#gaillard

Chapter Two

The mess hall offered better food than usual, though that wasn’t saying much. Tonight’s supper was stew made with whatever the sweaty cooks could find and stale bread. Mutt ate in silence near the other Meklonis, listening in passing to the camp gossip and trying to think about anything but the stone.Thinking led to mistakes. Mistakes led to punishment.

The talk tonight was mostly circulating the prince who had come with the army and exactly what he was doing among them. It was far from common for royals to travel with the army for any kind of mission, especially when it came to matters outside Perrin’s borders.

“It’s a shame he couldn’t have sent Prince Edouard. Instead we’ll have to deal with that disgrace to Perrin and Meklon,” one soldier said. 

“Perhaps it’s punishment,” another added. “He slipped up at the palace, and his father sent him all the way out here to teach him a lesson.”

“I heard he’s going to marry some Suntanese dignitary’s daughter,” one man said.

“No, no, it couldn’t be that,” a woman Mutt knew they called Sevens said. “His Majesty wouldn’t want a foreigner tainting their bloodline, at least officially. Besides, he has a betrothed already. Perhaps he’s just visiting to show off. Nobles love their little tours.”

Rumors and theories circled the table as to what the prince was up to, but there was no solid answer. Mutt kept his eyes on the stew, chewing slowly.

One man grunted and leaned back. “Who cares, anyways? He’s just another noble here to play soldier. He’ll be crawling back to his little palace in Boulemont soon enough.”

“Perhaps the emperor hoped he’d be taken care of,” the first soldier said. “It’s obvious he’s a bastard, no matter what they say. Now would be a perfect opportunity to have an accident befall the prince and get rid of the mistake in his precious bloodline.”

As soon as he was finished, Mutt stood, scraping his chair back. The man beside him flinched. The soldiers around him went silent, leaning away as he turned and left the mess hall. He heard someone mutter, “Careful, the commander’s shadow might snitch on us.” Which was followed by a snicker.

The cool air brushed against his skin as he walked straight towards Gaillard’s tent. The guards recognized Mutt and stepped aside without another word.

He ducked through the canvas flap into the dim interior, the scent of gunpowder, ink, and sweat filling his nose. Gaillard stood bent over a table, his hat tossed aside on a table. But he wasn’t the one who caught Mutt’s attention.

There was another man standing nearby. He was only a couple years younger than Mutt’s twenty-seven and, to him anyway, looked quite attractive. His thick black hair was combed to perfection, though a couple strands hung loose in front of his face. His features were soft and rounded, skin only a shade lighter than Mutt’s. There was a polished look to him, and something else Mutt found alluring. He dressed like a nobleman, in particular wearing a deep purple coat cut to flatter his frame and a golden lion’s brooch pinned to his breast. 

The sight of the stranger immediately made Mutt stiffen. He didn’t dare look the stranger in the eye. It was considered rude for anyone, especially a lowborn soldier, to look a noble in the eye. The stranger, on the other hand, considered Mutt with a curious gaze before turning back to Gaillard.

“I told you he wouldn’t keep us long,” Gaillard said, finally sparing Mutt a glance. He gestured to the stranger. “Mutt, this is Prince Ranier, Duke of Pantou, and your new assignment.”

Mutt blinked, confused. Usually Gaillard didn’t give him assignments around anyone, let alone the target. Mutt realized he was staring and quickly bowed to Ranier, removing his tricorn. “Your Highness.”

Ranier gave him a polished smile. “So, you’re Mutt. I was expecting someone taller,” he said smoothly. Mutt showed no emotion as he stood.

Gaillard stepped between them. “Mutt, you will be shadowing the prince for the duration of his stay in Suntan. You will do whatever is needed of you and protect him with your life. You are not his servant but will follow his orders. Unless they conflict with my own.”

Ranier narrowed his eyes at Gaillard, though the smile remained. “So I am to be babysat by a wildborn?”

“You are to be protected by one of Perrin’s strongest soldiers. Trust me, Your Highness, this is one of the most elite conscripts in the entire army.”

Ranier’s eyes lingered on Mutt’s hands, as though picturing what they could do. He stepped back ever so slightly. “Very well. I suppose I’ll have to get used to your company.”

Mutt nodded curtly. “I will serve you well, Your Highness.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Ranier muttered.

Gaillard rolled up a missive and handed it to a courier who had appeared outside. “You’ll begin as soon as we leave camp, so you have a couple days to prepare. Your Highness, you’re dismissed. Mutt, stay.”

Ranier scoffed quietly as he walked out of the tent. “A general dismissing his prince,” he turned to Mutt. “Try not to look so grim. It will be hard to focus on my studies with you standing there like a ghost.” He turned and walked away. Mutt watched him for a moment before looking back at Gaillard.

“I have a little something for you here.” Gaillard turned and rustled through a chest next to the table. “Have you visited anywhere interesting yet?”

“Only the market sir."

“Buy anything?”

“No sir.”

Gaillard nodded. “I’ve seen it a couple times myself. Nothing but a bunch of conmen trying to sell tacky trinkets. There is a brothel you might want to visit though, called the Honey Pot. I hear they’re well regarded. You know some of the soldiers joke you belong there, but I don’t believe that for a second. Gaillard smirked. It wasn’t a new joke. “Ah, here we are.”

Gaillard slid a bottle of brandy to Mutt, who snatched it up. The amber liquid inside made him feel tantalizingly thirsty already. It took everything in him not to break it open and chug the whole thing.

“I imagine you won’t get much time to indulge while watching over His Highness. So you might as well drink up while you can. Just don’t tell anybody where you got it from,” he winked. Mutt nodded, tucking the bottle beneath his coat.

Gaillard leaned against the table, crossing his arms. “I mean it, about protecting the prince. He’s a rather…sensitive lad. Always more interested in books of poetry than the military. Nothing like his brother. Thank the Trinity he’ll never inherit the throne. Do keep an eye on him, and try to sway him in the right direction. If he’ll listen. You’re dismissed.” 

Mutt wasn’t sure what to think of the whole situation as he made his way through camp. He was certain there was more Gaillard was planning. Though if there was, he would’ve told Mutt by now. Perhaps he would soon. Mutt had a feeling he wasn’t going to enjoy this assignment.

He uncorked the bottle as soon as his tent flap closed and took several swallows. The brandy burned delightfully down his throat, sending a thrill up his spine. The edges of Mutt’s mind began to blur as he drank the brandy like a calf with a bottle. 

The next morning, Mutt woke up with a bad hangover. He mumbled incoherently and ran his hands over his face. On the ground the bottle lay nearly drained. Silently he cursed himself for wasting so much brandy in one night. 

Something shifted slightly in the crook of his arm. Mutt’s head swam as he lifted it and noticed something curled there. It took a moment for his vision to clear and for him to realize what it was.

A hatchling dragon. 

When he finally registered the animal, Mutt scrambled out of his cot and fell to the floor. The hatchling awoke with a squall, nearly tumbling down with him. Small talons sank into the rough cloth, and it stared with wide, orange eyes.

Mutt looked beside him and found the remnants of the eggshell, still dripping with slime. As he searched through his foggy memories of the night prior, he did recall the hatching. Cracks criss-crossing the shell. The dragon pushing its head through the top, then blinking its eyes open to look straight at him. He remembered how it had wriggled free of the shell and immediately begun to clean itself. Mutt looked back at the hatchling, and for a long time the two regarded each other. 

It was about as big as a house cat, if not slightly larger. Its body was mostly a dark teal, except for its lighter underside and the dark streak from the crown of its head to the tip of its tail. The horns reminded Mutt of a yearling buck’s, no more than bumps. Frills ran down its neck, connected by a similar membrane as its wings with a darker tint. More spanned across either side on the end of its tail, giving it a fan-like appearance. It was the most intriguing and beautiful creature Mutt had ever laid eyes on.

Holy shit…” Mutt finally breathed. “Holy shit.”

He was unable to tear his gaze away from the hatchling. It stared at him with eyes like hot coals, blinking a few times. It chirped and tittered, dropping off the cot and crawling towards him. Mutt lurched and scrambled back. “Stay away from me.”

The hatchling chirped and raised its head. Something pulsed in Mutt’s chest, like a weight against his heart. There were emotions in him that felt foreign. A curiosity and warmth that definitely weren’t of his own mind. He tried to focus on them, but it was almost like listening to a conversation through a locked door. Perhaps it was the hangover. Mutt tried to figure out how that was possible through the haze.

Then he noticed the dried blood on the hatchling’s face. A long trail from the top of its head to the tip of its nose. Mutt reached up and felt the same on his face. There was also a fresh scab on his thumb. His heart stopped dead.

“Oh fuck.”

Mutt looked around the tent. Just as he’d feared, there was a crude symbol smeared into the dirt with blood. Two overlapping circles. The symbol used for bonding rituals in Meklon.

Surely he hadn’t been that drunk. Surely he hadn’t drank enough to consider bonding himself to a hatchling dragon. And surely it hadn’t worked. But the presence in his chest didn’t lie.

It was impossible, though. Bonding rituals only worked in the presence of a bloodwood tree, where the Auk was strongest. All of the Meklonis’ most sacred rituals were performed beneath them. Mutt still remembered watching his own father bond to his amphicyon under one. As far as he knew, no bloodwoods existed in Perrin. Certainly not in Collange.

On top of that, the ritual was two-sided. It only worked if the animal accepted the human as a bondmate. What animal, no matter how young or stupid, would have accepted him as a bondmate? Even a hatchling should have known better than that. But here it was, trying to get closer to him.

Mutt rubbed his face with his hands and groaned. Somehow, the ritual had worked. And now he was bonded to a dragon. Auk help him.

The hatchling padded closer. Instead of backing away, Mutt held his hand out. It sniffed him tentatively, then pressed its head into his palm. It let out what Mutt could only describe as a low purr. Mutt was frozen in shock for a few moments, then curled his fingers and gently scratched the hatchling behind its horns.

“What have I done?” he asked. It—no, she gave no reply. She nuzzled into his wrist, and something passed between them. Not thoughts or images, just a faint feeling.

After hastily cleaning up the mess and giving the hatchling a meal of dried meat, she chuffed and flopped into his lap. Mutt slowly reached out and stroked her back. His mind was still whirling, trying to make sense of the entire situation. He could barely believe what he’d done. But in that moment Mutt knew his life had been changed irrevocably and forever.

He wasn’t sure how long they remained like that. Minutes, hours, days. For all he knew, they were the only beings left in the world. Eventually the hatchling awoke again and began exploring every inch of the tent. She tried to wander outside, but Mutt quickly dragged her back in. He came back to his senses.

“I need to fix this,” he muttered.

The hatchling couldn’t stay there, not for long anyways. If one of the other soldiers or, Auk forbid, Gaillard found her, they’d be dead in an instant. He needed to hide her or get rid of her somehow.

There was one way. Perhaps the most humane option for both of them. He grabbed his musket.

Mutt had hunted plenty of animals before. This would be no different. She looked up at him as he cocked the hammer, tilting her head innocently. Mutt raised the barrel and aimed at her head, but his hands shook. She reached up, sniffing the barrel before sneezing. Mutt hesitated, then lowered it.

Coward.

He sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. The hatchling chirped softly and pressed against his leg. Her presence still weighed heavy like an anchor in his chest. They were intertwined now, perhaps forever.

“What am I supposed to do with you?”

The hatchling blinked slowly, then let out a low trill and tugged at his pant leg. Mutt didn’t move. He stared at the hatchling, trying to think through the shock and the hangover.

“I can’t keep you. I can’t. There’s no way—”

There was a commotion somewhere in the camp that made him jump. He poked his head outside the canvas flap but saw nothing through the rows of tents. The hatchling chirped and tried to follow him, but he shoved her back inside just as a couple soldiers jogged past.

“Stay,” Mutt ordered, putting her in his pack. She tried to crawl out, finally staying when Mutt pushed her back down. Voices echoed from the edge of camp.

Every second felt like a gamble. Someone could glance into the tent or hear the hatchling moving around. It was a miracle they hadn’t already. But he continued on, looking for the source of the noise. Most of the regiment appeared to be crowded by the entrance, craning to see what was happening. At the front was Gaillard, and before him stood two soldiers holding a Mekloni girl between them.

She was only sixteen, and had no uniform like the rest of them. Instead she had loose rags that made her lithe, wiry frame only stand out more. She glared around the camp, trying to wrench free of the soldier’s grip.

“We caught her attempting to steal food from the mess hall,” one soldier said. “We also found this.” He grabbed the girl’s arm and forced the sleeve back, revealing a brand shaped like a triangle split in two on her wrist. Mutt tensed and reached for his own arm, where an identification number had been branded instead of the symbol. Every child that had been brought to Perrin from another country received one. But the symbol the girl bore meant something else entirely. 

“I see,” Gaillard said with a curt nod. He studied the girl with the same detachment he did anyone. “Where did you come from?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” the girl snapped. “Let me go! I didn’t even take anything!”

“You tried to steal from imperial forces. And that brand on your arms marks you as a runaway slave,” Gaillard said. “That alone should be grounds to kill you.”

The girl stopped struggling and glowered up at Gaillard. She tried to flick hair out of her face. “Go ahead. It’s much better than trying to pay off some imaginary debt by working for a pompous lord or tolerating a miserable sod like you.”

Gaillard backhanded her across the face. Soldiers winced  as though they’d been struck. “I will not be spoken to in such a manner. But if you insist,” he reached for his flintlock pistol. The sun gleamed off the metal.

“Not so fast, Commander.” Everyone turned to see Ranier approach with a couple attendants behind him. “She’s merely a child. I don’t think killing her would do any good.”

Gaillard’s jaw tightened. “She’s a runaway slave, Your Highness. What else would you have me do, let her go?”

“Of course not. I agree that she should be dealt with, but we must do so under Perrin’s laws.”

Gaillard grunted. “Perrin’s laws state that runaway slaves are to be executed.”

Ranier clasped his hands behind his back. “Code of Civil Discipline, Article Five, Section Four. A runaway slave shall be returned to their proper owner or resold to a new one to complete their sentence. A slave may only be executed if they are a continuous runaway or pose a threat to others. Considering she’s merely a girl, I assume neither is the case. So you have no grounds to execute her, Commander.”

Soldiers shifted uneasily, glancing between Gaillard and Ranier. Even the girl watched them with a measure of curiosity.

Gaillard’s fingers twitched near the trigger as he regarded the prince warily. He turned to the guards. “Take her to the holding tent. No food or water unless I permit it. The rest of you, get back to your stations.” He glowered at Ranier and stormed off.

The girl was dragged away, still struggling as she disappeared between tents. Ranier lingered for a moment longer as the rest of the soldiers left, whispering something to his attendant. Finally he walked away, leaving Mutt alone.

For the first time in a long time, his mind was working all on its own. His thoughts went to the hatchling, then the girl.

Il se glissa dans la rue de l'Echaudé. Il y avait logé, jadis, dans un petit hôtel à présent fermé. Lorsqu'il y arrivait de nuit, après avoir prévenu, il trouvait la clé suspendue à une ficelle attachée à l'intérieur de la boîte aux lettres. Temps révolus : rapines, agressions, vandalisme, avaient remplacé confiance et courtoisie. Mais les temps évoluent, se dit-il, et faut-il croire que c'est le propre de ceux qui prennent un coup de vieux de songer aux années antérieures (Jean Jour, Hôtel de Seine, 2014).

The old man instantly stood up on his feet as if God’s hand had suddenly healed his legs and body of the pain-although in this case he was still very much hurting. He was still covered in black goo and covered in dust and pebbles caused from the wreck. Immediately after Rowan had mentioned the medical ward, he proclaimed..

“To hell with that! I’d rather die from my injury than be anywhere near it.”

It was clear why he hated that place, Enoch’s office wasn’t too far from the nearest one.

“Fuckin pig,” he muttered to himself,stating his ever so angry feelings about Enoch,he turned away,to sit somewhere on the now torn seats.

A familiar face sneaked up behind Rowan as Gail sat down,an extremely tall elsen,looking quite concerned.