written by CJ of Wolfcreek
copyright Wolfcreek publishing 2000
Chapter 5
The days went by slowly for Jusserand, the frustration building with his inability to use his hands. The robe the priest had given him was quite comfortable and didn't irritate his wounds any further. It eased over his hands and head smoothly and he was ready to venture out. The men had been staying with the Sultan, so that would be a good place for a walk. A novice opened the door for him and he stepped outside. The sun was blinding and it took several minutes for his eyes to adjust to the brightness.
Al Karj was an unusual place; they were but three permanent structures; the temple, the Sultans palace and the prison. All else, even the shops, consisted of tents. They varied in size, shape, color and detail. It seemed like no two were alike and there were hundreds of them. The more ornate and larger ones could be found around the palace and the temple, while the smaller, drabbier ones were situated near the prison. The captain noticed the swords at the sides of the guards, a heavy weapon with a long wicked curve to the blade. A kopesh someone had told him it was called.
The captain had isolated himself after Lothario had removed the bandages from his eyes. He had not seen any of his men since the battle at the oasis. His leadership had nearly been disastrous; he had not trained his men properly. What was he doing bringing two unseasoned warriors up against a red dragon? He would surely have gotten them all killed had the red showed instead of the fire drakes. Drakes, how would they defeat them without getting burned by their blood? A thousand questions poured through the captains� mind, he liked none of the answers.
He was nearing the palace and began to slow down. How could he face his men, he had acted so foolishly, and nearly gotten himself killed. Why would they ever follow him again? No, he�d just turn around and go back to the temple where he belonged. As he turned to go back he heard a familiar voice call out. �Hey, about time you showed up. We were going to watch Eris teach the young ones a weapon more practical.� Lothario took him by the arm and led Jusserand into the palace grounds.
Jo~well was demonstrating his bola technique to Jerimiah as the others looked on. After the third attempt, he just walked away shaking his head. �Best off he doesn�t use those, more likely to hit one of us than a foe.� Jerimiah was the first to agree with Farceur. Eristic brought out a mace, and began demonstrating the difference in holding the weapon as compared to a sword. Once he was confident that they understood him, he began to bring it into wide swinging arcs. Gaining momentum and force with each swing. Jo~well quickly gave up on it, it was too heavy and slow a weapon. He would prefer his bolas and a sling. Farceur caught on quickly and was actually rather good with it. Jerimiah took the mace in his huge hands, swung it back over his shoulder and came crashing down with it, splintering a nearby bench.� Just like splitting logs�. He put the mace into Eristic�s hand and walked away. So much for subtleties.
�Look who I�ve found.� All turned at the sound of Lothario�s voice, and saw their leader for the first time since they had arrived in the city. What they saw shocked them and they did little to hide their surprise. They silently stared at Jusserand, with not so much as the slightest quip from Farceur. Their captain looked so old, the life gone from his face. Indeed, with the bandaged hands, borrowed robe, and scraggly beard he looked to be nothing more than a beggar. Jusserand grew increasingly uncomfortable and turned around and left without saying a word. In his heart he knew that he had lost the respect of his men.
The walk back to the temple seemed to be taking much longer than it had going the other way. He grew tired, and sat down in the shade of a merchants tent. He was getting much too old for this young man�s profession, and thought of ways to tell Xanthippe that he could no longer lead men into combat. His own injuries and possible death he could accept. He wanted nothing of leading young men to their own deaths. He fell asleep there in the shade, the faces of fallen friends and young men fresh in his mind.
Xanthippe threw up his hands in exasperation. It wasn�t very often that he couldn�t shout an adversary down, but he had met his match. E�lan�s tirade had gone on for some time and he found himself unable to get a word in edgewise. �Well, what are you going to do about it?� With that question as his opening he was able to speak for the first time since she had burst into his chambers.
�Lady E�lan, my apologies for Poltroons failure to assist you in Lothario�s absence. Two squires will be at your house first thing in the morning to help you in whatever way they may. As for Poltroon, he will be found and punished for his�� They had better show up lest you�ll be seeing me again. It�s wrong to take a man from his wife and children and put them under the so called protection of a lazy buffoon.� And with those words ringing in his ear she left.
That man had given Xanthippe many headaches since he first arrived at the Hall. This would be the last; he would be cast out from the order. �Page! Come quickly.� A young boy ran into the room and bowed before his master. �Go find Poltroon and tell him to come here immediately.� The boy ran off, he was a good lad. Never argued, and always did exactly as directed. A short while later the page came running back in and told Xan that Poltroon, his mount and all of his belongings were gone. For the first time in the history of the knights, someone had deserted. The veins in Xanthippe�s neck swelled and the young page knew that one of his master�s headaches was coming on. Quietly, he backed away and left the room.
copyright Wolfcreek publishing 2004
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