by Eric Smith
5 years earlier
Winter, 1275 of the Salecian Calendar
Dresda, Capital City of Salecia
Arek stood at the position of attention in front of the Strategos’ desk. Try as he might to keep his mind on the conversation that they were having his eyes kept returning to the lengths of chalkboard that covered two of the four walls in the Strategos’ office. He could not understand what the numbers on them meant, and more worrying was the fact that he saw his own name before a specific series of incomprehensible numbers and letters.
Arek Kells - 1.5689 A) 3790001.1 H) 3.5 OASP - 93% = COA 1 - .05% + 49 possibilities or the greater of 465.45 * X% always ------- 15.1^Fp
There were other names on the boards. Some he recognized and some he did not. The King was there, so was His Holiness, Father Murdacus, the leader of the Church of God, the most populous religion in the Kingdom of Salecia. They both had strings of numbers, letters, and symbols behind their names at least as long as Arek’s. Few others were as long and Arek couldn’t help but wonder if that was in some way significant.
“Captain, the process of choosing Royal Guardsmen is not one that you are expected to understand. Suffice it to say that much thought went into it before you were offered the position.” said the Strategos as he leaned forward to rest his weight upon both his arms on the desk. The Strategos of Salecia was an older man with over four decades of unbroken service in the Legions, the last twenty years of which had been spent in the position that he now held.
The Strategos’ head was shaved bald every morning to hide the fact that he was balding anyway, and his full beard was going more white than grey now. His body was still hard though, especially so for a man who must have been in his sixth decade of life. His eyes were a steel grey, and while he never visibly lost his temper thanks to a lifetime spent practicing the discipline he insisted on in his soldiers, those who knew him well could see his anger like thunderstorms in his eyes despite a lifetime spent learning to control it.
The title of Strategos, which came from one of the old languages, literally meant “army leader” and was given to the supreme commander of all Salecia’s forces. Salecia was divided into six military districts, each controlled by a General, and each General controlled by the Strategos who advised and is only held responsible to the King himself. It was a system that had been in place for over five centuries now. Traditionally, each Strategos advised the King directly on who his successor should be of the six Generals below him. This Strategos, Bayard Solomon, had earned his a different way.
Salecia had been at war with the Arganon Empire for almost a decade when he had taken command of her armies in the field. He was not even a General yet officially, although when both of the Generals at the front had been killed he stepped into the void as the highest ranking soldier present and still breathing.
In a series of battles in which the Salecian forces were outnumbered every time, Solomon managed to win victory after victory. No one could believe it. They had been losing or fighting to a stalemate for so long that no one expected to win any battles, not to mention the war any longer. But they did. He always seemed to be ten steps ahead of the Arganian commanders. Some people talked about how he must have the most extensive network of spies in existence. Others wondered if he could see the future. Within a year he had pushed them back to the old borders, within another year Salecian forces were sitting within a hundred miles of the Arganian capital city.
When the Arganian’s sued for peace many were shocked that Salecia accepted it, and when Salecia agreed to reestablish the old borders, surrendering the land they had gained, many of the nobles called for Solomon’s head. But the old King stood firm behind him, promoting him officially to the rank of Strategos, ahead of dozens of officers who outranked him.
“Sir . . .” Arek said as he searched for a way to put into words what he was feeling. “I just don’t understand why me of all the soldiers in the Legions. The men that I have met since I have been here are all legends. They can ride better than me, use a bow, a sword, a knife, and fight unarmed better than me, why me?”
“Don’t worry about any of that. You are young, what . . . five years younger than the next youngest member of the Guard, and ten or more years younger than most of them?”
“Yes Sir, I’m twenty seven years old.”
“Right,” The Strategos smiled at him in a grandfatherly sort of way and said “Can I offer you a bit of advice son? Not as your superior officer or the Strategos, but just as an old soldier to a young soldier?”
“Of course Sir,” Arek answered.
“You were chosen not just for what you are right now, but what you could become. These men have more experience than you and five or ten years ago they felt the same way that you do now. Learn from them. No one expects you to be the best swordsman in the Royal Guard over night.” he said with a smile. “You’ll do fine. Have faith.”
“Thank you Sir. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” Arek said. Truth be told, he did feel better . . . maybe just a little. There was something reassuring about the Strategos.
“No bother Captain, and congratulations on your promotion.” the Strategos said as he rose and extended a hand across the desk. Arek shook the extended hand and returning to the position of attention rendered a salute before taking a step back, executing a perfect about face and exited the office.
Solomon sat back down at his desk and let out a sigh. He looked across the room to his left at the warm and inviting fire burning beside his favorite reading chair and the book, A History of the Known World before the Fall that he had left upon the chair over a week ago. Then he looked to his right at the chalkboards and the rack holding his personal armor and sword. Not the flashy parade armor that many would have expected him to wear, but the same style as everyone else in the Legion wore, although in perfect condition and maintained by several servants now.
I hope that I have chosen the right one, he thought. So much depends on that boy. Boy? Bah. He’s almost thirty, I’m just getting old! There is so much yet to do.
Staring into the fire across the room, Soloman let his mind wander for a while, looking back over the years of his life. He missed his wife, more than anything or anyone else he missed her. Maybe it’s best she passed when she did he thought, she certainly wouldn’t have approved of any of this, least of all what they’ve done to her beloved church. Soloman had never been a religious man so many people thought it was odd that he had fallen so deeply in love with a woman who was. That’s why he loved her though. She was everything that he was not. He turned and looked over at the chalkboards. Maybe this is what God feels like, if there is a God.
With one last longing filled glance at the inviting chair by the fire he slid the seat away from the desk and stood. Even the act of standing gets harder with every year he thought. He walked farther away from the warmth of the fire to the nearest chalkboard where he started writing, erasing, and rewriting more strings of numbers, letters, and symbols. If anyone were to have been near him, they could have seen his lips barely moving as if he were talking to himself, deep in thought.