[Ridge]
According to the apprentice my ankle should heal completely on its own in a few weeks. He gave me a few medicine bottles from his bag to help with the pain, but I only took the one I'm familiar with. It's a commonly used blend in the Academy. As it turns out, trapping a bunch of boys on a campus together and handing them all pointy weapons has some need for an infirmary.
I convinced Kadeeth to let Tellur stay with us, with the condition that he aids our cause should we choose to join the rebellion once it inevitably forms. The Duke should be arriving in the south soon, so it'll be up to him and the Ravenous guard to establish some kind of order. Once they do, I hope to have persuaded Kadeeth and gathered a reasonable amount of troops too.
It'll probably be harder to get that stubborn ass on board than it will be to find able bodied men willing to fight for their country. Although, most of the Empires young men who know how to fight are already enlisted or attending an Academy. Which means that the majority of our trained soldiers were at the border already, the breach point of the invasion. We still don't know what went wrong to allow enough leeway for Nymour to overpower us.
Kadeeth has been outside chopping wood for the past hour or so. We're not running low or anything, but I think he's decided we'll be staying here a while. Maybe he plans to wait out the fighting here when winter hits. I'm currently waiting myself, in the kitchen with Tellur and the Doc. My plan is to catch him as soon as he comes back inside. I need to drag him into the study and discuss the oncoming war, and our part in it.
Right now though, the smell of the Doc's cooking has captured my immediate attention. I have no idea what he's making, and it looks absolutely revolting, but I have every intention of scarfing it down as soon as it hits my plate. I've eaten nastier looking things. As long as it tastes like it smells, I don't care if it has the appearance of vomit.
"Be patient!" The young doctor smacks Tellur's grubby hand away from the steaming pot.
Tellur rubs the back of his pink fingers and sticks out his bottom lip in a pout, "You didn't have to hit me..." He goes back to writing his cuss words. Kadeeth limited him to one paper per day. It'll be bad if we start running out of essential supplies for communication because that oaf wants to memorize fake Nymourian greetings.
"Play nice, children." I insert without looking up from the maps I'm pretending to pour over. The smell of dinner is a little distracting.
They behave for a bit before the Doc is back to smacking Tellur's greedy hands away with his wooden spoon. Something about the scene makes me laugh. They're both so immature. I can't believe one is an elite Knight, and the other is considered a rarity among professions in the Empire. No one would've guessed.
I set down the map I've been trying to mark routes on, "What exactly are you making, Doc?"
"I have a name." He glares, "And how do you not know what this is?" He eyes me suspiciously.
"You haven't told me your name, I can't read minds." I think for a minute before tacking on, "Is it a well known dish?"
He wrinkles his nose, "Dish? Pretentious, much? You sound like a Nobleman sometimes, but you look like a commoner, and you carry yourself like a soldier. Are you a legit Knight? You didn't get your title from some back alley arena, right?"
Tellur breaks out into a fit of high-pitch giggles unfit for someone as scary looking as him. The scar on his forehead moves with his skin as his face draws up with his smile. His alcohol stained teeth flash into sight between laughs.
"How do you even know the word pretentious?" I shoot back.
"The doctor I trained under worked for a lot of Noble families, thank you very much. But I wouldn't talk like them except to describe arrogant guys like you." I swear I'd teach this guy a lesson if he wasn't currently making my food. You can't mess with chefs around here, at least not physically. No one would do anything about it if you got on a cook's bad side and got yourself poisoned.
That doesn't mean I can't clap back in other ways, "Alright, Doc. Go ahead and make fun of how I talk. I have the best of both worlds." I smile at him, "I can blend effortlessly with both commoners and high end Noble families with the flip of a switch."
It would be nice if that were true. I may know their customs, but Nobles scrutinize even the smallest things in high society. Not only would my social awkwardness alone ruin it for me, I haven't put into practice any of their carefully crafted behaviors. This guy doesn't need to know that though, and if he finds out later through a certain chatterbox, I'm gonna punch Kadeeth in the face.
His face goes red and he turns his back to me. I chuckle and look out the window at the midday light cutting through the trees. It's warm on my face, but the weather is definitely starting to cool down. What was Nymour thinking, starting a war in unfamiliar enemy territory right before winter sets in?
A small mumble meets my distracted ears, "What?" I ask.
I look back at the doctor, who's bent a little too far over the pot of foot they're preparing. The tips of his ears are red, though it's hard to tell on his tan skin. He lifts his head up an inch and repeats himself with a little more annoyance.
"Raforn." He says.
"Huh?"
"You called me Doc again." He stirs the pot violently, "My name is Raforn."