A Child's War

Erik's cart was small, but you wouldn't know it by the rattling behind him. The rickety wheels drowned out all other sound, except of course, for the noise the horse's hooves in front of him. Erik should have known better than to buy the massive draft horse, but the price had been cheap and the animal's stoicism had convinced him. He told himself then that he would need all that power one day, but he now knew the horse could pull much more than he would ever use it for. Not his shrewdest purchase, but it had been his first since returning home from the war. His first since returning more alive than the farmers he'd left.

Erik's horse whinnied, and the rattling grew stronger. He looked backward, the furs he sold were packed in crates, and hidden under wooden boards to protect them from the rain. He strained forward, trying to look past the tall horse in front of him. 

 

Promptly he was knocked off his steering platform as two glorious blue chargers stampeded past. A thunderous crash assaulted his ears before he even hit the ground. The front of his cart splintered into pieces, and instincts developed long ago were all that saved him from the flying shrapnel.

Erik looked up, winded. His duck and roll had taken him into a ditch by the roadside. His shoulder blades ached with a future bruise. The majestic seahorses galloped away, scaled hides gleaming, their gills flaring in panic. They left behind a richly jeweled carriage, and a dead driver. Bad memories kept Erik from investigating the pour soul, and instead he walked to the carriage.

Erik reached for the jeweled handle, but it opened out at him before he could grasp it. The resulting awkwardness was compounded when a familiar face emerged.

“Aah! Peasant. So good to see your desire to rescue your lord. Never fear, I will assess the damage myself.” Prince Denard brushed past him and gazed down the road towards Thanelia, the capital city that Erik was leaving.

“Umm... Thank you Your Grace.” Erik tried not to get flustered.

“No need, Subject, no need. My lady, it appears our driver has passed on. Would you like to assess the situation?” The Prince referred to something in the carriage, and Erik could not help but follow his gaze. This face shocked him, it was even more familiar.

A scarred woman stepped from the carriage. This close, her face was much younger than Erik remembered. She couldn't be any older than he was. Still, ingrained habits dropped him to one knee.

“General Rose!” Erik stared at the ground and watched her feet stroll past him. After several moments, he stole a glance towards the pair.

Memories flooded back as he watched them converse. A mounted woman (a girl, in retrospect) in shining armor stood on a hill as soldiers in much dirtier plate dragged a boy kicking and screaming from his home. A year later, that same boy had looked up at that same woman (no, girl), covered in blood and waving a flaming sword, while she rallied his decimated squad for a suicidal charge.

As Erik looked at them, Prince Denard turned back to him and smiled. Through his royal grin he announced “Congratulations humble trader, today you can be of great use.” He gave a magnanimous sweep of his arms. “As you can see, I have found myself without locomotion, and here you are, draft horse and all. Allow me to give you the honor of taking your prince to court.”

Erik barely heard the royal, he was still remembering. The boy was a young man now. He stood amongst the army and watched the future monarch strut in his fine silks, his voice projected to thunderous volume through a leviathan's throatbox. They would let the greater enemy force pass the border to the north. The opportunity to pillage the northern countryside was bait. This army would bypass the border war and strike at the other nation's heart. Those people's sacrifice would win the war in a single stroke, he had declared.

“Aah, he is in shock from the honor. Rose, would you see to him? You are so much better at relating to the common man than I.” 

 

General BloodRose, Thorn of Thanelia, took two steps towards Erik. He looked up, and a flash of recognition ran between them. It was not their first. Both of them shared this memory.

The girl was a woman now. She sat, battle scarred and terrible on her warhorse, mind occupied with tracking down enemy holdouts. Nearby, the same young man ran sobbing down a familiar hill. The younger Erik was breaking rank, and the farmhouse he ran to was smoldering. He reached the building and wailed, embracing a charred corpse. Men tried to separate him from the body, but he had grown stronger than before. Through tears, he looked up at the woman, and a flash of recognition ran between them. Still, the commander refused to stop. The dead remained unburied.

Erik shook himself and crossed the road. The weight of expectation crushed him as he packed his saddlebags. He climbed his horse, and looked back, Prince Denard was already waiting in the carriage. Finally, something in him broke.

Erik spurred the horse, and it walked away from the two nobles. The prince sputtered.

“What are you doing! This is treason! Unnaceptab...” He trailed off under Erik's gaze.

Erik turned to the General. She nodded. Not an apology, just an acknowledgment. Erik turned and rode off.

End