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Blue Valley Underground

By Alex Greys

Part 01 - Buckets

This carriage would soon be used to haul away captives. For now, it carried four Evangeline soldiers to their new post: Evan Volk, Glen Olvar, Abraham Eastrock, and Isaac of Rivermere. Isaac wished he had a true surname, but he was born an orphan to the city and thus gained its title. It wasn't just his name--Isaac felt inadequate to these other men in every way. He was only nineteen years old, while they all surpassed his age by at least ten years. They carried the names of their ancestors--their very history in but a word. They wore their armor with pride and wielded their weapons with confidence.

            Isaac had a mosquito lodged in his nose.

He tried to be discreet about it, coughing lightly into his hand. No one saw it fly into his nostril, as far as he knew. They didn't know he was incompetent yet. It was Isaac's first real mission. He wasn't giving food to the poor or cleaning up flood damage this time. For the next two weeks, he and these three men were going to be posted at a watchtower; just one of many that dotted the border between Noalen and Serkel. They were to capture any immigrants trying to sneak into Noalen. As Isaac understood, this mission was dangerous--not like sloshing around in stagnant flood water. He saw it as his chance to impress the group leader, Evan. Evan was a man in his early thirties, with fair skin and short, sandy brown hair. A tuft of hair grew on his chin and half-way up his jaw. He was a master swordsman: Enormous and tall with arms that doubled Isaac's in size, strong, intelligent, charismatic, confident...Evan was everything Isaac wished to be. This mission, he felt, was the beginning of his transformation...If he didn't make a fool of himself first.

            The carriage passed under a thick forest canopy hundreds of feet above. The soldiers got an easy ride, but trailing behind them on foot was an old hybrid woman. She was ancient really, yet still she pushed on for the long journey. She was taller than any of the soldiers at seven feet even, with long deer-legs, a sharp face, pointed ears and the long, naked tail with a tassel of hair on the end. Dull horns grew sideways from her forehead, and behind them was a head of pewter-colored hair tied around itself in a big knot. She--like most faefolk in Evangeline territory--was a slave. Her iron wrist cuffs signified that; locked on by a long-lost key, permanent, always a burning reminder on her fae skin that her freedom belonged to the queen. The soldiers called her "Dolly". Not because it was her name, which had been forgotten centuries ago and changed many times since; but as a cruel joke. There was nothing doll-like about Dolly. She was a towering, hideous mass of wrinkled skin and course hair, malnourished, miserable but always subservient.

            Evan sat across from Isaac with a worn map spread across his lap. He'd been staring at it for almost the entire ride, holding a pencil to his lips with a look of deep concentration on his face. He penciled a mark on it and said to the carriage driver,

"Just three more miles. Make a right at the next fork and we're there."

The driver kept his eyes on the horses and gave a thumbs-up. Abraham sat beside Evan. He was the oldest here at somewhere in his mid-forties. He was tall and thin, had a ruddy light complexion and a greying brown beard. An expert archer.

"Sir, why isn't he checking the map?" Abraham asked Evan, pointing to the driver, "It's his job, right?"

            Folding the map, Evan tucked it into his pocket and replied,

"I'd rather do it myself. Can't be too careful."

Isaac looked back at Dolly. She was about twenty feet behind, staggering along on quivering legs.

"So, who's excited to wrangle some trespassers?" queried Glen, rubbing his gloved hands together with a cheeky smile. He was a pale, burly man with chin-length yellow hair and a moustache that extended down to his jaw. Isaac shared a room with him at the barracks and knew he was twenty-six years old.

"Two years ago, I was posted on the Blackoak border. We checked the cargo ships for stowaways," said Abraham, "I personally caught over sixty immigrants in two months. Have you done border work before?"

            "Oh yeah, lots!" replied Glen, "I was up north at the Merrowville border for a few years, tryin' to keep slaves from leavin'. You know once they're in Folkvar's territory, most of 'em join up with his military. Last thing we want is to be fightin' an army of pissed-off grunts, huh?" he turned to Isaac,

"What about you, Kiddo? This is your first combat mission, innit?"

"I'm not a kid, Glen." Isaac mumbled, furrowing his brow at his boots. Glen snickered,

"Look at yer hands! You got the shakes! Gonna puke on me again, Barf Boy?"

"Shut up!"

"Hey," Evan spoke to Isaac and picked up his gaze, "You'll be alright. Border work is a good starting mission for apprentices."

Abraham stretched his long arms and said,

"I've been in the military for nearly thirty years. Killed hundreds of elves, trolls, centaurs, fauns...And I'm still here to talk about it. Keep your wits about you, Boy, and you'll have some heads to mount."

            "Quit jerkin' yer gherkin', Abe." Glen grinned and slugged the archer in the shoulder.

Abraham crossed his arms with a sour roll of his eyes.

"Look ahead, Boys." Evan pointed to something high in the distance. The three soldiers squinted and finally saw it: stone parapets peeking above the trees.

"About damn time!" Glen squirmed in his seat, "My ass is killin' me! I'm about ready to start walkin' with Dolly."

"Stay in the carriage until we get there," advised Evan, "If we get ambushed, we want everyone together."

"Will we get ambushed?" Isaac's stomach tightened.

Evan shrugged,

"Not likely, but it's possible." He turned to the rest of the men, "Speaking of, this is important: Don't go anywhere alone. I don't care how experienced you are," he glanced at Abraham, "or how tough you are," then to Glen, "Keep eachother in your sights at all times. It only takes a second for a man to become a hostage."

            The carriage rolled into a large clearing with a tall stone watchtower in the center. The two tired horses gathered mouthfuls of dry summer grass. Evan stepped out of the carriage and said quietly,

"Bandits are known to hide in these things. Smugglers, immigrants...Dangerous folk. We need to secure the perimeter before we settle in." he pulled his sword off his back, a massive two-handed blade, "Glen, I want you to get your shield up and walk a few paces ahead of me."

"Can do, Coach!" the blonde man jumped off the carriage, unsheathing his sword and raising his shield. Evan turned to Abraham,

"Abe, stand on the carriage and keep your bow drawn. Watch the door. I want you on door watch too, Isaac. Stand beside it and don't swing unless they're swinging at you. Everyone ready?"

            "Yes, Sir." The three said in unison and put on their helmets. Just then Dolly arrived, limping on sore hooves. Evan held a hand up to her,

"Dolly, hold your place and keep quiet."

The hybrid stopped in her tracks and bowed her head slightly.

"Alright. Let's move."

Glen quickly moved ahead with Evan close behind. Abe stood atop the carriage and readied an arrow. Standing against the wall beside the large wooden door, Isaac watched Evan take an iron key off his belt and quietly unlock it. With the door locked and all the windows barred from the inside and out, Isaac wondered how anyone could sneak into this place. Peeking over his steel shield with his sword raised high, Glen went inside. Evan followed after a few seconds.

            From his angle, Isaac couldn't see inside. He could only listen, hearing the faint footsteps of his fellow soldiers. Old wood creaked under heavy steel armor. The sound was ascending as they made their way upstairs. He watched the door diligently, fingers twitching on his sword's leather handle, sweating palms soaking the grip on his shield. He glanced at Abe, standing still as a statue with his bow raised. Part of Isaac was hoping for a fight, so he could shed some enemy blood and prove he wasn't the incompetent child these men perceived him to be. He was talented with a blade--Evan told him so on the training grounds. He just hoped he could do the same damage to a living being as a wooden dummy.

            Isaac jumped when he heard a crash from inside. Abe pulled his arrow back.

"Ah--shit!" it was unmistakably Glen's voice. There was a light thrashing, heavy footfalls on the wood.

"Glen, move!" Evan shouted. More thrashing.

Hands trembling and stomach tight, Isaac held his breath and got ready to swing.

"Chase him out!" it was Evan again, whose voice was quickly coming down the stairs with his footsteps. Isaac saw a flash of color bolt out the door and panicked. He brought his sword down, narrowly missing the...Giant lizard?

"It's okay, it's an animal!" Evan assured everyone from inside, just a second too late. Isaac watched the creature scurry into the woods. He didn't get the best look at it, but it appeared like a bright green lizard with orange hair or feathers on its back, about the size of a labrador.

            Isaac carefully watched the woods to see if it would come out again. Suddenly something else came out the door and startled him. His reflexes reacted before his brain, and he blindly swung his blade.

Clang!

"Hey!" Evan growled, defensively holding his great sword in front of his face. Isaac stepped back in horror, realizing he'd almost sliced his superior's head off. Lowering his sword, Evan stared at Isaac in disbelief for a moment before loudly scolding him,

"Isaac! What the hell did I tell you?"

The younger man's eyes went wide,

"I'm sorry, Sir! I-I'm sorry!" he stammered helplessly.

"I said 'what the hell did I tell you?', Isaac!" Evan shouted, then pointed to Isaac's sword, "Put that away! You almost killed me!"

            "I know! Y-you said..." Isaac quickly sheathed his sword on his hip and swallowed the nervous bile creeping up his throat, "You said don't swing u-unless they swing first. I screwed up. I'm really sorry!"

Glen crept out of the tower, raising his eyebrows at the two. Abe still stood on the carriage, bow lowered. Taking a deep breath, Evan pressed his fingers into his eye and sheathed his great sword on his back.

"Okay. It's alright." He sighed, giving the younger man a heavy pat on his armored shoulder, "You're just nervous, I understand. Watch yourself from now on, okay? Be careful."

Isaac nodded,

"Okay."

Turning to the others, Evan announced,

"The tower's clear except for that dragon. We'll have to check for a nest and any holes in the floor." He took off his helmet and fastened it to his belt. The soldiers followed him inside to a circular room with dirty wooden flooring.

            "Same rules as the barracks," explained Evan, "Clean up after yourself. No fighting. Don't draw your weapons indoors...And if you're gonna beat off, be quiet about it so the rest of us can sleep."

The three boys snickered. He then told Dolly,

"The bedroom will be crowded. You can sleep anywhere you see fit, just keep out of the way."

Dolly bowed,

"Yes, Master Evan."

            The watchtower was not as large inside as the outside led one to believe. It was one vertical column of heavy stones with only three floors and three rooms--each room being an entire floor. This wasn't counting the tiny closet with a bucket on the ground and a curtain for a door, also known as the bathroom. The bottom floor contained a few shelves and the bathroom. The second floor had three beds crammed in a "Y" formation and a chest at the side of each. The third floor was an open roof with a wooden slat cover. From up there, one could see miles across the Bluerock River.

            Having found the dragon's burrow in the corner, the soldiers filled it with heavy stones and mud from the river. They 'unpacked' by dropping their supplies on the floor and letting Dolly sort them out. By late afternoon, they were settled and ready for dinner. Abe was posted on the top floor, watching for trouble as the others divided their rations. All the barracks gave them for this mission was dried "porridge", though most would call it "gruel". Evan, Glen, and Isaac sat around the fire pit outside, where a pot was suspended over the fire. Glen added water to the porridge flakes and it made a creamy, brownish mixture that didn't look or smell terribly appetizing. He stirred it over the fire for a while, then gave it a taste and said,

"Ready your bowls, Gentlemen!"

Evan and Isaac held out their wooden bowls as Glen filled them.

            Nearby, Dolly was crouching over a rotting log. She had her back turned to Isaac, but from what he could tell, she was picking something from it and eating it. She had refused the porridge and no one argued--it just meant more rations for them. Isaac knew he wouldn't finish this stuff after the first spoonful, but he tried his best. It had the texture of vomit and the taste of old potatoes. He eyed the others as they finished their bowls. Not a single complaint from either of them. Isaac took a deep breath and quickly drank his down, regretting every second of it. He quietly gagged as the others talked, trying desperately not to draw attention to himself. Finally Glen asked him,

"You alright, Kiddo?"

Isaac took a deep breath and nodded. He was sure if he said a word, the gruel would come out with it. He washed his bowl and spoon in the river and placed them on the shelf in the tower.

            An hour later, the others came inside. Glen joined Abraham on the top floor. Dolly began cleaning cobwebs while Evan sat at the table on the bottom floor. He had documents from the barracks scattered all over the tabletop, occasionally marking on one as he stared at them. An odd choking sound broke his focus and he turned towards the bathroom.

"Ehck!" there it was again. Evan slowly stood up,

"Isaac?"

"Uuck...Yeah...?" a weary voice answered.

Concerned, Evan stepped closer to the curtain, then back a bit when a foul smell assaulted him,

"You, uh...Okay in there?"

            "Yeah..." Isaac replied. Then after a pause, "Maybe..."

Evan slowly drew back the curtain. It took every bit of willpower for him to keep a straight face. Isaac indeed, sitting on a bucket with another bucket on his lap, looking as miserable as a person could be. A little chuckle escaped Evan,

"Gruel-shits, huh?"

Isaac raised his black eyebrows slightly,

"Is this normal?"

"Some of the guys get it, some don't." Evan shrugged and closed the curtain, "Eat the stuff enough times and you'll get used to it."

"I can't do this again," Isaac groaned, "I think I'm dying."

Evan cracked a smile, thankful Isaac couldn't see it,

"It never lasts long. Lay down for a while, you'll be fine. Dolly," He turned to the hybrid slave, who was rolling cobwebs in a nice neat ball, "Come clean these buckets when he's done, huh?"

"Yes, Master Evan." Dolly replied indifferently. Her voice was like the droning of bees. Isaac piped in,

"Sir, don't make her do that. I'll clean them myself, I just..."

His marshal cut him off,

"No you won't. That's women's work. Get some rest so you can swing a sword."

            Later, Isaac washed in the river, stripped to his under-armor and collapsed on a bed. It was a flimsy metal frame with a thin mattress, probably stuffed with hay by the feel of it. His armor hung on the wall-hooks beside him, his sword standing against the wall. His stomach was growling, but he didn't dare fill it. It was getting dark outside, and even more so inside. Dolly eventually came in and suspended a lantern from a hook on the ceiling.

"Are you well, Master Isaac?" she asked. With his face buried in the pillow, Isaac mumbled,

"Not exactly..."

"Of course not. You've eaten filth. Here..." Dolly had a satchel hanging off her shoulder. She reached into it and presented three fat, white grubs to Isaac. Unmoving, dead, petrified. She smiled,

"Real food. For you."

            Isaac opened his eyes, then quickly shut them again and groaned,

"That's disgusting, Dolly..."

Her long ears twitched and she put them away,

"Don't eat that slop again. Come to me when you are hungry. I will feed you."

"Sure..."

"Rest well, Master Isaac." With that, she lumbered back downstairs.

Just a few minutes later, Glen and Evan entered the room, stripping off their heavy armor. Underneath was standard issue under-armor: A white sleeveless shirt with blue pants and soft boots.

"Abe said he'll keep watch 'till midnight," Glen told Evan, "Want me to take his place, Coach?"

"That would be best. Isaac has the crud." Evan replied. He paused, then added, "By the way, we're not in the tournament arena. You will address me as 'Sir' on the field. Clear?"

"Sorry, Coa--Sir."

            Glen sat on his bed and looked around, finally spotting the lump that was Isaac,

"Oh, I didn't see him there! Isaac, you okay?"

He got a half-hearted mumble in response. Evan opened his trunk and retrieved a canteen of lukewarm water, offering it to the sick soldier,

"Here, drink this. You're probably dehydrated."

Isaac rested on his elbow and reluctantly took the canteen, slowly drinking it down. Raising an eyebrow, Glen asked Evan,

"What the hell is this? Lettin' him lay down? Givin' him water? I was pissin' out my ass during the Merrowville mission and you sent me huntin' all day!"

            Evan frowned,

"That mission got really botched near the end. You remember."

"Ah, yeah. Lost some good men during that one. Then our rations got stolen by elf deer. Would'a cooked those little bastards if I ever found 'em!"

Evan settled into bed and yawned,

"We're doing well so far..." he glanced at Isaac, "Near-decapitation and diarrhea aside."

Isaac groaned and hid under his scratchy blanket.