Clockwork Revenant - Chapter 7 Vii. Meeting

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Iro found himself unable to move.

He’d regained consciousness after the ambush to find himself lying on the dirt floor of one of the tents, his back propped up against something hard and cold. He tried to move, but found his arms pinned to his side, and his ankles pinned together. Looking down, he couldn’t see any obvious restraints preventing his movement, which meant they were probably holding him captive magically. He shifted his body carefully up into a sitting position, and took stock of his surroundings.

To his left and right sat two fabric and metal collapsible cots, identical down to the color and size of the bedrolls and pillows atop each. At the foot of each cot sat a small chest, probably for the solders’ equipment and personal effects. In one corner of the tent sat a small washstand with a mirror and wash basin, with a large clay pitcher set on a shelf below the basin for storing fresh water. The other corner held what looked like a collapsible coat rack, which was currently empty. Directly overhead, in the middle of the tent, hung a lantern that threw a warm golden-white glow around the interior.

The only other thing that caught Iro’s attention was a symbol that was painted onto each of the angled white canvas panels of the tent. It was a ten-pointed star, overlaid by the profile of a roaring lion, all of it done in shades of grey, silver and black. Iro felt certain he didn’t recognize the sigil. Austeare used a Golden Falcon on a Crimson field. Orzenmar a Black Bear on a yellow background.

As he studied the symbol further, several more memory fragments bubbled to the surface.

The dwarven Ungarian Conglomerate used a pair of crossed hammers over an anvil.

The elven Vyrwood Aristocracy used a seven-branched white tree on a purple field.

The Estalian Empire used…. something in gold, on a green field. The fact that he couldn’t remember what that something was bothered him, but he’d have to add that to the list of things to deal with later.

The sound of approaching voices interrrupted his train of thought, and he directed his gaze towards the tent opening, which opened to let in two men. The first was younger, maybe early thirties, with hair short on the sides and long on top, combed back, and a full beard. The second was a bit older, maybe late forties or early fifties, his close-cropped back hair shot through with silver. The younger man had three chevrons on his sleeve, the older man two bars.

The older man appraised Iro for several seconds, his face grim and expressionless.

“You’re not one of ours.” He said matter-of-factly.

“No.” Iro said, shaking his head.

“Then why are you in one of our uniforms?” The man asked.

“I found one of your men dead in the trench not far from where I woke up. I took his rifle, supplies, and spare uniform because I was unclad and unarmed, and needed something to protect myself with until I understood where I was.”

“I find that difficult to believe.” The older man said, his face a blank mask. “However, given the fact that I’m currently having a conversation with a clockwork man, I am willing to suspend it for now.”

He made a few small flourishes in the air, muttering a couple words under his breath, and Iro watched as three rough wooden chairs materialized in front of them. Another flourish, and Iro felt the force bonding his arms and legs in place release.

“Can you move?” The older man asked.

“Yes.” Iro said.

“Then get up and have a seat.” The man said as he sat down in the chair beside the younger man, and gesturing to the chair across from him.

Iro slowly stood up, finding the effort a bit more difficult than he expected. His balance felt off, and his vision seemed to slur slightly as he turned his head. He gently walked the few steps over to the chair, and gingerly lowered himself down onto it. The wood creaked and groaned in protest at his weight, but held.

“I am granting you your movement back as a courtesy.” The older man said, looking at Iro intensely.

“Please understand that it is in your best interest not to make me regret that decision.”

“Understood.” Iro said. He wasn’t about to try his luck against an experienced magic user in a body he didn’t understand.

The older man shifted back in his chair slightly.

“So, metal man, do you have a name?” He asked.

“Iro Emmerick. Spellrifleman, second class.”

“Well Iro, what are you doing sneaking into my camp, dressed as one of my men?”

“To be honest with you, I have no idea where I am, and no idea how I got here”, Iro said. “I was hoping if I found someone else, I might find some answers.”

“How do you not know where you are?” The younger man asked.

“I don’t know that either. I don’t remember much of anything really, outside of where I last remember I should be.” Iro said, shrugging.

“And where do you think you should be?” The older man asked, looking at Iro intently.

“On the Eastern Front, somewhere south of Port Remali alongside the rest of the Austerean 182nd.”

The younger man’s eyes furrowed, and turned towards the older man. The two exchanged a glance that carried meaning that Iro coudn’t understand. He suddenly felt more than a little uneasy.

“You said you fight for Austeare?” The older man asked.

“Yes. Voluntary conscript. Signed up in 832.” Iro said. Based on the younger man’s reaction, however, he got the sense that maybe that was not the best answer.

“That’s not-” The younger man started, but the older man grabed his arm, and the younger man fell silent.

“What is the last thing you remember, Iro?” The old man asked, leaning forward for the first time. “Think. What were you doing?”

Images of fleeing the trench entered his mind, the stench of blood and fire and magicite. Then suddenly, a flash of feeling he hadn’t felt before now- the pounding fear as he fled something…. Something monstrous. Something for which he had no current frame of reference. He couldn’t say for sure, but something instinctive told him it wasn’t a living thing.

“I was running from something terrible… I don’t… I don’t know what…” Iro dug as hard as he could, but nothing else came. “Then I wake up out there, in those trenches. In this…” he motioned to his frame “…thing.”

“So, what, you were human before?” The younger man asked.

“Yes.” Iro said, before adding “Well, as far as I can remember, anyways.”

The older man looked at Iro with a look that he couldn’t interpret, before standing and turning to the younger man.

“Joren, have your mage send word down the line that we need a soulspeaker at our camp. Use my insignia. We need them here by morning, if possible.” The older man said.

“Uh, sir? Uhm, of course.” The younger man said, seemingly confused, before following up with “If I may ask, Captain… what for?”

The Captain walked towards the entrance of the tent, and turned back towards Iro.

“Iro, I am going to have to have you magically interrogated to determine the veracity of what you are saying. While I don’t require it, I would prefer your consent. It makes things… less difficult.”

The sudden sense of fear Iro felt at the question told him that experiencing such a thing probably wasn’t going to be pleasant. But, if it convinced the soldiers he meant no harm, he’d do it. He nodded at the older man.

“Wise decision.” The Captain said. “Come, Sergeant.”

Joren stood, looking at Iro for a long moment before walking out of the tent. Once the younger man left, the Captain turned back to Iro.

“I ordinarily wouldn’t extend such a courtesy. In this situation, however, I am making an exception.”

He said. “Morbid curiosity, really.”

“Morbid curiosity?” Iro asked, puzzled. “But why?”

“Because it’s 1159.” The man said, taking a step out of the tent.

“The Kingdom of Austeare hasn’t existed for almost 300 years.”