Rise of a Prodigy: Chapter four.

Captain Steffanes lay back in his chair, letting his quill drop to
the floor as he prayed to the stars above that he would never have to
look at another piece of paper again. As soon as he had returned to the
barracks after escorting the new prodigies to their cells, he had been
confined in his office attending to the torturously large pile of budget
sheets, inventory reports and general annoyance that made him remember
why he got Jori to handle this rubbish. His eyes felt like they were
about to start bleeding, and his head felt as heavy as an anvil. But at
last it was over, and he could watch the stone on the walls erode, a far
more thrilling activity.

Stretching out his arms as he put his feet up on the desk, Steffanes
mumbled curses under his breath that Jori Tyrell had developed a social
life. He missed the blonde boring bastard like the plant in his room
missed water (as it turned out, cold ale dregs did not work). He began
to imagine the horrible possibility of more days like this, as surely
Jori would not just have the one day off. He could go on a Fishing
holiday in Oscalp, or want to have children with a tavern maid, or worst
of all, have his writing hand broken.

The paperwork had merely been the footnote on what had been a most
miserable day. Of course any day where he had to talk to Aeros was a bad
day, but from the early morning it had merely carried on in the same
vein.

For a start, he had had to wear his official captain’s plate mail.
Though it may have been forged especially for him, he had never and
would never have asked for it. He felt like a boiled lobster inside the
bloody thing, and you could forget about moving anywhere in a hurry with
it on. It was painted and plumed far too much for him to ever want to
be seen in it, like something a wealthy Hoilettan would buy to swan
about it. The sword that came with it was just as gaudy, with a diamond
encrusted hilt and unblemished sliver for a blade. A nice wall
decoration, but you would be better off with a chocolate mace in battle.

When he had arrived at the armoury it was waiting for him just where
he had left it six months ago, and it had barely gathered dust. Putting
it on had taken him nearly an hour, and of course that meant he had
nearly passed out running to meet his detachment. He could hear them
stifling their laughter as he was helped onto his horse.

Steffanes was not fond of horses, not since he was a child and had
seen a merchant being kicked in the head by one. As such he wasn’t a
strong rider, and the horse was a difficult bugger to deal with. His men
made less effort to contain their laughter as he swerved and swayed
along the path to True Wind gate, his yanks on the reins only making
things worse.

When they arrived at the gate the youths awaiting them were already
impatient, hungry and annoyed, which Steffanes could empathise with
completely. Getting things in order had been annoying, and he could tell
that the prodigies thought he looked as ridiculous as he felt. He
barked out orders, and eventually they had got back to the tower.

Once they were at the tower the worst part of it came. This was
another of the reasons Steffanes let Jori handle this job, as he was
sure that Jori had no real clue what he was really doing, and if he did
he wouldn’t care. They led the youths down into the basement floor of
the tower. Once they got there, they put them into their cells, to wait
for the time when the Virtuosos had everything ready for the ritual.

There had been one brown haired girl who kept asking over and over
again what was going on. She had pale blue eyes that had seemed to stab
at him whenever she looked his way, always asking questions. She kept
bringing up her sister, Lalea, asking where she was, and when she could
see her. The others went into their cells quietly, but she had grabbed
his arm and demanded he give her some answers.

He had hardly known what to say. A part of him wanted to tell the
truth, for all the good it would have done. He couldn’t just tell her to
shut up either, and why that was he couldn’t say. She seemed like such a
decent young girl, and didn’t deserve to be lied to, or treated as she
was. None of them did.

Eventually he had told her that she would get her answers soon. That
at least was true, but not in the way she would have wanted. Still, by
the time that came what she felt would no longer matter, and the problem
would be solved.

He had made the mistake of dwelling on this sort of thing before, so
he made up his mind to bury it. That was always the best way. After all
this was done he had taken the cursed plate mail back to the armoury,
placing it in the corner where it might not be found for a bit, and went
to tackle the paperwork.

Eventually he got up from his chair, and headed out of his office,
deciding that sleep was the best activity to finish this awful day. The
barracks where quiet now, the courtyard that had been bustling that
morning now still. Steffanes was unsure of where everyone was, as surely
not everyone was on duty right now.

Making it back to his room, he closed the door behind him, locking it
for good measure. He went over to his cabinet to see if there were any
bottles of the vintage Bowlesan red wine left, as he needed a nightcap.
He fumbled about trying to find it, the mess in the cabinet an obstacle.
He eventually found the bottle, but it was resting against something….
curious.

Steffanes could hardly believe what he was looking at. In among his
dirty bed sheets and trashy novels, he had found his old sword. He was
sure he had given it away or lost it in a game of cards, but here it
was. Forgetting about the wine, he reached forward and grabbed it by the
hilt, pulling it out of the cabinet.

He stood up now, holding the sword with two hands. It was a longsword
forged by the smiths of Sternwill vale, far in the north near the
Dunrahin border. The blade was pure Midmorn steel, doubly reinforced for
greater strength. He cut his finger when he touched the edge, the
sharpness clearly still there.

This was Galren, the sword forged for him on his eighteenth birthday
as a gift from his father, so he might carry on the noble legacy of the
Ingriade line. With it he had fought in over twenty battles for Gardena,
each one winning him praise and glory. The whirlwind of Larose hill,
they had called him. This sword had seen him through his greatest
triumphs, and kept him safe when he was in the greatest peril.

Then he remembered the last thing he had been doing with this sword
in his hand, and threw it straight back into the cabinet, slamming the
door shut. He felt himself break into a cold sweat, and he sat down on
the bed burying his face in his hands. He let out a low, muffled groan
as he fell backwards, trying his best to hold it together, not wanting
to surrender to the painful memory that was threatening to overwhelm
him.

A knock on his door prompted him to come back to himself. Wiping his
brow he headed straight to open it, wandering who wanted him at this
hour.

Upon opening the door he found two guards standing there, both in
their chainmail uniforms with short red cloaks. They both froze a little
as he stepped out, like deer in sight of a bow.

“What is it? What do you want?” Steffanes asked, blunt as a hammer.
He could recognize these soldiers faces, but their names where
completely lost to him. It must have been nearly midnight, so whatever
they wanted had to be important.

“Good evening captain Ingriade sir!” shouted the taller and bolder of the two as they both saluted.

“Leave of all of that, both of you. Now tell me your business so I can ignore it and go to sleep”

“Well sir” started the shorter one “it’s just that, today we were meant to get our monthly ale ration, and it never arrived.”

“What do you mean it hasn’t?” replied Steffanes incredulously “it always arrives every tenth day of every month!”

“It’s not here sir, and the men are getting annoyed. The
quartermaster say’s the updated order should’ve got through to the
brewery a week ago” Replied the taller one, his eyes drifting down to
his toes.

“Another thing I need Jori to sort out around here, it seems.”
Steffanes thought to himself. He would have to chain Jori to his desk
when he came back.

“If I may ask captain, where is lieutenant Tyrell?” enquired the smaller one tentatively.

“He’s on leave tonight; I have no idea where he is. Why do you ask?”

There was a moment’s hesitation, and then the taller of the two
started up again “well sir, none of the men have had any time off in
three weeks. It just seems odd that you’d make an exception for him,
begging your pardon sir”

For a moment Steffanes didn’t know what to think. Just how many
things were happening in the barracks that he didn’t know about?

“You’re not serious are you!?” was his blurted out reply, his voice’s pitch rising.

“We are sir, I’m afraid. We keep sending in the request letter, as
were meant to, but every time we just get told no. I missed my father’s
funeral”

“I wanted to have last weekend of to go into the city and see my
girlfriend, but I never even got a reply” piped up the shorter one.

“How can that be?” shouted Steffanes, his tone becoming louder as his
shock became more realised and apparent. “I’d never deny anyone leave
without good reason. Being cooped up in these barracks would drive
anyone mad!”

The taller one looked back at him with a confused look on his
innocent, simple seeming face. “Well sir, were not lying. Maybe you had
best ask Lieutenant Tyrell, perhaps he’s been forgetting to make sure
you sign them.”

Steffanes was now determined that the second Tyrell got back to the
barracks, he would not only chain him to his desk, but also dip his toes
in boiling hot water and give him several slaps with the back of his
hand. The sly little jobsworth had succeeded in making him look like
both a heartless bastard and an absent minded idiot, and Steffanes
objected to being seen as either one of those, At least, not without
good reason.

His thoughts turned back to the two soldiers, and a sense of pity
began to touch his heart. He felt guilty that he hadn’t been more aware
of what had been going on in his own barracks, right under his nose. The
soldiers were decent lads, he was sure, and they deserved better than
this.

Then an idea sprang into his head, as well as new vigour and energy.
“Tell me lads, what are your names?” he asked the two soldiers at his
door.

“Kye and Oughes sir!” replied the pair one after the other, both once again at full attention.

“Kye, Oughes, go and round up as many of the men that are off duty as
you can, and tell them to meet me at the front gate in ten minutes.
Tell them I’m taking them all to the Hollow Cave inn, and drinks are on
me! Next week, I’ll take the other lads out too, they all deserve it.”

Kye and Oughes’s face’s both light up like children being offered
sweets. “You’re sure sir, you can afford it and everything?” asked Kye,
his eyes ever widening.

“One thing about being a war hero lads; you very rarely have to collect on your bar tabs”

“ But the prodigies-“ started Oughes.

“ Are safe and locked up in their cells” Cut in Steffanes jovially. “ Now stop chatting and get to it, the pair of you”

Steffanes watched as the two ran off, a smile now fully beaming on
his face. It had been too long since he had had a rowdy night with good
company, and he owed the men a personal apology in the form of good ale.
Rubbing his hands in glee, he made his way to the front gate, to wait
for the men so they could head into Abelia, for what would be a most
memorable celebration.