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The sun was barely up, and already Tarun was through with this whole princess business. He and the rest of the Fourth had been awakened nearly two hours early, and even sharing the night watch hadn't left Tarun feeling any better rested. His bunk seemed a much better place for him to be right about now. Instead, Tarun stood where he had been for the past hour, in full armor and at attention. The metal helm was smothering, even with its soft wool lining, which only served to make his ears and forehead scratchy. Could no one have ridden out and sent word as to the more exact hour of the princess's arrival?

            Soldiers' time though is apparently as cheap as sand. And so Tarun stood, and stood, and stood, whiling away the morning with nothing but his own thoughts to keep him entertained. At least the thoughts in his head were somewhat interesting. Tarun pitied the likes of Warin or Tonny, who no doubt had to make do with watching the flags wave.

            At long last, the call of distant horns reached the barracks. Jerriod ordered the gates opened, and Tarun got his first good look at the town of Geristan since their arrival. A generally dull, no-nonsense mining town in the shadow of The Teeth, some effort had still been made to dress the street fronts up. The last of the summer flowers were strung in garlands around the windows, and bolts of red, yellow and black cloth, no doubt appropriated from the local tailor, criss-crossed overhead to make an Amentherian canopy. The cobblestones had the vaguely filmy look of soap not quite dried, suggesting they had been scrubbed on hands and knees that very morning. Even the townsfolk were spruced up; all of the men and women lining the main street wore their best clothes, and the children's pink cheeks still glowed from a vigorous washing.

            Again the horn blew, closer this time, close enough to be practically outside the town's wooden gate. Those assigned to the town gate this morning had been given careful instructions by Jerriod, as they were to be the princess's first glimpse of the men of the Fourth. Speaking of Jerriod, the captain of the Fourth set his training marshal on the men in all his regimented glory.

            "Tighten formation! I want to be able to balance a level on your shoulders! Gerdiomson, spine straighter!"

            "Which one?" muttered Hengar under his breath as Andris squirmed next to him. Tarun came dangerously close to snorting in disbelief. That may have been as close to a joke as he'd heard Hengar make in the past year. Maybe the hours standing on the spot were making them giddy.

            A cheer went up from the townsfolk lining the street leading to the barracks. Right on cue, they all began to wave and smile as the princess's convoy rounded the corner.

            At the head of the royal party rode what could only be a cadre of the famed Knights of Amenthis. Members of Goran's elite First Company, hand selected by the king to guard himself and his blood kin. Their armor gleamed dully in the morning sunlight, highlighting details such as the vertical ribbing along the breastplates, intricate gardbraces covered with motifs of monsters and men, and shining scale mail beneath their steel plates that hissed softly against itself as the knights moved. Wine red cloaks flowed from the tops of their pauldrons, draping down their backs and across their horses' hindquarters. What caught Tarun's eye most of all though where their helmets. The helms' lower edge stretched down into a point just above the hollow of the men's throat, from which the 'T' shaped visor slit emerged. The steep, featureless planes of those masks rendered the Knights of Amenthis completely anonymous; unknowable guardians behind a wall of steel.

            Ten Knights of Amenthis in all had accompanied the Princess Ellorae from Amenthere to Geristan. The royal crest on their horses' barding danced and waved; a merry golden crown over each animal's heart as they cantered into the barracks yard. The knights took up positions seamlessly, forming an honor guard ringing the space where the carriage would stop.

            The carriage was not the only transport which had set out from Amenthere. A respectful distance behind the princess's gilded redwood vehicle, an open wagon laden with trunks, baskets and servants also arrived. No sooner had the carriage and the wagons' wheels stopped turning and the servants were springing into action. One hurried to place a step below the carriage door, while others already began unloading their lady's possessions. A pair of footmen took their places on either side of the door, and opened the latch to the continued fanfare of a clarinet. Apparently the princess brought her own troupe of minstrels with her when she traveled. Tarun was glad that the visor of his own helmet hid his smirk.

            His smirk only deepened when the princess of Goran herself stepped out into Geristan's wane sunshine. Princess Ellorae was pretty as a poem, with flowing locks of curly auburn hair, a tiny waist and warm, unblemished skin. Her eyelids and lashes shimmered when she batted them, as did the silken folds of her turquoise gown. An endearing smattering of freckles dusted the tops of her barely-bared shoulders, no doubt designed by nature itself to make men dream of glimpsing more. Everything about the princess was petite, precious and enough to make Tarun roll his eyes. It was as if one of the fair maidens in his da's books had come to life and stepped right off the page. How unsurprising.

            Captain Jerriod, however, did not seem in any way disappointed by the princess. With his helmet tucked gallantly under an arm, Jerriod stepped forward and dropped to one knee before Ellorae. Tarun could practically hear Pedrum's need for perfection stirring itself into frenzy when the dirt from the yard made contact with Jerriod's freshly polished greave.

            "Your Majesty Princess Ellorae, the Fourth Company is honored to host you at this stage in your journey to Derbesh. Myself and my men are utterly at your disposal. Whenever you may call on us or whatever you may wish of us, our swords and service are yours."

            'Good of you to speak for all of us', thought Tarun sourly.

            Princess Ellorae answered in a delicate, musical lilt. "You honor me, Captain Jerriod...you and your men alike. I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to see civilization again after so many long days on the road! And such a lovely town it is!"

            Ellorae turned to the crowd gathered beyond the gates of the barracks and graced them with a pretty smile and a wave. The townsfolk outright melted at her apparent appreciation of their efforts, and many waved back. Someone even called out "Long live the blood of Amenthis!" to which Ellorae pressed a hand to her heart, seemingly touched.

            While the princess and Jerriod had been speaking, more women were stepping down out of the carriage behind Ellorae. Six ladies emerged, varying in age between a doe-eyed woman-child and a stately matron old enough to be the first's ma. They were all finely dressed, but not so fine as to be a match for the princess in her silks and jewels. These then must be the princess's handmaids, Tarun supposed. All wore similar bored, somewhat imperious expressions, except for one lady with strawberry blonde hair and quick eyes whose gaze traveled the ranks of the Fourth where they stood assembled.

            Princess Ellorae at last dispensed with doting on the crowd, returning her attentions to the patiently waiting Captain Jerriod. With another smile, she looked up at him like a child meeting a new friend.

            "I am so glad to finally make your acquaintance, Captain. I have after all heard so many fine things about your service both here and beyond The Teeth."

            Even endlessly professional Jerriod's voice betrayed a touch of happiness at such praise. "As I am grateful to meet you, Your Majesty. I must ask though whom it is that has been speaking so well of me in the capital, that I might thank them when next we meet?"    

             At that Ellorae's face fell. Tarun thought he might have spotted a tremble to her chin and a glimmer in her limpid brown eyes. "Ah, but I am afraid that will not be possible, for it was Captain Sabin who recalled so brightly your conduct as his classmate in The Academy. Word reached us that Sabin was killed in the Factionist seizure of Utunma...Amenthis keep his spirit."

            "Amenthis keep him," murmured Jerriod, crestfallen. "That is dark news indeed, my lady. You have my word; we will do all within our power to see Goran restored to its former peace."

            "Dark news for dark times, Captain. Which is why I am so relieved that the Fourth will be accompanying me on the road to Derbesh!"

            That was news to Tarun, and apparently to Jerriod as well. He stopped short, close-cropped black head jerking briefly in surprise.

            "To Derbesh, Your Majesty?"

            "Oh yes!" Ellorae said as if nothing was out of place. "Especially with the clansfolk in the east behaving so irresponsibly as of late, withholding their taxes and whatnot, one simply cannot be too careful when traveling across the plains."

            "I must beg your forgiveness, my lady, but I was not aware of such orders." Jerriod spoke carefully, probing the situation to see if there was perhaps a mistake. "Is a full company not somewhat...excessive as an honor guard, even to one so noble and precious as yourself?"

            Ellorae's perfectly sculpted cinnamon brows drew together. She held out a hand, and the blonde handmaiden slid forward with an envelope. This the princess offered to Jerriod, the wax seal visible like a bright red drop of blood.

            "Not according to the wishes of my brother, Captain. Within is his command that the Fourth join the Knights of Amenthis in seeing me safely to Lord Rhadu in Derbesh. I think you'll find that all is in order, so take ease."

            All assembled in the yard of the barracks stood in silence, watching the exchange between the princess and the captain. Someone's armor amongst the ranks of the Fourth let out a soft squeal as its wearer shifted, and a knight's horse whickered.

            "Well..." said Jerriod after a moment's reading. "...the king has given the order, royal seal, signature and all, and so we shall obey. The Fourth is yours, Your Majesty, from here all the way to the doors of the Weeping Keep. I am duty bound to warn you, however, that a number of our soldiers are fresh conscripts. So fresh in fact that most could not best even young Prince Hithon for experience with a blade."

            'The prince is what, ten years old?' thought Tarun, affronted. 'I'd like to see that boy go up against Borse with a good hammer in hand.'

            Ellorae's smile would have been enough to make lesser men than Jerriod glow. "Not to worry then, for my nephew has only just recently begun studying the art of swordplay himself. Any loyal and true servant of the realm is more than worthy of this journey. Besides..." She simpered sweetly "...I'll feel so much safer on the open plains with so many good men to protect me!"

            Tarun could have been sick. Unfortunately, Jerriod was won over. He and Ellorae disappeared into the mess hall, followed the Fourth's officers and the princess's retinue. Children from the town waited inside to serenade their royal guest with songs and dainty treats fresh from the bakers' ovens. The entire hall had been set up for a reception worthy of a princess, or at least as best as could be boasted by the likes of Geristan. The town's upper class would gather in the hall that evening, there to attend a dinner in Princess Ellorae's honor.

Tarun at least had not been subjected to being put on table-waiting duty. The night watch awaited him once again, tonight being his turn on guard at the barrack's gates. Others like Garrit, who apparently had been deemed 'sufficiently personable', weren't so lucky.   

             Seeing as they were no longer needed, Pedrum dismissed the men at long last from their weary formations. There were things to be done around the barracks, and later that afternoon the Fourth's best would be putting on a display of arms for the princess's entertainment. Until then, Tarun was glad to beat a retreat. Let Jerriod and the other officers deal with the king's sister. After Trosk, the line of Amenthis held no fond place in Tarun's heart. 

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            The scent of butter potatoes and roasted pork traveled thick on the air, only made sharper and more tantalizing by the wind's chill edge. Perhaps waiting tables in the mess hall wouldn't have been such a terrible thing after all. Tarun's dinner of bread, venison and beans sat dully in his stomach, sullen in comparison to the mouthwatering flavors Tarun was imagining. He would have happily settled for some of Aunt Rhena or even Lhara's cooking. They were both safe at home in Trosk though.

            Tarun and another soldier stood guard at the barrack's gate, the main street of Geristan wending away through the town in front of them. Lamplight made the clean cobblestones gleam orange, matching the glow from nearby windows. There was an inn nearby, and townsfolk sat around a table outside its front door drinking, eating and talking. Apparently those not classy enough to merit an invitation to the princess's banquet at the barracks had taken it upon themselves to celebrate anyways. Tarun knew from eavesdropping that the inn was something of a favorite among off-duty soldiers from the Fourth (those who had town privileges, at least). It didn't look like much of a place, not compared to The Giant's Shoe at Trosk. Yelaina would have had a fit over the plain grey curtains peeking around the edges of the window panes. No doubt her ma's own hand-sewn blue curtains with the little embroidered sun wheels had burned up along with the rest of Trosk's inn.

            'Very productive thoughts there, you fool,' Tarun chided himself. Ignoring a cough from his fellow guardsman, he turned his mind to something useful like thinking through Pedrum's latest sword drills. Spears at the point they were learning were too easy to bear mentally rehearsing.

            A door opened a short ways down the street, demanding Tarun's attention. He was taken by surprise when one of the princess's handmaidens stepped out into the lamplight. At least, he figured it was one, based on the richness of her yellow cloak and the smoothness of her step; both things which no peasant from Geristan could have possessed. Curious though, that she would be out here, leaving a darkened shop, rather than in the mess hall with her lady.

            "What brings you out into town alone, my lady?" asked Tarun as she approached. Mindful of his manners, he tried to speak as Jerriod had earlier, or perhaps as the important persons in his books might have to one another. "If you please, let down your hood and be recognized so that we can grant you re-entry to the barracks."

            The handmaiden stopped before them, the light from the torches on the walls above casting everything beneath the hood of her cloak except her chin in shadow. When she reached up and tossed the hood though, Tarun immediately recognized her as the handmaiden with the strawberry blonde hair and quick eyes from earlier.

            "Does a lady need leave of soldiers to come and go as she pleases amongst her mistress's people?" the handmaiden asked, the corner of her bowed pink lips quirking up at Tarun. One hand found a charm bracelet on the wrist of the other and fingered the tiny baubles where they dangled.

            "Begging your pardon, milady," said the other guard "but with the rising Factionist threat one can't be too careful."

            "What business did you have in Geristan?" asked Tarun. Really they had no need to detain the handmaiden, but he wanted to hear that wry sarcasm in her voice again.

            The handmaiden eyed him briefly. "My lady sent me out to visit the herbalist. Perhaps you could recommend a better supplier of herbs for menstrual pains within the walls of the barracks?" To prove her point, she produced a small cloth bag tied with a length of red string from within the folds of her cloak. This she bounced on her palm with a look that dared them to enquire further.

            "Erm...n-no, I'm afraid not milady!" the other guard stammered. "You are free to enter!"

            Tarun couldn't stop himself from calling after her as she passed. "If you are on a Factionist mission, may I commend you on an excuse well chosen. No man in his right mind would ever stand between a woman and her herbalist at such a time."

            "Boldly spoken for a self-professed madman!"

            Such a snappy retort just about made Tarun burst out laughing. Even as his fellow guardsman looked at Tarun as though he were crazy, Tarun shook his head inside his helmet and chuckled. After weeks surrounded by other men, the clever banter of womenfolk was something Tarun missed dearly. This one especially had been worth the wait. He watched the handmaiden's cloak, as yellow as spring sunflowers, flutter behind her as she crossed the yard to the mess hall. Even after she had disappeared inside, it was some time before Tarun stopped turning over that single brief exchange in his thoughts.

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