Albion chapter 1
We know that the Empire lasted almost exactly 1,000 years. (We know this because they kept very accurate records.) Imagine that. Imagine something lasting that long, if you can. Such a long lifespan partly explains how the Empire was able to shape the world into what it is today. But the Empire didn't just live a long time - it also explored, it also built villages and towns all over the known world. The Empire left its mark everywhere, and so today we can see their statues, their roads, the ruins of their buildings, everywhere we look. True, the Empire was never able to civilize Norseland (the home of the Wolves) the way it was able to civilize Albion, but no matter. Every land was touched, in some way or other, by the shadow of the Empire, and every sentient Animal had their lives in some way or other improved by the Empire.
It has been nearly two hundred years since the Empire fell, and we have been able to survive this long simply because the Empire made our ancestors stronger.
-- From "A child's history of the Empire" by Elenna of the Sisterhood.
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The air was filled with the mingled smells of feral horses and Animal Folk of all kinds. Riley hadn't been able to explore as much of the camp as he'd wanted to, and yet he felt certain that every _kind of Folk was present. He'd seen nearly every type of dog, for one thing - Rottweilers, Great Danes, Dobermans, Mastiffs, Terriers, Beagles, on and on, every type of dog. He'd also seen Lions and Tigers and Bears. There were Goat merchants, of course, because they flocked in droves to every army camp. Riley had heard that there was a Goat solider, as well, but he wasn't sure he believed that. They were _so well-known to be pacifists, and Riley couldn't imagine even one of them wanting to fight - much less learning how, and becoming a soldier.
There were also Wolves in the camp. Actual Wolves! Riley had never seen one before coming here.
Once the most-feared and most-hated enemy of every single male, female, and child of Albion, the Wolves of Norseland were now Albion's fiercest and staunchest allies.
There were two dozen of them in the Earl's makeshift camp - and they would only have come if the King had told them to do so. That meant the King took the Earl's mission (to eradicate the rebels) very seriously, which at first thought might be a surprise. Why send Wolves after mere rebels? After all, the rebels, while organized, hadn't yet proved themselves to be all that dangerous. It was also true that the Earl had years and years of experience on the field of battle, and he had a large and faithful army around him. Did he really need the help of Wolves?
However, the Earl had set up the camp at one of Albion's most sacred sites, and you did not take chances with something like that - and that explained why the King had sent Wolves, who were, as all knew, fiercer warriors than any of Albion's knights or soldiers.
One of Albion's most sacred sites. The field where you could find the stone with the sword in it. The Earl had placed guards around it. Riley knew that some folks privately believed that the stone and the sword weren't real - they were a legend, or a myth, or a fairy tale. After all, it had been more than one hundred and fifty years since King Alaric the Just had driven the sword into the large stone. But Riley also knew that the stone with the sword in it was real, and he'd seen it, sort of, while in the midst of a crowd. He'd been there, that summer, for the annual festival of the solstice, when knights and Earls would gather to joust for the right to try and free the sword.
So far, no one had. Over the course of the last one hundred and fifty - or so - years, each new King, once crowned, tried to free the sword. Tried, and failed. Each summer solstice, knights and Earls would try - and fail.
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Riley had lived nearly twenty years. He was a shy and quiet Fox. His fur leaned more toward orange, rather than red or auburn. He stood shorter than most Foxes, with a tail just a bit longer than the average. His quiet nature caused him to be overlooked sometimes. His father had called him a "scholar," and sometimes he'd meant it as an insult. Other times, it'd been a joke. His mother, on the other hand, had said that Riley would make a fine and erudite scholar - perhaps a teacher, someday, or historian. Of course, as we all know - learning, and books, and things like libraries . . . they were only for nobles, were they not? Yes. Yes, they were.
A scholar's life was most certainly not something a peasant born to farm and fields could aspire to. Riley's father _had _taught him to read and write, more or less, because his father hoped someday to apprentice him to a merchant. Instead, however, at the age of twelve Riley had left home, and he'd gone into the employ of an elderly farmer in a nearby village. When that kind farmer passed away, his son returned from some mysterious "adventure." The son quickly ruined the remaining crops, because of his arrogance and his need to chase away the folks who'd worked for his father. And so, Riley had once again moved on. The rebels were getting stronger, and the Earl was looking for volunteers.
And so . . . Riley had found himself training to be a soldier. They'd given him a sword, and a cheap set of armor, and a training master.
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The young Fox climbed up a small hill, in order to get a better look at the camp. The hill was one of his favorite places, and he liked to go up there once a day, if possible. As he watched, and observed, and noted, his thoughts wandered. This being a temporary military camp, there were soldiers everywhere. They gathered in small groups - to dice, to talk, to smoke, to drink. They wrestled playfully with one another. They exercised, or practiced using their skills. Riley could see a small regiment of trainees, going through their paces. (His own regiment of volunteers had their training sessions in the early afternoons.) Some soldiers napped on the grass, after their large breakfast, while others sat alone, gazing at nothing and everything at once.
Riley had always been curious - about things, about folks. He liked climbing up that hill and observing the camp in motion, because he liked learning about things, and about folks. He liked seeing what folks did, as part of their daily routine, and how they did those things.
There was a gentle breeze coming in from the north. It was the middle of the morning, perhaps halfway between breakfast and lunch, and yet someone somewhere was cooking over an open fire. The scent of it traveled on the wind. Riley knew that if the breeze was blowing the other way, he'd sense the smells of the large latrines dug into the ground on the south side of the camp.
From somewhere to his left, he heard the sounds of the blacksmiths, pounding away at their forges.
Suddenly, Riley was aware of someone coming up behind him. He whirled around, and found himself face to face with Rutger, one of the few friends he'd made in camp.
"By the gods," Rutger was laughing. "You should see the look on your face! I must've really startled you."
"Not at all," Riley lied. Then he smiled, and said, "Yeah, yeah - you did."
Rutger was a brown-furred Pit Bull from a village somewhere in the south. He hadn't talked about his life much, but the little he'd said painted a picture of rough and tumble adventures, and much travel around Albion. At some point, he became a soldier, somewhere, and eventually he'd joined the Earl's troops. Riley sometimes wondered what exactly the Pit Bull had done, where he'd been. Rutger was twenty and five, and the things - and the places - he must've seen . . . Riley couldn't help but imagine those things, and those places, from time to time. He knew it was silly, imagining a life - a past - for Rutger, and yet he couldn't help himself.
"The rebels would have an easy time sneaking up on you," Rutger teased his friend.
"Here? In our heavily fortified camp?"
"Rebels are sneaky," Rutger's expression darkened for a moment, and then the cloud passed and he again seemed his normal, easygoing self.
"Maybe they'll use magic to get past the sentries and scouts," Riley made a joke.
"Maybe - maybe they'll use magic to turn into feral horses - or cows - and just come waltzing in."
"Hah," Riley laughed at the image. "Of course, the mages at the King's court would've warned us if the rebels had magic."
"True. Seems like hardly anyone does, these days. Except for those court mages, and that's fine by me. That stuff's too - too spooky, isn't it?"
"What do you mean?" Riley asked.
"Well -" the big Pit Bull suddenly stopped talking, as he'd noticed someone a little distance away. "There she is!"
"Who?"
"Who else?" Rutger answered. He looked at Riley, then turned his attention back to the female he'd seen. "The Lion! The one who's a soldier."
"Oh." Riley followed his friend's gaze. The Lioness was tall, with a long mane held back in a braid. She certainly stood out, dressed as she was in armor, carrying a sword at her side. So few females were soldiers, or warriors - and none were knights at court - and thus Riley always felt startled at the sight of a female in armor.
The Lioness was the only female solider in the Earl's army.
"She's beautiful," Rutger said, softly, and Riley almost didn't hear him.
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Dinner that day was excellent, as all their meals so far had been. Before volunteering, Riley had heard horror stories about food in a military camp. However, the Earl's cook was some kind of genius - and, there were plenty of birds in the sky for the archers to shoot down, and there were plenty of feral rabbits and feral boars in the woods nearby for the scouts to catch and bring back. There were also fields full of vegetables and wildflowers.
Riley had thought about bathing, after dinner, and perhaps going to bed early. Instead, he followed Rutger to the largest tent pitched in camp - the tent which served as the pub. The energy and din inside were chaotic as usual, and the two friends found themselves with nowhere to sit. They each got a pint of ale, and stood, for a moment, looking around for someone they knew well enough to join.
"Greetings, fellow warriors!" The voice sounded amused. "This place is crowded as ever, I see."
Turning to his right, Riley realized he was standing next to a Wolf - and the Wolf was gazing right into Riley's eyes.
"Always a struggle just to get a pint, isn't it?" The Wolf laughed.
"Indeed," Rutger answered, smiling, and Riley was grateful for that, as he'd found himself suddenly speechless.
"Come, join me at my table, if you'd like to," the Wolf turned his attention to Rutger. For a brief moment, he seemed to be appraising the Pit Bull, and there was a look of curiosity in his brown eyes. Riley wasn't surprised by it - every single Wolf was a warrior, trained in the ways of fighting, and Rutger was clearly someone who knew how to fight (you could tell from his appearance, Riley believed - and Riley also believed that he himself looked like what he was, a farmer new to the sword).
"There's hardly any room left, but I believe we can all squeeze in," the Wolf was saying.
At a table near the back, one of the Goat merchants sat with two Wolves. Somehow, the Wolf who'd invited Riley and Rutger found two empty chairs, and somehow as well the three of them managed to seat themselves around the table.
"Isn't this cozy?" The Wolf asked, chuckling a bit. "Right - the merchant here is Galen, and these two scoundrels," he nodded towards the other two Wolves, "they're Lucas and Zevros."
"I'm Rutger, and this is my friend Riley," Rutger continued the introductions.
"And my name's Trajan," the Wolf who'd invited Riley and Rutger said.
Still feeling shy (as well as amazed to find himself sitting at a table with not just one but three Wolves), Riley took a closer look at him. Trajan had a white muzzle, a black nose, and light gray fur. He gave off a friendly, relaxed vibe - but what would he be like in battle? There were so many legends surrounding the Wolves - and so much history - and Riley wondered if he would have trouble seeing any Wolf as a living, breathing folk, someone with both good and bad qualities, someone with a specific and unique personality. Shyly glancing over at Trajan, Riley wondered if he could only see them as . . . as what? Something larger than life?
"Trajan, the warrior poet," Zevros was saying. He was quite drunk, and his words slurred together. "If we fall in battle -" and he nudged Lucas, sitting next to him, "Then Trajan will write songs about us."
"What if _I _fall in battle?" Trajan asked with a smile.
"Well, I guess you'd be shit out of luck."
Trajan roared with laughter, and he and Zevros smashed their tankards together. They drank deeply.
"Warrior poet?" Rutger asked.
"I dabble in verse," Trajan said. "I'm not very good."
"Horseshit," Zevros slurred, leaning forward. "You're a genius, you are."
"Now, now, my friend, let's not get carried away."
"My friend Zev, here," the wolf named Lucas said, clapping Zevros on the shoulder, "Has spoken your verses out loud - since I never learned to read. And I agree. They're good - I see you shaking your head, Trajan, but listen - you should write more."
"I never learned to read, either," Rutger said. "Didn't need to."
"What about you, Riley?" Trajan turned to the Fox.
"I - I can read, and write, a bit," Riley was startled to suddenly be the center of attention.
Trajan looked like he was about to say something - but instead, he simply gazed at the Fox, for a long moment, quietly.
"I'm going to ask you for something, if you don't mind," Trajan said. He looked down at his pint, briefly, then he looked directly into Riley's eyes. "I also - um - well, I dabble in reading Tarot cards." He smiled, only it wasn't his usual confident smile. This one was hesitant, shy. "I'm no mage, or anything. I just dabble, for fun. I'd really like to read your cards. I won't do it here, for the table's filthy and I'm halfway to being drunk, but - maybe tomorrow?"
"Oh -" Riley was even more startled. "Of - of course."
"I just - there's just something about you," Trajan said, quietly, leaning towards Riley. "It's not something I see, just something I feel. Doesn't make sense, I know, and maybe I'm more drunk than I thought. I can't explain it." He waved a hand, a gesture of dismissal, then he reached for his pint. "There's just some kind of energy around you."
Riley sat back in his creaky chair, his hands clasped around his tankard. Was the Wolf playing some kind of joke? Should he be amused or alarmed?
Again, Riley wondered about his perceptions of Wolves in general. He'd expected Trajan to talk of nothing but war, and fighting, and swords, and battle. And yet, Riley had learned that the Wolf wrote poetry, and read Tarot cards. And he apparently believed Riley had - what had he said? There was an energy surrounding him, yes, that's what Trajan had said. Well. So far, Wolves weren't at all what he'd expected - and that was a good thing.
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The night went on, and on. The folks gathered in the pub drank, and then drank some more. It was an ordinary night, a typical early Autumn night inside the Earl's makeshift army camp.
At some point, Lucas and the Goat merchant shared a look which Riley didn't understand, and the two went off together. Zevros simply passed out at the table, with his head cradled in his arms. Trajan and Rutger continued drinking, and they arm-wrestled and laughed together. Rutger was pleased to discover that Trajan knew the Lioness who was a soldier, and he asked the Wolf many questions about her.
Eventually, Riley began to get very sleepy, and he felt dizzy and drunk from all the ale. And so, he went off to bed, walking unsteadily through the camp.
As he walked to the tent he shared with Rutger, treading carefully lest he fall from the dizziness, Riley glanced at the folks he saw - some on their way to bed, some gathered in small groups around small fires.
None of the Animal Folk in the camp knew what was to come. Of course they didn't - how could they? Of all the soldiers, and nobles, and servants, and doctors, and merchants, and family members, and whores, and cooks assembled in the Earl's makeshift army camp, none had the second sight. None had prophetic dreams. None of them were mages (well, there _was _someone there who was a mage, but he hadn't yet realized it).
None of the Folk in the camp knew that before the light of dawn, everything would change.