Rikyl spits in anger. He surprises Tenil by sweeping her legs, causing her to hit the ground face-first. When she comes to, she can see Rikyl’s blade coming down at her. She raises her sword in time to parry the blow, and then she kicks him in the abdomen to get a chance to retreat.
The lieutenant is watching them, awed by Tenil’s change in performance after recovering from the fever. The rest of the platoon is also watching, distracted.
Rikyl stands up swiftly, his abdomen bruised. Tenil’s head hurts just as much. They’re both breathing heavily, ready for the third round. It’s a tie for now, and neither party will accept defeat. Tenil wants to become stronger, and Rikyl’s pride drives him on. Who’ll win?
“The hell are y’all doing!? Back to practicing! And Tenil, Rikyl, that’s enough! Yuth with Tenil, Oreon with Rikyl!” Lieutenant Forhil yells.
Rikyl and Tenil are dismayed, glaring at each other. Neither wants to end it like that. Reluctantly, Tenil partners with Yuth, a young man with a calm but sinister look, and Rikyl with the bossy Oreon.
Yuth has a dark, short hair and brown eyes. He is very passive while sparring. It’s almost as if he didn’t want to hit Tenil. She clicks her tongue because of that. She won’t get any better with someone like him.
After a while, the sparring comes to an end and their platoon goes to the dining hall to eat lunch. Tenil sits in her private corner, digging into the soup. It’d be a normal occasion, if not for the few recruits gathering around her. They eat in the same table with her, curious about her background.
“How did you get in the army? I mean, you’re a girl, right?” One of her comrades asks.
“I was mistaken for a boy,” is all Tenil minds to say. She was treated horribly, so why should she befriend them now? She doesn’t like any of them even the slightest bit.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Hiding your gender was stupid.”
Tenil can’t bring herself to answer the question. She feared she’d be molested or something, common as it is in Phyr outside of the capital. Who’d reveal such an embarrassing thought? They’d laugh at her again if she said it. Tenil’s appetite is gone because of them. She leaves the curious recruits behind, taking her rusty iron tray to the table where they are supposed to be left on. She then heads outside.
The next session is practicing defensive battle formations and tactics. They exit the brigade, heading to a hill nearby. There’s a small, impractical fortress built for training. Lieutenant Forhil is constantly yelling at everyone, telling them how useless they are and so on. Tenil is no exception. She is a recruit just like anyone else, and she understands it.
Before sunset, they return to the brigade to eat dinner, after which they are made to polish their weapons. Once done, some of them go to eat supper, and some go straight to bed.
Soon, very soon, they’ll see the battlefield.
***
It’s been two weeks since Tenil was conscripted. The whole brigade has been gathered in the courtyard, the 2,000 recruits. Facing the main building, the footmen regiment is on the right, the artillery regiment in the middle, and the cavalry regiment on the left. The footmen, including Tenil, are equipped with plate armors, shortswords and shields. The archers have leather armors. The cavalry men have chainmails and lances.
The general stands before them all with thirty-eight officers, noncommissioned officers of the brigade not included in the formation. The general is a thin man with a mustache and short hair.
“Today, you will all be knighted, and some of you will be promoted to sergeants. It is wartime, and thus your first mission will be bloody. Captain Ron will lead the march to Teckton, the fortress in West. You are to reinforce our decimated forces there,” the general speaks.
““““For the kingdom!”””” The whole brigade roars.
“The Lord of Hell will claim us all for slaying our own kind, but this is war, and we can do nothing but accept it.” The general reminds them of the bible’s teachings, bible that is unique to their world.
The speech continues for half an hour with all the promotions. Tenil isn’t promoted further than ‘knight.’ She is just a soldier, trained to become food for the tide. To keep herself motivated, she thinks about her mother. She has become stronger, true, but not enough to change the tide.
Once the general’s speech is over, they gear up for the upcoming march to West. It’s still morning, so they haven’t eaten lunch. They’re given rations they can eat as they march. They have over twenty leagues ahead of them, and they have to hurry. If the fortress falls, the war will most likely end with it.
Sixty-one miles. They’ll march at the pace of one and half a mile an hour, which means it’ll take at least five days to get there. They can’t go any faster than that due to heavy plate armors and the artillery that’s being transported: six ballistae, one catapult, and a carriage of ammunition.
They also need to look out for the enemy guerilla corps. Already two villages lie in ruins, and the reinforcements from Tror were annihilated on the kingdom’s own land. Tenil may have grown mentally, but she isn’t ready to face the bloody battlefield. Nay, none of the newly promoted recruits are. Most of them will face psychological breakdowns upon seeing the horrors of war.
The warband of 2,000 exits the brigade through the gate, cavalry in front, footmen in the middle, archers and the war machines at the rear. Tenil is in the very center of the footmen regiment. So in the end, she never got a chance to see her mother before departing to the war zone. She chose to stay, and she will bear the burden of it.
The plate armors weigh forty pounds, the shield about nine pounds, and the sword over six pounds. In addition to that, they have backpacks they need to carry. The helmets they wear are uncomfortable and double the sweat. After a hundred yards from the gate, most of the footmen are sweating, including Tenil.
The plate armor causes such noise the citizens of Ivymn can hear them march in the distance. Captain Ron is leading the march, riding at the forefront, wearing a black armor with fists painted on both shoulders. Sergeant Major Errol is in charge of the footmen regiment for the duration of the march.
After three miles, they stop to eat lunch and rest for a moment. Tenil is breathing heavily, soaked all over. She isn’t the only one; every single one in the regiment is the same, complaining and moaning. While it may seem like they wouldn’t be able to continue, they still have a ton of energy stored. It’s just sweat and complaints, nothing more, nothing less.
They march on until the nightfall, setting up a camp beside the road in the shadow of a mountain. It’s the first time Tenil sleeps under the stars, and experiencing it isn’t enjoyable in any way. Mosquitos constantly harass her, and the cold of night makes her shiver. But nonetheless, she and everyone else manages until the dawn.
The second day of the march is no different. It rains for a short period in the afternoon, followed by a windy evening. The second night of the march is even worse because of it. Soaked earth and cold wind, what else does one need to sleep out there? But even so, Tenil does not regret her choice.
The third day of the march is a warm day. The muddy ground dries, and the moist air is gone. Their bodies are exhausted, but their spirits stand valiant. The heavy plate armor feels light as if it were part of Tenil’s body now. She can’t even remember how it felt to walk without them, although it’s been two days only. At first, it felt like she was shouldering anvils, but now it’s as if she and the anvils had become one, sweating together.
Thankfully, the kingdom is a land full of rivers, so the warband never runs out of water. As long as they have fresh water in their canteens, the gallons of sweat mean nothing to them.
Once they stop to rest for the night, Tenil removes her helmet, drops her backpack, shield, and sword onto the ground. She digs for her blanket, spreading it over herself. She is asleep in a moment’s notice.
***
The kingdom’s warhorn is blown in the middle of the night.
&
nbsp; “To arms! To arms!”
Tenil opens her eyes, heart racing. She puts her helmet on, picks her sword and shield, standing up. Their camping formation is combat ready the moment everyone’s up, for they’ve positioned artillery regiment in the center of the round formation before they started resting, with cavalry and the footmen protecting them.
Tenil is at the forefront of the formation, holding her shield protectively. She is eyeing the dark woods intently and breathing rapidly. Is it the empire? Will she die now? Or will she kill someone? The officers are shouting orders behind her. They are to hold the line until the last breath.
But nothing moves in the dark. Or at least Tenil can’t see anything. Apparently, one scout was slain in the dark, and his partner had blown the horn right after that according to the reported facts. The other scouts who are scattered in the woods around the camp are waiting silently, not joining their allies just yet. Depending on what horn and for how long the horn is blown by the captain, the scouts will either rejoin the warband or retreat to the brigade as fast as they can.
After a quarter of an hour, the alarm is cancelled, but the footmen will stand watch for the night in case the guerilla corps will try to attack again. It’s only logical they didn’t this time, as they’d been exposed too early.
Tenil exhales, glad that she didn’t have to fight just yet. The tension isn’t broken so easily, however. Be it Oreon or Rikyl, they’re all grim, scared, and tired. Whether they’ll experience live combat today or not, they’ll have to face it in a couple of days anyway.
Chapter Four
Guardian of the Gate
The Lord of Heaven is the righteous God of life
The Lord of Hell is the
sinner God of death
In the end, the enemy guerilla corps fail to intercept their advance. The warband has faced difficulties, such as felled trees that have slowed them down, but in the afternoon of the sixth day, they finally get to the fortress at the border. There is a small town a mile behind Teckton that they pass by. It’s heavily guarded with barricades, pikemen, and archers. It’s a strategic point the kingdom cannot afford to lose.
A thick wooden gate at the back of the fortress, facing the inland of the kingdom, opens before the three regiments of Ivymn. The walls are of dark stone, the ground paved in the courtyard. A black flag with a white rose is fluttering at the tip of the medium sized citadel. The fortress is built in a valley to block a path into the kingdom’s land, and hence the empire’s desire to overtake it. There are other strategic points as well, such as the Plains of Ymingor in the North. No fortress has been built there, and because of that, the cavalry forces of the kingdom are holding the piece of land over there. In fact, the cavalry regiment of Ivymn will ride to reinforce the numbers at Ymingor once they’ve resupplied.
The wall of the fortress covers the mouth of the valley, spanning half a mile. The fortress itself with the gate stands in the middle, a large building made of solid stone even catapults may not be able to damage—or so Tenil thinks. Once they get a better view of the front, they can see that the whole fortress is damaged all over. There is gore everywhere, though most of it has been cleaned.
Tenil fights the nausea, and so do the other recruits as well. The courtyard covers the left side and the right side of the fortress, also the rear, all of it protected by walls. Tenil and the others are taken to the left wing of the courtyard where a high-ranking officer stands waiting. His black plate armor with white twin blades and a shield painted on both shoulders can only mean one thing: colonel.
“Footmen regiment of Ivymn, attention!” The colonel with a bald head and no beard or mustache yells. Once the footmen stand at attention, he yells again, “Artillery regiment of Ivymn, attention!”
The cavalry has been taken to the right wing to resupply, so they aren’t part of the formation. And now that the warband is standing at attention, captain Ron steps forth.
“Sir! The reinforcements from Ivymn have arrived with only one casualty! We encountered guerilla corps on our way here, Sir!”
“At ease!” The colonel yells, the warband obeying. “You have now arrived at the forefront of the battlefield. You will see your friend’s skull crack open, your own bones crushed, and the fortress crumble, if you won’t fight hard! But enough of that! Second Lieutenant Rurgi and Staff Sergeant Jigor will take you to your battle stations!”
With that short introduction to the front lines, Tenil’s regiment is scattered around the fortress wherever they’re needed. Oreon and Tenil are assigned to the gate. They’ll operate the burning oil pot during battles. A corporal is showing them the gate and its defensive mechanisms. Of course, Tenil and Oreon aren’t the only ones assigned to the gate. The lot is listening to the corporal as he explains the routines and battle strategies they use. His face speaks of the horrors he’s seen thus far.
The pot is located right above the front gate inside the wall, destroyed and fixed twice during the past two weeks. A ramp made of stone rises from the ground below up to the gate, forcing the enemy soldiers to climb it to reach the entrance. They’re easy targets on the ramp. And even if they did get to the gate, they’d be showered with the burning oil.
As a matter of fact, there are burnt corpses down below, the stench wafting up inside the wall. Tenil and a few others puke, and they’re made to clean up their own mess.
By the end of the day, Tenil, Oreon, and two others are assigned to operate the pot, and the rest will serve as messengers, suppliers, and so on. They’ll be sleeping inside the wall in their posts, as there’s no telling when the empire may attack. Even now, their camp can be seen a mile away from the wall, down in the valley between the two mountains. Tenil can tell it’s a very large army by looking at the size of the camp.
Thrice a day, a group of three armorless knights come serving food, and that’s the only delight in the gloomy and stinky wall. There are arrow loops in the wall, so there are dozens of archers in there as well, waiting patiently for the battles to come.
Lying on the wooden floor with an armor is extremely painful, as they aren’t allowed to remove their equipment unless any of the officers allows it. Tenil reminds herself that she should be grateful; the archers on top of the wall have no cover from the wind, whereas inside there are the stone walls. Of course, there are big holes caused by catapults, through which wind blows in, but for the most, part it’s warmer than outside.
In the morning of the next day, Tenil encounters a new problem. “Hey, where can I pee?” She asks a veteran who has his head bandaged.
“Huh? Can’t you use one of the arrow loops?”
“N-no. It’s technically impossible,” Tenil recalls they don’t know she is a girl.
“Oh? How come?” The wounded veteran archer is curious.
“Eh, I-I’m... a girl.”
“You’re what? I can’t hear you.”
“A girl,” Tenil spells it out.
Each and every single veteran who has heard her turns to look at her. Those who’re from the same regiment have known it for a while now, so they merely ignore her.
“A girl, huh?” An archer further away blurts. “Would you lie with me a little?”
Horrified, Tenil shakes her head hard. “No!” Not only is the archer acting like a barbarian, he is also far older than her, maybe forty at best.
“Then what about me?” Someone else says, younger by a decade.
“No!” Tenil shouts again.
Some of them start laughing, and some approach her. Tenil draws her sword, taking a stance with it. The worst part is that the sergeant and the corporal in there don’t care.
“S-stay away!” Tenil cries, afraid of what might happen.
To her horror, someone seizes her from behind, sliding his hands into her chest area through the gaps between the armor plates. Tenil shrieks, and before she even knows it, she has brought the sword’s blade at the man’s throat.
“I’ll slit your throat next time!” Tenil threatens.
> A bearded man, around thirty years old, stands back while laughing. “She doesn’t lie; she is a girl!”
She can’t leave her post, lest she’ll be executed for disobeying. The enemy is next to them, and therefore, they have no room for mistakes. Even if they threaten to disgrace her, she mustn’t leave her post. The empire can attack at any given moment.
“One of us is allowed to go to the toilet at a time,” the corporal blurts, helping her out.
Tenil turns to look at him. “Really? May I go?”
“Yes, but you must come back immediately or we will have to report you AWOL or deserter.”
“I will be back! But where is the toilet?”
“In the courtyard where your regiment was led to upon arriving. It’s right beside the wall, a shabby wooden building.”
“Got it!” Tenil flees at once, heart racing out of terror. What would’ve happened if she hadn’t managed to bring the sword to the archer’s throat? Tenil doesn’t want to imagine it.
Because of it, she now fears both the enemy and her allies.
***
For the second time, Tenil wakes up in the middle of the night to the kingdom’s warhorn. She knows what it means; the empire is attacking. The archers are nocking arrows, ready to fire through the arrow loops, and the ones assigned to the pot, namely Tenil and Oreon, are ready to fill it with oil.
Boom, something heavy strikes the wall, but nothing is broken by the impact. It must’ve been a rock hurled by a catapult, the soldiers are guessing. Another one strikes soon after.
Tenil fights the terror. She’ll be killing humans very soon, and very brutally at that. She’ll pour the burning oil down upon the enemy soldiers. She’ll hear their screams, and smell their flesh burn.
Languished Life Page 4