It was midday the next day when they finally arrived at Corknip. They passed by this city on their way to the wall but seeing it closer revealed just how far it had fallen from its might. Fredrich had read books about it. Before the great war, Corknip was famed to be an impenetrable fortress. It was the second largest Hadean city, second only to the capital.
Even King Timothy had a difficult time when he besieged Corknip. Even his hardy legions failed to breach the walls. In the end it took thousands of barrels of Vanadian Fire to smother the city's defense. The Union captured the city but its resilient stood as pride for the Hadeans even after Hadea knelt to the Union.
Now Corknip was a grave of sounds. The huge walls were cracked. Vegetation had taken root on them too, vines crawled around like serpents. The huge towers had holes in their brick roofs. Some had crumbled to age.
They entered through the busted gate and it was worse inside. Most of the houses were rubble. The proud streets were littered with chunks of stones withered from nearby buildings. Animals ran around, hissing at their approach. There were dogs which descended back to being wolves, boars feeding on the grown grasses and of course the rats prowled in the hundreds.
"At least we have game to hunt right?" Trest said, matching the wagon's pace.
"I don't eat rats. Squirrels, fine. But rats?" Gren grimaced. "I'd rather starve."
"Better think about those words again when we are starving." Fredrich said.
"Starve? We are not going to starve" Trest chuckled and almost patted him in the back. Luckily the brute remembered his injuries and withdrew his huge palm. "King William's coming for us with food and hopefully wine. Reinforcements too! When the wall in Wismar broke I heard King Timothy sent thirty legions to reclaim it. This whole city will be bustling."
Fredrich kept silent. There might be truth to Trest's assumption. King Timothy might even come himself. No matter how he blames King Timothy for all the troubles of his life, he must admit that having the King personally direct the recapture of the wall would turn this bleak situation manageable.
On the center of the city was a statue. The base was at least three wagons wide and the simiar in length. The stones were crumbing and the surface was cracked but the image was clear enough. A man and a woman, both supporting crowns on their heads stood with arms stretched for command. Below them was another man kneeling, wide open eyes and mouth begging.
It was a reminder, the tale was fresh on Fredrich's mind. When the Union besieged the city, King Timothy sent a messenger for peace. The Governor, to his arrogance and foolishness, saw it wise to return the messenger headless. Endless fire rained upon Corknip that day, the King's wrath bathed the walls in flames. King Timothy himself led the assault and Corknip fell in a single day, so much for tales of its stalwart defenses. The Governor begged for a more lenient punishment but the Queen was adamant on inflicting a similar fate. The blade went for the Governor's heart and since then Corknip became obedient to the Union.
They bivouacked in a less sorry portion of the city where some of the buildings still stood. Sentries were scattered and tents were hoisted for most of the men. The General assured them that the other legions would join them along with King William. It would be soon, he said.
Fredrich derided in silence. The other legions were crushed. Those who survived were scattered. They were just waiting for nothing but the Ninevans. Soon their enemies would organize and soon this crumbling city would be crawling with enemies. It was meant to be. Inevitable.
As one of the wounded, he was given a bed in one of the houses. Fredrich slept the whole afternoon. A dream plagued his sleep, one which clenched his chest. In the dream he was back in that house. It was as large and as marvelous as he remembered. But somehow it was empty. He limped to the library where he used to spend most of his time in the past. The towering shelves were filled with books, not a space remained. He brushed his fingers on the book spines as he passed, thinking of better memories. Only here he was safe and only in this place he could rest from that man's abuses.
He turned to one of the passages and saw the table he used to read on. There were several tables actually but he favored this one. It was also the favorite table of his mother when she was still alive. She used to read books to him and Fredrich would always fall asleep.
Fredrich caressed the chair she used to sit on. It was a creaky thing, old too. But she always said that old things are precious as they have more history behind them. He sat on the table, eyes still on the chair. When he left Solon, this was the last place he visited. And if there was a portion of the house he still treasured, it would be this. The soft summer breeze was upon his face from the window. The curtains fluttered with each gust, a dance of sorts. He closed his eyes.
Fredrich awoke with the sun setting through the window. The other wounded were grunting, some even screaming and wailing. Breeze blew from the opened door. It was cold winter and not the summer one he adored, not the memory-inducing pleasant gusts. He was here, in this wretched and crumbling city.
Trest burst into the room, heaving looks from both the guards and the patients. For a moment the painful grunts and the wails stopped. The large Hadean scratched his head, blushed, and smiled at him.
"I have caught a thing." Trest whispered in a not so whispery manner. He looked around and bent closer as if his hoarse voice could be masked. "We are cooking it tonight. Feast on it, just the three of us. Gren is already preparing the thing."
"And by the thing, what do you mean exactly? Dog? Rat?"
"A deer"
"A deer?"
"A deer" Trest nodded once. "Spotted it grazing outside. The tracking took hours though I got a lucky shot with my spear. The General confiscated much of it though but he left a whole leg for us. More that enough right?"
Fredrich's mouth watered as his stomach rumbled. Deer. Probably tough meat and bland. But it would be good tasting meat just like last night. He choked his wooden cane and slammed it on the floor. He grimaced when he rose though he felt the pain was more bearable than yesterday. Making his way to the door, the thought of the juicy deer meat ebbed the pain of his leg.
It was night when they reached Gren on some secluded place on the wall. Chilly wind biting his skin, Fredrich pulled his coat closer. The deer leg was skewered and being turned over a flame. The skin was already marbling brown and dripping with oil.
"Not yet?" Trest asked.
"Not yet." Gren resumed squatting as he turned the meat. "Though it makes me wonder, how did the first people who grilled meat knew that it was already cooked?"
"Probably they didn't." Fredrich leaned his cane and slid his butt on the parapet. The wind was more chilly here, howling even. His leg throbbed. But looking at the vast darkness beyond was too enticing. Head slanting on the merlon, he pulled his injured leg on the parapet. Fredrich looked back at Gren. "They probably charred it at first or raw. But over time, they improved the craft of cooking. Because that's what we do, we improve."
"Good point." Another voice said form behind, growing closer with every word. Ice stood to his side- pallid, slouching, swollen face- but smiling. He slid one of the rocks beside the fire and sat on it. "It was inevitable. People discovered fire, people put meat on fire, the meat didn't taste good enough and so people found ways to improve. All we have right now, the comforts we enjoy, sprung from a single thing- our thirst for improvement. Our desire for it, as if living wasn't enough of a gift."
"Living is enough of a gift." Trest said.
"Not for us." Ice looked at Fredrich before continuing. "We are a thirsty bunch, a race with an insatiable hunger for new things. Stagnation is always a worse fate that death. We are not like these vines which are contented with just the sunlight on their leaves and rainwater on their stems. Dreaming for constant improvements is either our greatest gift or curse."
"Curse" Fredrich said. "We think ourselves as wise and powerful because of things we built. We raise our noses in derision over animals as if we are better. We are not. The world is bleak for every one of us. Improvements. Innovation. Things we assume to better our sleep. Lies we tell ourselves over and over until our senses are dulled to the darkness. We are ants climbing a mountain and we celebrate each hundred of our steps, not knowing or thinking how insignificant it was compared to the mountain's height."
"Perhaps the mountain's height is not the same for all of us. Some desire more than others. Some people's dreams are just too high."
"Perhaps" Fredrich glanced a smile before turning back to the darkness.
"What about you, Fred? What do you desire? What would make you say that the world is a fine place? How high is the mountain your puny little legs aim to climb?"
"It peaks beyond the clouds. Endless. That's why the world would always be a pitch of joy to me. What I desire is impossible to achieve."
"Now, now." Trest said. "Easy with the philosophy. We are here to enjoy good food. You can join us friend. Though we chose this place to swat prying stares of hungry soldiers, one more mouth wouldn't hurt."
"Good then. Do you have wine?" Ice asked.
"That we do not have."
Gren rose and trotted to Fredrich's side. Leaning closer he hushed, "He's that one? The Ninevan?"
"Ah whispers. I love whispers. Fred, do you love whispers too?" Ice smiled as he looked back at Gren. "I do love whispers. People who do them think themselves as hidden. But that's the thing about whispers, they don't fully conceal. The words are muffled, yes. But the thoughts are expressed through other forms like a squint of a brow, trembling lips, heavy stares. What is your name, Vanadian?"
"Gren?"
"Well Gren, I am a Ninevan. More specifically I am the Ninevan tasked to cradle the Rooster Legion. You have other questions?"
Gren opened his mouth. A grunt came out but not a word. He shook his head.
"Well then," Ice reached for a chunk of the leg. He smelled the thing with a smile. In one huge bite he swallowed it. "Good. Could use some spices though but good.
"Is that true, friend?" Trest asked. "You really the Ninevan? I heard of you, even saw you flinging those crystals from your hand. But I didn't get a closer look until now."
"Handsome right? I am indeed a Ninevan."
"Then why are you here?" Gren asked. "Shouldn't you be with the General, planning our future moves?"
"Future moves. That is rather too sweet. We are battered. Beaten. And yet you make it sound like a mere game of Crown and Country." Ice paused and looked down. The only sound was the crisp cracking of firewood and the sharp breeze. "It bores me. The General is a good planner, I can see. But staring at the map on some parchment is not what I intent to spend my life on. So now I am here to accompany you in this cold night, have some good meat in the process. But nothing is for free. In exchange for this beautiful meat, I can share tales onto you."
"Why did you abandon your people?" Fredrich asked, a question which spew silence from the three men. Ice slowly turned to him.
"Direct. I won't say I like it but impressive Fred."
"Well? Meat for stories."
Ice turned back. He lay, arms under his head and eyes blinking to the dark sky. Gren and Trest huddled closer.
"Abandon. If the younger me knew that I would betray the Grand Consul, he would probably bury a dagger into his belly." Ice scoffed. "I was one of the most loyal Councilors, did my duty as if it meant my life. Toiled with all my might just to better Ninev. A dog of the Grand Consul, I was called."
"You have dogs in Ninev?" Gren asked. Fredrich and Trest scowled and the Vanadian retreated his head down. "Sorry"
"Well yes we have dogs. Cats too. Pets are everywhere although Gifteds usually don't have one. It was the Commoners who are more liberated with their lifestyle."
"I think you should continue with what you were saying before Gren interrupted." Fredrich said.
"Oh that? Well it's not much of a tale, just your regular loyalist story. When the cull began, I was one of the volunteers to fight against the foreign race called humans. The Grand Consul said that these humans must be controlled or else a Great Disaster would be brought upon the world."
"And you believed that?" Fredrich asked.
"I still believe it. In fact living with your kind these past years have made me realize that the Grand Consul might be right. You are a violent bunch based on your history. Trivial matters often resulted in war." Ice chuckled. "But I don't think your violence is the reason why the Grand Consul said those words. I think there is a deeper reason, one which he only knows."
"So? How come a volunteer turned into a traitor?"
Ice grinned this time. "I saw beauty."
"Beauty?"
"Yes. I saw it. Beauty beyond words." He pulled himself up. "All this talking has dried my mouth. You have wine?"
"We don't" Trest said. "And it is against the rules. Flogging is the punishment I think."
Execution, Fredrich thought. It was a direct execution.
"A shame. Truly. Now let me tell you about the first time I tasted wine. It was..."
A low hum of a horn sounded. Several other horns followed. In a moment, the whole city was filled with blares.
Fredrich jumped to his feet, not minding his injury. Trest, Gren and Ice also rose to the call.
"Well boys." Ice said calmly. "My kind has just interrupted my story. Rude. To arms then. To arms."