[Manôphazân]

A small mote of dust on the horizon at morning turned into a churning cloud by midday as a company of lancers approached the border outpost of Harnen Crossing. They formed the forward contingent of the Army of Harnen that would be moving through the area within the week. Just before reaching the town they broke formation and quickly began to bivouac on the sandy plain. A small group rode ahead of the main mass and stopped at the southern picket where the garrison commander greeted them.

Lan’kâsh raised his hand in salute and invited the company leader, a young captain, to the comfort of his headquarters. Walking together, the two made small talk until they reached a two-storied brick building overlooking the river just to the north. Once inside, Lan’kâsh commanded a shirtless slave to bring refreshment, and the two officers sat down on a shaded balcony where a cool breeze blew in from the surface of the water. The slave brought tea and fresh fruit, as well as a plate of various meat delicacies, and then moved to a corner where he stood in silence.

The captain drank the tea without speaking for several minutes, looking across the river at the rising hills and the occasional tree.

“Not a tree in sight for the last 50 leagues,” he grumbled, holding his cup out for more tea. The servant rushed forward and filled it. “I do so like trees but seldom get to enjoy them. It seems the few forests we do have near the city shall all be cut down by the shipwrights soon.”

Lan’kâsh held his silence. Though he had much more experience than the young captain, he knew that he must continue to show him the proper respect. The rank of lieutenant was an embarrassment to wear, but he knew that he was fortunate to wear any rank at all.

“Over there,” the captain pointed north to the hills, “are miles and miles of forest.” He smiled and took another sip from his cup. “Forests for the shipwrights.”

Lan’kâsh nodded and waited for the captain to continue. Hopefully he did not go on about the forests.

“As you know, we intend to cross the Harnen tomorrow when the rest of the division gets closer, so I thought I’d ride ahead to have you gather your men to fall in.”

Lan’kâsh finally spoke. “Fall in, sir?.”

The young captain smiled a crooked smile and answered, “Yes, of course. Did you think you would be staying here while we rode through?” He did not give the lieutenant time to answer,a nd snickered, “As of this moment the border is sealed, and since this is no longer the ‘front’, your services and those of the rest of this border patrol are required in the real army.”

Though he had began their meeting with civility, the captain had quickly changed his tone to one of condescension. Being from a good (and rich) family, the young officer falsely assumed that the dirty looking lieutenant was the unlucky son of a merchant or maybe the rare man that had rose from the ranks. But he never considered that the man in front of him had dealt out more death than he had ever yet imagined. Lan’kâsh looked up quickly and caught the captain in a cold stare that lasted only as long as it took him to imagine running his spear through the foolish youngster’s throat, long enough for the captain to wonder if he had made a mistake in taunting the odd, dark skinned lieutenant.

The moment passed, and with a long outward breath Lan’kâsh let his anger pass and said quietly, “It will be our pleasure to join the invasion of Harondor.”

“Yes,” said the captain uncertainly, “Yes, you shall be joining us. Muster your men outside this building first thing tomorrow morning.”

Lan’kâsh stood to salute, but the sudden move startled the captain so that he nearly dropped his teacup. The young officer stood quickly, returned the salute sloppily, and retreated down the stairs, deciding that he had definitely made a mistake with the real army comment. The look in the lieutenant’s eyes had sent shivers down his spine, and he wanted to distance himself as quickly as possible.

As the captain’s footsteps thumped down to the first floor, the lieutenant sat back down and held his cup up. The slave filled it and sat down heavily in the seat the captain had recently vacated. He was smiling from ear to ear.

“That one ain’t gunna last long, ‘tenant,” he said, showing a gap-toothed grin. The slave snatched the captain’s cup and filled it for himself.

“No his isn’t,” said Lan’kâsh laughing, “but we are, sergeant Benel. Get our things ready and pass the message along to muster in the morning.”

“Yes sir,” said the slave, standing and giving a snappy salute. He snatched his jacket from where it hung on a hook and put it on. “I’ll take care of it right away, sir.”

Lan’kâsh looked across the river where trees were throwing long shadows in the late day sun.

“Look out Gondor, here we come.”