Hope Sundered

Captain Sollin of the Nuth militia yawned and stretched as he emerged from his tent to face the new day. He pushed the curly locks of brown hair from his greenish blue eyes and licked his lips in anticipation of food.

He was short and stout but solid. His belly protruded a little past his belt, though his muscular arms and broad chest bespoke of a strength and vitality refusing to surrender their youth. His traveling cloak was faded and had as many patches as his trousers. Even so, he carried himself with purpose and authority.

He made his way over to the nearest campfire, where a hearty breakfast of fire-roasted galmar was ready. He accepted his portion of the large, flaky fish with gratitude and jumped into the nearest conversation.

A courier from Wyndham had arrived in his secluded harbor town a few days ago. Sollin and eighty other souls were eager to answer the call to arms.

Most of them had their own horse and some sort of weapon, though many were nothing more than sharpened farming tools. None had any armor to speak of. Despite this, morale was high. The volunteers boasted often along their journey inland, promising death to the invaders. Captain Sollin was among the loudest.

As they marched, they came across other groups from the various hamlets dotting the eastern countryside. Like humble mountain streams merging to become a swift river, the other militias fell in line behind the confident and charismatic Captain Sollin, united in their determination to win the day. One particular volunteer from Riverton was happy to see his old friend.

“Sollin, you old rascal! I should’ve known you’d be leading the charge!” Crenshaw exclaimed, embracing the shorter man.

“Maker’s mercy, it’s good to see you Cren! I'll feel loads better with you by my side. It’ll be just like when we were young.”

Crenshaw flashed a rueful smile. “Except we’re not young men anymore. Swing a sword today and you’ll be sore for the next three.”

Sollin laughed. “Fair enough, but hopefully we’re wiser now.”

“Speaking of our youth, do you think we’ll meet up with Allyn and Losi?”

“I sure hope so. I lost touch after they left for Wyndham. What’s it been, twenty years now?” Sollin shook his head and looked up, casting a faraway glance through the sun-dappled trees. “Strange how life gallops by, isn’t it? We were fresh-faced boys only days ago.”

Crenshaw snorted. “Many, many days ago.”

“Feels like a fortnight to me. Traveling the open road, looking for adventure. Those were good times.”

“Until we ran out of coin. But a miller’s life isn’t so bad, is it?”

Sollin shrugged. “I suppose not.” His face brightened a few heartbeats later. “But we get a second chance to be heroes!”

Crenshaw grew serious. “We shouldn’t take these Azrahterans lightly. The messenger claimed their army numbers in the thousands.”

Sollin waved the comment away. With a mouthful of galmar he said, “Couriers exaggerate. It’s their duty to enlist as many volunteers as possible. A little theater here and there, and you’ve got yourself an army.”

Crenshaw thought for a moment before saying, “Perhaps, but either way, we should still be cautious. I don’t want to repeat our folly from Dioria.”

Sollin’s face darkened like the sky before a sudden downpour. “That’s exactly why I’m here.”