After a long week of westward travel, the long, tapered stalks of grass that surrounded the Grand City Charlindrini for leagues began to give way to smaller grasses and a few trees. The trees were nothing more than a few gnarled branches with crimson veined red leaves interspersed among them. Ahead of the small group of soldiers, all that could be seen of the sun was its rays piercing the low-lying grey clouds like lantern light behind a wooden plank door. Looking back over his shoulder, Lorn focused his gaze on the eastern horizon where the trademark grasses of Charlindrini could still be seen to dance in the ever-present wind on the plains. Lorn closed his eyes to make tearing them away from his homeland easier.
His force had been sent out of the city to take their turn at patrolling the west rim of Charlindrini's territory. At its widest point, as close as Lorn could figure, the territory itself must be around 200 leagues from western border to eastern and little more than half that at its widest point north to south. Despite the size of the land the city held, forces were still sent out on a weekly basis to patrol the border in an attempt to keep the borders where they were. Only a dozen years had passed since the Terils' last attempt at stealing land and tempers still flared in the city at the mention of the invasion. The battles, skirmishes really - Lorn had his doubts about the size of the armies but refused to believe they could have rivaled the armies that fought during the Ancient Border Wars - had taken place up and down the eastern rim of the territory and a few of the border towns were still unpopulated. The people feared to live so close to the Terils despite every effort of the city to reassure them.
Lorn had no fear about running into Terils on the west rim, their port city lay 100 leagues behind them, but thoughts always soured in his head when he imagined encountering them. Of course, Terils were accustomed to the breezes that swirled in off of their bay and not the forested hills and winds littered with puffstalk seeds and green smells that populated the west rim. Why they even contemplated taking Charlindrini’s plainland baffled Lorn.
Lifting his nose to take in the breezes coming from the direction of home, Lorn glanced at the other tarcans in his force. The others were spread out in a loose formation off to Lorn’s right and the Leader was ten paces ahead of the force itself. The others were young, like him, but were fresh recruits in comparison. He took in how Illadan kept his eyes focused on the ground before him, nipping his teeth at any plants that dared to reach too far towards the sun and Deir, who was watching the Leader as if the older tarcan may leap into the sky and fly circles around him at any moment. The others were no better. Both Uripel and Rhetgin were looking at the sun-stained clouds, Yeyter was fussing with his belly-cloth, Terrin’s head shot left and right as he devoutly tried to snap a fly in two, and Aderan seemed to be trying to lop the heads off of the tallest flowers with his tail. Lirel and Pheor were the only two whose eyes were constantly roving the countryside. At least two of them know what we’re about, Lorn thought.
When Lorn rolled his eyes back to Leader Gahrst, he almost stumbled as he abruptly stopped beside their statuesque Leader. I should have been paying attention not inspecting the fresh meat, Lorn scolded himself.
“What do you see, Leader?” Deir asked. The sudden speech snapped the others out of their private worlds and all of their eyes focused on Gahrst. All except Lirel and Pheor whose heads were weaving slowly back and forth, Lirel scanning the sky and Pheor glancing from tree to tree across the horizon, sullen looks on their faces.
“Quiet, Scale.” Gahrst replied tersely as he aimed a cutting glance Deir’s way before turning to stare northward, his eyes compelled to squint in the sun’s setting rays. “Something coming from the north sky, Scales.” Lorn could almost hear the implied, and you should have seen it coming. Gahrst always seemed to expect more than they could give and his voice dripped disappointment every time they failed at a task.
Just as the heads of every tarcan in the force turned northward to see what was coming they unconsciously stretched their necks out to try and get a better look at the black speck moving towards them. As it flew close enough to tell that it was brown and not black, Gahrst muttered under his breath. Lorn only caught the curses and the word ‘nacertas’ before the brown messenger came in fast to collide with Yeyter’s right flank and tumble in a ball of wings and tail over Illadan and Terrin before sliding to a disgraceful stop at Aderan’s feet.
While Yeyter turned frantically in circles trying to get a better look at his side, the little nacertas was using Aderan’s foreleg as a crutch to pull itself to its feet. Nacertas were strange creatures that were singularly used as messengers between cities, towns, and individual tarcans, though only the wealthiest tarcans could afford a rookery. Not much was known about them beyond the fact that they were capable of reciting word-for-word the longest parchment ever written without faltering. The nacertas, as far as Lorn knew, had always been around but Lorn couldn’t remember ever learning how they were found or how tarcans figured out their talent for mimicry.
Gahrst padded over to the messenger just as it regained its feet and almost fell again when Aderan took a step back to give it room. “Nacertas. Name.” Gahrst commanded.
Lorn watched as the rest of the force gathered around to hear what the little flyer had to recite then realized that he was suddenly alone outside of the circle surrounding the nacertas. Grimacing slightly, Lorn picked his way around the circle, looking for any holes he could slip into. At least the minute messenger had a voice that carries.
“Dhire. Dhirond.” It squeaked in a voice that sounded like some sort of cross between a songbird and a greatwhale as Lorn finally noticed a small hole between Yeyter and Illadan.
“Which is it?” Gahrst rumbled. Lorn could hear Illadan and Uripel chuckle.
“Dhirond.”
Lorn was slowly shoving his way into the ring when he heard Gahrst exhale in a rush of frustration at having to deal with such an incompetent messenger. The nacertas never waited to be addressed, they simply recited once they landed. “And your message …” Gahrst prompted as his eyes flicked to the west. He’s probably wishing we could get on with the patrol.
Dhirond jerked his pointed head around in a semicircle to take in all of the watching tarcans before he started. “Force Leader must go west. Dhirond must accompany.” Many of the spectators began to lightly laugh and Gahrst seemed ready to blow a few scales from his neck.
“Is that all?” Gahrst slowly asked, his neck heaving with his heavy breaths.
Dhirond nodded just as Lorn heard Yeyter laugh, “This one’s brood must’ve brained it with a rock when it hatched. I’ve never heard of a nacertas being so excitable. It could’ve been the runt, though –“ Yeyter didn’t have the breath to finish his taunts after Lorn shoved him to the ground.
Lorn glared at Yeyter as he stared back at Lorn, eyes wide. “I assume the School still teaches basic manners, Yeyter. Use them.” As Task Leader, it was Lorn’s place to keep the force in line and within the teachings of the School. Soldiers who forgot what they learned died. Lorn didn’t care much for manners either, but Yeyter needed chastised.
Once Dhirond confirmed the end of the message, Gahrst moved away, letting his claws rake furrows in the ground while the circle began to disperse back into their loose formation, leaving the messenger to fly back to its rookery since Gahrst had no reply. Lorn turned west with the others and only went a tail or two before he felt a light weight land on his right shoulder. He felt tiny claw points pick up the edges of his scales and in response Lorn shook his shoulders right and left, trying to dislodge the claws. Angrily, he turned his head to see if the nacertas had really decided to perch on him. There on his shoulder, claws clipped under the edges of his scales in order to hold on, was Dhirond.
Lorn stared blandly at the flyer. “Go ride one of the others.”
Dhirond didn’t move except for a shake of his head.
“I don’t want you on my back. Get off, or I’ll make you get off.”
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