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Description
Rain splashed liberally downward onto the uneven cobbles of the city streets, the sky sunless and dark with the lethargic forms of fat, full rainclouds. Most of the streets and alleys were slick and abandoned for the night, with only a few stray lanterns scattered about spreading their low, solemn light upon the city. Much of the city had a pall cast upon it by the thought of impending war, but one particular place had no such reservations. Bawdy singing echoed out from the tavern and light splashed onto the street from its still-open door. The sign above the door, swinging lightly due to the winds of the storm, depicted a rooster with its head cut off. Unsurprisingly, the tavern was known by the tactless name "The Headless Cock."

Daniel, now in clean, fresh clothes, sat at the bench at the front of the tavern, mug of some dark ale in hand, singing along with a drunken gaggle of men who had nothing else to do than drink away their worries. Some were soldiers like Daniel, some were craftsman or farmers, but all were rosy-cheeked and glossy-eyed, belting out some old, lewd song about a buxom noble's daughter and her hourglass mother, too. Daniel seemed to consume a mug every few minutes, about once a song or so, quaffing twice as much as everyone else and showing half the effect. Even as other men stumbled from their stools and collapsed upon the wood floor, Daniel remained upright and loud, making a drunken grope at every serving wench who had the misfortune to pass his way. Doubly unfortunate for them was his surprising dexterity, even at the threshold of blackout drunk.

In a dark corner of the tavern, Geral sat flipping through a book he had borrowed from the captain when they had met with him to deliver the parcel. It was a dry text of mostly antiquated military tactics, as were most of the books the captain owned. Still, it was something, and the archaic terms it used were a welcome distraction as Geral shifted his attention between the book and his inebriated fool of a brother. Like his brother, Geral had been supplied with the clean clothes they both had so desperately needed.

The meeting with Captain Harn had been grave if uneventful. Seeing the brothers again split the older man's face into a wide, gap-toothed smile. Upon looking at the broken seal upon the parcel, the captain's face again fell into grim solemnity. He quickly sent them away with a fresh set of clothes- and a book for Geral- and told them to remain close at hand. The encampment was just beyond the city, so Daniel and a few other soldiers decided to head to the tavern. Geral felt obligated to follow.

A large man swaggered into the bar, obviously already drunk. He was tall and well-muscled, with short brown hair and a handsome face, except for a broken nose that had never quite settled right. He was a soldier, a normal, rank-and-file soldier, unlike Geral and his brother who were much more like scouts and rangers than actual soldiers. Geral recognized him easily; his name was Robert, and there was a reason his nose had been broken. Staring intently but unnoticed at the newcomer, Geral reached slowly down to his boot to check the knife he had hidden there. He fingered the knife briefly, considering whether or not to lay it near him on the table. He chose not to.

Robert strode with a confident, drunken swagger to a stool next to Daniel, who hadn't noticed him over the serving girl squirming and laughing uncomfortably in his lap. The man plopped down unceremoniously and barked an order for some beer. As soon as the tankard was in hand Robert downed all the contents with a few quick swigs and promptly slammed the tankard down in a not-so-subtle demand for more.

After a few more tankards, Robert turned his attention from the beer to Daniel. "So. How's the scout doing today?" His words didn't slur terribly, but still noticeably. Daniel still had not noticed Robert, but now his jovial mood soured. Sensing the new and immediate tension, the serving girl slipped from Daniel's lap and left him alone, half-scowling over his own tankard.

Not having received the appropriate reaction, Robert spoke again but louder, "How are things, scout? Avoiding the fight? Running and hiding in the brush? Wouldn't want you to scrape a knee, would we?" Geral looked nervously between his brother and Robert, knowing that both men had notoriously short tempers. Robert was looking for a fight and it was doubtless that Daniel would oblige.

Fuming over his empty tankard, the heavily inebriated Daniel struggled to form his words as he lashed back, "And what's the matter with you, huh? Couldn't find any whores out so late? Or did the nose turn them away?" Now it was Robert's turn to start burning in his own flesh. Stools stumbled and drunken men did their best to crawl or stagger away as Robert and Daniel burst from their seats to stand toe-to-toe, nearly chest-to-chest. Robert was by far the taller and more burly of the pair, but Daniel was far more adroit and spry than most gave him credit for. Both were red-faced- from the booze and from the feud- and swayed slightly on their feet.

"If it weren't for that brother of yours..." Robert's slurred speech trailed off.

"I don't need help to put you in your place, Robert," Daniel's speech was even worse.

A lazy, drunken punch came toward Daniel's face. He ducked it easily, dropping low to the floor and lashing out with a vicious kick. Robert stumbled and swore and lashed out with a backhand that caught Daniel as he stood again. The blow sent both men clutching onto the hardwood counter of the bar. Robert came back with another punch that Daniel narrowly evaded, sprawling out across the floor.

As Robert peeled himself from the counter to stand victoriously over his fallen foe, a small wooden table came hurtling toward him from across the room. It crashed down behind the counter as Robert barely managed to stumble out of the way. A powerful punch to the gut followed as Geral flew across the room to defend his brother. Robert doubled over in pain, collapsing to his knees and gasping. A small trail of blood trickled one corner of his mouth. "Get the hell out of here before I break your nose again, Robert," Geral spat down coldly. Robert looked up painfully but disdainfully at Geral who grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him to his fight, giving a sharp shove to the door. "Now," Geral growled.

Half-hearted threats murmured out from Robert as he stumbled for the door, clutching his gut. Daniel slowly pulled himself to his feet, his face bruised slightly and his eyes a mix of shame and hate. "You," Geral said no less angrily, "outside. Now." He hooked a thumb to the door as he ordered his brother out of the tavern. Daniel leaned against the counter defiantly, staring down his brother. Geral took a quick step toward his brother and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. "Get going," he said sharply before thrusting his brother toward the tavern door. Daniel somehow summoned the faculties to leave the tavern and Geral followed shortly thereafter, leaving behind on the bar a small sack of coins he had hidden in his boots for the proprietor as the chubby little man began to peek out over the counter.

Daniel stumbled out of the door and onto the slick cobbles of the street. It was still raining and still oppressively dark. He slipped and fell onto the street, barely managing to catch himself before slamming head-first into the bumpy stones. As he flipped himself over, Geral exploded out of the tavern. A flash of lightning tore through the sky behind Geral, illuminating a dark silhouette over his brother. Daniel stood up shakily on unsteady feet and looked at his brother who stood head and shoulders above him.

"Dammit, Geral, I'm not a child. I don't need your help," Daniel slurred at his brother.

Geral took a step forward, leaving only a few feet between them. "No, Daniel, that is exactly what you are. For so long as you act like a child, that is how I will treat you." His voice was filled with equal parts concern and contempt.

The rain that splattered them began to wear away at Daniel's patience. "You think you know better than me?" Daniel staggered forward and gave his brother a rough shove. Geral hardly moved.

"Yes, I do," Geral retorted, unfazed. "Especially when you reduce yourself to an inebriated infant. The way you conduct your life disgusts me."

Even in the rain, Daniel began to smolder. His eyes betrayed his rage as much as his voice when he drunkenly spoke, "Then maybe you should have left me to die in that fire with everyone else." He instantly regretted those words as he saw all the anger fall from Geral only to be replaced with sorrow.

Geral's imposing posture slumped suddenly. He spoke slowly, deliberately, "You don't mean that, Daniel." There was a long silence broken only by the pitter-patter of continual rain. "I never told you the truth, Daniel, about what happened to our family."

Despite the alcohol-induced stupor, that cut Daniel to the core. He stiffened and asked rigidly, "What?"

Geral took a deep breath and turned his back to his brother, letting the rain wash over himself. "There was a fire, yes, that burned down our village. It killed so many. But not our family." Geral stopped, hesitant to say anymore.

Daniel bounded forward and forced him to turn back around. He grabbed Geral by the arms and shook him, staring into his eyes and demanding, "Then what happened to them?"

Geral stood still and looked into his brother's eyes. Behind the glaze of inebriation was he could see a sense of panic and urgency. There was no point in hiding the truth any longer. Geral sighed heavily before he spoke, "It was night. They came flooding in, the only warning we were given was the thundering of hoofbeats. We were upstairs, sleeping. The soldiers came in. Our father tried to talk to them. I don't know exactly what happened to him. Our mother came upstairs, panicked. She hid the three of us in a closet and-"

Daniel interrupted him. "THREE of us?" The words exploded from his mouth in confusion and anger.

Geral looked away from his brother. "Yes. Our sister, Marissa. She was a little older than you." Daniel looked hurt, but Geral continued. It was too late to stop.

"I held the two of you, her barely able to stand and you still a swaddling babe. There were screams and pleading. I don't need to tell you what happened to mother when she went back down the stairs to stop them.

Marissa got away from me somehow. I don't remember much through the tears. She was crying too. I couldn't stop her. I... I didn't even try. There were more screams, different than before."

Daniel was quiet. He let go of Geral and took a few steps backward before turning his back to his brother. Geral took a step forward and stretched his hand out to comfort his brother but thought better of it. The hand turned into a fist before it returned to his side. Geral continued, "You, too, began to wail. I couldn't take anymore. With you in my arms, I ran. Our father was on the floor, cut nearly in two. Mother was... was... they were on..." Geral trailed off, incapable and unwilling to finish the thought.

Geral shook his head and trudged onward, "Somehow I managed to slip into the kitchen and out the back. The village wasn't aflame yet. I ran and ran. They were others, too. We might have been pursued. I don't remember," Geral shrugged, "Everything after that is a blur."

Daniel stood away from his brother, the faint sound of stifled cries emanating from him. His tears were like the rain, and his cries were nearly drowned by the drumming of the storm. "Daniel," Geral spoke quietly, "I'm sorry I never told you."

"Were you trying to protect me?" Daniel choked out.

"I... I don't know. It wasn't something I ever cared to think about. You never asked what happened. So I simply never told you."

Without another word, Daniel strode off into the night to be swallowed by a pall of rain. Geral was left alone. "One day," he muttered to himself, "I will make all this right. All of it. I promise."

As Geral turned from his brother's drunken course off to find who knows what, he noticed a figure striding easily toward him in the night. The figure wore a dark, hooded cape against the rain. In the dim light of the lantern hanging from the tavern's awning, the figure, a man, stopped and spoke, "Captain Harn has finished reviewing the note. He wants to see you and your brother as soon as possible."

Description
Rain splashed liberally downward onto the uneven cobbles of the city streets, the sky sunless and dark with the lethargic forms of fat, full rainclouds. Most of the streets and alleys were slick and abandoned for the night, with only a few stray lanterns scattered about spreading their low, solemn light upon the city. Much of the city had a pall cast upon it by the thought of impending war, but one particular place had no such reservations. Bawdy singing echoed out from the tavern and light splashed onto the street from its still-open door. The sign above the door, swinging lightly due to the winds of the storm, depicted a rooster with its head cut off. Unsurprisingly, the tavern was known by the tactless name "The Headless Cock."

Daniel, now in clean, fresh clothes, sat at the bench at the front of the tavern, mug of some dark ale in hand, singing along with a drunken gaggle of men who had nothing else to do than drink away their worries. Some were soldiers like Daniel, some were craftsman or farmers, but all were rosy-cheeked and glossy-eyed, belting out some old, lewd song about a buxom noble's daughter and her hourglass mother, too. Daniel seemed to consume a mug every few minutes, about once a song or so, quaffing twice as much as everyone else and showing half the effect. Even as other men stumbled from their stools and collapsed upon the wood floor, Daniel remained upright and loud, making a drunken grope at every serving wench who had the misfortune to pass his way. Doubly unfortunate for them was his surprising dexterity, even at the threshold of blackout drunk.

In a dark corner of the tavern, Geral sat flipping through a book he had borrowed from the captain when they had met with him to deliver the parcel. It was a dry text of mostly antiquated military tactics, as were most of the books the captain owned. Still, it was something, and the archaic terms it used were a welcome distraction as Geral shifted his attention between the book and his inebriated fool of a brother. Like his brother, Geral had been supplied with the clean clothes they both had so desperately needed.

The meeting with Captain Harn had been grave if uneventful. Seeing the brothers again split the older man's face into a wide, gap-toothed smile. Upon looking at the broken seal upon the parcel, the captain's face again fell into grim solemnity. He quickly sent them away with a fresh set of clothes- and a book for Geral- and told them to remain close at hand. The encampment was just beyond the city, so Daniel and a few other soldiers decided to head to the tavern. Geral felt obligated to follow.

A large man swaggered into the bar, obviously already drunk. He was tall and well-muscled, with short brown hair and a handsome face, except for a broken nose that had never quite settled right. He was a soldier, a normal, rank-and-file soldier, unlike Geral and his brother who were much more like scouts and rangers than actual soldiers. Geral recognized him easily; his name was Robert, and there was a reason his nose had been broken. Staring intently but unnoticed at the newcomer, Geral reached slowly down to his boot to check the knife he had hidden there. He fingered the knife briefly, considering whether or not to lay it near him on the table. He chose not to.

Robert strode with a confident, drunken swagger to a stool next to Daniel, who hadn't noticed him over the serving girl squirming and laughing uncomfortably in his lap. The man plopped down unceremoniously and barked an order for some beer. As soon as the tankard was in hand Robert downed all the contents with a few quick swigs and promptly slammed the tankard down in a not-so-subtle demand for more.

After a few more tankards, Robert turned his attention from the beer to Daniel. "So. How's the scout doing today?" His words didn't slur terribly, but still noticeably. Daniel still had not noticed Robert, but now his jovial mood soured. Sensing the new and immediate tension, the serving girl slipped from Daniel's lap and left him alone, half-scowling over his own tankard.

Not having received the appropriate reaction, Robert spoke again but louder, "How are things, scout? Avoiding the fight? Running and hiding in the brush? Wouldn't want you to scrape a knee, would we?" Geral looked nervously between his brother and Robert, knowing that both men had notoriously short tempers. Robert was looking for a fight and it was doubtless that Daniel would oblige.

Fuming over his empty tankard, the heavily inebriated Daniel struggled to form his words as he lashed back, "And what's the matter with you, huh? Couldn't find any whores out so late? Or did the nose turn them away?" Now it was Robert's turn to start burning in his own flesh. Stools stumbled and drunken men did their best to crawl or stagger away as Robert and Daniel burst from their seats to stand toe-to-toe, nearly chest-to-chest. Robert was by far the taller and more burly of the pair, but Daniel was far more adroit and spry than most gave him credit for. Both were red-faced- from the booze and from the feud- and swayed slightly on their feet.

"If it weren't for that brother of yours..." Robert's slurred speech trailed off.

"I don't need help to put you in your place, Robert," Daniel's speech was even worse.

A lazy, drunken punch came toward Daniel's face. He ducked it easily, dropping low to the floor and lashing out with a vicious kick. Robert stumbled and swore and lashed out with a backhand that caught Daniel as he stood again. The blow sent both men clutching onto the hardwood counter of the bar. Robert came back with another punch that Daniel narrowly evaded, sprawling out across the floor.

As Robert peeled himself from the counter to stand victoriously over his fallen foe, a small wooden table came hurtling toward him from across the room. It crashed down behind the counter as Robert barely managed to stumble out of the way. A powerful punch to the gut followed as Geral flew across the room to defend his brother. Robert doubled over in pain, collapsing to his knees and gasping. A small trail of blood trickled one corner of his mouth. "Get the hell out of here before I break your nose again, Robert," Geral spat down coldly. Robert looked up painfully but disdainfully at Geral who grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him to his fight, giving a sharp shove to the door. "Now," Geral growled.

Half-hearted threats murmured out from Robert as he stumbled for the door, clutching his gut. Daniel slowly pulled himself to his feet, his face bruised slightly and his eyes a mix of shame and hate. "You," Geral said no less angrily, "outside. Now." He hooked a thumb to the door as he ordered his brother out of the tavern. Daniel leaned against the counter defiantly, staring down his brother. Geral took a quick step toward his brother and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. "Get going," he said sharply before thrusting his brother toward the tavern door. Daniel somehow summoned the faculties to leave the tavern and Geral followed shortly thereafter, leaving behind on the bar a small sack of coins he had hidden in his boots for the proprietor as the chubby little man began to peek out over the counter.

Daniel stumbled out of the door and onto the slick cobbles of the street. It was still raining and still oppressively dark. He slipped and fell onto the street, barely managing to catch himself before slamming head-first into the bumpy stones. As he flipped himself over, Geral exploded out of the tavern. A flash of lightning tore through the sky behind Geral, illuminating a dark silhouette over his brother. Daniel stood up shakily on unsteady feet and looked at his brother who stood head and shoulders above him.

"Dammit, Geral, I'm not a child. I don't need your help," Daniel slurred at his brother.

Geral took a step forward, leaving only a few feet between them. "No, Daniel, that is exactly what you are. For so long as you act like a child, that is how I will treat you." His voice was filled with equal parts concern and contempt.

The rain that splattered them began to wear away at Daniel's patience. "You think you know better than me?" Daniel staggered forward and gave his brother a rough shove. Geral hardly moved.

"Yes, I do," Geral retorted, unfazed. "Especially when you reduce yourself to an inebriated infant. The way you conduct your life disgusts me."

Even in the rain, Daniel began to smolder. His eyes betrayed his rage as much as his voice when he drunkenly spoke, "Then maybe you should have left me to die in that fire with everyone else." He instantly regretted those words as he saw all the anger fall from Geral only to be replaced with sorrow.

Geral's imposing posture slumped suddenly. He spoke slowly, deliberately, "You don't mean that, Daniel." There was a long silence broken only by the pitter-patter of continual rain. "I never told you the truth, Daniel, about what happened to our family."

Despite the alcohol-induced stupor, that cut Daniel to the core. He stiffened and asked rigidly, "What?"

Geral took a deep breath and turned his back to his brother, letting the rain wash over himself. "There was a fire, yes, that burned down our village. It killed so many. But not our family." Geral stopped, hesitant to say anymore.

Daniel bounded forward and forced him to turn back around. He grabbed Geral by the arms and shook him, staring into his eyes and demanding, "Then what happened to them?"

Geral stood still and looked into his brother's eyes. Behind the glaze of inebriation was he could see a sense of panic and urgency. There was no point in hiding the truth any longer. Geral sighed heavily before he spoke, "It was night. They came flooding in, the only warning we were given was the thundering of hoofbeats. We were upstairs, sleeping. The soldiers came in. Our father tried to talk to them. I don't know exactly what happened to him. Our mother came upstairs, panicked. She hid the three of us in a closet and-"

Daniel interrupted him. "THREE of us?" The words exploded from his mouth in confusion and anger.

Geral looked away from his brother. "Yes. Our sister, Marissa. She was a little older than you." Daniel looked hurt, but Geral continued. It was too late to stop.

"I held the two of you, her barely able to stand and you still a swaddling babe. There were screams and pleading. I don't need to tell you what happened to mother when she went back down the stairs to stop them.

Marissa got away from me somehow. I don't remember much through the tears. She was crying too. I couldn't stop her. I... I didn't even try. There were more screams, different than before."

Daniel was quiet. He let go of Geral and took a few steps backward before turning his back to his brother. Geral took a step forward and stretched his hand out to comfort his brother but thought better of it. The hand turned into a fist before it returned to his side. Geral continued, "You, too, began to wail. I couldn't take anymore. With you in my arms, I ran. Our father was on the floor, cut nearly in two. Mother was... was... they were on..." Geral trailed off, incapable and unwilling to finish the thought.

Geral shook his head and trudged onward, "Somehow I managed to slip into the kitchen and out the back. The village wasn't aflame yet. I ran and ran. They were others, too. We might have been pursued. I don't remember," Geral shrugged, "Everything after that is a blur."

Daniel stood away from his brother, the faint sound of stifled cries emanating from him. His tears were like the rain, and his cries were nearly drowned by the drumming of the storm. "Daniel," Geral spoke quietly, "I'm sorry I never told you."

"Were you trying to protect me?" Daniel choked out.

"I... I don't know. It wasn't something I ever cared to think about. You never asked what happened. So I simply never told you."

Without another word, Daniel strode off into the night to be swallowed by a pall of rain. Geral was left alone. "One day," he muttered to himself, "I will make all this right. All of it. I promise."

As Geral turned from his brother's drunken course off to find who knows what, he noticed a figure striding easily toward him in the night. The figure wore a dark, hooded cape against the rain. In the dim light of the lantern hanging from the tavern's awning, the figure, a man, stopped and spoke, "Captain Harn has finished reviewing the note. He wants to see you and your brother as soon as possible."