The general returned a leisurely greeting with a hand raised, “I trust the lot of you are well-enough to march after your escapade.”
Their expressions were cold, lowering their arms slowly to their sides. They stood awkwardly, knowing not with what they should reply. Even the archer looked at the general as if telling that he should not have begun their conversation in such a manner. But only Warneńczyk knew he meant nothing by it.
His laughter shook the squad awake from their nightmare as if buckets of ice were poured over their heads. “Come now, no need to strain your faces.” Warneńczyk assured, resting a hand on his heart. “For all I care, you saved Adrien from his self-destruction.” Thanking them, he seemed forced to cool his poorly-timed joke.
Julien looked around him, his comrades unsure whether they should say for themselves and saw him as their guide. There was chaos in their minds who could not bring themselves to trust another general. Each had steered their eyes away, afraid that they would wrong another.
But knowing that they had to come to terms with had happened and gone, Julien raised his head and spoke on behalf of his friends, “I thank you…general,” He tried to keep his facade of courage for the sake of the squad but eventually, his sight retreated downward as well. “If not for your—”
“Pah! You lot are truly your lieutenant’s.” Warneńczyk boomed with an amplified voice and a smirk.
Soldiers around, undistracted ever before, flinched. Dropping their crates and crashing into one another, most turned and braced as if under attack. Only when their sergeants roared were they driven from staring and returned to their duties. Yet, when even those who were supposedly more veteran were jolted, the squad did not react. The general could tell, after their roguery had nearly earned them their deaths, it had shaved off an outer layer of their souls which could be peered through. Each had a share of a horrible past that barely equaled what they had witnessed on that day, but the battle had resurfaced those memories that they had fought to forget. The echo sprinted across the skies, bouncing between the clouds and the earth, the general’s voice traveled far. More youthful ears could still hear it reverberate before the noise was broken by the drifting breeze. The air brought a chill that cooled them in their shower of sweat. For the younger, it was a blessing. For the elder, he could not bare it. Crossing his arms and holding his elbows, he attempted to store his escaping warmth. His weakness was one of the few things that showed his age, but the squad made no remark, judging neither with their eyes.
A smile was driven away from Warneńczyk, taking his time to read and understand the six before him, when he said, “Fret not now,” Turning his eyes to the ground, he drew a sigh, somewhat alleviated. “We’re glad enough that you had not betrayed our kind.” It was the first thing that he had mentioned with some sincerity.
“It wasn’t that hard.” Colt interjected, finding himself the center of attention. “He didn’t even offer us anything.” The lancer recalled, however stupidly true, kicking the soil beneath about.
Warneńczyk let out a soft chuckle, trying to stifle a smile, he pulled on the corners of his mouth and shook his head to contain himself. Bringing his hand away as his head ducked, no matter how he tried to shift his thoughts, his mustache was clearly upturned.
Clearing his throat, the general collected himself, “As I heard, indeed.” Warneńczyk peered over his shoulder and faced a wall of tents. “But his inability to predict your worth has failed him.” Though seeing nothing and no one behind him, the squad knew who he spoke of who laid in wait.
Whilst their eyes were pinned on the distance, Károly felt himself take flight. Lifted by his collar like a pup, his face reddened with panic as the squad stared at him, transported weightlessly. Placed before his grandfather whose strength betrayed his appearance, he sought to hide away and forget his unseemly sight but he was trapped by two hands holding him in place by his shoulders.
“Take Károly.” Warneńczyk used him in his demonstration, as an example, which only then was he introduced by name. “What do you see?” His question was cryptic and broad that would take a madman to answer correctly.
The test had captured the squad in a bind but Julien’s mind ran with another word that came before it. To every other, it seemed unimportant at a glance, however at every instance he tried to rid of it, he could not.
Julien’s pulse quickened as a visage of what seemed to be a memory could not quite form. Károly? Repeating his name pained his head, as if a knife was being dragged across his scalp, only did the blade blunt when a comrade spoke.
“An archer?” Lev pointed at the bow in Károly’s hand.
A blank stare was birthed from Warneńczyk, unamused by his answer that almost seemed baiting to annoy. Lev raised his arms, having been caught red-handed with a poor joke, but seeing that his squad struggled to follow, the general sighed, set to break their confusion.
Releasing Károly, the general held up a fist and told, “An archer has many uses.” Even if some did not understand him, he had captured their attention. “His bow, his agility, his sight, simply thinking…”Warneńczyk lifted a finger on each attribute, leading them to an answer.
“But what of the use…of that use?” Lev solved his riddle in its shallowest form.
“Exactly!” Warneńczyk’s eyes brightened as he pointed at his brightest student.
Károly tilted his head up at the general’s nose as if he was mad, his eyes, confused. Those around the Rus slowly grasped his meaning, however terribly worded it was.
The elder retracted his hand again, pointing at the skies, and defined, “That is worth.” Lowering his arm, he directed at the squad and rephrased, “Your worth.”
Enough of riddles and questions for the young whose fatigue was worsened by a mind maze, he withdrew himself and hooped his thumbs around his belt. But not yet had he said why they had been called, and since their first contact, the squad shared a heavy anchor of angst in their hearts.
Leaning over a stronger side as a knee creaked and ached, the old man stood easy. “But until you have been revealed to what your worth is in my army, I suggest heeding your commanders.” Warneńczyk forewarned, in any case where they would dare repeat the circus act of disobeying orders.
Waved away to be dismissed, the squad braced up. Clasping their heels together, they saluted at once. But only then did they realize what their futures entailed that Warneńczyk had hidden in his final sentence. Stood at ease, one by one, they filtered away. Their faces were restored of some life, their breaths of worry for what was to become of them and doubts of their fates were poured out with heavy sighs. They let the weight of their rucksacks drop their shoulders and flexed their necks grown rigid. Soon they could be at rest even in retreat. As Károly watched their backs turn against him, he sensed a regret simmering within him. Wanting to learn and know better the squad who he could only admire from afar. When his usual boldness forsaken him to ask whether he could call them comrades, a hand held onto his back.
“Károly, accompany them and help them find their way.” Warneńczyk pushed his grandson on, suggesting for the best.
Elated, Károly nodded and his cheer ripened again. Skipping away, he passed by Julien, shedding a brief glance at each other in wonder. The archer chased the squad who he greeted and introduced himself to formally. They had not seen anyone quite as energetic and spirited as he was. Even in their corner of this miserable world, hurrying by under the guidance of Károly, they found themselves warming up to this walking light and welcomed him into their fold who could drive away the dark with the brightness of his smile and childish laughter. He harbored a contagious affliction that they could not keep away.
But whilst the five and a new sixth squadmate marched on without one, Julien was stilled. His feet did not move as commanded and his every nerve was blocked. He questioned his memory, whether it came from another not his, breaking like a shattering vestige. The back of Károly faded in his vision, a figure treading on the bounds between reality and dream. The general had wondered if it could be that the impossible had happened as it bore no more than an afterthought before. But he found it odd, how Julien reacted to his grandson’s name, not his face. Seeming unafraid, yet Warneńczyk’s eyes were like those of a man who has seen a figment of his imagination, of the dead, come to life. He could not withhold his questions anymore when the boy prepared to deny his scattered memories and move on.
“Was d’hu rænnrenen? (What do you remember?)” Warneńczyk straightened his back and took one step forward, almost as if to calm himself as he asked. “Julien Carlstadt?”
With one foot ahead of another, the Danner halted to collect himself and the mess of his thoughts. It could not be that the general recognized him. He had no recollection of ever partaking in stately affairs, banquets, balls, and parties, that would spell the word noble or where he could have ever met this man. For all his life, he had been forgotten in his house, alone, on the windy shores of a spit of sand whilst his own grandfather purposed himself beneath the crown. His only journey beyond the reaches of his beaches had been across the sea into the hands of calamity. Banners were felled and wagons rolled. The heavens caressed the grass with their shade, spoiling the heat. Yet the blood in the boy did not warm. Never could it. Julien brought his feet together and spun around with questions afloat in their midst.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
