She sat back down. After a few moments that felt like an eternity, she pointed to the middle tent. "He's in there," she pointed with her right forefinger.
To the young messenger, it felt like the foreboding finger of the Unnamed Fifth pointing him to his eternal doom. He swallowed again, his oversized apple bobbing up and down in his neck. He stepped over to the center tent and lifted the flap.
As he stepped in he heard the Major mutter behind him, "On your head." He felt even more nervous, if that was possible.
Slowly, he stepped into the mid-day gloom of the tent. The light was dimmed through the thick canvas walls. Dust lay as thick in here as it did outside. It was disgusting really. Every surface was coated. In the regulation cot, a surprisingly young man lay sleeping. His light hair was much longer than regulations allowed. A small scar traced his right jawline. As the messenger stepped closer and cleared his throat, the man's eyes popped open. They were immediately alert. Grey like the storm clouds of Novi in Far Emsil, his eyes seemed to have seen too much.
"What?" Wilson asked. He hated being woken up before noon. Compared to Wilson the messenger was everything a proper warrior should be, clean, pressed and at attention. It would be difficult, thought Wilson, for him to care any less about all that. Wilson wiped his mouth with his left hand. Smearing a bit of drool, he grimaced. By the Five, he was tired. Last night had been long and hard. He and Aella hadn't returned until the sun was peeking over the eastern mountains.
"Sir," the young messenger saluted. "I have a message from the General for you." He reached his hand forward to hand Wilson the small, official square envelope.
"What's it say?" Wilson asked.
"Sir," the messenger said.
Wilson chuckled. "I'm certain you know. Tell me what it says."
The messenger colored slightly. Every messenger knew the contents of every message. But military etiquette insisted that everyone act as if messages were private. "You are to report to the General immediately," the messenger replied.
Wilson arched his left eyebrow.
"Sir," the messenger added. He reached forward and handed Wilson the message. Then turned on his heel and left. As he reached the flap, he turned his head back and said, "He did say immediately, sir."
Wilson nodded. He stared at the flap as it closed. Slowly he got to his feet. Of average height, he had plenty of room to maneuver in the tent. He walked over to his desk and sat in the small camp chair. Slowly he pulled on his dark black leather boots. Never one to hesitate, he shook his head once and stood up. Wilson walked into the bright midday sunshine and smiled at Aella and Gristle.
"Well, looks like I am off to visit with the General."
The Black Oak Sword
Chapter 1: Part 1
Chapter 1: Part 2
Chapter 1: Part 3
Chapter 2: Part 1
Chapter 2: Part 2
Chapter 3:Part 1
© 2017, Stone Golem Publishing
**All pictures used are labeled for reuse. They come from Max Pixel
