Alliance for Antrim

  Chapter 15

  Sartel

  Nevin was the first to wake up. After searching for kindling to start a fire, he took another refreshing dip in the nearby stream. It felt wonderful and the water had a smell of purity about it, complimented by the strong smell of balsam and fir. This was far better than the marginal camping experiences he had as a young scout. Though he was as robust as the other boys in his scout troop, his intellectual interests set him apart from the others. Nevin’s youthful scouting experience was thankfully short, but he found himself hoping the current chapter in his life would last longer because there seemed so much ahead. The land seemed unspoiled and bountiful, its people innocent if threatened by the vagaries of war. One person could make a difference here. Anson, who put the needs of his people and the land ahead of his own life, was such a person. It seemed Orris would fight against any odds to defend his king and country. Now, perhaps, Nevin was another who could make a difference here. His companions seemed to think so.

  Since his camp-mates were still asleep, Nevin used the opportunity to wash his clothes; he left Hempstead wearing standard sportswear and shoes that was holding up well. After wringing the clothes nearly dry, he wore them damp and huddled over the fire to reduce the chill. Even chilled, he was thoroughly enjoying himself. Things were going well.

  Orris was second to stir. Nevin noted to himself how the soldier made an almost instant transition from sleep to full consciousness, probably an adaptive trait for a soldier. Orris’ quickness to react was immediately confirmed as the soldier sprang to his feet and doused Nevin’s fire, smothering the smoking ashes with dirt.

  “Sir Nevin!It is not wise to make a fire during daylight hours when in unfamiliar land! Worse even to use green wood because of the smoke. A fire like this may be allowed at night, but not during the day unless safety is certain. We do not want to attract unwanted visitors like those rogues who dispatched that mage a day ago.” Orris frowned as he made final work of extinguishing the fire. Not only annoyed at Nevin’s careless act, he was evidently surprised that someone touted as a sage would not already know these things.

  Nevin tried a lighthearted explanation that he was more used to flashlights than campfires, but Orris was oblivious to that excuse. It seemed best to let the matter drop.

  Orris also let the campfire incident pass and started fussing about, urging the others to break camp. Nevin could see that today’s impending arrival at Sartell was making the soldier a little edgy. All of them had reason to be a little tense. Nevin, himself, was full of an historian’s curiosity about many things, from the local form of government to the style of architecture in the city. Anson would soon get to meet with King Lucan, and the future of their alliance, as Orris liked to called it, was bound up in that meeting. So, heightened emotions were understandable. As the soldier bustled around checking packs and exhorting Anson to hurry, Nevin imagined there were probably many things waiting for a Captain of the King’s Armsmen: friends and fellow soldiers to see, possibly relatives. Maybe a wife and children.

  While Nevin was displaced himself, he was deeply intrigued by this strange land; there was so much innocence and simple beauty that he had no major regrets, except his inability to explain the mechanism that got him here. Everything was new and in many ways unspoiled. Even if given the chance right now, he might not go back to…uh. . .the place he came from. Nevin laughed to himself as he momentarily forgot the name of Hempstead College. This train of thought was broken as Orris scurried by. Nevin reached out to stop him.

  “Orris, come have a seat while I look at your arm and change the dressing. I’d like to see how our handiwork is coming along.”

  Orris was still impatient about breaking camp but he was as obedient as a young recruit in following Nevin’s orders about this matter; he was both grateful and relieved that his wound was not sending him the unfortunate way so many fellow soldiers had gone. He fetched some clean cloth strips and sat on his bedroll while Nevin removed the old dressing.

  Contorting his face in concentration, Nevin unrolled the old bandage and removed the crumbled mass that was left of the moldy cheese. His look brightened when he saw that the wound was still healing remarkably well. The stitches were holding and the skin was not necrotic. He massaged the wounded area and it did not ooze from infection. Orris reported that it was only mildly painful to the touch, which brought a satisfied nod from both of them. “You are a tough cookie, Orris.”

  While Orris showed a confused look at this reference to bad baked goods, Anson came to look. “That is a fine piece of healing, Sir Nevin. He’ll be so fit this rascal will not earn any sympathy from the ladies in Sartell.”

  Orris smirked. “That’s fine by me. ‘Tis not sympathy I seek from the ladies. Thanks to our learned sage here, I will be as robust as I was on my last visit. Sir Nevin, there will soon be others in your debt for restoring my health.” That gave Nevin a better understanding of the soldier’s mounting urgency to get to Sartell.

  Anson pointed to a crow nervously hopping from one tree to the next. “I believe our guide is ready for us to start.”