Chapter 23 Loopbreaker ((Trying to adjust story some)

So this is a spot I felt might work for what I wanted in the story and one of the first changes I wanted to make after you all gave me some feedback. Let me know your thoughts.

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Chapter 23

Francis could almost zone out through most of the first few moments, able to repeat everything as the previous time, earning some extra silver, punching a bully he hated, and securing a chain helm after having learned what not to say to the same armorsmith.

None of it seemed important anymore as he considered everything he had learned and knew what would come next. His mind was focused on telling his brother some of the truth about what was happening and trying to figure out how strong he could get between deaths.

I wish I knew how Fast Learner really worked. It’s not like I can just go and ask someone about that skill. I mean… I could, but then what? Would Stenson or Kels tell me? Would that cause problems? Heck, I’m not even sure if I should mention it to Michael. What happens if I die and that’s the last time I’m allowed to come back?

Lost in his thoughts, Francis pushed the food they had purchased with his fork.

“You don't seem interested in that meat,” his brother said. “You sure you’re not sick?”

Nodding, Francis smiled at Michael and considered how things had played out last time. “I’m not… just…” Pausing, he glanced at the others near them. The tavern was filled with noise and laughter as people talked about the day, a few even mentioning the race he had won. “After we eat, we need to talk.”

With a frown, his brother shook his head once before sighing and digging his fork into a piece of meat on the plate. “I’m telling you, if you get me sick, I’m going to punch you in the face.”

***

Michael sat on his bed, his face revealing no expression at all. “You’re telling me that when we arrive at the camp in a few days, you’ll get us a pass to the good side, put me up in a tent, feed me real food, and keep me from fighting?”

Nodding, Francis waited for what he knew had to come next.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Michael asked.

“I–”

“Seriously, you say you’re not sick, but that’s the dumbest fairytale crap I’ve heard you ever say since we were kids and you wanted to join a traveling carnival, promising me we would be rich and famous.”

Michael turned and lay down on the cheap blanket and sighed.

“There’s not a chance in the world the gods will ever show us that much love, and unless you’ve managed to keep a treasure hidden from me all these years while we struggled on our own, I’m going to call bullshit.”

“So if it happens, then what?”

Groaning, Michael rubbed his eyes.

“I don’t have time for this… We’re about to go to war… war, Francis! We’re going to die, and you and I both know it. I’m glad you got a nice helm, but perhaps you should have been wearing it non-stop since someone obviously hit you in your noggin.”

“We’ll see,” Francis replied, frustrated at how poorly Michael was taking this. 

I almost used the phrase he knows that I’m telling the truth but I need to see if I can find another way to convince him. Something tells me I’m going to have to die a few more times before I figure out how to save him and the army.

“Yeah… and I’m suddenly going to grow wings and learn to shoot fireballs from my butt,” Michael said.

Chuckling, Francis rolled over and ignored his older brother, knowing that he’d eventually find a way to deal with this problem.

Yeah… I’m definitely going to die a lot more before I figure out how to get through his thick head. I just need to find something to help me get through it, too.

Lost in those thoughts, Francis wrestled with what to do while his brother quickly fell asleep.

*** (((NEW STUFF)))

Francis stared at the coins they still had between them. Two silver and some copper would have seemed like so much before all of his deaths. Yet now, it felt like just enough to do what he needed to. 

Michael was fast asleep, a stupid grin on his face, snuggled up with the small pillow they didn’t get to enjoy back at their training area.

Francis couldn’t remember the last time his brother looked at peace. He lay there for another hour before turning the lamp's handle. The room grew brighter, and he whispered, “Wake up.”

Michael grunted, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Still nighttime.”

“Then why the heck did you wake me? I was having an amazing dream.”

Francis sat up, slipped the coins into the pouch on his belt. “We’re leaving.”

“What?” Michael asked, blinking a few times. “Why would we do that?”

“I need to get away. Just some time with you and none of this… this other stuff.”

Michael glanced around the room, still half-asleep. “The hell are you talking about?”

Francis lifted a finger to his lips. “Everyone’s asleep. If we’re going to get out of town, now's our chance.  We’ll still have to be quiet and go over one of the walls. We can be gone before anyone wakes up.”

Michael hesitated. “This isn’t smart. You know what will happen if we do.”

“I know what happens if we don’t. What’s different than dying in a few days?” Francis replied. “I… I just need a day or two with you and no one else.”

That ended the discussion as Michael nodded once and sat up. 

They slipped out the door, Francis setting the path as he remembered which boards squeaked from previous deaths. Descending the stairs and out into the dark, their boots sank into damp soil. The air smelled of smoke and food. Neither spoke as they wove their way through the streets until they found the wall.

There were sections of light and dark, torches flickering in the wind, but none of the guards were present. 

They probably think we’re too drunk and worn out to make a break for it.

Interlacing his fingers, Francis easily boosted his brother up to the ledge and then jumped, getting a handhold and pulling himself up.

“Which way?” Michael whispered as they glanced down both sides of the wall.

“I got an idea,” Francis said. “Anywhere is better than here.”

***

Francis knew the path well, leading the way. The moon gave off just enough light to help him stay the course he had set. Soon, the water that was always too cold announced their arrival. 

They found a half-collapsed shack near the stream by dawn. Francis wasn’t sure if it was some hunter’s place, as most wouldn’t build a place out here unless they were planning on surviving off the land. Only a few hooks on the wall remained. Francis built a fire while Michael gathered more wood. They sat close enough for the heat to warm their feet and hands.

Neither talked for a while. Then Michael suddenly laughed. “Remember when we tried to build a raft? The one that sank before it was ten feet from the bank?”

Francis groaned but nodded. “You blamed me for the rope snapping.”

“Yeah! You tied the knots.”

“But it was your rope that snapped,” Francis replied. “Those knots should have held.”

Michael shook his head before throwing a twig into the fire. “Still better than when we tried to dig that well for the farmer.”

Francis grinned. “That one worked… kind of.”

“Not really,” his brother stated. “Remember, we hit the runoff from his outhouse. That water smelled so bad, and he blamed us for it.”

That made Francis laugh harder than he expected. The sound surprised him because, for the first time in so long, it felt different. He leaned back against the wall, feeling warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the fire just a few feet away.

For hours, Michael shared more stories about the things they had done before. Sometimes Francis had to pretend he remembered fleeting moments of his past that were missing.

They moved out after finding berries to fill their stomach, traveling down the stream, neither needing to talk. Each step felt hard as the promise he made to serve in the army reminded him of his broken word. Yet the occasional joke or moment with his brother silenced the magical complaint.

Later that night, as Michael slept, Francis thought about the memories they had discussed. He tried to recount some of the ones his brother had talked about, but couldn’t. The image of them running through tall grass, their mother calling to them, was gone. The parasite had taken it. In his mind were holes, yet after today, some of them had been filled. 

***

Two more days passed as they traveled through the woods along the stream. No beasts threatened their lives, and no soldiers were there to punish them for this path. For the first time since the loops began, Francis didn’t wake up expecting to hear the sound of the bell.

When they reached the town of Fallowmere, its walls were more of a fence than a defensive barrier. Inside, narrow streets twisted around wooden houses, smoke rising from every chimney. They paid for a single room above a butcher’s shop, trading one of their silver coins for stew and a place outside the elements.

Michael fell asleep almost instantly, his mouth half-open. Francis sat by the window, watching the clouds drift across the sky. He thought maybe this was what normal should feel like.

Normal lasted one night.

***

They were halfway to the edge of town when the bells started. Not alarm bells–bond bells. The faint calling of the oath magic ran through Francis’s veins. His stomach tightened immediately.

“They found us,” Francis said.

Michael froze mid-stride. “Already?”

Francis didn’t answer. He grabbed his brother’s arm, pulling him along, breaking out into a sprint.

They raced through a narrow street, darting between carts and barrels. Shouts rose behind them. The air felt thicker, as if it were trying to slow them down. Both boys pushed on. Francis spotted a guard coming at them on the street they were on. His eyes noticed an alley and he motioned toward it.

“Hurry,” Michael said between deep breaths. “They’re catching up.”

They turned into the alley and made it a dozen steps before seeing what sealed their fate. It ended in a wall too high to climb.

Francis slowed down, turning to stare at his brother.

Michael looked around, breathing hard. “Another way?”

“There’s no time,” Francis replied, grabbing Michael by the arm and shoving him toward the end of the alley. Wooden buildings boxed them in.

The sound of grown men in armor, weapons drawn, grew closer. Half a dozen guards with a red wolf on their shoulder appeared at the entrance. 

Francis turned to his brother. “I’m sorry… I was selfish.”

Michael shook his head. “No. I needed this too. Anytime you need this, let’s do this again.”

The guards gave them confused looks. The one in front pointed a sword at them. “On your knees. Now.”

Francis smiled and then chuckled. He gave Michael a small punch on the shoulder. “I’m going to take this one. I’ll see you in a couple.”

Before Michael could reply, Francis moved toward the men who had come for their lives.

I guess I’ll see how I fare against a few guards.

The answer was not well. 

The first blade pierced clean through his chest. Another came seconds later, and Francis felt the darkness announcing what would come next.

His brother shouted his name.

***

The sound of the morning bell jarred Francis from his bed.

"It's earlier than usual," Michael grunted as he sat up. "What gives?"

Touching his chest, Francis smiled, the memory of what had taken place providing a sense of peace he longed for. “Just Phillip being Phillip. Let’s go see what he wants.”

*** (((OLD STUFF)))

Both guards stood there, blinking in confusion and surprise, yet neither moved, unable to react to what they had just heard.

“I’m serious. Dirk, you know that Vella is mad at you. Her father, General Stenson, has only one arm, and when we arrive, she will have you get Nehemiah to verify everything I’ve said. Now, unless you want me to repeat myself a third time, feel free. But I can tell you right now, I’m the guy you want on your side. No, I won’t answer any other questions. Perhaps if you’re lucky, I’ll make sure she takes you off this duty and let you work Douglas’s cush job.”

Coughing, the older man shook his head. His blue eyes studied Francis' posture, looking like someone with the authority he claimed to have.

“Fine, let’s go… but just know that if you’re wrong–”

“You’ll beat me, and I’ll die in a horrible death. Don’t worry, Peter can hold down this spot till someone joins him.”

Grunting at being caught off guard, Dirk turned to his partner, who was shaking his head and shrugging.

“This is so going to be one of those nights,” Peter muttered.

***

Vella’s eyes studied Francis, her face bunched up as she bit her lip.

“I’m telling you,” Francis said, “The moment he comes in here, Nehemiah is going to say I swear I’m going to cut her balls off.”

Vella grunted, and no one said a word—they were all waiting for Nehemiah. When the older man was tossed into the tent and his curses rang out, the captain’s face drained of all color.

“I swear I’m going to cut her balls off!” the older man’s voice rang out as he entered the tent.

“Someone, go get my father. Now!” Vella shouted.

One of the advisors who had been standing nearby ran from the tent, and Francis had to work hard not to chuckle.

“Who the hell is this boy?” Nehemiah asked. “And why do you look like you’ve seen a spirit? Or perhaps you caught sight of my manhood and realized what you’ve been missing out on?”

Seemingly unconcerned with decorum, the older man lifted the shirt he was wearing.

Francis coughed and turned his head in response.

“Why is everyone staring at—”

“If you don’t shut your mouth, Nehemiah,” Vella growled. ”I swear I will stick a cloth in it until my father gets here.”

Snapping his jaw closed, the older man’s glare at the captain did nothing to cool the building tension between the two.

If I don’t do something, these two may come to blows. 

“I need you to hold my hand and see if I’m really a sage,” Francis said as he approached the only one he knew who could verify his claim. “And stop standing there leaning back like that. It’s disgusting and we all know your son Kels probably hates it. We’ll get you clothes, we can talk about your son later, and I’m tired of all this crap as well.”

“What?!” Nehemiah gasped. “Who—"

Sticking his hand out closer, Francis sighed. “Just verify it. Now.”

Caught off guard by Franci’s demeanor and command, the half-dressed, bald man grabbed it, frowning. Closing his eyes, Nehemiah started to complain again. “Wasting my time for this bu–”

The trickle of energy flowed through Francis and the cold sensation of being dunked in a river of ice came again.

Nehemiah’s eyes were wider than Francis thought possible, and the older man seemed to choke as he tried to speak. “It’s… how… this boy! Where did you find him?!”

“He strode in here like the king himself, and everything he has said has been absolutely correct,” Vella replied. “I’m assuming by your reaction that his claim of being a sage is true?”

Nodding, Nehemiah said nothing, eyes locked on Francis.

“Can I have my hand back, please?”

Nehemiah glanced at the hand he was still holding. It took a second before all of his fingers let go. “Impossible… a sage… at his age.” A frown came over him, and then his eyes narrowed. “What did you say would happen?”

“Just that if we don’t change our plan of attack for tomorrow, we’ll lose all of our troops besides the veterans and the cavalry,” Vella replied. “He spoke about all of our tactics and even mentioned the spells that we have and details no one but someone with the gift he claims to have could know.”

“But he’s so young,” the older man muttered.

The tent flap flew open and the general strode in, flanked by two guards and the advisor who had fetched him.

Unlike Nehemiah, Stenson had clothes on and a suit of armor that wasn’t his battle one. However, the same sword was on his hip as had been the last time.

“Vella, what is wrong?” her father asked.

His tone conveyed his displeasure with whatever had pulled away from something else. His eyes swept the room, stopping on Francis, who stood before the half-naked man everyone knew had a single talent.

“This boy is a sage,” Vella replied. “It has been verified, and he has the knowledge to share that will change how we must attack tomorrow or we will lose over forty thousand troops.”

Snapping his fingers, the general halted his escort and moved to where Francis stood, not flinching, a slight smirk on his face.

“General Stenson,” Francis said with a slight nod. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Tell me, does your sword have an ability that causes the blade to turn red before sending out a cutting wind, or is it a skill you possess?”

Coughs and gasps rang out through the tent, and the general’s hand snaked out faster than Francis could see, grabbing his shirt and lifting him off the ground as if he were a feather.

It was hard for Francis to breathe as he dangled there, eyes just a few inches from Stenson’s face as the older man glared, concern displayed as the older man’s brows became one. “Do you have any idea–”

“He is a sage father!” Vella said. “With the sight to see the future, he claims! You need to–”

“Do not tell me what to do! You know how few are aware of my sword, yet this boy acts like the whole camp should know of it!”

Choking and holding the hand that gripped him, trying to keep himself in a position and able to breathe, Francis fought for the ability to speak.

“Forgive me, General. I wanted your attention and to… prove I know what I claim…”

Gravity took over, and after falling to the ground, Francis stumbled; the one responsible for most of the knowledge he now possessed snapped his fingers.

“Everyone but Vella and this boy, out!” Stenson ordered.

“I’m not going anywhere!” Nehemiah shouted. “You can’t–”

He watched as the tester of abilities held up a hand and waved off the approaching general.

The look Stenson gave the older man seemed to change Nehemiah’s mind quickly.

“Forgive me, I shall go, but know I am headed straight to the king!”

“Make sure to put on some pants first,” Francis said as he rubbed his throat. “And when he is on his throne, he’ll know you speak the truth.”

A few more gasps followed, and after one more snap of Stenson’s fingers, the tent cleared.

No one said a word, so Francis used the time to try and decide if this path had been the right one. 

So much for coming in here wagging my skill like that… perhaps that was a bit too much, but at least we should be able to skip all the other stuff.

“Who are you? Stenson asked.”

“Francis Lancaster. Ninth son to Barron Lancaster.”

A chuckle came from Vella and she stopped when her father glared at her.

“A ninth son… a sage,” the general scoffed.

“Not usually something most believe,” Francis replied with a wink. “But then again, I’m certain you never were a fan of that archaic way of thinking. Kind of like how important it is to know how to use both a pen and a sword?”

For once the older man went silent and the laughter from Vella filled the tent.

“Oh my gosh! The look on your face, Father! Francis, I owe you a drink for that one!”

Her outburst made Stenson close his jaw—he seemed to realize it had been open after his daughter had mocked him.

“You seem very familiar with things that most should never know,” Stenson stated. “Tell me… Ninth son of Barron Lancaster… why are you here?”

“I’ve come to help our kingdom live to fight another day and share what the gods have shown me. My gift doesn’t happen often but when it does, I know for certain things will happen, provided we do not change the course. Suppose you do not adjust how you attack tomorrow, and you do not hold off on using that healing spell as you have for the last two months. In that case, the enemy will unleash a power you have not seen yet and it will consume the entire army except for your veteran warriors and the cavalry.”

Motioning to the table with all the troops, he continued:

“I got here today. For the last few months, I have been training under an asshole named Phillip, who has made my life and my brother's life miserable. I won’t lie, I could have run, but I needed to be here. In the woods is a caster, a black-and-purple lizard who will attack tomorrow, casting a fear spell on the left side of the army. It will cause chaos and confusion, resulting in the death of many men. The king will attempt to sway their minds, driving out the fear, but many will still die from the problems it causes.”

“You’re certain?” Stenson asked.

Nodding, Francis moved to where the table was, going slowly as he picked up an unmarked token and stood near the section he knew the lizard would be located in.

“Right here is where the caster can be found. It will start using its ability about the time the sixth and seventh lines of fodder are fighting. There will be guards, cat-kin—stronger than the usual ones—protecting it.”

“And the rest? How do you know about our troops?” Stenson asked. “What about the spells?”

“That is a much longer discussion, and I’m afraid it will have to wait. Nehemiah will soon reach the king, and a summons will follow. I’ll be forced to change, endure women trying to get me to sleep with them, and finally be presented to the king. Could someone fetch my brother and bring him here, if you wouldn't mind? Obviously, if I’m lying, we’ll both die, but I would prefer to have him close as he is the only family I care about.”

“What son is he?” Vella asked.

“The eighth.”

Chuckling, she shook her head and looked at her father, waiting for instructions.

Scratching his chin, Stenson frowned, and then it was as if a weight on his shoulders had been lifted. “Tell me, Francis, is there anything else you have seen?”

“Some… the world right now is hazy, but there is much more you’ll want to know. All of that can wait because I’m hungry and want my brother. After that, I’ll tell you about the elite beastkin on the other side.”

A loud whistle rang out immediately, the general not even needing to bring his fingers to his mouth to do it.

Both of the men who had escorted Stenson were inside in a moment.

“Yes, sir?” one of the guards asked.

“Fetch this boy's brother. I am going to take him to my tent. Someone will no doubt be by to clothe him before he must appear before the king. I want his brother retrieved immediately.”

One guard nodded and looked at Francis.

A moment of silence stretched on until Francis realized what the guard was waiting for.

“Oh, sorry, you probably need directions. He’s right here,” Francis said pointing to the spot on the map. “Michael Lancaster. In the section led by Phillip of the new recruits. Seventh line in the reinforcements.”

Without delay, the escort was gone.

“I guess we shall move to my tent, then. Vella, are you going to stay or come?”

Laughing, she shook her head and moved toward the tent flap. “You couldn’t pay me enough to stay away from this.”