With Reynardo In Exilio

Elbron, once of Corvaal, now just another mercenary without a home. Belfagor had many troops of hired men- why no one knew. And his dark cavalry that rode only at night, steeds with metal hooves that struck sparks in the darkness as they raced along the cobblestone paths toward destinations unknown. No one was going to attack Serenissima by land, and only the most intrepid of souls would sail out into that sea with its darkly freakish storms.

I took my men and lined them up smartly. We marched up the hill to the armory and the drill field. The sun went down blood red and cast weirdling shadows all around. We marched and marched round and round, testing the different formations, then played at weapons for a while. There were fifty-four of us all told, some fit and strong like Thagarok, some sickly, or lazy, like Sandor. After an hour or two I let them lie about and shoot the breeze.

"Sky’s disturbed, strange."

"There’s menace in the heavens, some angry spirit rides an evil wind. Like to die tonight, eh, Baldoth?"

"Ah, shut up with your spirits, death and curses. I’ve a sword."

"An old sword."

"Aye, old, my father’s sword, but I’ve a strong arm. I’ll test it on you!"

"Steady, men, or I’ll march you some more. Not tired out enough?" I cautioned.

"Look there. Thunders, lights, but no rain. Follows a blood red sun down to darkness. Light another torch, give the sky less complexion!"

"It approaches the last hour before the new day. Go sleep, men. Sleep. Tomorrow the Prince leaves for Kashengar, and I have leave to do with you as I please. We can go for a hundred mile march, or hunt sea shells by the shore. It's up to you."

There was a ripple of laughter.

"Ah, haha. A troop with no war and a sergeant gone daft. Things could be worse."

We turned in. The barracks were stout, and the doors were locked, though as I said, no one was going to attack us. Strange goings on or not, we would sleep secure.

It was deep in the morning, well before the sun rose. The time of night old men pick most often to die in. I dreamt a dread dream. A great serpent came out of the sea, sniffing and scuffling, finding its way to my bunk, seizing me by the boot. I cried out, waking myself. There at the foot of my bed was the old hag!

"You’re the one I want," she intoned beneath her dark veil.

"You...you! Get out, old hag!" I called out to my men. "Bring a torch!"

"The sergeant wants a torch!"

"Raise the alarm! Sergeant wants a torch!"

I stumbled about, finding my sword and a dagger.

Torches were thrust in, followed by faces. The old hag was nowhere to be seen.

"It was the old hag! She was here!"

"Come on old sarge, back you go to sleep. You have to dream of old women? You could dream of someone young and sleek, you know?"

"Or dream of a young boy! Ah hahaha!" My men laughed all around me.

"If you saw her, you wouldn’t laugh, you’d feel it all uncanny. I’d swear it was no dream."

"We saw enough of her today. I’d die by torture before I’d dream her into my nightsack."

There was more laughter.

"All right. To sleep again. We’ll wake with the third light. No early morning march, I promise." I turned in again, but my sleep was troubled, filled with crows, fires and little men who danced and sang. I prayed for a succubus, but she must have been delayed somewhere in the city.

The day dawned bright and clear with a light breeze.