by Guy Antibes
Trevor poked his head out of the tent door, but he didn’t see anyone close to their tent.
“Get a uniform on,” Boxster said.
Trevor looked at Harpy’s and knew he couldn’t fit into that, so he took the tallest guard’s clothes. Harpy’s officer tunic barely fit Boxster, but his breeches didn’t, making Boxster wear Harpy’s top and a soldier’s trousers.
“We won’t fool anyone during the day, but it isn’t daytime, is it?” Trevor said.
Boxster nodded. “We will have to leave now.”
They gathered their things and found the horses where they had left them. After saddling three of them, the pair took off with a packhorse that didn’t carry a thing and trotted slowly out of the camp.
“Who goes there?” a sentry said from the darkness.
“We are heading out early on our mission, Boxster said.
In the darkness, their uniforms couldn’t be seen.
“Good luck,” the sentry said. They had beaten the arrival of any sort of alarm that they were escaping.
Trevor heard a chuckle. Everyone was in on the joke that they were being fooled, thinking that they were working for the West Moreton army. He wondered who had given the orders to keep them on a string. That seemed to be more like something his father would do. Trevor didn’t think he would ever find out as they continued out of the camp, and once they hit the road, they headed toward Washingfalls.
The uniforms were cast off at their first break, buried in the soft soil of the Red Forest.
“The king is a very cynical man,” Boxster said. They had kept quiet in the early morning, and now that dawn was brightening up the landscape, it seemed more natural to talk. “When we converged on the West Moreton army, the fake one, the fighting was real on both sides. Men died and were wounded.”
“You were wounded,” Trevor said.
“I was, wasn’t I,” Boxster said with a smile. “I wasn’t the wiser, but the Red Forest has seemed like a surreal place to me anyway.
“Perhaps we should find out what is going on in West Moreton?” Trevor asked.
“We can do that,” Boxster said. “I’ve never spent a night in the country, and my experience is limited to a quick ride through the northwest corner when I rode from the Viksar border to Tarviston. We will be mercenaries for real, eh?”
“Just like we talked about before?”
Boxster laughed. “I was just talking, but now is the time for action. When it is a little lighter, I will pull out the map and find out the best place to cross over into the border, and it won’t be Ossingwell. No shaving from now on, Prince Arcwin, sir. A cheap disguise is better than no disguise at all,” Boxster said.
Chapter Twenty-One
~
T revor could tell they were in a different country. Thatched roofs were covering whitewashed, half-timbered dwellings. Their clothing wasn’t too far off from what the locals wore. Neither of them had West Moreton money, but they hoped that Presidonian coinage would be honored, being so close to the border.
They stepped into a three-story inn. It even had a thatched roof and was quite picturesque. Most of the buildings in the Red Forest used wooden or slate shingles for their roofs, but Trevor liked the feel of West Moreton. It was too bad he had to stop thinking that he had the option to do anything other than run.
His father’s grand deception distorted all he knew about the West Moretons. What better way to keep the peasants in line than to introduce an active enemy intruding from a foreign country?
“Do you take Presidonian money?” Boxster said.
“At a discount,” the innkeeper said. “Are you spies? We get plenty of them around these parts.”
“Been there, done that,” Boxster said. “Working for the Presidonians was an experience I’d rather not duplicate. What can mercenaries do in West Moreton?”
“We have a mercenary corps that fights for the army. They are mustering as we speak in Coaling. That is near the border with Viksar. Are either of you magicians?”
“Nope,” Trevor said, “but we are competent swordsmen.”
“A farthing a dozen,” the innkeeper said. “Still, you can find work there. West Moreton is a peaceful place.”
“The Presidonians don’t come across the border?” Trevor asked.
“Not when they have their own West Moreton army to beat up on.” The innkeeper laughed. “King Henry is too clever for his own good. We used to have a large force at the border, but when Presidon put in their decoy army, their raids stopped.”
“And if they ever wish to invade West Moreton, they have two armies to join into a larger force,” Trevor said.
“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” the innkeeper said.
“Free advice, not even for a farthing,” Trevor said.
For the first time in a week, Trevor spent the night between clean sheets. It was wonderful. The food was less so. He hadn’t expected such a difference a few miles from the Presidonian border, but it wasn’t bad enough that Trevor didn’t think he could get used to the unfamiliar flavors. While they ate their dinner, they decided to travel to Coaling and see what life had to offer as mercenaries for a while.
In the morning, they picked up additional supplies and proceeded west toward the Viksaran border.
“Have you been to Viksar?” Trevor asked Boxster.
“Traveled through it coming to Presidon. It is more different than what it is between Presidon and West Moreton. All the buildings are brick, mostly red, with black stone roofs that look like slate, but they aren’t. I stayed away from all the magic, and not only because I don’t have any ability. I’m not that much more of an enthusiast for things magical than your father.”
“Maybe we will get to see the black roofs,” Trevor said.
“Or not,” Boxster said.
Trevor could see that his friend hadn’t enjoyed his previous journey through Viksar, the magical country, as Trevor had always thought it.
“If I want to go to Viksar, will you stay behind in West Moreton?” Trevor asked. “You aren’t my bodyguard or trainer anymore.”
“At least, I’m not paid to do it,” Boxster said. “The extra pay wasn’t that much, though. I’m good with having a traveling companion that I am used to. I’m not opposed to sticking together for a bit. I might be tempted to return to Peeker’s Flat, but,” Boxster sighed, “I’m afraid we wore out our welcome in Presidon, and I’m not too keen on being a wanted man.”
“If we are wanted,” Trevor said.
“Oh, we are that, trust me,” Boxster said.
West Moreton was very peaceful. They were stopped a few times by patrols, but the guards only asked them where they were headed. It seemed they weren’t the only ones lured by the mercenary company fighting with the West Moretons.
Fingers of the Red Forest extended into the northern edge of the country that defined their path westward. A few waves of homesickness hit Trevor as they rode through the trees, but it only lasted a few minutes until he thought of all the duplicity that he had seen in such a short time.
Ten days after entering West Moreton, they approached the town of Coaling nestled in a range of forested rolling hills. They had passed a few of the coal mines that gave the town its name. The mercenaries were mustering a few miles to the west. Trevor and Boxster agreed that spending the night in Coaling might be their last chance for a real bed for a while, so after a so-so night in a so-so inn, they headed toward the mercenary camp to see what they could see.
Trevor had expected to see a field covered with tents arranged in neat rows. The camp existed, but recent rain had turned the ground muddy, and there were tents and open sleeping spots littered haphazardly in the mire.
“This is more of a mess than I imagined,” Boxster said.
Trevor nodded. Boxster generally kept such thoughts to himself. Trevor made it clear to Boxster that he refused to sleep in the mud, but they continued to a tent with a crude sign that said Recruiting hanging from the tent’s peaked roof.
“You’re a tall one,” the recruiter said to Trevor. The man was grizzled, balding, and wore a patch over one eye. When he grabbed a pen, he was missing a finger and a fingertip on his right hand. He smiled, revealing a few too many teeth missing too. “Swordsmen? Wizards? Scouts?”
“Swordsmen,” Boxster said, “but we are proficient in any weapons. Not a bit of magic between us.”
The recruiter frowned. “Too bad. I could set you up in a nice comfy tent if you were wizards.”
Trevor almost claimed supernatural powers, but the man might be lying to them anyway. No reason to get off on the wrong foot, he thought.
“Names and nationalities?”
“Karn Kissel,” Boxster said. “I am from Ginster.”
“Bill Denton from Presidon,” Trevor said.
“Why are you here?” the recruiter asked.
“I was kicked out of Presidon,” Trevor said. “A misunderstanding over a point of valor.”
The recruiter laughed. “You might be too educated for the likes of us.” He turned to Boxster. “And you?”
“A misunderstanding over the true love of a woman,” Boxster said.
The recruiter laughed again. “I suppose that is good enough. The pay is four florins a week, and that includes room and board.”
“I hope the board is better than the room,” Boxster said, drily.
The man shook his head to stop his chuckling. “Sign here, and you can find a spot of ground to call your own. Come here tomorrow morning, and I’ll have a man show you where you will eat and to whose unit you will be assigned. I’m assuming you are both competent?”
“We said we were proficient.”
“You’ll be tested anyway. Dismissed, men of the West Moreton Mercenary Battalion.”
After they left the tent to retrieve their horses, Trevor shook his head. “This is going to be an exciting experience. I can tell. Let’s find our room.”
“We can eat what we brought with us. I’m sure all the accommodations close to the mess have been taken,” Boxster said as he mounted.
They ended up at the top of a low rise, looking over the camp, about three hundred paces from anyone else. The grass hadn’t been churned into mud. Since they were about a quarter mile from a finger of the forest, Boxster suggested that they grab firewood and leaves to make the camp a bit better.
It took them a few trips, but they had covered their sleeping area with a couple of inches of leaves and spread out their ground covers and blankets over the natural mattress. Trevor and Boxster pounded stakes into the corners of their camp beds to keep everything from blowing away, even though the air was still at the moment.
They had enough water to cook their meal, dried meat and vegetables with seasonings and thickener for a stew. The fire caught quickly, and soon they were warm, and their bellies were full.
“Someone is coming,” Trevor said as six men walked across the field headed directly for them.
“Maybe an initiation rite,” Boxster said. “Get yourself armed. I’m in no mood for such foolishness.”
Trevor didn’t need Boxster’s command to strap on his sword. He put on a few armor bits and stood when the men drew near.
“Hey, what’s with the swords? You are among your friends and allies,” one of the group said. He acted like the leader.
The man’s demeanor as he talked didn’t instill any sort of confidence in Trevor. Boxster didn’t look any friendlier. The intruders drew their swords as they approached.
“We can’t be defenseless, can we?” the leader said.
“Yes, you can,” Boxster said, sheathing his sword. The six men made no move to do the same. He walked closer to them. “We can meet you properly tomorrow.”
“Why are you camping up here?” one of the other men asked.
“Firewood, food, and a dry bed on top of a pile of leaves,” Boxster said. “I don’t appreciate wallowing in the muck where you are staying.”
“Who’s calling who a pig!” the same man said. He was about to charge Boxster when Trevor stepped in front of his friend.
“He didn’t call you a pig; he merely said we don’t want to sleep in the mud. If you look at the camp from up here, it is in a bowl. If there was a violent cloudburst, the campground could turn in to a lake,” Trevor said, noticing that about the camp for the first time as he looked down past the intruders.
A few of the men turned. “Hey, he’s right.” The others looked as well.
“Mind if we join you?” yet another man said.
“We didn’t ride all the way here to turn our campsite into what is down there, but there is plenty of room to either side of us on one of the other slopes,” Boxster said.
The swords went into sheaths, and the intruders turned and trudged back to the mercenary camp. Before nightfall, fifty men were camping around Boxster and Trevor.
“So much for privacy,” Trevor said. “I was ready to fight. We had the high ground.”
“We will get more out of being friendly than we would from fighting those men,” Boxster said. “Now we get respect rather than bruises or worse.”
Morning came, and minutes after dawn Trevor and Boxster headed back down to the recruiting tent. All their valuable possessions were in their saddlebags. Trust only went so far and had to be earned. Nothing had been earned so far.
There were three other recruits, one of them a hard-bodied woman with a bow strapped behind her back. The recruiter stepped out with a man wearing a red armband.
“I’m Captain Handleton. Tell me your names.” The captain held a few pieces of paper.
For a moment, Trevor forgot his name until he remembered he used the last name of his old friend Win.
“Bill Denton,” Trevor said. “But you can call me Bill.”
“Answer to Denton,” the captain said without a trace of humor.
Boxster gave him his name. He wondered if Boxster had known the real Karn Kissel.
The others gave their names, and then they all looked at Captain Handleton expectantly.
“Who of you camped up on the hill?”
“We did,” Boxster said. “Bill and I.”
The captain glared at Boxster. “Denton and I, sir.”
“That’s better. I will allow you to do so. The Commander was afraid we’d have a breakout of disease in the damp conditions. Good idea. We will move the entire camp up the slope a bit. I’ll give you a tour, but with the camp moving, be aware that the location of things will probably change.”
They followed the captain into the camp. The place smelled. Piles of garbage littered the site, but the latrines were located correctly as far as Trevor could tell. The mess tent was still closed, with soldiers beginning to line up.
“Today, you will be first in the tent,” the captain said. “It will be your first and only privilege for some time. Eat up, and then we will evaluate your capabilities.” The captain still had their papers. “Everdale is a magician and an archer.” Handleton nodded to the woman. The other two were swordsmen like Trevor and Boxster. “What weapons can you use?”
Boxster said sword, mace, pike, and knife. Trevor didn’t like the pike, but it was so much like a lance that he claimed expertise along with staff and bow and arrow.
“You two come prepared for battle,” Captain Handleton said.
“The others can fight,” Boxster said, “and none of us is a magician. I’d say Everdale is most impressive.” He nodded to the woman.
The tent door was tied open, and they shuffled in. The food was about the same quality Trevor had eaten in the garrison and on the road. Boxster was a better cook than anyone in the tent, he thought. They didn’t get a chance to serve themselves, and all sat at a table. Captain Handleton left the tent, saying he’d be back to show them to the practice area.
“Too good for us, eh?” one of the swordsmen said.
“Officers’ mess,” Trevor said. “If their discipline is based on army routine, he isn’t allowed to eat with the soldiers.”
“As if you know,” the man said with a sneer.
“I do know. I’ve served in an army,” Trevor said.
“Where from?”
Trevor had to endure another sneer. “I suppose Captain Handleton can tell you if you ask him nicely. I’m not so sure I should divulge my background.”
“A spy?”
“No, a hungry soldier. Quit griping and let me eat this,” Trevor said.
His retort cut off the talk, and everyone concentrated on their breakfast. In a few minutes, Handleton returned.
“Put your dishes there.” He pointed to a long table with a few empty dishes stacked up.
Trevor shuddered to think about how the table would look like at the end of a meal. He didn’t want to stick around to find out, so he walked along with the rest to the western edge of the camp, which served as the practice ground. It was at the beginning of an upsweep of the bowl where the camp sat and was relatively dry land.
“Swords first.”
Some soldiers were standing by a tent looking at them. They might have been trainers. Trevor didn’t know if mercenaries received any training, but the men disappeared into the tent and returned carrying wooden swords.
“See if you can last to the count of fifteen with our trainers,” Handleton said.
The tallest of them chose to spar with Trevor. They were instructed to walk to a circle strewn with sawdust and told to be prepared to fight on the count of three. Trevor didn’t have any qualms with the rules and was on the lookout for cheap tricks.
Trevor looked his opponent in the eye while he warmed up with the practice sword, trying to get a feel for the balance of the weapon.
Captain Handleton raised his hand and began to count backward. “Three, two—”
Trevor’s opponent rushed him. Trevor had been subjected to matches in the barracks where the same trick was employed, so he was ready to fight back.
Trevor tried to ignore the count as he fought with the trainer. The man wasn’t as good as most officers in the Tarviston barracks, and the trainer didn’t even last until seven.