The Traveler
(c) 2001 by Blake sorensen

	Kormak leaned against the short stone wall and looked across the field.
The town of Arbed lay around one last bend in the road, and the smell of the evening
meals awoke a sense of homesickness he had managed to avoid for most of his journey.
In many ways, Arbed could be any small town from his native country of Pengara - the
same stone walls and buildings, the same thatched roofs, the same chimneys with curling
smoke. 
	The realization of just how far he'd come suddenly hit Kormak and he sank to
his knees on the side of the dusty road. Closing his eyes, his thoughts ran back to the
hundred leagues he had crossed and the time, just three weeks ago, when he had to leave
Vimon. 
	The two of them had spent their final night together simply lying in each other's
arms, neither sleeping, both afraid of what the morning would bring. Finally, as the
roosters began crowing, Kormak brushed a hand across his lover's cheek and whispered,
"farewell". Vimon's eyes had closed, the pain in them almost too great for Kormak to
stand, but the young man turned away and began his journey.
	Kormak came back to reality, tears brimming in his eyes, and he wiped them away
with the sleeve of his tunic. There'd been no help for it - when the Imperial army
called you to war, you went. Even, Kormak thought bitterly, if it meant working in a
different country with people he could barely understand. Certainly, they all spoke
Imperial common, but these people on the other side of the Bega Sea had a the tendency
to speak so very slowly, and they almost slurred many of the words. And why in the
goddess's name would they call a simple cart a lerabthop, or however the hell it went?
	With thoughts of differing customs and languages running through his head to
distract him from his more depressing thoughts, he stood, and once again shouldered the 
stained brown pack he had carried all this way. Although he had set a leisurely pace for
most of his trip, he was still tired and sore, but the sight of his destination filled
him with an eagerness to finish up, and his footsteps quickened as the town gate neared.
	Two guardsman, wearing the traditional white on gold livery of the Imperial
army, hailed him as he approached.
	"Ho there, what's after bringing you to Arbed?"
	"I am here to answer the summons of the Emperor," Kormak replied. He pulled a
folded piece of parchment from one of the many beltpouches he wore and handed to the
guard.
	The soldier looked over the draft notice, then handed it back. "Muster is an
hour after dawn tomorrow in the town square. For tonight, take on a room at the Laughing
Man inn - Mikael will give you one when you tell him you're after being a draftee."
	"I thank you, sir." Kormak returned the parchment to it's pouch and nodded to
the guard as he walked through the gate. "Oh, where's this Inn?"
	"Straight down the road and to the left, you can't miss it," the guard told him.
"Big sign with a smile on it."
	"Thank you again," Kormak said, then began walking once more.
	He looked around as he walked - the main road was lined with a number of shops,
the upper floors of which appeared to be residences. He took note of one storefront that
opened onto a forge area - one side was set up for standard ironwork, but the other
seemed prepped for a glassblower. 'That will be useful,' he thought. 'I couldn't bring
much of my equipment with me.'
	Shortly after the glassblower's he saw the sign of which the guardsman had
spoken. Laughter and voices echoed from the brightly lit windows of the Inn's common
room, and Kormak pushed the door open.
	Several faces turned to see who had entered as Kormak walked through, most of
which turned back to their own conversations almost immediately, although here and there a
friendly nod was sent his way. The traveler looked around as he threaded his way through
the tables towards the bar. The first thing that caught his eye was the enormous stone
hearth, in which a fire was crackling merrily. It was at least 10 feet across, and took
up most of the northern wall. Several long tables lined the wall to his left, opposite
the fireplace, and smaller circular tables filled the space in between. The benches and
comfortable looking chairs were almost all occupied, but only half had the dark hair and
skin of native Arbedas.
	'At least I'm not the only stranger in town,' Kormak thought as he reached the
bar. A big redheaded man wearing an apron was filling a tankard and looked up at him
with a grin.
	"With you in a minute friend, we're rather swamped tonight."
	Kormak simply gave a quick nod and looked down at the bar, thoughts turning to
Vimon once again. The afternoons they had spent in each other's embrace in one of his
father's fields, the meals shared in the Garden Inn's taproom, and Vimon's quick wit and
infectious laugh - all of these ideas ran across his brain in a surge of loneliness. 
	"What can I be doing for you?" a booming voice asked.
	Kormak jumped, startled out of his reverie, as the bartender addressed
him.
	"Sorry bout that." The big man's voice was much quieter this time. "I'm
Mikael, by and by. You're here for the draft? I don't mean to pry, but you've the look 
of one who's far from home."
	"One of many new folks, I suppose," Kormak responded sullenly. 
	"True enough, at that. I've been speaking with just about everyone who's
wandered through in the past few days. See that fellow with the Ranger's cloak, over near
the fireplace?"
	Kormak glanced in the direction the bartender was indicating and saw a blond
haired man in the green and brown mottled clothing of one of the Imperial scouts. The
man appeared to be in his mid-30's with skin that showed years of outdoor work and
seemed to be listening to a young woman strumming on a balalaika at one of the other
tables. Turning back, Kormak nodded to his host.
	"That's Gareth. He got in last night, and had very nearly the same look as you're 
wearing now. Seems he had to leave behind his wife, with her being nearly ready
to have their first child. The woman he's listening to is Leisha, another draftee.
She's in from one of the Gerrold clans, down south, and a better quartermaster you'll
never find to hear her tell." Mikael grinned at this, and Kormak couldn't help but
return a little of the smile at the bartender's good humor. "They come up with some
large families down that way - she's the fourth of twelve children and aunt to another
twenty or so.
	"There's at least thirty more stories like that, just in this room tonight,
and doubtless you'll hear some more once your unit forms. It's cold comfort, I know,
but you're not after being the only one facing this with the pain of having left someone 
behind, and you'll find any number of sympathetic ears for your own sorrow.
	"And that's more and enough of that kind of talk. You're hungry and tired,
I'll wager. I've bed space for you, and your meal's on me tonight. I'd suggest
staying in the common room for awhile, for Leisha's got an uncommon talent with that
balalaika and Gareth has quite the voice - which he'll no doubt start using after
he gets outside of a little more ale."
	"I thank you for the warm welcome, but I'm more tempted to be alone with my
thoughts this evening," Kormak replied quietly.
	"As it suits you. I can't promise total solitude, for I've long been shut of
private rooms, but it should be quiet for some while yet. Up the stairs, third room
on the left. You'll be sharing with three other fellows, but none are up there now.
I'll send the maid up with some water for washing and some dinner, too."