“I’m not about to sign anything I haven’t read, so let me through and hand me those papers.” Falon said flatly as she pushed past him and his stupid desk. Taking a seat on her back pack, she crossed her legs and held out a hand for the parchments.
“You don’t have to do that,” protested Tug. Him telling her not to check up on his work had the opposite of his intention, and she just narrowed her eyes and thrust her hand a few inches closer.
“Okay-okay,” the former scale cheat scowled and leaned over to hand the papers to her. His hand slipped off his table and he overbalanced, dropping the parchments and vellum on the ground.
“Oops,” he mumbled, quick fingers moving to snatch up the fallen paper forms.
“I can do that, just…go back to your table, Tug,” she frowned, and when he made to lean forward and pick up another paper, she placed a hand on his shoulder and shoved. Not hard enough to make him think she was trying to overbalance him, but more than enough to let him know she was serious.
With a martyred sigh he stood back up and, running his thumb over the edge of the papers, stopped halfway through the pile and extracted a piece of parchment.
“Now how did that get in here,” he said, his face turning red with embarrassment. Hurrying back to his little desk, he quickly buried the paper he had taken and slipped it into a larger pile of unfinished work, “sorry, Lieutenant, that one still needs work.”
Falon nodded and turned back to finish picking up the various papers scattered over the floor, and formed them up into a neat and orderly line in her hands. Looking through them with a sigh, she saw that two of the pages were inventories on the contents of her wagons, and another page was half filled with the contents of the West Wicker’s cart. They both looked very detailed.
Idly she was starting to wonder, with this kind of detail, what unfinished list he had started to hand her. Her hand froze as she pulled up the first Wagon Inventory, as she felt she was pretty familiar with them and wanted to check his work. He had been really quick to hide that paper, and only after she had insisted that she was going to read everything.
“What was that uncompleted form you were about to hand me?” she asked in what she hoped was an unsuspicious voice.
“What?” Tug said absently.
“The paper you almost handed me, what was it again?” Falon said, deliberately running a finger over the list on her lap.
“I don’t remember…” Tug started to say, his eyes darting toward her face and then back down to his stack of forms. Placing his quill in an ink pot, he quickly ruffled through his papers, “Ah, here it is: a half-completed tally of every weapon in this band.” He extended the paper for her perusal.
Leaning over, she glanced at it and then leaned back.
“Make sure you get it finished soon,” she said mildly as she looked back down at the inventory in her lap. A moment later, she flicked her eyes back up and caught the edge of a self-satisfied smile on Tug’s face—a smile which quickly disappeared and was replaced with unease as soon as he caught her looking.
Mouth tightening, she picked up the stack of papers and leaned back against the wall of the tent. Holding the stack up to hide her growing scowl, she was glad she had listened to her aching muscles and decided to check everything first.
Well, now that she had all but caught him trying to get her to sign something he didn’t want her to look too closely at, she was newly determined to read and reread everything he had drawn up. She was going to check, and double check, and if her new Clerk so much as was caught with bad spelling and transposed words, right at that moment she was determined to take out one of the two magic parchments she kept in a pouch around her neck. That Imperial, Darius, might or might not care if she burned his and branded him a criminal throughout all of her Kingdom, but Tug would squeal like the fat pig he resembled.
“Do you happen to have a candle?” she asked after finishing the first inventory and not finding any errors. She idly pulled out the pouch with the folded parchments that could brand Darius and Tug villains for the rest of their living days.
Tug dropped his quill, causing a bit of ink to spill on the page he was working on. “Earth and Field,” he cursed, quickly spilling some sand on the paper and wiping it clean. Then he looked up at her, “A…candle?” he asked, starting to sweat as she idly played with his magic villain parchment. According to the magic, if she put it in water his inked on brand would fade away, but if she burned it then his forehead would burn that rune inked on his skin right into him—sizzling flesh and all.
“I, uh, don’t think we have any candles right at the moment,” he said, turning slightly pale.
“A pity,” she said casually, then reached into her coin purse and leaning over to hand him a single, Gold Queen, “why don’t you get us some?”
His eyes riveted to the coin, he reached out eagerly to take the gold. His fingers started to take it, but she held onto the opposite edge.
“Make sure to haggle and bring back all of the change,” she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, “all we need are candles, and I’d hate to have to use a campfire later on just because we overpaid while still here at our home fief.”
“Of course,” Tug said weakly and then pasted on a more convincing smile, “I’m a very good haggler, and not only will I get you a great deal but every bent copper penny will be accounted for.”
“Excellent news,” Falon said with a more genuine smile and then unable to help it added, “after all, I’d hate to have to ask Darius to take care of the purchasing around here. I’m sure he’d be less than happy.”
Tug blinked rapidly, “There’s no reason the Corporal needs to involve himself in Clerk supplies,” he said with what sounded like as much indignation as he could muster.
It must be some inner cruelty inside her, but seeing him visibly disconcerted after so recently trying to pull something over on her made her feel better.
“Then let’s be about it,” she urged, slapping her hands together and immediately wincing when the motion caused her already stressed-out muscles to squeal in protest.
She watched as he scurried out of the tent without a second word and, shaking her head, she turned back to the pile of papers still in front of her. She had seen a request from one of the Sergeants in there, and thanks to the Captain it was her job to check them all first before taking care of it, or passing it along to the Lord’s staff in the Keep.
Realizing that after this meeting with Tug, she actually did have a good reason for hiding in her tent instead of doing their group exercises. Thanks to Tug now, she really did have to double check all his work. And thanks to Captain Smythe, she had picked a criminal as her new Clerk. Had she been a fool to hire a villain for a Clerk at the behest of the Captain, or was it all some kind of test?
Grumbling under her breath, she reached over and snagged Tug’s quill and inkwell. Affixing her signature to the bottom of the wagon inventory, she turned to the next paper in her lap and returned to the task at hand, which by all indication was going to take a while.
Chapter 28: More Training (Actual)
“Spread your legs further,” Darius instructed, kicking her feet further apart.
“This is stupid,” Falon muttered in a voice she hoped was too low for the Imperial man to hear, and then tried to follow his directions.
“Too far and your hands—” Darius started to bark, before visibly catching himself. Growling under his breath, he came around behind her and adjusted her feet, before taking hold of her arms until she was holding the wooden stick where he wanted it. Still not satisfied, he jerked her hands around until she was gripping the stupid, imitation hilt-thing to his satisfaction.
“Is that good?” she asked, hoping against hope that she was now positioned to his satisfaction. She could feel him nodding from behind her before stepping back and around to observe her from every side.
If you had told her, before he started abusing her body with weapons training and physical condit
ioning, that there would come a time when having Darius standing behind her and holding her arms would be as uninteresting as taking Bucket the Magnificent out for a ride, she wouldn’t have believed it. Now, however, she not only believed it but hoped that he would find someone more interesting than her to yell at.
“I would have thought that a Lieutenant would know more about swordplay than a twelve year old girl,” Darius said so scornfully that Falon felt herself flush with shame and embarrassment, “but you’re worse than a twelve year old girl, because at least she wouldn’t drop her sword every other time her weapon got hit!”
“I’m not that bad!” Falon protested, knowing her words to be true, because she was a fifteen year old girl after all, and knew far more about swords and swordplay than her younger, twelve year old self ever had. Yet despite all of this confidence, her voice came out more than a little shrill and uncertain.
“My little sister could get through your guard and wipe the floor with you,” Darius scoffed, still circling around her before shaking his head, “I thought you were a part of your culture’s warrior class? First position!” he suddenly barked
“Um, Squiresheir,” she corrected, trying to match the movements they had been training for the past several days.
“Pitiful,” Darius sneered, “you have none of the training or natural talent I expected from someone one of your class. I thought Squires had to have a certain minimum of experience to qualify for the position.”
Feeling her face turn beet red with embarrassment she looked ahead stiffly. “I’m not a Squire, just a spare heir; I never really received the training since we’re bottom end gentry, and not really considered nobility at all,” she admitted, speaking as much of the truth as she felt she could get away with.
“Your Lord seemed like a decent enough warrior, I just figured he would have a higher caliber of underling,” Darius said with a shrug, “my mistake.”
Realizing she had just been insulted, but unable to defend herself with the truth of while she was so inexperienced, Falon bit her tongue and forced a nod.
“Position two,” he snapped, and then continued to question her in a normal voice, “So how is it you acquired the Boar Knife moniker if you’re such a terrible bladesman?”
Gritting her teeth with the shame of not having even the bare minimum of skills expected out of any Squireson, Falon kept her gaze firmly on the ground.
“I used a spear, but when that broke I had to go after it with a knife,” Falon shuddered as she once again relived the entire, terrible ‘Boar Knife’ naming experience.
Darius raised his eyebrows, “That has to be either one of the bravest, or one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard of. How big was the boar?” he asked with a hint of mild interest in his voice.
“I’m told it was four hundred pounds,” she said more sheepishly than she had expected, and he appeared slightly impressed as he gave her an assessing look before shrugging.
“Position three,” he barked.
Again she attempted to follow the instructions, and again the Training Master shook his head and looked like he was concentrating fiercely.
“As I don’t see how you could possibly do any worse, we’re going to take you off the sword and over to the spear,” he said after a long moment.
“The spear?!” she had to keep herself from shouting.
“Spear drills and knife drills too,” he said heavily, “at least you’re not a complete and total loss when the stick has a pointy end on it.”
Falon huffed with outrage. “I can’t go around with a spear; what will people think?!” she exclaimed.
The Imperial shrugged. “At least you’ll still be around for them to think about,” he said dismissively as he held out a hand for the sword.
“I’m a Lieutenant,” she said fiercely, shaking her sword at him.
“Yes,” he agreed, stepping inside her guard and easily disarming her in one fluid motion. He held up the sword briefly so that he could peer down the edge and then, the wooden stick seeming to pass some kind of criteria, he turned and tossed it over to a small pile of spare training weapons.
“I’m your Lieutenant,” Falon continued, initially taken aback at being so obviously ignored before rallying to finish in a firm voice.
“You are,” Darius said evenly, meeting her eyes his face impassive.
Falon opened her mouth to start shouting, and just as she had filled her lungs with a large breath of air, she deflated. “I have to learn how to fight with a sword,” she grumbled as she kicked the ground, “I can’t just give up.”
Darius cocked his head and shrugged. “You have no training, and you’re simply not strong enough to wield one of your people’s swords effectively,” he said in a not unkind voice. “In another year or two, when your man strength comes in, I’m sure you’ll be an unholy terror on the battlefield. But for now, stick with the spear, as it will keep you alive.”
“You don’t understand,” Falon said desperately, “I need to learn the sword!” If she didn’t at least try, then everyone in her class would know her for a fraud, and waiting for her ‘man strength’ to come in wasn’t going to work for obvious reasons. She didn’t know of a single boy who, given the chance to learn how to wield a sword, would choose the spear instead—especially not boys of her class. She also didn’t think that any of them would believe that someone who had been made a Lieutenant couldn’t use a sword, and the last thing she needed was more scrutiny.
“Alright,” Darius said after an extended pause, his jaw clenching, “I’ll keep instructing you how to use a sword.”
“Really,” she asked before realizing that he was serious and then pumped her fist, “yes! Thank you, Darius. You won’t regret this.”
“I’m already regretting it,” he frowned.
“Well, not any more than you do already,” she said urgently. The last thing she wanted was for him to change his mind, “I know if I just keep trying I’ll figure out the sword much faster than the spear—”
He cut her off with a sharp, slashing gesture and her mouth snapped shut. “You’ll be doing sword and knife drills with the rest of the group, starting tomorrow,” he said flatly, his voice making it clear he would brook no argument.
“But you just promised,” she argued, feeling betrayed.
“I said I’d keep training you in the sword, which I will, but only in the evening after everyone else is done with their drills and calisthenics. Drills that you,” he said his eyes boring into her, “will be going through alongside them, with the spear.”
Betrayal turned to outrage, which quickly turned into a sick feeling in her stomach. She was supposed to willingly sign up for ‘extra’ training after putting in a full day’s work?! Was he secretly trying to kill her by working her into an early grave?
“Fine,” she bit out.
“Besides, it’ll be good for you,” the Imperial suddenly smiled, “let you catch up on the hour a day you’re missing because of the clerk work.” The challenging look he gave her, as if she were playing hooky when she might have been better off doing the exercises, left her shaking with silent fury.
Afraid of what she might say if she stayed, she ground her teeth and stalked off.
Chapter 29: Marching Out
Falon had always thought that watching an army march out to war would be an incredibly gallant and thrilling thing, and what little she was actually able to see of it seemed to be one of the few times when preconceptions and reality were similar.
The Prince, surrounded by his Knights and royal guardsmen, actually managed to match up with her expectations. Even his more common armsmen in slightly less polished armor seemed to fit the overall image. The Baron’s fighting tail followed immediately after the Prince in strict order of seniority and while the Prince’s men looked to be in superior trim, that was only natural; one did not expect the moon to outshine the sun.
However, the Lords and Landed Knights that followed after—accompanied by rough looking warri
ors and their unmistakable peasant levies—did not compare at all to those who went before them.
Alas, Captain Smythe had her running ragged, sprinting from one band of the Fighting Swans to the other in a last ditch effort to ensure that nothing important was left behind and everyone one was accounted for.
It was completely unfair. But sadly, so much about her life lately had been unfair; what was one more unfairness heaped up on top of all the rest?
“I’m looking for Sergeant Jake,” Falon half-panted, slowing down as soon as she arrived at the edge of the next Fighting Swan camp.
“Who art thee, pretty boy?” leered one of the dirty looking men lounging around the edge of the camp. Falon would have liked to snap at them for being poor, slovenly sentries, except they looked ready to kill on a moment’s notice—and that they would enjoy it.
She knew little of ‘Lieutenant-ing,’ but so far it seemed to consist of a lot of training, and inventorying foodstuffs, clothes and makeshift weapons. In other words she had been helping to get the Swans ready to fight, and other than their rough clothing and uncut facial hair, these men certainly seemed to fit that description.
“Take me to Sergeant Jake,” she repeated, drawing herself up and staring down at them.
“Jake’s lot are the next camp over,” said a lean, Old Blooder with a scar running from one side of his forehead to the other. He hawked and spat a large gob of spit in the direction of the next camp, and judging from his demeanor he seemed to think the conversation was over. He turned back to his companion, tossed down a bent copper piece, and picked up a pair of knuckle bones to shake in his hand.
“Whose band is this?” Falon did her best to growl like she had heard Darius doing during their daily training. She suppressed a wince when she heard her own voice. She sounded far from tough and manly. All such thoughts were blown from her mind like leaves in the wind when the Old Blooder with the knucklebones looked up at her as if she were a chicken whose neck he was about to ring.
The Blooding Page 21