Art by jabberox
Before the Storm
Chapter 1 Preview
“No staying up late.”
“Yes, Orda,” my son, Khazak, responds with a nod.
“Listen to your brother,” I tell my daughter Ayla next. “Help him to watch Yogik when he gets up from his nap.”
“Yes, Orda...” she answers much more reluctantly.
“Dinner is in the icebox.” I kiss both on the forehead before releasing them and standing. “Sor'iya will be by to check on you in a few hours. What are you supposed to remember?”
“Not to open the door for anyone but her, you, or Ruda,” they answer in unison.
“I love you both.” I bend over to give them one last hug.
“Love you too, Orda.”
“...Love you too.”
“I expect everyone to be asleep by the time we return home.” With one final look around my home, I nod my head and exit, shutting and locking the door behind me.
The late afternoon sun hangs in the sky when I step outside. Despite the relatively early hour, it has been an extremely long day, and it is only going to get longer. After I finished my shift at the ranger station, I rushed home to change and check on the children. I was barely there more than an hour before having to leave again, now heading for the militia headquarters where my husband Rurig is already working.
Our schedules are not normally quite this hectic. Of course things got busier after having children, but between the two of us, we've been able to handle things without too many problems. Other than my monthly week-long patrol shifts in the forest, my schedule does not change much—a benefit of being the man in charge. Rurig still works as a chef at The Iron Pan, the restaurant we opened together years ago, but he cut his hours back significantly after the children were born so he could stay home with them—something he was not very happy about.
Once Ayla and Khazak were old enough to start attending school, he could not wait to get back in the kitchen. Even after our youngest son, Yogik, was born, he told me he'd had enough of sitting around fussing after babies. He returned to the restaurant with Yogik in tow, setting up a small nursery, and later playroom, in his back office. From what I hear, my son is very popular with some of the servers.
Normally Rurig would be home in the early afternoon, before Khazak and Ayla return from school, and I would follow several hours later. But thanks to Warhunter and his so-called “rebellion,” all of our evenings have been claimed for the near future. Instead of staying home with our children, we have been working with the defense militia every night.
We were both members when we were younger—which is actually how we met—but that was over a decade ago. Long in the tusks compared to the other recruits, neither of us is directly involved in any of the current battles. However, many of my men are, and as their captain, sitting on the sidelines is not an option—and unfortunately in the eyes of many others, that also goes for the captain's husband. So rather than fighting, we are putting our other skills to use: Rurig working in the mess hall, and me helping to train the new recruits.
This all started around a month ago when former-Councilman Kragor Warhunter announced that he would not be stepping down from his seat at the end of his term. Touting a belief that the strong should rule over the weak, he then declared his intent to violently depose the rest of the Tribal Council. Most of us saw this as nothing more than posturing until he made good on his threat, attacking and killing one of the other councilmembers and sending the city's government into chaos.
Perhaps the only thing more surprising than his attack was how quickly he was able to raise supporters. I would hardly call them an army, but they number enough for the militia to rally a full defense. Thankfully, most of the fighting has taken place outside of the city. After his initial attack, Warhunter and his troops were forced into the forest where they have been hiding in makeshift camps. They seem to have recruited several powerful spellcasters to his side as we have been having difficulty locating them—even with magic. Few battles have occurred within V'rok'sh Tah'lj's walls, and the ones that have we have managed to contain in one section of the city.
I arrive at militia headquarters after a twenty-minute walk, returning the salute given to me by the two guards at the front gate. It is as busy as it ever is these days with dozens of people with their own orders and expectations. Militia Captain Gibnil Burningmaw is already in the yard with a group of recruits. I need to get my equipment and join him, but first I am going to stop by the mess hall to greet my husband.
“Hello, Captain!” One of the troops stands and salutes me as I enter, causing most of the others in the mess hall to do the same. I return the salute, encouraging the man that greeted me and the others to return to their seats. The title really makes it seem like I do more around here than train.
“Oh, has the big strong Ranger Captain stopped by to see me?” Rurig exaggerates as I approach.
“No, just feeling a little peckish,” I tease as he walks around the counter that separates the kitchen from the dining area, greeting me with a kiss.
“How are the kids?” he asks once we separate.
“Fine,” I answer with a small smile. “I put Yogik down for a nap before I left.”
“I hope he'll sleep most of the night,” he responds with a sigh. Getting Yogik to sleep at all lately has been difficult.
You may be worried that we would leave our children home alone during a time such as this, but I can assure you, they are safe and sound. Not only is there a strict curfew in effect, but all the fighting has taken place far, far from our home. Our two older children are eight-year-old twins and very mature for their age; Khazak in particular is an extremely responsible boy. Rurig will see them off to school and ensure they have food prepared for the day, then leave for his shift at the mess hall once they are home. I see them next when I have finished work, and then in the evenings we have our elderly neighbor, Sor'iya Drakebloom, check in on them before it gets too late. I was happy when she accepted our request—the Ranger Captain asking for help might be seen as a weakness by some, especially right now, and I cannot afford for that to happen.
With my husband greeted, I leave the mess hall and retrieve my training equipment from the small office I share with some of the other officer's. Then I join Captain Burningmaw on the field. The cadre we are training today are still fairly new, all having joined in the past month. Fighting in the name of protecting the city is seen as a great honor, so it was no surprise that the militia has received an influx of recruits since Warhunter's initial attack.
They have varying levels of skill, but working with new troops is something I am familiar with. I regularly sit in on and even participate in training sessions with new officers to the ranger force, which is why Burningmaw requested my presence. The two of us will demonstrate techniques on each other before having the recruits try for themselves.
We are still working on positioning with this particular group. I walk around them, all twenty facing Burningmaw as he runs them through a drill. I monitor their progress, noting who is able to hold form better than others and correcting those who need it.
“You keep dropping your right arm too soon,” I correct one of the troops, a man named Jarek, stepping in and positioning him correctly with my own hands. “You are leaving yourself open to a return blow.”
“Sorry, sir.” He sighs as he holds position.
“Keep at it,” I encourage. “You are improving every day.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jarek says, sounding more upbeat. “I will.”
I smile as he slips back into formation with the others. Seeing people become more confident in their skills is one of the most rewarding parts of my job. I want to help every person serving under me to reach their full potential.
“Looking good, Captain.” My husband, on the other hand, just enjoys watching the men work up a sweat.
“Don't you have better things to do besides being an old pervert?” I challenge as I approach the wall he is leaning against.
“You're one to talk, getting hands on with your men,” he teases.
“Only doing my job,” I reply innocently, leaning against the wall to join him.
Rurig hums to himself, eyes falling back on the troops. Even if my intentions were not entirely pure - which they are - this is not a subject that would upset my husband. It is not something that has happened recently, but in the past bringing a third person into our bed was not all that uncommon. Jarek just happens to be someone who has managed to catch both our eyes the past few weeks.
He is an attractive younger man, slightly shorter and much thinner than either of us. He is also easily ten years our junior, if not more. He is a hard worker and eager to learn, but there is an innocence about the way he carries himself. I have seen him getting along well with his fellow recruits, but he seems quieter and more content on his own.
Later that night, when the trainees are having their meal break, I spot Jarek at a table in the mess hall by himself. While most of the troops are loudly conversing with one another, he is using one hand to eat while the other flips the pages of a book. After grabbing some food for myself (and with a little prodding from Rurig), I approach him.
“Is this seat taken?” I gesture to one of several empty chairs at his table.
“No sir. By all means.” He quickly sits up and closes his book, and I feel a pang of guilt for disturbing him.
“I apologize. I did not mean to interrupt.” I nod my head toward the book.
“Oh, that's nothing important.” He shakes his head. “I've read it dozens of times.”
“Is it a good book?” I've never been much of a reader myself, but Rurig is. “I assume it must be if it has you sitting here by yourself.”
“It's an old favorite.” Jarek smiles shyly. “Am I screwing up badly enough to require extra attention, sir?”
“No, nothing like that.” I chuckle. Not that you aren't worth my extra attention. “Though I did notice you seem less eager to be here than some of the others.”
“Ah. Well, the truth is, I've never really been much of a fighter,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mainly joined because it seemed like the right thing to do; I want to help protect my home and the people in it. But I also had a lot of...encouragement from my parents and older siblings.”
“Ah, familial pressures.” Though my parents are no longer with us, it is something I am all too familiar with. “Well your intentions are noble, and you are a fast learner. Do you have other family members in the militia?”
“My father was a member, and my two older siblings still are. It's not that I don't want to fight. I've just always been more interested in things like... Plants. Or building things. Or reading.” He holds up his book as an example.
“There's nothing wrong with that.” I offer a smile. I may be a warrior, but that is not something everyone is built for. “You have met my husband. I would hardly call him a fighter.”
“Is this old man bothering you, sweetheart?” The man's voice rings out from behind my back.
“Heh, no sir. Just eating dinner together.” Jarek chuckles with a small blush.
“Uh-uh, he's sir.” My husband lays a hand on my shoulder. “I'm Rurig.”
“Well, the food is delicious as always, Rurig,” Jarek says with a small bow of his head.
“Aww, you sweet talker. Let me know if you want seconds.” Rurig winks. He has always been the better flirt, which combined with his cooking skills makes him nearly unstoppable. “So is this one boring you with his old war stories?”
“I wouldn't call them boring,” Jarek defends with a grin. “I love hearing about the trouble the officers would get into when they were still new recruits.”
“Oh, you want to hear about trouble?” Rurig responds with an even wider grin. “The first time we met, he suggested we—”
“Attention!” Captain Burningmaw calls out as he enters the mess hall, causing those in attendance to stand and face him. “Scouts have just located one of Warhunter's camps northeast of the city. Finish eating and suit up. We leave in half an hour!”
Everyone springs into action. Those who had finished their meals already quickly gather their used dishes while everyone else begins to quickly finish their food, the sounds of metal utensils scraping across the wooden plates filling the air. Across from me at our table, Jarek is doing neither, staring down at his plate in light shock.
“I've... I've never actually been in a battle before.” He suddenly looks very nervous. “What if... What if I mess up? What if I—?”
“Hey.” I reach across the table, steadying one of his shaking wrists. “It will be alright. This is what we have been preparing you for. Just listen to your Commander, remember your training, and you will be fine.”
“He knows what he's talking about, kid.” Rurig walks around to place a hand on his shoulder. “You're gonna go out there, kick some ass, and be back here with your book in no time.”
“Right.” Jarek nods to himself. “This is what I've been training for. I can do this.”
“Yes, you can.” I squeeze his wrist once more. “And I am looking forward to hearing your first war story when you return.”
“Looking forward to telling it to you, sir.” He salutes before standing and exiting the mess hall, his appetite no doubt killed by nerves.
“He'll be fine, Papa Bear,” Rurig reassures me, calling me by an old pet name. I can only nod and hope he is right.
After everyone leaves, the headquarters are significantly quieter. Without anyone to train, there isn't much for me to do. I busy myself with organizing the equipment, and with no remaining mouths to feed, Rurig is doing the same with the food stores. Even though neither of us is saying anything, we are both anxious to see Jarek and the others return unharmed.
Several hours later, just as the two of us are deciding that we need to get home for the night, we hear the guards at the front gate giving a cheer as the troops return. They seem to be in high spirits with minimal injuries and a number of Warhunter's men in tow. I scan the faces of everyone as they make their way inside, relaxing when I see Jarek. Everyone splinters off, some to handle the arrested rebels, and others to the showers or mess hall, but Jarek does neither, spotting me and Rurig in a corner of the training yard.
“How was it?” I ask as he approaches us.
“Incredible and terrifying all at the same time,” he starts to explain, his voice bursting with barely restrained excitement. “The closer we got to the camp, the more nervous I got. It was so dark, but even with us trying to be stealthy, they saw us before we saw them.”
“They attacked first?” Rurig asks.
“They got the jump on us,” Jarek confirms with a nod. “I didn't even realize it until the guy in front of me went down. The rebel was right on top of him, and then it was like time froze. All my fear was gone because someone was in trouble and needed help.”
“Moments like that can really define a person,” I say with a smile. I knew his training would kick in.
“All I could think about was stopping the guy, so I pulled out my staff and leapt at him,” Jarek continues, practically bouncing in place. “He was barely able to deflect my blows when I took him out with a strike to the back of the head. And then it was like my body was moving automatically—I could hear and see people fighting all around me, and I just started moving to help. It was like I had all this energy. I could feel the blood rushing through my veins. I wanted to... I wanted to...”
He suddenly reaches for my head, pulling me in for a deep kiss, then seconds later pulls away shocked.
“Oh spirits.” His eyes are wide, looking between me and Rurig. “I am so sorry. I shouldn't have—”
“Think we should take this back to your office?” Rurig asks me, amused as he takes in my surprised face.
“That depends.” I manage to shake off the surprise. “Do you want to come back to my office with us, Jarek?”
“I... Yes.” He quickly nods his head, looking between us both. “Yes, I would.”
To be continued...
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