The Graf’s tent was easily three times the size of Madame Fevre’s office. It held a desk, a table set for a dozen, several servants laying out plates and goblets for the Graf’s next staff dinner and several iron candelabra with beeswax candles lit and smoking. They gave the tent a hazy sort of atmosphere. The Graf himself sat in a high backed wooden chair carved with images of beasts. His hands rested upon armrests carved to look like snarling griffons, which I had learned was the creature the Graf displayed upon his heraldry.

  “Ah, and here is our Pyromancer!” Igvild and I both bowed as Captain Yentz had instructed us. The Graf was somewhere in his third decade or so and he affected the short hair and thin, well groomed mustache many of the other soldiers in his army did. He had a strong, forceful voice that immediately made you stand up straight and grant him your full attention. He was dressed in his customary military uniform, but without his chainmail, coat or cloak. Instead, he wore knee length black boots and a white linen shirt tied with silver threads at the neck. This was the casual dress of a Czak calvary officer. He sprang out of his chair and crossed quickly to where Igvild and I stood at attention by the tent entrance.

  “Be at ease, the both of you.” The Graf commanded, but I didn’t know how to do that. Igvild relaxed a bit and affected his customary slouch. The Graf ignored the Dwarf and fixed his eyes on me. We were nearly the same height, with the Graf only slightly taller. “No doubt you have questions, but we shall assuage your minds with the simplest of answers.”

  The Graf slowly turned to look at something to my right and I followed his gaze. There, hanging upon a mannequin was the Graf’s armor and a sheathed sword that the Graf proudly pointed at.

  “That sword is the only thing I managed to salvage after my treacherous half-brother Friedrich usurped my throne.” The Graf hissed and clenched his jaws. “My Father’s sword. Passed down from Graf to Graf for centuries. A sword that Friedrich commanded me-Me! to relinquish to him! I would then be granted gold to purchase land to live out my days in exile, but forever forbidden from returning to my homeland! Mine!”

  The Graf’s voice was full of emotion and he clenched his fists. Anger, sadness, but also something else that reminded me of the time Madame Fevre felt she was being cheated by a local tradesmen out of a few bags of flour. I still remember Madame Fevre screaming at the cowering man as she swung her cane at him.

  “You think to cheat me? Me!? You lowly, dirty nobody! You less than nothing peasant!”

  I could hear much of Madame Fevre in the Graf’s voice as he ranted against his half-brother for several minutes. I did my best to pay attention. It was hard, because something about the Graf’s sword was calling to me. That was really strange in itself as I know nothing about swords, but I did my best to ignore the blade and focus upon the Graf.

  “My father’s whore, the Lady Suellen Hohenstein, gave him birth. Since she was of the Blood he had no choice but to acknowledge the brat. Oh, but I always knew that woman was a schemer. A plotter! She always meant to use Friedrich to supplant me.” The Graf turned back to me again and placed a hand on my shoulder. I stiffened, but he didn’t seem to notice. “These are all the reasons why I will see him in chains, but that shall not be his only punishment. Oh no. He shall suffer an even greater humiliation for what he had done!” The Graf’s voice toned down to the point of almost sounding calm, but I could still hear the rage underneath it.

  “Somehow, Friedrich turned my own Sister against me and for that he shall die.” I could only nod my head. What could I say? The Graf’s face was flushed red with emotion and I was sure I would have nightmares that night of him turning such anger upon me.

  “Sire, if we might proceed?” The hulking figure of General Torlack emerged from the shadows. I looked over to see the General was standing near another large table, but this one was covered with a map. Wine glasses and old plates of food were pinning its edges down and small figurines had been placed in different sections of the map.

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  “Of course, Torlack! We are reminded of our sacred purpose. The Liberation of Czakovey.” The Graf approached the table and grabbed one of the wine glasses, tossing back its contents in one gulp. “Yet, we must have our new Awakened understand the why of our campaign so that they will understand when the time comes what a terrible vengeance we shall wreak upon those who betrayed Czakovey!”

  The Graf’s voice rose until he practically screamed the last two words. Nobody spoke in the silence that followed until General Torlack cleared his throat.

  “Quite so, sire.” The General looked at us then pointed at two chairs next to the map table. Igvild and I obediently sat down, but we shared a simultaneous glance. The Graf was not someone I wanted to cross and seemed a tad unhinged, I thought. Maybe Nobs were all this way? Igvild looked thoughtful too. The Graf returned to his throne after filling his wine glass, but no longer acknowledged our presence. Instead, he merely sat brooding as he drank and stared at his father’s sword.

  “An expense has been made to acquire your services,” General Torlack began as he stared down at me. He had not sat down, so he loomed all the more above us even from across the table. “An expense that you will make good on through service to Graf Leos von Kohlblud. You will use your Eye-given abilities as follows…”

  General Torlack raised a massive fist and pointed a finger upward.

  “First, you shall both join Lieutenants Valka and Anya in clearing out the Bleakthorn Holler dungeon.” He paused as if he expected us to give a reaction. I wanted to ask what a dungeon was, but didn’t want to look ignorant in front of two such important people. Igvild looked bored and picked his nose. General Torlack raised a second finger.

  “Second, you shall learn to follow orders. Stand at attention!” Igvild leapt to his feet and I followed his lead a moment behind. General Torlack grunted unimpressed. “You are now a part of the Glorious Army for the Reclamation of the Kingdom of Czakovey and its capital city of Bludgard. Our cause is just and our men are patriots who refuse to acknowledge a weak, false Graf. Friedrich the Bastard will drive the Czaks into an era of degeneracy and a dangerous dependancy upon hostile foreign powers. Are we clear?”

  “Aye, sar!”

  “Yes…sir!” I quickly added.

  “Look here.” The General indicated the map and I leaned forward. I wasn’t that familiar with maps, but I understand the general idea of them. “We will be breaking camp on the morrow and moving North along the Trade Way until we split off along a northeastern trail towards Fanghoof Pass. There is a city on the other side of the Pass called Bruhle.”

  I looked where the General indicated and saw a black dot labeled Bruhle next to a group of mountains. There was a red colored figurine of a strange creature that looked half goat, half man next to it. I wanted to ask about it, but the General continued.

  “It is here where the Bleakthorn Holler dungeon is located a few miles up into the Pass. A dangerous area, but a good testing ground to bleed the weakness out of new recruits. Until the army arrives to encamp in Bruhle, Davros you are assigned to Lieutenants Valka and Anya who will instruct you further. Dwarf, you will follow the terms of our arrangement. Is that clear?”

  Igvild gave a salute by putting a fist to his chest and I mirrored him.

  “You are both dismissed.”

  Igvild and I both exited the tent. Neither the General nor the Graf spared us a further glance. I scratched at the skin around my wrist. After we put some distance between us and the Graf’s tent I spoke to Igvild, but still kept my voice low. I was very much aware that we were surrounded by soldiers who may have not taken kindly to what I wanted to say.

  “Do you think they’ll keep the bracelets on us forever? Wearing it all the time makes me feel tired and I don’t like how it feels.” Igvild shrugged as he made his way through the maze of tents. Igvild had an uncanny sense of direction and never seemed to get lost, unlike myself. I followed after him confident he would find the way back to our campfire and tents.

  “Don’t know, boyo. They’ll be taken off at the dungeon, ye can be sure o’ that.” Back at the campfire Igvild resumed his earlier activity of wrapping himself in blankets and lying by the fire. I sat down next to him. I figured the Lieutenants would come for us when they needed us.

  Why do they need me? Is it really so important having someone who can summon bolts of fire? I wouldn’t dare fight any of these men even if I could! A dungeon sounds ominous. I wonder if Igvild has ever been to one before? I don’t want him to dislike me by always asking too many questions however.

  Igvild belched, drawing me back to the present. I still didn’t know what Class he had. I wasn’t good at asking questions. Madame Fevre hadn’t liked questions. Still, I wanted to know more about him. I suppose when we arrived at this ‘dungeon’ place, I would likely find out more. Hopefully whatever it was it would be more interesting than digging latrines and sitting around a campfire wondering why the Graf had his throne stolen from him. I would have to ask Igvild about it later.