Faith: Out of Exile

(Part of a continuing series. Previous post here, first post here.)

When Jared first arrived in the city of Ostek, he was hungry, cold, and tired. Furthermore, it was night, and the streets were nearly empty. So he made his way to an inn, paid for a meal and a night's sleep, and consumed both.

It was only when he woke that he realized the full extent of the city he had entered. From his room's window alone, he could see more people walking along the street than lived in the whole of the Beckoner village, at the time of his youth. It was the largest city he'd ever been in, a dozen times larger than the biggest town he'd passed through in his exile.

Jared whistled, impressed, then went downstairs to break his fast.

Some time later, fairly full, he left the inn, maneuvering carefully in the busy, crowded, rather smelly streets. He didn't quite know where to go, so he followed the flow of traffic, which, meanderingly, led him to a street market, filled with merchants and customers haggling over goods. Pleasant smells lifted from spice stalls, pushing back the reek of sewage and unwashed bodies that dominated most of the city air.

Walking among the stalls, seeing the prices paid even for fresh fruit and meat, Jared considered the current contents of his pockets, and decided that, perhaps, it was time to seek formal employment.

Jared's first choice was to look for caravans, to hire on as a guard. He still had his iron sword, a gift from his parents when he came of age. It was now somewhat dinged and battered, but his skill with it had, if anything, grown over his years of travel, leaving the valleys of the center of the world, traveling to a series of villages and small towns outside, fighting beasts and bandits on a regular basis. (He had considered taking up the latter trade on his own, but his conscience rejected it, despite his empty stomach's urgings.) His skill at arms had distinguished him in the Beckoner army; surely, Jared thought, it would be enough to earn handsome pay here, in the infidel kingdoms of the world Outside.

It was not to be.

Jared found two caravan leaders, one planning to leave the next day, the other sometime in the next week. Both refused to employ him: his accent was thick, his appearance unpleasant (clothes worn, hair tangled), and he had no experience at all as a caravan guard. "Go away," they told him. "We have as many guards as we need." Jared approached individual merchants next, and had no better luck. Dejected, he moved away from the caravan gathering area where he had made his last attempt, and considered taking a menial job. He had been very hungry, in the wilderness, and the improvement in his conditions (and finances) that accompanied his trade in meat and furs with rural villages had been scant indeed. Jared had lived that life when it was necessary; but he would prefer not to do so again.

As Jared left the meeting area, he felt a touch on his back. He whirled, half-drawing his sword, expecting to see a youthful (and incompetent) pick-pocket behind him; but instead he found a dark-complexioned man standing there, one hand upraised, the other on the hilt of his own sword. "Good reflexes," the man praised Jared.

Jared looked at the man, surprised. "Why do you approach me?" he asked.

"The name's Robert," the man told him. "I'm a recruiter for the Prince's army. Times are tough, and getting tougher; bandits popping up like weeds, rebel armies gathering in every city. You look like you know what you're doing with a blade."

Jared nodded, still confused. "I'm sorry, I'm not very good with this language. Was that an implication..."

"I'm offering to recruit you into the army of the Prince."

"What's the pay and duties?"

"Ten copper a week, twice that if you stay on for a full year. You'll probably be part of the Fifth, in a small unit sent to fight bandits and thieves."

Jared considered, then nodded. "Done."

"Go to the barracks at the corner of Cooper's Street and the Royal Avenue," Robert directed him. "Tell them I sent you."

Jared was very amused, two days later, when he found that his first duty was to, in a unit with more experienced soldiers, escort a caravan, in the hopes of using it as bandit-bait. The caravan-master pretended not to recognize Jared when he joined the caravan, along with the other soldiers; but he offered a belated apology after Jared proved himself in combat, fighting bandits who struck on the day before the caravan was to finish its journey by returning to Ostek.
Jared accepted the apology, lying bandaged in a wagon in the rear of the caravan. An arrow had struck him in the heat of combat, putting a nasty slash down his side, though thankfully missing anything vital. As the caravan rolled through Ostek's gates, after two months travelling to and trading with distant towns, and one day after the bandit attack, Jared considered, his wound already healing quickly, life as a soldier for the Prince might not be so bad. Then he sniffed, and as the smell of Ostek washed over him, he amended that with, if I can get out of the city again soon.