There is no time to begin to fully regret signing on to the Adventurer’s Corps because the Field Master signals for attention. There are five groups assembled but two of them appear already acquainted. The Field Master points to a map of the region that is up on the wall. It is divided into quadrants and further broken up into sections roughly thirty miles square. Red pins pepper the region to the north and west of Nodkis, all throughout the Buknar Valley.
“Penum and crew, A-7.” He points to a sector and one of the parties nod to each other and turn to leave.
“Mathop, F-2,” the next group huddles and points to the map a few times as the Field Master continues.
“Vong, your squad will get C-4. Understand?” he indicates a section of farmland that is maybe just a day out from Nodkis.
How has Vong become the leader? He’s still a teenager. I’m a well-educated wizard and Voella’Tien has easily lived longer than the rest of the party combined. The only person more ill-suited as leader is probably Gala. I will have to have a talk with Corporal Level. But next week. It will be much easier to convince him with evidence and not instinct.
The other groups get sectors assigned but I’ve stopped paying attention. Vong has turned to the rest of the party and enthusiastically says, “This is gonna be awesome!”
I stand and walk toward the exit. These adolescent antics are obnoxious and I am already looking at a solid week more. If I can avoid being subjected to a handful, I will take it.
The rest of the party has followed me, so at least they can sense who the actual leader is. Perhaps Vong can go on continuing to play leader while I practice manipulating a figurehead. Our sector is just west of the city so I turn west and walk at a pace that normal-sized folk should be able to keep up with.
When we are only one-hundred feet from the Adventurer’s Corps, Vong’s profound leadership qualities kick in, “So where should we go?”
I stop, turn around, and peer down my nose at him. Did he not pay any attention to the Field Master? “West,” I say.
“Okay, I need to go get my stuff. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”
I suppress the urge to stab Vong in the throat. It’s not very strong, but the absolute unpreparedness of this youth catches me off guard and I wish him ill for a brief moment. That is, until the rest of the party chimes in.
In a thick accent I do not recognize, Rakatha adds his own ill-considered preparations, “Yeah, I have a couple things I need to take care of first. I left my supplies back at the inn and I should probably check out if we’ll be gone for a week. Oh, and I need to buy a crossbow.”
Voella’Tien is quiet.
Gala looks around nervously and then squawks, “Okay, I’ve got business too!”
I am dumbfounded. There is a post and rail fence behind me that looks sturdy enough. I sit. The others discuss and coordinate amongst themselves as I stare impassively at the foot-and-cart traffic moving up and down the street and ponder. What did they think was going to occur when they reported in for assignment? It had all seemed very straightforward to me. I suppose it explains why Vong was dressed in city clothes. Voella’Tien looks ready to go as far as equipment goes—it’s only her body language that suggests she isn’t ready to leave. For all Rakatha’s straps, he isn’t actually carrying any sacks so he really just came bearing weapons and little else. I doubt Gala owns traveling supplies but I’d prefer she didn’t shank a poor stranger just to get a bedroll at this time. Really any illicit activity is going to be troublesome and I’d rather not have any of it turn back on me through the tenuous connection this party brings.
Vong coordinates with the others to meet back in three hours and then scurries off toward the Noble’s district. He moves quickly through the crowd and is gone in a blink. At least the kid can move.
Rakatha saunters down the road we were very briefly headed down at a pace that suggests that he’s forgotten what he is supposed to be doing already. When he reaches the end of the lane, I see him enter a tavern. There is no inn attached so, it seems, he’s decided to pop in for a drink at nine-thirty in the morning. Perhaps this is one of those things that he needed to take care of.
Gala has disappeared by the time I turn my attention back from Rakatha. Voella’Tien is standing uneasily, her slender elven hands folded in front of her.
She clears her throat, “I will return to the church until it is time to meet.” Without waiting for a response, she hurries away in the rough direction of the church complex.
Now it is just me.
I am still ready to leave. All my affairs are in order and I have nothing pressing to do. My equipment is in good repair: I sharpened my dagger on Saturday, serviced my light crossbow on Sunday, and, well, the staff I also carry is just a large stick and doesn’t require maintenance. I have no desire to spend coin frivolously on food or drink or even women at the moment. There is no one I wish to talk to and I have no leads to pursue.
So I sit. And wait. A mere hundred feet from the Corps buildings.
I saw the other fledgling parties leave while those in my own ‘organized’. Over the course of hours I see several new recruits walk in, sign up, get briefed, and leave again before anyone in my party is back. For the most part, however, I read the new volume I picked up from the pawn shop the night prior: Psychoses and Their Diagnosis.
Three hours turns into four. Then five.
I eat some of the rations from my pack.
Six hours.
Voella’Tien returns. “I apologize that I am tardy. I was caught up in my work at the church clinic. I thought the group would have come to get me…” she trails off. “Has anyone come?”
I shake my head.
“Oh.” She looks around a bit hopefully and fidgets where she stands, but does not leave.
At almost the seventh hour, Vong returns. He is dressed in studded leather armor now and carries a stuffed-full backpack and bedroll. Also strapped to his back are a light hammer, a grappling hook, rope, and crampons. Does he expect the need to scale a mountain in the flat farmlands we are meant to scout? Well at least he tried.
Rakatha returns shortly afterward smelling of ale. He has found an arsenal of additional weapons and a backpack and bedroll, but no crossbow.
I try my best to ignore their inane conversation as we wait for Gala to show. It is now supper time and the market district is closing up shop for the day. Corporal Level appears outside of the Corps headquarters and gives the party an inquisitive look. He pads over.
“Everything all right?”
I don’t even know where to begin.
Vong chimes in, “Gala was supposed to meet us back here but she hasn’t shown up.”
Now isn’t that just convenient. The fact that the rest of the party was ill-prepared to set out is now excused by one member’s excessive tardiness.
Level takes it seriously, “Well, I sure hope she shows up. I don’t have any more recruits with her skill set so you might just need to make due.”
“Yeah, okay, we’ll probably get headed out in the morning and give her some more time.”
Level smiles, gives a respectful nod to the men in the group, bows to Voella’Tien, and walks off whistling a merry tune.
Vong turns back to address the group once again as its leader, “So what time should we meet up in the morning?”
Silence.
More silence.
Seriously? No one can say a time; not even the one we met at today? Do I really have to do everything for this maladroit band of amateurs?
“Eight,” I say at last. Then I stand, push past Vong and Rakatha, and return to the inn I had stayed at previously.
Though I had not wished for drink earlier, I take a bottle of wine to my room and empty it so that my wits are numb enough that I will not question myself for actually showing up again in the morning. I remind myself that I am starting at the bottom and it can only go up from here.
I sleep fitfully.
The Wordbearer Chronicles is a dark fantasy web series with new passages on Tuesdays.
Follow @LieseAdler