The Dark Green Bottle

The low fire guttered and hissed while throwing a soft light into the night’s sky. I was sitting on the edge of my traveling chest, enjoying the crisp breeze coming off of the bay in the relative silence. That heavy piece of furniture made of oak and iron had been doubling for all sorts of things that we were missing in the military camp. Tonight it was a makeshift bench as the crude footstool held the point of my sword. The encampment was muffled by the night and the size of the challenge in front of us. I watched the way the fire light played across the blade as I dragged the whetstone the length of the sword’s blade time and again. The stone sang a low song as it played down the blade.

"If you’re trying to start a fire, you’re running a little late." Simon was standing behind me and smirking at his joke.

"I’m early for the next fire," I said. "Pull up a chair." I scooted to the edge of the chest to make room for my brother.

Simon pulled his bad leg over to the chest and sat at the edge of the fire’s warmth. "Nice night."

I put the whetstone down and dragged an oiled scrap of cloth down the length of the sword. "I hope I didn’t keep you awake with this."

"Nah," Simon said as he glanced back at the leather tent that he shared with Oberon. He put a concerned hand on my shoulder and used his serious voice. "But I am worried about you, Walther."

Thinking about the comment, I finished cleaning the weapon and slid it into the scabbard. He spoke again before I could come up with anything clever.

"Do you want to become some sort of holy warrior?"

"Why do you ask?" I pulled out a dagger and started sharpening it with the same flat stone.

"Every where we go, you hand over what can only be described as an enormous amount of coins to the local church. Are you trying to buy your way into some bigger station?" Simon looked like he was pondering a deep flaw in my character.

"Not really. We just find so much, that I don’t mind sharing. And I have no interest in working for the church." I checked the edge of the dagger in the firelight. "Too many rules." Balancing the whetstone and dagger on one thigh, I pulled off my signet ring and handed it to Simon. I asked him a question. "What do you think?"

Simon turned the ring over and across his fingers for a moment. "Your ring has the family crest and a little ‘W’ etched into the corner. Very stylish. And the ring is a little thicker than usual." He looked at me for a second and spoke. "I guess I did not get a good look at the sides of the ring before. One side has the sun divided into quadrants, the Holy Symbol of Elos. And the other side has a sword embedded in stone." He handed the ring back. "That’s the symbol of Geshana, Mistress of Valor."

The ring slid back onto my finger with little effort. "You are correct."

"What’s your point?" Simon looked down his nose at me for a second. "We all know you know how to use a sword."

"The point is that I run on faith. I give away coins to people that I share a common interest with. To expect to get something back would be, I don't know, presumptuous." Wanting to change the subject, I pointed at Simon’s bad leg with the dagger point. "You know, if we can find the right healer, I’d be happy to break your leg for you. Maybe you could get it fixed for good." Cleaned and sharpened, I put the dagger back in its scabbard.

"That is possibly the worst nice thing anybody has ever offered me," Simon said. He stood and patted me on the back. "I want you to be careful tomorrow, Walther." When he spoke, he looked me in the eye and punched the word ‘not’. "Do not rush into trouble when we are facing the hoard."

"But I can rush into trouble because I know that you guys are watching my back." Smiling, I stood and opened the trunk. "Before you go... I got you something." Tossing aside the winter blanket, I pulled a wine bottle out of a few layers of expensive cloth. "I picked this up back at the last port."

He took the dark green bottle in his steady hands. "Ah. I’ve heard good things about that island’s wine." Simon examined the label and extended the bottle to me. "Feel like sharing a glass?"

"Make it a mug and you have a deal." I rummaged in the trunk and pulled out a pair of low ceramic mugs. Simon twisted a finger at the end of the bottle and the cork pulled itself out of the neck to land back in his outstretched hand. A hundred banners of Prendor and its allies flapped in the low wind creating a dull buzz about the camp as a hundred thousand men tried to get some sleep. Most failed. Simon and I drank that bottle of wine as the fires of the camp danced like a thousand fireflies against deep shadows.

-- by Bill