Trayce let the arrow fly, and the wind sang. In one fluid motion, Trayce reached to his side and retrieved an arrow from his quiver and nocked it. He drew back his bow, and after only a moment, released his shot. It struck true, embedding itself in the dummy’s chest beside a half dozen other arrows. He couldn’t help but smile to himself at his work. The bow was an officer’s weapon and though it wasn’t banned for privates to practice with them, it wasn’t encouraged either, but Trayce didn’t mind. When out on the range he was alone, no one to bother him. He stood for a moment, taking it all in. He smelled the hay that spilled from the belly of the dummy turned pincushion, the way the wind whipped the dust in little spirals on the ground, like a skirt billowing during a pirouette. He wasn’t only here for peace and quiet, though. Maybe if he could show his superiors his skills, they would finally take notice of him.

  “Oh, so you think you’re good enough to use a bow, do you, commoner?” came a voice from behind.

  Trayce looked back. Shit, he thought. Stripes. There were three of them there, officers in training marked by the purple stripe on their uniform’s breast. They were also, in his opinion, pretentious assholes. He turned away, ignoring the Stripes, and instead leaned down to place his bow somewhere safe. Behind him, the Stripe yelled,

  “Your commanding officer asked you a question, Kande!”

  It wasn’t just words, as this time a blow came accompanied by the shout, knocking Trayce to the ground. The bow he requisitioned snapped as he landed on top of it. He rolled over on his back and looked up. Three Stripes were there, one grinning wickedly with a training sword in his hand.

  “You don’t command anything yet Stripe,” Trayce spat the Stripes above. “I’m not even in your company. I don’t have listen to you.” He knew it was a mistake as soon as the words left his mouth. The Stripe’s grin fell to a scowl as he readied the blunted weapon.

  “Let’s teach him a lesson boys, he doesn’t mess with his betters.”

  Trayce pulled himself off of the ground and backed away, he tried to stay on the balls of his feet like his instructor had told him to do in a fight. As the Stripe approached, Trayce imagined himself punching that smug face, he clenched his fist at his side, ready. Before either side threw a punch, two short whistles sounded. Trayce started, taking a second to straighten his uniform before coming to attention. The Stripes beside him did not look pleased at the interruption. A man in rich purple strode towards them. Not the stride of a common man but the swagger of a predator, one on the hunt. His eyes pierced through each man in turn. The stripe with the sword bristling, like a dog with its hackles raised. The second Stripe standing like a wall, not seeming to notice the disapproval on the officer’s face. The third Stripe seemed to fold in on himself, trying to hide, but watched with the same intelligent dark eyes as a raven. Trayce labeled the Stripes Wolf, Boar, and Sparrow in his head. The officer turned to Wolf.

  “Palonn, I see you’ve gotten yourself into more trouble.”

  “Trouble? No sir you see I was just… Teaching this soldier some swordplay!”

  “Yes, I’m sure that is why he was standing there with nothing but his fists. Soldier, is this true?”

  It took a moment for Trayce to realize his input was wanted. He turned and saw Wolf staring daggers and decided it wasn’t worth the beating later.

  “Uhhh, yes sir. I’m just a bit clumsy and tripped.”

  The Stripe smiled at that, like a child who knew he would get away with stealing his sister’s sweets, until the officer opened his mouth again.

  “You don’t have to lie for Palonn soldier.”

  Wolf’s smile turned into a scowl at this. “I am William Archibald Palonn, third of my name! You dare accuse me of lies? I will tell my father about you! It’s not a lie-“ before he could continue his tirade, the man silenced him.

  “I know what’s happening here. This is abuse of power and you know it Palonn. And you should also know, your father has no power here. He relinquished you to me so that I could train you, that means you follow my rules. Coincidentally here is one of my rules. A leader shall not command his men do what he would not. This rules is necessary because your men need to trust you, to trust you have the best in mind for them, if they are to be willing to die for you. Would you die for this man?”

  Wolf didn’t have an answer. He stood there fuming, his facing turning red. Trayce was holding back a laugh when the officer turned his eyes on Trayce.

  “Your name soldier?”

  “Trayce sir.”

  “Father’s name?”

  “I’m not of noble blood, sir, but my full name is Trayce Ja’Deslinn.”

  “Nice to make your acquaintance private Ja’Deslinn. I’m sure you figured it out by now but I am Major Desmon E. Hwrathorn. I suggest you collect your things and leave.”

  “Am I being reprimanded?”

  “No, but I suggest you stay away from this practice ground for a while. Keep some distance between you and the Stripes; someone might not be passing by to save you next time.”

  “Oh…” Trayce’s face dropped. “I mean, sir, yes, sir.” With a nod from the Major Trayce gave a quick salute and turned to collect his things. To retrieve his pack he would have to pass three very angry Stripes. Delios be damned. He steeled his nerves and strode forward. Sparrow stared him down as he passed and Boar just looked ahead with a blank expression. But Wolf, Wolf looked angry. Trayce picked up the pace as he passed Wolf, but found himself stumbling over Wolf’s boot.

  “Watch where you’re going, Kande, or you might step in something you can’t get out of,” Wolf hissed.

  Trayce’s blood ran cold. He realized he wasn’t getting out of this easy. The pack was lying in the dust beside his discarded bow. Trayce scooped both up and went on his way, doing his best to ignore the Stripes’ stares following him down the path.

  Trayce nervously shifted his weight from foot to foot, standing in front of a wooden desk covered in years of nicks and stains. The room had the cold scent of metal mixed the earthy smell of leather and sweat. Across the desk before Trayce sat a graying man with a crooked nose, doubling back on itself like a mountain path from being broken many times. This face belonged to the quartermaster, and judging from the look in his eyes, the man was not happy.

  “This is coming out of your stipend,” the quartermaster said, and gestured at the dusty, cracked bow before him. “How did this even come about?”

  “I uh, I tripped and fell, sir. It broke my fall,” Trayce answered.

  “Well, you need to be more responsible private. I don’t think you will be requisitioning a bow for a while,” the quartermaster said condescendingly.

  “I understand sir,” Trayce said dejectedly. “Major Hwrathorn suggested I take a break from the archery range anyway.”

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “Hmph. Good.” The quartermaster grunted and then slid a few coins across the counter. “Here’s what you get for the week after paying for breaking my bow.”

  “What? This is less than half of what I normally make.”

  “Maybe that will teach you to be careful with my things. Now get out of here Private before I dock more for wasting my time.” The quartermaster gestered to the door and then turned to his ledgers.

  Damn it all, Trayce thought as he grabbed his measly stipend. As he started to walk back to his barrack, his thoughts threatened to overwhelm him. He let the Stripes make him angry. What happened to my discipline? He was supposed to be a soldier. Someone stoic, attentive, strong. Why then did he let these pampered officers get to him? They got under his skin so easily; they made his blood boil. He almost swung at them. Even though they had started it, it would have been the word of three nobles versus his. Trayce knew he would have been courtmartialed. Everything he worked for could have been thrown away with one punch if Major Hwrathorn hadn’t intervened. Then what would have happened to him? Would he have been thrown in a cell? Forced to do heavy labor? Or would he have deserted? Every outcome he thought up ended with the same thing, it would prove the man right. Maybe he was right. Maybe Trayce was just a weakling, unable to keep his mouth shut or his hands down. When Trayce had to enlist he dreamed of coming home a hero, of showing up in his backwater town in a crisp uniform adorned with medals. He dreamed of having the coin to pay off his father’s debts and to buy his mother lenses, so that she could finally sew again. Mother always loved sewing. Now he wondered what would even be left when he returned home. Would his mother have bruises still? Would his father have drunk himself into a stupor? Or would his red angry face greet Trayce at the door, barking insults? He didn’t want to think about it.

  Trayce tried instead to focus on what was around him. The packed earth path under his boot coughed up dust with every step. Merchants attempted to hawk their wares at all down the street, competing for realestate with the beggars who called out with hoarse voices asking for any help. The further he walked the more crowded the street became, he was getting close to the market. Well, my purse isn’t getting any heavier, he thought, now is as good a time as any to get what I need. Trayce followed the crowd as it steadily flowed forward into the market. He was assaulted by sights and smells outside of those from the bodies pressed against each other. There were brightly colors stalls lining the road were men and women were animatedly advertising wares. One stall was piled high with trinkets, standing behind it was a dark skinned woman with a black cloth wrapped around her mouth and neck. As he tried to pass she grabbed Trayce’s arm and then pressed something cold and hard into his hand. “Here young man, how about a charm to woo a lovely lady?” She asked.

  Trayce looked down at what he had been given. It was a dark polished stone oval. He ran his thumb along it tracing the strange symbol carved into the face. “I’m sorry ma’am I don’t have the money for this, and I’m not looking to woo any ladies.”

  “Oh I have something here for you I assure you.” She snatched to dark stone out of his hand and put it on the table before rummaging through her stock. “Aha!” she exclaimed, pulling out a bundle of salmon colored feathers tied together with leather strips. “Here it is, this is just what you need. See this here a charm all the way from the desserts of Dresna, my homeland. These feathers are from the feathered serpent itself. The Sandjacks carry these to ward off dangers as they ride the dunes.”

  “It is very nice but I really can’t afford it right now,” Trayce said as he slowly backed away. He managed to extricate himself from her haggling by making up an excuse about barrack checks. With that distraction out of the way he was able to start doing the shopping he needed. The smell of foreign spices drew Trayce to one particular stall with a man wearing a conical hat that teetered on his head, threatening to topple. He watched transfixed every time the hat tipped to one side or the other, convinced it was going to fall and take the man’s head with it, but it never did. Trayce was looking for some spice to spruce up what the mess hall passed off as food. It was normally a slop made of whatever the cheapest bits of meat or vegetables the cooks could get their hands were served with hard bread. Trayce sniffed a few of the ingredients offered and asked what was good. After considering his option and what little money he had Trayce ended up purchasing two things. The first was a small pouch of a sweet and spicy powder the merchant claimed was popular with the tribes in Hillsign, and the second was some tea leaves. He was told this tea was from Fr?swár and would help take the chill away along with keeping you alert. Trayce had experienced enough late night posts that he had jumped at the opportunity to try something that might make it bearable.

  With his purse significantly lighter than when he got there, Trayce left the spice merchant’s stall. He looked up at the sky and judged he should head back to the barracks soon so he could complete his assignment before dinner. Thankfully he didn’t have latrine duty or a late night watch,, he just had to make sure the barrack floors were swept. As he followed the market street toward its end he was distracted by a bright spot of color. It was a girl. She looked to be around twenty, like himself. She wore a sleeveless green dress the color of the first sprouts of spring, and her hair shone a pale gold. It appeared to actually be metallic, reminding Trayce of the color of amidyn. Her skin was light, with a heavy spattering of brown freckles across her face and shoulders that looked like they could have been specs of dirt from a particularly hard day gardening. She smelled like the forest, although that might have been because of her stock. In her hands she held a basket containing flowers, seemingly fresh from their potent smell, with petals ranging between yellow, red, or white. Trayce recognized the yellow ones as lilies, his mother always used to keep a pot of lilies by her window. She would tend to her flowers every day when spring and summer came, and as they wilted in the fall she seemed to as well. Once as a young child Trayce yanked a lily from his mother’s pot and had begun to pick the petals off one-by-one before his mother stopped him.

  She had looked like she was going to yell when she found him. Her normally composed face starting to turn red. She finally let out a shaky breath and kneeled down so she would be on his level.

  “Trayce sweetheart,” she said, “Why did you hurt mommy’s flower?” And like many children his age, he didn’t have an answer to why he did what he did. He was just too young to understand why he did it, or to understand why it hurt is mother when he did. She sighed and took his little hand, leading him to the window.“Look at this,” she told him, gesturing toward her lilies. There was soil spilling over and on to the window sill from where Trayce had uprooted a flower. “You know these mean a lot to me right?” He nodded his little head at that. “It hurts your mom when you mess with her flowers, but it also hurts the flowers.” Trayce looked at her confused. “You see, these lilies are alive. Not like you and me but still alive. See how their petals are drooping down? That’s because they’re sad you took their friend away.” At this he started to cry, regretting what he had done. “I understand you didn’t mean it to be harmful,” his mother had said, “Take it as a lesson son, treat others with care, you wouldn’t want to hurt them like you did the flower.” She wiped his tears away with her finger . “It’ll be okay, here why don’t you help me water them?” He nodded and his mom ruffled his hair as he began to compose himself.

  For over a decade after that, he had helped his mother take care of her lilies. When he left to join the army, his mom had handed him a lily. It was fall when he enlisted, so the flower was a sad thing, its petals drooped and its color was fading, but Trayce still took it and tucked it behind his ear. When he got to training, his drill sergeant had plucked that flower from his head and dropped it on the ground, before grinding it into the dirt with the heel of his boot. Supposedly this had been to teach Trayce how to be a man, but really it just taught him that maybe military men weren’t the heroes stories portrayed them as.

  Now, finding himself in front of the girl selling flowers, Trayce was overwhelmed with a sense of longing. He reachers into his purse and selected one of three coins he had left. “Here,” he said, holding the coin out to the girl, “For one of those yellow lilies please.”

  “Of course,” she said, her voice sounding as sweet as honey. She handed it out to Trayce and he took it, smiling.

  “Can I ask your name?”

  “It’s Sara,” she answered, smiling back at him.

  “That’s a pretty name. I’m Trayce.” As she smiled at him he couldn’t help but wish he had taken the kooky old woman up on her offer of a love charm earlier. After a moment she looked at him quizzically and Trayce realized he had been staring at her. “Right, sorry, I should get going,” he said, excusing himself. It was just as he reached the far end of the market that he noticed the begger. The man was sitting at the mouth of an alley, he had long unkempt grey hair which trailed down his back and a beard to match. Something about the man facinated Trayce, and he wasn’t sure what. He took a tentative step toward the man, and the begger must have heard becasue he turned his head to look at Trayce. He met the man’s eyes, but the man didn’t meet his. Instead he stared straight through Trayce. The man was blind. Something about that gaze wasn’t right though, it seemed to penetrate him in a way Trayce had never experienced.

  “Im sorry—I don’t have any coin—” Trayce blurted out, before turning on his heels and starting toward the barracks at a run. Once he made it about a hundred feet away he slowed down to a casual pace. He began to feel guilty as he walked down the dusty street. I shouldn’t have ran. The poor man hadn’t been trying to scare me, he was probably just born different or had an accident one day that left him like that. And here I am treating him like a monster. Even as the thoughts of guilt raced through his mind, Trayce couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease around the man. As he walked away, he couldn’t shake the way that the beggar’s gaze seemed to peer into him, not just past him but to his soul. Trayce was relieved when he finally reached the relative safety of his barracks.