Mr. Brass, Page 2

  Chapter 2

  Donive was in a pensive mood, but happy that she at least understood the source of Pitkins’ reluctance to have children. Last night, Pitkins had apologized to her about this and explained that he had not told her the whole story about what the Metinvurs had done to his family. Far from only having killed his wife, they had massacred all his children, which included three boys and three girls. The news of the loss of his wife alone had nearly killed him with shock and grief, but when he learned all six children had been stuck on pikes he went into a near catatonic state from which he didn’t take a leave of absence for at least a month.

  He probably would have died of hunger or thirst if Sworin hadn’t practically forced him to take an occasional nibble of bread or sip of water. Sworin had proven his friendship to Pitkins beyond any doubt during that period. An ambitious man would have used Pitkins’ momentary weakness to glide over him and slip snugly into the head general position, but, quite the contrary, Sworin withheld Pitkins’ truly desperate state of mind from everyone, not wishing anyone to take advantage of him.

  Sworin would visit Pitkins daily and make sure he at least ate and drank a little bit, but usually all Pitkins did was sit and stare into space like a statue or lie on his back and look upwards blankly like a corpse. Sworin told everyone that Pitkins was taking the shock relatively well, given the circumstances, and that they were conversing over important matters of military strategy daily and that this was helping Pitkins to keep himself distracted from emotional pain.

  In reality, Sworin expected every day that he came into the tent to check on Pitkins that that would be the day he would find Pitkins with his throat slashed from ear to ear, his sword stuck to the hilt into his breast, or the victim of some other fatal, self-inflicted wound. Instead, he found his body alive and present but his mind far, far away. Sworin was beginning to more grow worried by the day that Pitkins would never even speak again, much less be capable of reassuming command of the Nikorians.

  He knew that a lengthy period of mourning was to be expected for a tragedy as ghastly as this, but only so long could go by—no matter what the tragedy—without the general of the Nikorians showing his face in public before people would begin to wonder whether he was capable of overcoming the tragedy or whether his spirit had been smashed like a house at the base of a towering mountain that had unleashed a merciless avalanche upon it. Furthermore, Sworin felt that ethically, close friend or not, he could only cover for Pitkins for a finite amount of time, and that period was dwindling.

  When not involved in an active military campaign, Pitkins often reported directly to the king at least once a month on various military matters, and Pitkins had been due for a visit right around the time the tragedy happened, thus creating a near two-month absence from the king’s court. Sworin knew that if the country were attacked by Metinvurs during this vulnerable time and the country’s defenses were overrun because he had not properly taken command during Pitkins’ indisposition, he would not only face a severe court-martial but also the unbearable psychological guilt of knowing he was to blame for putting his friend’s reputation before the country’s safety.

  He had the men drilling regularly but had not given them any new orders, since he did not want Pitkins to think, upon recovery, that he was ambitious and had sought to use his temporary weakness as an opportunity take command of the army. However, Sworin knew this could not continue much longer—either for his conscience’s sake or for practicality’s sake.

  The day Sworin walked into Pitkins’ tent prepared to deliver a regretful speech to a glassy-eyed statue that he was going to have to inform the king of the state of affairs he had instead met a human being. It wasn’t quite the old Pitkins. Sworin knew that Pitkins might never come all the way back. But it was no zombie either. Pitkins was alert and looked him right in the eye and said, “A different kind of man would have told the king within a week that I was unfit for command.” That had been all. But it was the power and conviction in those words that let Sworin know just how much Pitkins appreciated his loyalty.

  Pitkins had sworn to himself he would never discuss the tragedy with anyone ever, and he had broken that promise partially when he had revealed to Donive long ago that he had lost his wife. But he had kept the oath with respect to his children until now.

  Donive might have laid into Pitkins for withholding such a significant part of his life, but her face was bathed in tears by the time Pitkins was done, and she wondered how he had ever found the strength to be able to love again. It caught Donive’s attention that with regards to the specific fates of his family he had mentioned his children being put on pikes but had never said the nature of his wife’s demise. Donive took that as an indication it was too horrible to relate even in abbreviated version.

  Pitkins had started to apologize, but Donive had quickly hushed him with a single finger and let him know that no more apology or explanation was needed for the time being. “Someday,” Pitkins whispered softly into Donive’s ear. “Someday, I’ll be ready,” and she nodded her head, now unsure herself whether she would ever be ready. The story had left her with a terrible case of the goose bumps.