The Messenger: A Hailgalad Story

Horses whinnied and neighed in the heat of battle. Arms clanged brilliantly as the hot, morning sun beat down. Voices cried out in both fear and encouragement as soldiers fell. Chaos consumed the fields of Aeros as the king of Hailgalad joined the fray. The battle raged on against the tyrannical army that assailed them at the gates of the capital.

After some time, the struggle was going ill as the Hailgaladrians were being pushed back to the city walls. The king looked to rally his troops as the day grew dim. In the distance, high horns blew a glorious ring as fresh troops advanced toward the abyss and sang out with voices high and strong.

Glorious day to serve our king,

Glorious day indeed.

Glorious day for arms to ring,

Glorious day indeed.

Shake your swords,

Splinter your shields.

Fight on the fords,

Fight in the fields.

Glorious day to serve our queen,

Glorious day indeed.

Glorious day with grasses green,

Glorious day indeed.

Shake your swords,

Splinter your shields.

Fight on the fords,

Fight in the fields.

Frits sat atop his horse among his brothers and sisters in arms with a proud stature. His heart was joyous and his horse's feet light. He felt the weight of his heavy royal guard armor as he tried to steady his breath. In the distance, he could see his people; he could see his king. They were in desperate need of salvation.

His line of cavalry began to speed to a trot as they lowered their lances and prepared to smite their foes. The young man's heart pounded with anticipation of this moment. A few more strides and it would be their time for glory.

***

"Frits, Frits, wake up. You are going to be late!" an impatient voice cut into the dream, shaking the young man out of sleep.

Frits shot up, hitting his head on the tight bunk bed. "Damnit!" he cursed as he came back to reality.

The young man of twenty-four was not on a battlefield at all. He was in his bed that was a size too small, in a house that was a person too cramped, and in a life that was lacking a true adventure. Frits rubbed his eyes as he adjusted to the early morning light. They came into focus to a cluttered and dusty room that had two sets of bunk beds in it.

The other beds were filled with Frits' younger brothers, still asleep. For them, the day would begin soon at the school down the road. They would learn about math, history, and all the other lessons that Frits had now forgotten. For Frits, this morning should have started a few moments ago. He stretched his aching muscles and rubbed his sore neck as he yawned. It had been a long night at the training grounds in the fields of Aeros with his captain, Damon, and his company. He thought back to the chilling, wet night.

***

"I have seen slugs move faster than you lot," Damon barked as the company pushed a large sled packed with gear through the mud. His harsh voice matched his hulking form, long black hair, and beard. "In a land not far from here, our adversaries are training. Training to take our lands. You soft, sorry bunch couldn't stop them if you wanted."

It was typical for all soldiers to go through regular training to keep them sharp. More seniority meant less grueling sessions. For these soldiers that had less than three years in the army, they had no such protections. Three mornings a week, three nights a week they were subjected to a series of exhausting challenges. Three mornings a week and three nights a week they endured them to someday move up in the ranks of the glorious army of Hailgalad.

"What does all this have to do with fighting?" Frits moaned as they heaved the heaping load another foot forward. Rain poured down on them in steady streams, dampening their spirits. Torches struggled to light the grounds as they were pummeled with streams of water.

"Quiet, or you'll get us running again," Eva grunted as she slipped in the mud.

"Is that more whining that I am hearing?" Damon growled. “Okay everyone, back to the line, we are going to run the gauntlet."

Eva shoved Frits as they marched back to the edge of the muddy arena. After they were lined up, a horn blast summoned them forth into the black, rainy night.

***

"Frits, I will not call again," the voice, now shrill with frustration, shouted from down the stairs. The call was followed by a sharp bang on the wall. It came from their neighbors who were evidently not too thrilled at the early wake up call either.

"Coming," the young man replied. He walked over to a basin of cold water and poured a cup of it over his head. He looked up in the mirror to scan his tired face. It was a face he saw all too often. A face that wanted so much more from this life. Frits sighed, pulled his shaggy brown hair back, dressed, and left the cramped bedroom to go downstairs.

His broad shoulders banged from wall to wall as he hobbled down the tight staircase. The fragrant embrace of cooked meat and eggs enveloped his nostrils as he entered the kitchen. A short, but strong woman stood there with her hands on her hips. "You cannot be late Frits, not today of all days."

"I know," Frits said with a smile as he walked towards the aromatic food. This would be the perfect start to the long day ahead of him. He reached out to the meat, but, before he could take a morsel, he was stopped with a slap on his wrist.

"None of that, no time!" his mother shouted. "I know you weren't just out at the training grounds last night. You went to the taverns afterwards, didn't you?"

"Yes, yes, but just for one ale," Frits rolled his eyes. His mouth salivated as he thought of the meal that was so close.

His mother just smiled and shook her head, “Sometimes I forget how much my oldest has grown up.”

She wished the world for him and his unquenchable thirst for adventure. As she stared at her son, a tear rolled down her cheek and she embraced him.

"I am proud of you. Your first day as the head royal messenger. Your father is looking down on you with pride today."

He returned the smile and tight hug. After a heavy sigh, Frits started for the door when his mother grabbed his hand. As he turned around, she handed him a small bundle of heinbrood.

He raised his hand, "I am okay, mom. I will grab something along the way."

"Take it," she insisted and she pushed the bundle of fresh bread into this arms. "It is a long journey and extra food may be helpful."

She pinched his cheek, "The way they work you soldiers, you will be skin and bones if you don't start to eat more."

"How can I eat more when I am denied a feast like this," Frits cocked an eyebrow and gestured to the meat and eggs.

"Next time you will get up at the proper hour," his mother gave him a loving slap on the shoulder. "Now, off with you."

He smiled once more, nodded, and was out the door. The streets were quiet as the first light of the day greeted the capital streets with a golden embrace. A cold wind wrapped him up and a shiver ran down his spine as he hurried west, towards the palace grounds that stood high above him. It's white spires glittering in the pale morning light.

"Say hello to Sasha for me," his mother called with a wry smile as she watched her eldest son sprint down the road that was still damp from the evening rain.

***

As Frits ran, he felt his senses start to wake up. The feeling of the cobblestone under his feet and cold, fresh air filling his lungs was refreshing. Once he was out of his neighborhood of tight, skinny houses and on one of the main roads, there were great many people out starting their days. Royal guards marching on patrol, children playing in the street before their studies began, and people on their way to work their crafts. The excitement of Hailgrad invigorated him. So many people leading a number of different lives. To him, it meant a multitude of possibilities for his life. It would often be his escape to imagine all the roads his life could take.

It was not long before he passed the inner walls to the specialized trades district. It was there the sweet scent of morning pastries enveloped his nose. Frits then spied a woman hanging out of a ground-floor window. Her curly brown hair bounced as she waved goodbye to a stranger that had picked up a loaf of bread from her. As he approached, she spotted Frits and a brilliant smile beamed from her face as she shook her head.

"Overslept again? You are lucky King Edward and Queen Melanie do not have your hide for that," the woman called with a smirk.

"Sasha, the king and queen have more pressing matters than disciplining the errand-boy," Frits said with an eye roll. "I was hoping for one of those sweet rolls your dad makes, though."

She smiled and shook her head again, "Only because you are on palace business, my lord."

Sasha gave an over-embellished bow and she handed over three sweet rolls, wrapped in a cloth.

Edwin tried to give her a few copper coins, but Sasha refused. "Keep it for your family, I know how much they need you. Consider it our donation to the loyal messengers of the crown!"

Frits snorted and gave out a chuckle as he reached out to grab the rolls.

She grabbed his hand with hers.

"Promise you will come back safe? My life would be considerably more boring if something were to happen to you."

Frits gave her a smile and squeeze her hand. "This is about as safe as tasks get in the army. I will be fine."

"You do have Eva with you on this one, so I know someone with an acceptable amount of wits will be with you," Sasha let out a laugh. Frits smirked and shook his head.

With that, the young man was off up the hill, and towards the palace. As he ran, he looked back only once to catch another glimpse of the radiant woman who was laughing as she helped another passerby.

One day, I will marry you, Sasha, he thought to himself.

***

It was not long until Frits was at the palace grounds. Since it was a time of peace, one could walk freely through the innermost city gates and into the palace courtyard. Broad soldiers with heavy armor and spears stood resolute on either side of the entryway. They wore red tunics to mark the color of the royal house and had horse-head shaped pauldrons.

Directly in front of him laid the palace. It was a true masterpiece of Hailgalad. The great hall stood tall with magnificent windows and intricately carved birchwood designs. Behind the hall, spiraling, stone towers pierced the sky like pearl-white spears. High above, circling hawks could be seen that nested in some high, unknown crevasse. There was something about the magnificent building that filled Frits with pride and intimidated him at the same time.

As he stared in an almost trancelike state, a forceful hand grabbed the young man by the armpit and yanked him to the left of the courtyard, towards the royal stables.

"Come on lad, you are about to be late."

It was Captain Damon's strong hand dragging him past the horses and into a larger room that was filled with armor. With a push, Frits stumbled into the area. Eva and Jon were there, already clad in their armor that was of light make for the messengers and their escort. The both of them looked frustratingly at Frits who dressed as quickly as he could.

He placed his clothes into his wooden locker that had Frits Rank 1 Messenger carved into it and put his shining silver plate armor on. A light helmet, gauntlets, boots, and a deep red tunic with a white horse head on it completed the ensemble.

"Ready," Frits said defiantly. There was no response from the others, only piercing glances.

Captain Damon led the three soldiers back into the courtyard where the morning sun shone brightly. Many workers were busy bringing food and other supplies around the palace. All avoided the path of the four soldiers, for they knew they were here on business of the king and queen. As they walked, Frits took in the aromas of tea, morning breakfast, and new bouquets of extravagant and exotic flowers arriving to the palace. He was always shocked at the sheer number of people it took to run the day to day of the royal house.

Out of the corner of his eye, Frits saw a tent that was unusual for the palace grounds. It was a red tent of healing. As they walked past, he could hear coughing and he saw three people in beds with healers working diligently over them. Evidently, he was veering off towards the tent, because Eva grabbed his arm and pulled him back into line.

"You already screwed up and almost made us late," Eva said sternly. “Please do your best not to screw this up too."

"Sorry," Frits said shamefully. His mind was still on the healing tent as he shook off the creeping thoughts of the scene and continued forward.

At last, they made it to the palace doors. The great work of art stood with regal authority and was carved with the landscape of the city of Hailgrad in all its majesty. The closer one got to the doors, the more stunning they became. Frits often wondered how many days of a laborer's life went into creating these incredible pieces. The two royal guards stationed on either side of the entrance bowed and pulled the doors that opened with a groan.

"Come on, and stay sharp," Damon growled. "Speak only when spoken to."