How more had happened in a day than their two-week march, Arminius was most clueless. “Grandpa?” Believing that the man in question was another, he turned to Julien for answers.
“The general.” Julien replied, facing Károly who spun around steadily standing. “General Władysław Warneńczyk, first Count of Krakau, and the Minister of War of Lechen.” He listed his titles but that was not the extent of it.
“You know yer stuff, kid.” The wagoner interrupted, seeming to be praising his knowledge, proud that he knew.
His apprentice, a soldiering youngster, took his reins as the wagoner leaned over the sideboard of his wagon, knowing that his master had an appetite for chatter, especially when it concerned his own glorious nation.
Holding onto a farmer’s cap, the wagoner kept a smile and bleakly told, “I ignored war the best I could, as did ev’ry other man, woman, an’ orphan ‘ere.” He returned ahead for his back bore not the strain. “When war knocked on our doors, we’re forced to take up whate’er we could an’ rallied to defend our lands.” With his arms spread along the board, he laid back and recalled from his own woes.
The wagon’s wheels rolled, sturdily, like the sun in the sky falling from noon. His telling had reeled in Károly’s attention whose weakness often involved a war story. Stepping off from the bench, he approached with his heels tapping on the thin flooring.
A grin widened on the man’s face, gazing up at the blank sky, with his cap shielding him from the intense flares. “But simple folk like I’s, we knew, even if they were just stories,” The wagoner lifted a finger and pointed, directly before him, to an elder between squadrons of the fabled winged hussars. “There was one man who’d treat us as persons rather than fodder.” Dismissing any other who shared his rank, he spoke of him like that to a saint.
“Each un ‘ere volunteered, not levied.” Marching beside the wagon, a soldier chimed in, restraining himself no longer. “I’d die happy havin’ fought wit’ ‘im.” A fist rested over his chest, resolute, it did not seem as though anything could break him.
To his side, offering his own flask of water, half full, to a wilting soldier, the wagoner seemed assured when he claimed, “And our deaths’d come b’fore we break.”
The squad’s eyes turned to the boy who they thought was trustworthily reasonable to verify. But startled by the sudden recognition that he had gained, as the grandson of a man spoken of so highly, Károly retreated into the shadow. Scratching his head with an awkward smile, he hastily sat himself and picked at the string of his bow. Neither could he explain how his grandfather had earned his fame, only that he was, and without much to add, the little archer was quieter than usual.
A lancer tightened the straps of his rucksack as he following the tracks of his army winding down a dip in the path. “How rare is that…” Colt scoffed, unimpressed by one face he had in mind.
Slapping his knees, the brute rose from the bench and stumbled around shirtless, pacing as he grasped his wound. “Fuck dat Nikola!” Gin cursed outward to the east whence they came. “He bet’er rot away b’fore dis war’s end else I’ll turn ‘im into bonemeal m’self.”
The wagoner and his apprentice shuddered on hearing such horrid words come from his foul mouth. Their heads were pinned ahead and dared not speak again in the midst of an infuriated bull. Alone, with an aggravating memory that no doubt his comrades shared, he paced about, rocking the wagon. Julien tried to settle him but he could not rein in his rage. Only when Arminius took a breath did Gin seem to calm. However, it was out of fear. Hearing his silence that carried an inactive anger at himself becoming sorrow, the building heat within dwelled deep in his heart, pushing outward until his chest pained.
Exhaling, his questions had been answered to his dismay, and slouched over his own hands, covering his face. “So that’s what happened…” Arminius sulked over the pieces of an image that disheartened him.
“Anyways,” Károly jumped from his seat and distracted his comrade from ever thinking too much of blame. “You’re with us now.” Skipping to be beside him, he reassured.
Arminius lifted his head from his hands and saw Károly crouched closely, their faces a few inches apart. The lancer flinched but the archer was unafraid that he could fall over him. Yet then when he was nearer, the former was proven right. He recognized his pair of ember-like eyes gazing into his own and the other boy’s face of undefeatable merriment. The air of his soul was familiar, reminiscent of the night that only Julien could remember, and before they were introduced, a name that the lancer had never heard of sprung to mind.
Trying to retrieve Arminius’s attention which wandered again, Károly waved at him and mentioned, “I haven’t introduced myself have I?” Positive that he had not, the archer reached out a hand to greet but his comrade did not follow. “The name’s K—” He began nonetheless but was interrupted abruptly.
“Károly…” Arminius called him.
Bewildered, Károly retracted his hand, Julien righted his posture, and Gin was silenced. But they were the only who heard him correctly say his name as their squad trailing behind had muted the four aboard the wagon with their chatter, lapping against the louder voices of their ranks and files. As if it was no coincidence, Arminius hardly reacted to what he had said. As if he was meant to know.
Most surprised of all, the archer leaned back, frightened even if he was curious. “Lienz Károly…” Muttering his full name, Károly tested for a reaction from Arminius but he did not seem to remember any more.
Upon realizing his own fault, that his three comrades did not believe him to have done, Arminius glanced at Julien, stunned, and turned his eyes down. His hands were squeezing intensely on his knees, only releasing when he noticed. So keen on reading whether his friends would judge him, he had not felt the film of sweat that was pasted over his palms.
Flustered, Arminius apologized, his words melting into a mumble, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“No…no need to be.” Károly promised, shaking his head. “I’m sure you overheard us.” It was a blatant lie to himself but he knew that there was no reason that could explain their surreal encounter.
Bearing a smile, he reached out and attempted to receive his comradeship once more, but he did not wait for Arminius to act in that instance. He took his hands and clasped it tight, reminding him of a family that he had nearly forgotten, a memory that slowly withered. The thought of everything that he had endured or the easy life that he was bestowed with before calamity soothed his soul that gradually repaired.
“Nice to meet you, Arminius.” Unsure that it was ever their first meeting, Károly was somehow convinced that someplace and somewhere, they had met before.
Yet, it ushered no pleasant response from Arminius. His vision broke as blood rushed to his head, attacking his nerves whenever he attempted to remember. The hurt and the throbbing pain persuaded him that it was better to forget. Károly released his hands as the lancer drew the blinds over his eyes. A smile sank from the archer as Arminius laid down again beside his two comrades, who he knew but did not, watching over him resting his arms which wrapped around himself when a chill set in him. The warmth did not return.
Staring upward at the restricting tarp, it was blank but there was also a hole in the ceiling that gave what little freedom for him with a view of the sky. “So we lost…” Arminius muttered, moving a hand over his eyes, his sight fading as he repeated, whispering, “I lost…"8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3SPsHOePFU
