Chapter 234

"Another, sir?" asked the aproned voice behind the counter.

The addressed soldier, propped on a stool at the counter, pushed his emptied glass mug for another round of ale.

As the InnKeeper filled it up, a young maid dressed in a fancy hat and an apron flitted by, carrying a tray of empty mugs. She came to stop beside the soldier's stool.

She slid the tray onto the counter and directed a sideway glance at him.

"That's your fifth drink, you know," she mumbled coyly.

The soldier only sat impassively, and when the mug was returned to him, filled frothing to the brim, he picked it up by the handle and took a rough swig of it down his heated throat.

The maid stood leaning against the counter, interestedly watching him drink.

"You spend your every night this'a way," she reflected aloud, "What's the matter? You heartbroken or sommatt?"

The soldier placed the mug onto the wooden counter with a loud thump, earning the InnKeeper's concerned frown. He couldn't risk losing glasses every night over petty bar fights and desolate expressionisms.

The soldier picked up his hat and stood to his feet, feeling slightly unsteady but determined to walk out of the clamorous place without help.

He had barely taken a step forward when he lost his footing and nearly fell, if it hadn't been for the timely appearance of the maid at his shoulder, "Let me help ee."

The soldier opened his mouth to reply but, in the very next moment, the world darkened and he had passed out.

A few minutes later, when he awoke, he found himself lying out in the open ground, the Inn behind him and the moon creeping out from behind the clouds to sneer down at him.

There was the rancid taste of bile in his mouth and he knew he must have drunk a little too much than was habit of his.

Without the blinding intoxication of the drinks he persistently had, the lucidity of his mind returned and, with it, came memories too bitter to think on.

He got up on his feet and shuffled slowly for the Inn again.

It was empty and clean this time, being quite late in the night, and the barkeep was wiping his washed glass mugs with a dry cloth. He paused on noticing the soldier enter.

"You again?" the InnKeeper frowned, keeping aside the mug he had been wiping and the stained cloth, "We've closed for the night."

"I just want a glass of water," mumbled the man weakly, feeling his throat too parched to make his words expediently audible.

The InnKeeper felt sorry for him and fetched him a glass of water, sliding it across the table.

The soldier took it up and, like a craving child, drained in one swig.

"You be slow on that or you'll choke yourself," warned the InnKeeper but too late for the soldier was already choking on his last gulp of water.

"There, there!" the InnKeeper took the glass off him and waited as the chokes died and the soldier regained his voice again, "Thank you."

"It's only what is expected of me," said the Innkeeper.

"What happened?" asked the soldier, running his hand through his hair, trying to remember the last few minutes before he passed out.

"Helen tried to help you out of the bar but no sooner had you walked out of the door than you threw up all over her. She left in a very sour mood, swearing never to serve the likes of you again!"

The soldier's eyes lit in amusement and a faint smile lingered on his lips for a fraction of a moment before it was gone.

Nothing escaped the InnKeeper's eye, "Say, sir, are you from hereabouts? You look very familiar."

"Do I?" the soldier sighed absentmindedly, "I didn't know."

"Where's your home?"

"Not anywhere I thought it was," mumbled the soldier despondently.

"You new to Arhasia?"

"Sometimes it feels that way," said the soldier in a roundabout way.

The InnKeeper frowned thoughtfully, "You appear to be sad."

"Miserable," corrected the soldier.

"What's gone wrong?" asked the InnKeeper, wanting to sound concerned, "Is it a lady that's put you in this misery?"

The soldier only sighed and stared at the empty glass on the counter.

He had thought he would be able to forget everything and get on with his life, perhaps even re-join the Army but, every night, he found himself drowning his sorrows in mugs of ales like there was no tomorrow. And then, in the morning he would be too sore at heart and too aching in the head to make an enrolment in a Battalion.

This routine had conveniently repeated itself for days until a week had passed since he had stubbornly walked out of the place he had found refuge in.

An hour later, after he'd left the Inn and strolled out into the open grassland where he'd set up solitary camp, he lay himself on the grass, one arm propped under his head and closed his eyes, to try and sleep.

But as soon as his mind was doused in darkness, images filled his mind, all centred on a single face. That of a woman.

The way she smiled, gently but willingly. How she reached out her hand, often, and touched him understandingly on his arm. The manner in which she waded across the floor silently as he played his sombre melodies on the piano forte. How her eyes were always sad, but when they looked at him, filled with so much longing... How sometimes, in the dark, when they kissed, his uncertainty always vanished.

Mumbling in his sleep, he turned to his side and then felt her sitting on the floor beside him. She leaned down to whisper something in his ear, the scent of her closeness so strong as her long hair fell over him. He leaned up, behind closed eyes, expecting her nose to touch his and as his lips made contact with something, and he opened his eyes only to behold in alarm his nose pressed against his white mare's snout.

"Lightning!!" The General withdrew hastily in annoyance.

The mare stepped back, clueless what had rendered her Master so embarrassed!

Sliding a little distance away, the General lay down and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to return to sleep.

Just then, he felt a cold wind brush past him and the eerie shiver that rushed through his spine jolted him upright.

Sitting on the ground, he scanning the vicinity for intrusion.

He was certain he could sense eyes on him but he was not certain from which direction they studied. Whoever it was had an unearthly aura about them for, otherwise, he wouldn't sense their haunting look.

He frowned. There were only two possibilities:

It was either his enemy, that meddling Master Menace, or it could be, while hoping it shouldn't, the apparition that was his curse. The one who had come in flesh as his daughter.