Garinor awoke to a dreary, cloudy morning and achy red eyes. He had finally nodded off at some point, but even that hadn’t been very restful. Now the camp was bustling with activity and there was no more time for sleep.
It became a hectic morning and Garinor was swept up in all the commotion. The sky promised showers of rain and they needed to be ready. Not only that, but their group needed to move to a new camp. It was too likely the other army would launch a surprise attack while they were at rest. At least, that’s what the key strategists in the group assumed.
About seventy men and women made up the encampment. It was more people than Garinor had noticed before, but apparently a contingent had joined them during the early morning hours.
Garinor’s presence was not questioned by anyone, nor was his short sword taken away. The fact he was able-bodied and willing was all anyone cared about, especially with so many injured or slain during the previous day’s skirmish. Garinor watched and learned how to take down the tents properly and to bind them tightly together in rolls. He assisted the cooks in gathering and preparing foodstuffs, and helped create litters to carry those who could not walk on their own.
There wasn’t a single task he turned down. The skies darkened and the threat of rain drew nearer. One of the men walking near him moaned aloud, “When it starts, things are going to be rough.”
“Isn’t there anything we can do about it?” Garinor asked.
The man laughed, “That would be one for the ballads!” And he broke into verse in a beautiful melodic voice that had earned him the nickname Song. “When come ‘round the rains this morn, before the skies began apourin’, little friend, his eyes so wide, looked around and smiled up high. ‘Turn off the rain,’ he called and claimed, and then the clouds all went away.” Everyone around him, including Garinor, laughed.
“But you said yourself that when it rains we’ll be all wet and it’ll make everything heavier to carry. There’s nothing to do for the mud, but what if we covered up?”
“And how?”
“Unroll the tents and lash them together and let’s all walk under them.”
Song’s eyes popped open and he whistled a low tune. “Interesting idea,” he admitted. “Let’s see.” He ran up ahead and pushed his way around to the bearded man who was in charge of the group. Song came hustling back, shaking his head as he went. “Get up there, lad. Go on.”
So it was that Garinor was put in charge of unrolling the tents and directing others to tying them together. It wasn’t perfect and there was no way to seal the seams, but when the rains did fall there were many drier heads than there otherwise would have been. The injured were given priority under the tents while others volunteered to be drenched and keep the canvas in place on the outer seams. Garinor joined them in the rain.
The whole process reminded Garinor of the bridge in his village, which the whole town had built together, with everyone big and small contributing however they could. Now he had taken that sense of unity and put it to use here. Even with the rain soaking him through, he felt warm inside.
Some time later, the major rains let up, but the clouds did not completely roll away. The sun kept teasing them by jumping out from behind clouds and then hiding away again. They called a short halt, shook off their dampened things, ate a hasty snack, and then continued the march.
It was nearly evening before the sky was clear again and they could choose a place to safely set up camp for the night. The ground was rocky, but everyone pitched in to rake away the larger stones before casting up the tents.
The bearded man doled out orders for people to scrounge up food for the night, and Garinor chimed in to help, but the man wouldn’t allow him. “No, son, you’ve done enough for today. And in these parts, we don’t know who’s around. You need to stay close by. Song,” he called out, “this one is yours for the night.”
Song took Garinor away and they sat before one of the tents on a log Song found nearby. “Seems you’ve won him over, there. He’s giving you a rest.”
“I could still help though,” he said, anxious to keep busy so his thoughts wouldn’t dwell on other things.
“Come on, now, if you go off and do something, then I’ve got no reason to sit here and rest, myself. So keep me company and let that be what you’re ‘doing.’”
Garinor chuckled and then asked Song to tell him a little about the others.
“Hmm, what’s to tell,” he murmured. Then as people walked by, he spouted off things that interested him. “There’s Quiver—you met her before, she was the one who took you in, of sorts—killer shot with a bow and arrow. Not sure how she does it, but she’s no cupid. Ask anyone who’s tried,” he added with a wink to Garinor.
“That there is Chopper, as you can see. He’s the fastest cutter you’ll ever meet, so he tends to help with prepping the food. That’s Stitches, and not because she sews. Notice how she handles that dagger,” he pointed. “And Chief, you know him already. Used to be called Fists for his favorite fighting style.”
At this point, Song bit his lip. He lowered his tone and leaned in to Garinor. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but the man who took you from your home was his cousin, Hand. Unfortunate it was his turn on duty that day.”
Garinor wanted to ask more about it, but Song changed the subject and pointed to another woman walking by. “That there is Wind. Fastest runner I’ve ever seen, tough in a dagger fight, and good with a bow, too. That fellow over there we call Chuckles. Either he’s laughing it up or he’s playing a prank on someone else. But don’t get him mad, because then he gets mean.”
Garinor had to ask, “Your names—”
“Camouflage,” he said. “Few here know our real names in case there’s a snooper about. I know some of the others’ names, but hardly any. Sometimes we choose them, sometimes others do. Like Wobbles over there; no way he chose that for himself.”
Food was ready soon after that as the foragers returned and the cooks went to work in earnest. A bowl of stew was brought to Garinor in thanks of his contributions that day in helping to keep the bulk of them dry. After dinner, Song lived up to his own name and sang a solemn ballad in honor of those lost in battle and of their unfulfilled dreams that would be carried in the hearts of those who lived on. There was a moment of silence then before Chief stood up and assigned the first sentries for the night.
Song returned to Garinor and took him into one of the tents. “You’re with me tonight.”
As they settled down in the tent, Garinor’s mind was racing. “Song, so many others are out under the stars. Why are we the only ones in the tent? More could fit here.”
“Nah, I snore too loudly.”
Garinor laughed. “You probably snore in tune, I’d bet.”
Song patted him on the shoulder. “You’re a good lad and you’ve worked hard today. You’ve earned the privilege of a restful sleep for tonight. It’s something we all share on the road. Last night you were being guarded. Tonight, you’ve earned it, so just rest up.”
“You know—”
“Think I’ll call you Chatterbox. What do you think?”
Garinor jokingly punched him in the arm. “Knock it off, I’m serious.” He heaved a sigh and then started again, “I was originally on my way to see the king before I found all of you.”
All the humor left Song’s voice. “Whatever would you do that for? Don’t you know it’s the prince who’s sending people out killing boys your age?”
He stirred uncomfortably. “Maybe, but the king must know why he’s doing it. I need to understand it.”
“Look, if you plan on going to the king, you’d better spell it out to Chief in the morning. But if you ask me, you’re better off not doing it. Stick with us a while longer and maybe you’ll find your own answers.”
“Do you—do you think the king would kill me if I showed up?”
Song was quiet for a time, choosing his words carefully. “Quite frankly, no,” he admitted. “But I don’t think he’d be straightforward with you, either. Still, it’s your life, your decision, and none of us would stop you.”
He hated to ask, but he had to. “Wouldn’t you be afraid I’d report you all or something?”
Song actually smiled then. “And say what, that a Song got away?”
Garinor felt relieved. “No, I’d say there was a Song out east that was purely magical and after hearing it you’d never be the same again.”
Song threw a blanket at him. “Oh go to sleep, you tyrant!” he said, but he was smiling from ear to ear.