a piece of the action (ithacles)
In the old days it was nothing to go on one inspection tour after another, visiting one of Faustben's villages and sharing a meal with the lord or duke or whomever before you went on to the next village. But in case Ulbarich hadn't heeded his previous reminders he had yet another. Things were different with royalty. They were ten strong, and every man in armor save Ithacles and Ulbarich. The Captain still wore his coat, complete with pauldrons that nearly covered his ears, done up against the brisk mountain air. Yet there was nothing to watch but the high gray stone which concealed a small city. That was the reason they were here, after all. There was a great deal of resettling being done by refugees from the south.
In fact, he'd grown tired of hearing their stories.
It was a freedom that not many appreciated. A soldier could rarely credit the sort of nonsense that others worried about. You would fight to protect your fellow citizens, and then find that someone was threatening to kill someone else over the collection and distribution of taxes. Ulbarich had no ideas on taxes and how to distribute them. yet he was known for killing. One of many. Killing to stay alive or keep others alive was one thing. Taxes were not serious enough to warrant death. And nobles you'd never served in the true military did not understand that. These soldiers were under his command, and thank goodness that basic military commands could be communicated by hand instead of voice, b ut most of them were dandies.
Only one had seen real action.
"Did you polish your armor?" one asked quietly, so that Ithacles would not hear.
"Spit-shine."
"Spit doesn't shine you big idiot."
"Idiot? I don't recall Master Faluth mentioning that word in his lectures."
"I'll swear at you. I'm cross enough."
"I'm just wondering-"
"Put that energy into shining your damn armor, so that this lord duke fellow is properly impressed."
Nobles also had a way of arguing that made them seem like vain, petty children. Actually standing in the room and watching one fellow's face turn pink after another at the thought of selling his grain below market value to refugees who were being given money, grain and supplies to restart their lives on the frontier - it was enough to make his blood boil. If they'd found themselves at the end of a sword they would have soiled themselves. And yet that was not the worst of his problems. The worst of his problems was trying to convince anyone that he did not want the duty in the first place.
Ithacles needed no observation thus far.
Defending the prince against the young beautiful things he dandled on his knee was a nonsense task. After he'd hauled the third harlot out by her hair, wrenching this way and that to keep her from attempting to slap him, Ulbarich had given up altogether. If they had a needle hidden between their breasts then Ithacles would die happy. If they did not then his services were not needed. A hard thing to know hyour father was gone from the world, never to return. Ulbarich was sure at least part of Ithacles' behavior could be attributed to that. And if not then Ulbarich did not want to know.
Blue and black flags, cut into triangles and rising high into the kingdom of the wind, were posted on either side of the massive wrought-iron gate. Even now gears were grinding and chains were hissing against oil and steel to raise said gate. On the other side stood a tall, balding fellow with no muscle to speak of and a heavy gold medallion weight around his neck. A medallion, but by far the largest that Ulbarich had ever seen. At least as big around as Ulbarich's terrible face. There was no honor guard here. The medallion meant something... mayor. It meant that this fellow was elected by his fellow villagers. These were the worse, because they did not think of themselves as any different from the people who came to do these tours.
And yet, they were.
Despite the clear blue skies and the blasting furnaces that churned smoke into the air behind those piled rectangles Ulbarich was bitterly cold. His cheeks were flushed red and his brow was drawn down. Riding next to Ithacles did the mayor's face and general ebullience no favors.