Chapter 3 - Juchai's Roots

Chapter 3 - Juchai's Roots

Darte shivered as he stepped out into the cool, damp morning, letting the tent-flap fall closed behind him. The spidery clouds spread over the skies told him another wet day was likely ahead. The climate here was not what he had expected: when it wasn't raining, which was very rarely, the air itself still felt warm and sticky. Even the massive trees constantly let fat droplets fall on unsuspecting heads, as if they had drunk their fill and were now overflowing. Not even the tents were safe from leaks; they hadn't been made for this much water, and the best one could do was keep your bedding above the ground, and hope the patches held.

He strode, yawning, to one of the campfires lit nearby. The wet wood billowed vast streams of thick smoke, but the shivering cadets surrounding it didn't seem to be concerned about choking. One of the cadets spotted Darte, and, after a series of rapid whispers, one of the cadets jumped up from the huddled circle and ran up him. The cadet could not have been more than 15 or 16 years of age: he could not yet have seen his Fledging Day, though the tight bandages around his back told Darte that it would arrive soon. The boy eyed Darte's green-fringed shriveled wings for a brief moment before bending to the ground in a formal Tur'nasi kneel.

Darte blinked as if startled for a moment, running his hand through lanky brown hair. What was it he needed...? Glancing down, he realized the cadet was still kneeling. Some cadets gave far too much respect, but he could not expect them to know without experience. He beckoned him to stand, which he did, snapping to attention. "Lance-General, Sir! Cadet Brynik reporting, Sir, is there anything you need, Sir?" The cadet's half-hearted shouts couldn't have woken anyone within two wingspans, and Darte could barely contain his inward chuckles. This one was obviously the son of a Council member, whose parents hoped he would have a future in the Alliance forces. He managed to keep a straight face, however. "Yes, yes, Cadet, half a moment." What was it? Ah, yes. "Cadet Brynik, could you see to Pike-Marshals Lubris and Rynsor, and tell them to get the troops ready to search farther to the south? And let them know I want to see them this morning, before they set out."

"Yes, Sir, right away, Sir!" The cadet followed the half-hearted reply with another extended kneel before running off across the camp to find the officers. Darte did chuckle, now. The army probably wasted whole days waiting for young cadets to finish paying respects before carrying out orders; such was the cost of training.

Back in his tent, Darte shuffled around various charts and notes on his small, but portable table. The mess looked somewhat more organized by the time Rynsor made it to the tent ten minutes later. For a middle-aged member of the Chamber of Hawks, Rynsor's dusty-brown hair was already greying around the temples, with a hairline that looked like it was slipping off his scalp. Lubris entered a minute later, grinning as always. He too, was a Hawk, with wings a deeper brown than most, and long enough to clip the top of the tent as he closed the flap. "I'd hoped to eat some more of that runny gruel Weskan prepared, but I guess I'll have to save it 'til we call halt. So, what's today's plan?"

Rynsor gave a mildly disapproving glance at Lubris' joking before echoing his curiosity. "Yes, I was wondering if the young cadet still had frozen brains; he said you planned on moving further south. You know we can't move south any more, seeing as we're already at the roots of the Juchai Range."

Darte didn't look up from organizing for a couple moments, then turned with a slightly smug look on his face. "Come here, I want to show you something." The two stepped forward to look at the charts. The simple maps had been covered with ink blots, notes taken and removed, changed beyond recognition, as often as not. Rynsor mumbled something about untidy behavior, and Lubris snickered quietly. Darte ignored the two, pointing instead at the end of a deep-red line. "This, Marshals, is where we are. And here..." He slid his finger rapidly down the map two full squares. "...here is where the roots start. We have a full days worth of marching left until we need to turn back. We've already covered most of the territory; there can't be many places left to look. It shouldn't be too hard to identify some old ruins."

Lubris nodded slowly, pointing to a small hatch-mark on the chart. "This is where we expected to find it, right? We've already searched through a circle at least ten greens wide, and we can't look much further without wasting time. If it's not there, it won't just appear through some mysterious magick." Rynsor, too, nodded. "The only alternative is if we didn't recognize the ruins for what they were, impossible as it may seem. Much can happen in several thousand years. Either way, we don't dare to move too close to the mountains. You know the Ka-"

Rynsor cut short as a young Swords-Sergeant pushed open the tent-flaps, giving a brief Tur'nasi kneel before standing. "The scouting parties are prepared, Marshals. We await your orders." Darte nodded quickly, wiping all the parchments into a jumbled pile inside his chest. "You heard the lad, Lubris, Rynsor. Pack up the tents, we move south!" The two nodded and dashed out the tent behind the Sergeant. There could not be much left to search. He would show the Emperor he could serve better than that big-headed General Poraeus. The ruins would be his to discover, and his alone.