Phoenix Destiny

Five

Jaron walked the perimeter of the wide meadow beside the General. After two nights of performances, this was the day his fate would be revealed. He tried to judge the older man’s intentions.

The General’s expression was neutral, almost a mask, impenetrable to Jaron’s usual deduction. It was the same intuition that told him King Xavier wasn’t planning to execute him. The same instinct that directed him to the Northern Continent. Now, it was oddly quiet. Yet, he didn’t sense danger, everything seemed placated.

“Look around you, lad,” the General gestured to the men sword-fighting and practicing their archery skills. “What do you see?”

“I see a meadow, hidden deep in the forest,” Jaron answered. “I see a mercenary army using it as their secret training grounds.”

The General chuckled, saying, “We are soldiers. What makes you think we are mercenaries?”

“I see no standards, nothing to suggest loyalty to a particular king.”

“Ah, very good.”

Jaron said nothing. Where is the game headed now?

“Your wits are sharp, and your mind is keen. Terrible to waste.”

Jaron nodded. If this meant he would get to keep his head, he had to agree. Does this mean he doesn’t plan to kill me?

“You have a wonderful voice, very moving. As a jester, you are first-rate: adaptable, quick thinking and clever. All very good and terrible things to waste.”

Jaron didn’t reply. Trying to read the General’s face was still impossible, and his voice was without inflection. Obviously, he was a man used to negotiation. The only thing Jaron was certain of was the lack of danger.

“I don’t like waste. That is why I offer you this one reprieve: your life for your service,” the General stopped and faced him.

Jaron’s gaze narrowed as he studied the battle-weathered soldier. The General was a tough man to be sure, but fair. Standing in his presence, Jaron sensed his command over his soldiers, but also his kinship with them.

A man of honor, if I’m lucky.

“We cannot allow you to leave and risk revealing our secret. So, if you wish to live, you must join our ranks. You will be our jester and bard and entertain us. It need not be every night, but often enough to earn your way. You will travel with us and learn as many songs as you wish, maybe even write a few about our exploits. What do you say?”

“My mentor once told me our lives are dictated by the sacrifices we make.”

The General nodded. Overall, he couldn’t argue with that. He had made plenty of sacrifices to get to his position.

Jaron gazed across the meadow, slowly taking in the camp as he weighed his thoughts. Then he looked at the sky, squinting in the daylight. Finally, he said, “One performance a night: whether as a jester or a bard is for me to decide. Every fortnight is mine to rest.”

“Make that every sennight. No need to overwork yourself. You shall be given a tent of your own, near mine, so that you and your horse can be properly guarded.”[1]

“And watched,” Jaron neutrally added.

“Ah,” the General laughed. “You are a sharp one. I will have to watch what I say around you.”

Clapping him on the back, the General laughed again and escorted him around the clearing, introducing him to some of his captains. For the most part, they didn’t seem concerned with Jaron’s presence, accepting the General’s decision without argument. When they returned to the center pavilion, Jaron saw a supply tent had been moved and prepared for his use.

Smaller than the soldier’s tents, it was tucked between two others. Gambler was tethered beside it, quietly grazing and unconcerned by Jaron’s extended absence. Leaving him to settle into his new space, the General told him to take the night off. Tomorrow he would begin his six nights of entertainment until his next night of rest. Jaron sat on his bedroll, quietly polishing and tuning his lute as he mulled over recent events.

“You have certainly done well for yourself,” a pleasant voice said.

Jaron stared around the interior of the tent before saying, “Artac?”

The sprite appeared on the drum. With a smile that exposed small, needle-like teeth, it said, “Greetings.”

“I was beginning to believe you were gone for good,” Jaron cleaned and tuned his instrument.

“I have never left your side. Just because you cannot see something, doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

“Where were you when I needed you?”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” it studied its claws without a care and either unaware or refusing to acknowledge Jaron’s tone.

“Why didn’t you warn me about this meadow? Where were you when they captured me?”

“You solved the problem well enough on your own.”

“I didn’t have much choice.”

“Less you forget, an immortal is not allowed to interfere in mortal affairs. You have already seen the consequences firsthand.”

“I have? What are you talking about?”

“Your dreams are no dreams,” the sprite’s eyes narrowed, slowly deepening to red. “Do not dismiss them and do not stop searching for their meaning.”

“What do you know of my dreams? Can you read my mind?”

“I have not that ability. You are not the only one who has visions.”

“Why don’t you just say it?”

“I cannot.”

“Why not?”

“Because that would be telling.”

“Must you always speak in riddles?”

“It is the way of my kind,” the sprite seemed bored. “Believe in yourself and your destiny.”

“My destiny is to be a servant to these soldiers?”

“Destiny is promise. Fate is culmination. In time, you will see this experience has a purpose.”

Jaron shook his head. He wasn’t sure if he could take anything the sprite said seriously. In fact, he couldn’t even begin to guess what was going on in the creature’s head.

Turning back to ask for clarification, Jaron found it gone. He set the lute down, lied down and prepared for another tortuous night of dreams.

* * *

In the following days, he enjoyed the freedom of walking the camp and the privilege of exploring the surrounding forest. Just as Jaron sensed the General was a man of his word, so too did the General see the same in him. Jaron honored their bargain and did not try to escape. The only downfall of their arrangement was Dorrall, leading the others to call him the General’s Pet.

Why not? My leash is long, but it is still a leash, Jaron couldn’t help but muse to himself.

On days he didn’t wander, he often took his lute to practice at the edge of camp where he could watch the soldier’s training. They battled with wooden swords or pikes. There was an archery range where they bet and tested their skill against one another. The men even held small jousting tournaments and mock battles to keep their skills sharp and deadly.

Position in the company was at least partially determined by these battles. During their duels, rank was left on the sidelines to ensure the players competed on even footing. However, the weapons one was allowed to carry, horses they were allowed to ride and even where in the camp they were allowed to pitch their tents were determined by rank and skill.

Every fortnight, four scouts mounted on the fastest horses left the camp while four others returned. Of all the activities in the camp, the arrival and departure of those riders most intrigued Jaron. He didn’t even have a guess as to their purpose except that perhaps they were messengers of some sort.

On a warm summer day, one such scout returned, and an order went through the camp to make ready for departure with a wave of nervous tension. Jaron packed his things, so they were evenly distributed on Gambler’s back. For him, it was routine. He finished long before the others. He took down his tent and loaded it onto a supply wagon. Then he waited with Gambler for the others to finish.

“Ah, quick and efficient,” the General smiled as he rode past on a dark destrier. “You could toss those instruments and things in the wagons as well, lighten your horse’s load.”

“Gambler’s accustomed to the weight,” Jaron answered. He patted the stallion’s neck. “And I wouldn’t want them to be accidently damaged. It is the only way I can keep my head.”

The General nodded, riding off as the ranks formed. Jaron remained near the wagons, helping load the other tents and supplies with the indentured slaves. Some of them were victims of circumstances similar to his own, minus the sprite. Others claimed to have been bought by some of the soldiers or were otherwise paying off a debt. Still, others were captured during past campaigns. Most refused to go into detail concerning their past and Jaron didn’t want to pry.

“Hey, jester, are you a pack beast now?” Dorrall’s voice said.

“So, it appears,” Jaron answered. He didn’t look at the soldier as he helped to lift the final tent and secured it in the wagons. Gambler looked up from his idle grazing.

“You do not deserve a horse like that,” Dorrall said, glancing at the gray stallion. “It deserves a real rider.”

“When I find such a person, I shall be sure to give him my horse.”

Dorrall sneered, violently reined his horse around and kicked it into a jerky lope. Gambler nudged his shoulder. Jaron smiled and patted the stallion, saying, “He doesn’t bother me that much, old friend.”

The soldiers moved off on a slow, winding march west. Jaron rode beside the wagons. All things considered, it was a rather pleasant ride. At sunset, the soldiers camped. Though he spent most of the day pitching tents and preparing the meal, Jaron still donned his gear and entertained.

It was the best way he knew to keep himself refreshed and observant without drawing suspicion. It was his routine for several days until they came out of the wild. They reached the outskirts of the first village Jaron saw since joining the company and camped apart from it. As evening neared, Jaron noticed many of the men riding out to the village. He wondered at this as he quietly strummed his lute.

“Ah, Jaron my boy,” the General rode up to him. “Most of the men have gone to seek entertainment at the village inns. You will not be needed tonight.”

“Of course, General Sir,” Jaron answered with a nod.