Steel And Flame (Book 1)

by Damien Lake

  Dietrik had slid further in an attempt to get behind Harlan. He suddenly faced Harlan’s blade when their foe pulled his sword away from Marik’s, stepped back and pivoted so the two men stood on either side. Harlan struck Dietrik’s sword in a flash, then swung the blade around to deflect Marik’s weak slash.

  With opponents flanking him, Harlan slid backward down the slope at a slow pace, disturbing none of the earth to the sides. Annoyed, Marik started after him, his own glide sending a fan of upset rock and dirt cascading away. Dietrik also followed their opponent while taking pains to stay west of him.

  They all stopped below in a large scrub grass patch. Despite his efforts, Marik had slid to the side. Both he and Dietrik stood west of Harlan, between him and his red boulder. The thought of making a break for it occurred to both men. It was silently rejected. If they tried that, they both knew Harlan would cut them down from behind.

  “Let’s rush at the same time,” Dietrik whispered. “I’ll go high, you go low.”

  “Right. It’s our best chance here.”

  They charged as best they could with one leg extended full length while the other bent sharply at the knee because of the slope’s grade. Harlan’s true speed appeared when he deflected both blades. It cost him though. Their combined attack drove him a step backward. Marik and Dietrik pressed the assault, giving Harlan every attack they could summon. He met them with a furious storm of blocks and deflections, yet lost ground at the same time.

  “Almost there, mate! As soon as he’s off the grass, we have him!”

  Then another voice rose over the field. “Halt! All of you stop now! Victory to the west! East loses its base!”

  “Damn it!” Marik swore with fury. “Folsom must have let the other one get him!”

  Harlan lowered his blade. “Not bad. I think you two have qualified, despite the loss.”

  “That’s not the point, Harlan!”

  “Face up to the world, Marik. No one wins them all.” With that, he began to climb the hill.

  “I think he’s right. Cheer up. We made a good showing.”

  “I know.” Marik shook his head. He forced his temper into submission and offered his hand. “At any rate, glad to meet you.”

  Taking Marik’s hand and shaking it, Dietrik replied, “Same here, mate. Let’s get back before the old man sends the Homeguard after us.”

  * * * * *

  After explaining the ins and outs of their reasoning regarding every action they had taken, Marik, Dietrik and Harlan were among the applicants winning entrance to the band. Folsom did not impress the officers since the second bruiser had crept to within feet without him noticing, and then he had rapidly fallen to a bludgeoning attack. Also rejected was the giant Dietrik and Marik ambushed. This turned into the first challenge Marik witnessed against the officers on the part of the still gasping giant, Beld, the second bruiser and one other human buffalo, all of whom turned out to be friends.

  The Homeguard ended it by giving the giant a new collection of knocks, and nearly hauled away Beld as well for causing a ruckus. Several nasty glances in his direction prompted Marik to join the majority of the qualified men near the walls instead of staying to watch the remaining matches. He sat with Harlan in the shade while he waited to see how his other two friends would fair.

  Harlan kept the conversation at a nonexistent level, but that was normal. He spent the time pulling odd bits of gear from his pack and examining them closely for signs of dirt or decay. Marik had grown bored when Dietrik wandered by.

  “Hello again, mate! And hello to you, too. I offer my congratulations on managing to fend both of us off back there. I didn’t think that anyone could have lasted against two adversaries under those conditions.”

  “Practice and experience. They’re the only instructors.”

  “I quite agree with you. May I join you in your patch of shade here?”

  “Please do,” invited Marik. “I noticed you stayed near the tables for awhile.”

  “Yes I did. The Homeguard was dealing with that vengeful brute and I decided to stay. I thought I’d come and tell you we’re nearly guaranteed our places in the band now!”

  “Oh? Is everyone else so bad we’re looking good by comparison?”

  “Not at all. Half the men have gone through this trial and already forty have been rejected. Only fifty needed to be culled this morning to leave enough men to fill the band’s empty spaces.”

  “Are they going to stop after cutting another ten or keep going until all the men have had their turn?”

  “I believe they will keep going.”

  “What happens if they cut so many there are still places left to fill?”

  Harlan chose to engage in the conversation after all. “I understand the band is rarely ever completely full. They would want to leave spaces open in the event they encounter a skilled fighter during the rest of the winter, or during the summer fighting. This is their primary hiring session of the year, but if you impress them enough, they’ll let you join at other times.”

  Dietrik nodded. “So it would be to their advantage to leave a few empty bunks in the barracks. I wouldn’t be surprised if the number of open spaces they mentioned yesterday was lower than the actual number.”

  “Most likely.”

  “So they’re half done then?” Marik inquired. “It’s been around six candlemarks since they began. This is going to go all the way to nightfall again!”

  “I think so. I was talking to that old man whose been running the show—”

  “Hmmph!”

  “Is anything wrong?”

  “No, not really. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

  “Well, he told me all the applicants accepted would receive a rank and placement tomorrow after they go over the records tonight and decide where to place us. It surprised me they would assign rank to men immediately upon entering the band!”

  “Oh, not like officer’s rank! I was talking to him and a few other clerks an eightday ago. It means a skill rank. I don’t know if it’s a system used by the Kings alone or not. After seeing what we have, we’re assigned a skill rank between E and A, with E being the worst I think. Like having no talent as a fighter at all, except all of them have already been weeded out.” Marik proceeded slowly, carefully keeping straight the order of the letters one clerk had explained to him. “I think D Class is a fighter with potential, but still needs training. B—no, C is an average fighter that can handle the frontline and knows how to stay alive. The B Class is an advanced fighter good enough to impress the officers and an A Class is the kind of fighter you hear about in songs. From what the clerks were saying, no one in the Crimson Kings right now is an A Class fighter.”

  Harlan added, “I have never encountered this system before. It must be unique to this band.”

  “I think you’re right. After they decide your rank, they decide which group to put you in. The Kings get lots of contracts. They have lots of groups out on different hires at once.”

  “I knew that, but not about this ranking system,” Dietrik commented. “So all the groups are composed of fighters of the same rank?”

  “I don’t know. I do know your pay is based on your rank, so you want it to be as high as you can get it.”

  “Sounds bloody complicated! Why all the regulations? It’s like the army over again rather than a merc band.”

  “Were you in the army?”

  “As a matter of fact, I was. Look, someone is coming over.”

  Marik glanced sideways to see Maddock striding to join them from the tables. The afternoon had already grown old and the gathered men yet to be called still loitered in a considerable crowd. Waiting, it seemed, would likely become a normal part of his life. It was not his strong point.

  He reached for his water skin. At least being with friends would help the time pass less slowly.

  Chapter 09

  Late the next morning, Janus called the men from their camps for the last time and invited them within the walls.
The Homeguard opened the main gates, allowing them to pass into the wide, open area Marik had traversed before. After spending days outside the walls, he realized this empty space must use a substantial portion of the enclosure, reaching over a third of the way across the town from south to north. While the town stretched twice as wide east to west, it remained a considerable amount of room to leave undeveloped.

  Or maybe it had been developed after all. He studied it closer and saw the entire space was hard packed earth without so much as a weed poking through. At the far end, between the twin shop rows rimming the dirt field, the tables sat with their customary five officers in attendance. A sizeable group of new men stood behind them near the large building’s steps.

  Janus shouted without his horn’s aid this time. “When we call you, come up and stand before the table! You’ll be assigned your place in the band and led to your barracks by one of these men!” he gestured at the clique behind the officers.

  He took a sheaf of papers from the table and called four separate groups at once, each numbering two to four people. The few women Marik had noticed among the camps had all qualified. Janus called every single one with this first cluster. Once they were organized to Janus’ satisfaction, the central officer spoke to them, his words inaudible to the larger group. A waiting man behind the tables stepped forward to take charge. Those he led away to the east, past the last tavern in the row, toward the further buildings Marik had glimpsed during his first visit.

  So it continued. Harlan and Chatham were called with the second cluster’s second group. Maddock landed in the third group for that same cluster. When he passed, Maddock said, “Come track us down soon, after we have all settled in.”

  “I will.”

  He hoped to be called with the fourth group, but he remained in the larger crowd while the officer addressed the sixteen men drawn out. Though they had entered the band together, they would not be placed with each other in the end. Well, they would still be seeing each other around the town, so a farewell was out of order, right?

  The trio’s group followed their guide past the tavern to the east. Janus called Marik forward with the fifth cluster, and Dietrik as well. They hailed each other with grins and hit their fists together as they had after dispatching the lumbering moose during the second trial.

  “Together again, mate! They must have decided we work well as a pair!”

  “I think you might be right! Let’s go see what they have in store for us.”

  The two passed Janus without a second glance while he called one last man forward to join them. They were directed to stand to the right of the first three groups, facing north. When they had arranged themselves, the central officer of the five spoke.

  “Congratulations on qualifying for the Crimson Kings Mercenary Band,” he recited while continuing to gaze down at his papers. The speech sounded memorized. “I’m not here to give you all the whens and wherefores now; you’ll get most of those from your unit’s sergeant. So here we go. Starting from the west, your groups will respectively join Units One through Four of the Ninth Squad. Each unit is comprised of twenty-five men maximum, all skilled in various areas. You will most likely be frontline fighters. Your sergeants will fill you in once you get to the Ninth’s barracks. Ninth lead!” He shouted this last to the diminishing group by the steps.

  One separated and approached them. He took a scroll from the senior officer, then addressed his charges. “Follow me,” he commanded and walked east.

  Each of the seventeen men gathered his belongings. Once past the last tavern on the row, Marik could clearly see the buildings he had only glimpsed before. A row of six buildings stretched half the town’s length from the center to the southern wall. Each building mirrored the others exactly. His first guess at seeing them in any other town would have been warehouses. Rectangular, long and almost fifty feet on the narrow side, they must be four times that in length. At least. Marik had never been the best at judging distances by eye alone.

  This end appeared to have no door. Their guide led them eastward, between one building and its identical neighbor. The many windows lining the two were shuttered so they could not peer inside. After he reached the far end, their guide spoke.

  “This is your building, the Ninth’s barracks.”

  South of the Ninth Squad’s home lay four other barracks buildings and then the wall, with one additional barracks to the north. A cleared area nearly twenty yards wide separated them from a duplicate row of six barracks. Cleared except for three stone circular wells with wooden roofs. Beyond the second barracks row Marik could see other buildings, differently shaped. So their own building sat level east to west with the northernmost tavern and would be the first barracks he encountered. Good. That should make it easy to find, not that Kingshome was overlarge.

  The guide continued. “The one to the north is Tenth Squad, the one to the south is Eighth Squad. Directly across is Fifteenth. Never enter any other barracks unless invited. Now, come into the Ninth Squad.”

  They passed through the main doors on the building’s east face, entering a large mess area containing many tables and wooden benches. An open window had been cut into the north wall through which Marik could see a kitchen area. In the western wall were two double-doors to the north and south ends. Men passed through those doors, going about their private business.

  At a table near the kitchen window sat four men with tankards. They noticed the new arrivals, tossed back their dregs and rose. Their guide handed the scroll to one before leaving to perform whatever else his duties demanded of him.

  The opened scroll turned into four separate sheets rolled together. They passed the sheets among themselves, each scanning theirs before one spoke.

  “Who’re the Second Unit’s men?” Four men acknowledged their status and he continued. “All right, our bunks are over here. Come along.”

  They walked after him through the southern doors, closely followed by the new members of the First Unit. A tough man with leathery skin and several small scars that seemed like shaving nicks rather than a battle history called the Fourth Unit’s men. He led them through the northern doors, into their new living quarters.

  The building had been split in half lengthwise by solid wall, forming two wings. A half wall in the middle further sectioned it into quarters. Arrayed against the long walls were several cots made from wood and canvas. Twelve lined the north wall while thirteen lined the south, offset so the cots were never directly across from each other. At every cot’s foot rested a metal locker much like the document boxes in the records office. Also beside each was a standing closet. A few closet doors stood open, revealing empty interiors divided into large open spaces, smaller shelves and drawers.

  They passed through the half wall separating the Third and Fourth Units’ living spaces. Marik noticed a handful of men still sleeping or lounging on their bunks. Their guide turned to face them.

  “I’m Sergeant Fraser, the commanding officer of Fourth Unit, Ninth Squad. The other men you saw with me are the sergeants of the other units. I’m going to explain a few details, but I’ve got duties to take care of today. Any questions you have you can ask me, but as the newest men any questions you have can probably be answered by the other unit men, so don’t bother me unless you’ve asked them first.

  “Right now I want you four straight on these rules. You take your orders from me, not the other three sergeants. Lieutenant Earnell commands the Ninth as a whole and supersedes me. That means he can give you orders, but not any of the other Lieutenants. Other than us, only Commander Torrance has the right to tell you what to do.”

  He glanced around to make certain they understood who their bosses were. Satisfied, he continued. “Anyone who served in the army or other merc bands will notice a thing or two. We’re like the army in that we’re large enough to organize as squads and units. We also share similar command structures and have similar officer ranks. Unlike them, we don’t require uniforms, regulation weapons, rigid postures,
or strict schedules.

  “Like a merc band, we’re a collection of different men, each with our own favorite weapons and combat styles and reasons for being here. Unlike the other bands, you are expected to do more through the winter months than sit around and drink. We’re not paying you a stipend each eightday to go soft. There are training grounds and facilities throughout the compound and you are expected to make use of them three times an eightday at minimum. At any given time, you may be challenged by an officer to demonstrate your skills. During these times, that officer has complete authority over you, and if you haven’t kept your skills sharp, you will be ejected from the band.

  “This band has the reputation as the best in Galemar. Our reputation is what earns us top fees from the kingdom’s leading classes, and you are expected to support that image. Each of you has a skill rank listed on this document. Anybody not know how our skill class system works? No? Good. Who’s Dietrik?”

  “That would be me, sir.”

  “You were evaluated as a high level D Class, near to a C. Pierce? You came in as an average C Class. Marik?”

  “Here.”

  “You also came in as a high D.”

  Garret, the last man, had been classified as a C Class and Sergeant Fraser re-rolled the paper in his hand. “Each of you choose a bunk with an open closet. Stow your stuff, then spend the rest of the day learning the grounds. If you lose your keys,” he tossed over his shoulder while he departed, “you’ll be charged by the band for the cost of replacing them and the locks.”

  Marik found two cots side-by-side with open closets near the far corner. He asked Dietrik, “How about we settle down there?”

  “Fine idea. One of my neighbors won’t be a stranger.”