the last of my kind." All the faces in the room grew grim. At the sound of quick footsteps all eyes turned to the doorway as a girl holding a tray almost stumbled in. At the sight of all the eyes on her she blushed and bowed.

"I-I am sorry I just brought tea and some soup for our- um- guest," she looked at her feet. The soldier guessed her age at seventeen or eighteen.

"Thank you," said the soldier. The girl snuck a peek at him before scurrying to place the tray on the table. She hesitated as if she wanted to say something but instead hurried out the door.

Marla smiled at the girl's retreat and said, "The poor girl was no match for your looks, she is besotted." Once more the soldier blushed and hid a smile at the indignant sniff that came from the direction of the door. The two that did not seem to hear once more turned to him. "Well, are you going to tell us your name or not?" asked Marla.

"Do not be so disrespectful!" said Garlon "I am sorry my lord, this woman does not know who you are"

"Can it, you old prune!" exclaimed Marla. The soldier could see an invisible smile on her lips as the two argued and called each other a wide array of different names. After an especially amusing comment by Marla on Garlon's ancestors being goats the soldier burst out laughing.

"Both of you," he said, still smiling, "my name is Danel".

Garlon's eyes widened. "As in the great Malen king Danel?"

"Ah, you seem to recognize my namesake," said Danel

Whatever Garlon was going to answer was cut off by Marla. "You," she pointed at Danel, "need rest, and you," this time she pointed at Garlon, "Need to go get Mother." After some grumbling and name-calling Garlon disappeared out the door.

"Mother?" asked Danel.

"The army's healer," she said.

"Army?" asked Danel

"Yep," winked Marla, "you are in the camp of the Rogue Ravens"

Danel's shock must have been apparent on his face because Marla frowned. "I thought the rebels killed every member of the king's army on sight."

"If it weren't for my insistence on keeping you alive and Garlon and some of the other elder's cries that you are a Malen you would not be alive," she said gravely.

"You are the ones that found me," Danel said in a low voice, "I owe you my life, thank you."

"You owe me nothing except," she pointed at him, "that you stay in that bed until you are well; else you made all my hard work for nothing."

As she turned to leave Danel asked, "Wait, what was that girl's name?"

She looked over her shoulder with a knowing smile, "her name is Aileen." Before Danel could tell her she had the wrong idea she walked out the door.

The next day consisted of staying in bed; getting meals from the flame-haired girl, Aileen; people (though mostly elders) that wanted to see and pay condolences to the last of the Malens; and the occasional visit from Mother. Mother was a half-blind ancient human that needed help walking to his bed. "Good morning poppet," she told him on her first visit (even though the sun had passed the midpoint of noon); "you are a tough one. I did not expect you to be up for at least a couple of days." She then tapped her numerous chins in thought, "must be that magical blood of yours." The only beauty she would ever have appeared on her face when she smiled and tapped Danel's right horn. "Well, get some rest poppet." She then hobbled out with the help of a feline girl and what seemed to be the girl's father. 'An odd woman at best,' Danel thought to himself.

At the beginning of the second day he was finally 'allowed' to get off the bed. They were surprised when Danel literally jumped off the bed with the fervour of a young foal, all except Mother who laughed and said something about his blood; Mother's laughter, soft as it was, sounded like parchment crackling. Garlon was the first to recover and quickly got to Danel's side. "Hey," exclaimed Marla, while trying to hide a smile, "you might want to put some clothes on before going outside." Danel's blush compared to Aileen's as he took notice of his nudity. Mother's crackling laughter rung out louder. Trying to keep at least some shred of dignity Danel sat down on the bed and covered his manhood with the sheets. Mother laughed even harder when she caught sight of Aileen's wide eyes and prominent blush. "Someone is going to have to teach the girl a little about male draconic anatomy before the day is out." At that Marla blushed to match Danel and Aileen. Danel looked to Garlon and saw his face showed a mixture of shame and anger.

"The dishonour!" he finally growled and stalked out of the now familiar room. Danel grew comforted from Garlon's angry bellows about getting Danel 'proper garments'. In the end 'proper garments' made Danel feel even more uncomfortable as they involved silk and extensive embroidery. "It is only proper," Garlon countered any of Danel's oppositions, "for the last of the glorious Malens to dress as its king." After numerous excuses Danel was able to convince Garlon that he should be dressed only as a Lord, that is, slightly less embroidery.

The two serving women set with the task of dressing him took great delight in Danel's blushes and took any chance to make him burst out with a blush, 'accidental' pinches and pokes were their favourite ways. Lana and Sarah were their names, Lana being a pretty, slim girl of around twenty and Sarah being a plump woman of middle age. Sarah did most of the pinching. They looked him up and down when they were finished smiling at their handiwork. "You look a Lord now, and a heck of a pretty one," Lana told him. Sarah winked at him. Once more Danel's blushes sent them into a fit of giggles. "The girls are going to love making you blush," Lana emphasized the word love, "I know I did." He exited the room wearing a dark grey silk shirt tucked into black silk pants that flared at the bottom, he was told that was the fashion; A leather belt with the Malen sign as the buckle, a black dragon twining around itself; black leather boots; a long black coat with leaves of gold on the shoulders, also in fashion; and lastly a gold ribbon they used to gather his long white hair into a ponytail. Everything was embroidered in gold vines except the belt.

When he finally left the room, still blushing slightly, Marla took it upon herself to tell him that his weapon and armour had been destroyed as it belonged to the king's army. She twisted the word king as if disgusted. In all seriousness Danel nodded and asked where he could get a new set. Marla winked, "a new set of armour has been ordered just for you, as for a sword you will want to ask around for the sword smith Jorge." The way Marla said Jorge implied a name from far off.

"What type of person should I look for?" asked Danel.

"Look for an equine. Huge man, very quiet," she answered.

He nodded and headed for the door that Marla pointed to. He opened the door and got his first glimpse of the rebel camp. There was bustle and noise to match any market. There seemed to be 'stations' or shops for anything a person might need for daily life. Situated in the middle of a forest to avoid common eyes did not mean the rebels were not prepared for battle. The men and the women wore weapons, the men swords, maces, halberds or spears; the women long knives, cudgels, and the occasional sword. The latter shocking Danel, 'Why would a woman need to protect herself? What man would harm a woman? At least the children are without worry.' The children ran playing with guard dogs or a childish game amongst themselves. Bustling surrounded each shop as women and men yelled out prices in return for goods. Money exchanged hands as often as not. Danel saw only seven more houses like the one he had previously exited meaning that this had probably been a small village before the rebels settled here.

Realising that he had been standing staring at the camp like a country bumpkin made him take a step forward, and another, and another, until he was submerged into the sea of people. Eyes seemed to follow him and his fine clothes. Most of the people were wearing stout wool clothes; clothes that would last long but were not the most comfortable or beautiful. He seemed to get cold glares as often as respectful bowing of the head (there was not enough space for a formal bow). The latter of which he answered with another formal bow of the head, though not as low, 'no need to insult them,' he thought to himself.

He wandered for a while exploring his new surroundings before he thought of asking directions to find Jorge. The first person he asked, a potbellied man of middle age carrying a spear, answered him with an angry grunt and stalked off. The second was an old scholarly looking man that answered him more politely.

"Ah, oh, my lord, yes I know where Jorge is. My name is Jared, yes. Jorge has set up his shop in that direction near the shield-makers, you will not miss him, yes?" He spoke rather quickly. As if he was always in a rush.

"Thank you very much Jared, a good day to you," said Danel with a bow.

"No need to thank me, my lord." Then he said in a formal voice and in perfect accent: "Arkaida massa Draiken." Go peacefully Malen.

Hearing his native tongue shocked Danel so that he almost forgot to answer the customary goodbye: "Arkaida ira Gao insa drai." Go with Aura in you.

He headed in the direction that the scholar had pointed to. First he found a shield-maker. The establishment was much like all the others: clay slated roof and cloth covered wooden skeleton for the frame. Because of the size of the shops many shields were on display on tables and on the walls. In the back a forge and a woodworking table could be seen. The owner of the shop could be seen hammering a new kite shield into shape. He discarded the thought of going in as a shield would likely be provided with his set of armour. 'I hope they took into account my talons and snout he thought in concern. Danel then looked to the one shop that did not have shields on display, in their place stood swords.

The closer Danel got to the shop the more awestruck he became. Swords of all sizes and all shapes were on display. Sword breakers, bastard swords, two handed swords, one and a half swords, long swords, short swords, scimitars, shamshirs, and others he did not recognize. It was quite dark inside, brown leather acted as a roof to the shop and the only light came from the forge. As he walked in he noticed a hulking figure working at the forge, hammering away at what looked to be the beginning of a claymore.