Hynes Family/Alois/The Boy/Roleplay3

“My ass hurts,” the boy whined, leaning sideways in the saddle to relieve some of the pressure.

“Don’t complain!” Alois snapped, his sudden anger taking even him by surprise. “Do not curse, either,” he said calmly after drawing a soothing breath, “It is un-Knightly to complain, and rude to curse.”

They had ridden without more than a brief stop for two days, only sleeping astride, and their constant travel had taken a toll on both of their patience. The morale of the men-at-arms, forced to march most of the night and day with only a short rest and little food, was growing worse with every mile.

They complained. Their feet hurt. Their legs were sore. Their boots were falling apart. They did it quietly, but Alois still heard them, and he felt sorry for them. They were used to the comforts of a city, of the straw beds of the Barracks, and only marching a few miles during the odd monster attack.

How will they survive on campaign, he asked himself as he glanced back at their weary faces, These men will have to grow stronger, or they will die.

It was close to midnight before they stopped again to rest, just across the Ejar Puutl border on the Semall side near the sea. A few collapsed where they stood. Alois tasked one of the men with filling everyone’s winkeskins from the well of a nearby village and when he returned the men broke out their rations, rock hard biscuits and salted beef, and began to make camp. Fires were started, tents were pitched and weapons were stacked. Before they turned in for the night, the Serjeant issued every man his daily rum ration from the caravan.

Alois circulated among the camp as the men drank, enjoying a cup himself. He heard their complaints, promised to have new boots issued once they reached Semall. He stopped two men as they wobbled their way across the camp, leaning on each other for support, and after being shown their horribly blistered feet ordered them to ride in the healer’s wagon until they were fit to walk. His presence did little to raise their moral, as word of the fate of his last unit circulated through the camp, but he at least got a few of the men to grin.

The boy had set up his pavilion when he returned, the open flap facing the sea. Alois stood outside the pavilion and sipped the strong rum and watched as the moonlight glistened off the rolling waves.

“It’s a pretty sight,” he said, “but you’ll get tired of it soon enough.”

“Ser,” the squire asked meekly, his voice wavering slightly with exhaustion, “What are the islands like?”

Alois grunted. “A lot of sand and pebbles.”