by Damien Lake
“Since they had honest military training, they were more efficient at the job than the normal mercs who were, and still tend to be in my own opinion, drunken louts who’d found a sword lying around on a battlefield. New men joined and were trained by the others to match their own skills, and the band grew enormous. The king back then was already nervous of half his own vassals, so a huge force of trained men willing to fight for anybody if the pay was right was hard to ignore.
“In the short version, the king sent a force to deal with the band, but they were unable to gain the upper hand and ended up fighting it out. Finally, after half the encampment was destroyed and the kingdom force’s supply line had been burned, the officers in the band cut down their leader who’d started the whole thing by being unwilling to negotiate, then sent out a herald to tell the other side to settle down. After they talked, the band agreed to regulate its size, and answer the call to muster if the king issued one, in return for being left alone. That’s when they started building these walls we’re standing on.”
“Or sitting on.”
“Or that, yeah.”
“So where does the safe house come into it?”
“That was a different part of the bargain between the band and the king, but not until later, after the band had served him in a few battles. Landon can tell you the whole story with every detail if you’re interested. Basically, any magical items, or suspected magical items found in the course of battles, as well as valuable papers or throne property and like that, are to be held and turned over to the capitol. In return, a bounty is paid to the Kings for the booty.”
“And if the Kings decided to hold onto them?”
Hayden smiled, but it looked grim. “They would take exception to the breech of agreement. It’s to our benefit to have smooth relations with the nobles, so we always turn over anything we happen to have when the official comes around.”
“They’re that serious about it?” Dietrik sounded amazed. “He comes out just for that?”
“No, that’s not what I meant. As far as I know, about once a year a representative of the king comes out to discuss things with Torrance and picks up anything we have laying around at the same time.”
Marik scowled, throwing his own two coppers worth in. “So we have a storehouse of dangerous magic next to our quarters. That’s a little…unsettling.”
“Probably not. We almost never actually find anything like that. They’re pretty rare.” Hayden stood from his seat. “Damn. Seems like the breeze died out. I’m going to head back to the barracks. You’ll want to wander around the town awhile. The layout looks easy from above, but finding your way around from down there can take a little getting used to.”
Hayden left, retracing his path along the wall without bothering to replace the chair he had stolen from the Homeguard. Dietrik commented, “Well now, that fellow’s a bit of a character.”
“I wonder if he’s always so talkative with the new recruits.”
“It’s to our benefit. And I think I will take a stroll along the streets. Care to join me?”
“Yes. I’d like to see what those shops have to offer. Anything they don’t carry I’ll have to find some other way.”
“I don’t think we’ll have much opportunity to go visiting the closer towns anytime soon. If that chap was right, they plan to keep us busy for the next season.”
“I’m not bothered by that. But I wonder what they consider to be training?”
“I have a feeling we will be finding that out shortly. Look, there’s a gap between those two logs. There must be one of those plank stairways there. Let’s go down.”
Once they walked to the wall’s edge, they found Dietrik’s prediction correct. Marik reflected he would not be spending much time on the walls if this was the only way to reach them, otherwise he probably would not make it to the training sessions at all.
* * * * *
Hayden had been correct about the town close up. As simple as it looked from above, walking the pathways turned out to be complicated. To begin with, the town had been designed to fit a maximum amount of storage, living quarters and facilities within as small a space as possible. Very little space stood empty or unused, a huge contrast to the other towns where structures were built as the need for them arose, using space beyond what they truly needed. Here, any space large enough to hold a pair of horses was filled with storage sheds or packed with crates, barrels and carts. Crossing the town invoked images of a mouse squeezing through the narrow gaps in an overfull warehouse.
They walked the Third Training Area, exploring the different terrain therein and marveling at the amount of work that must have been spent to create them, then found their way to the Marching Grounds. A certain disorientation took hold at encountering such a vast space after experiencing the closely packed hive.
A brief shop inspection revealed a plethora of common utensils such as plates and bowls, knives and spoons, mugs and tankards. Available were every common item Marik could imagine, from assorted ropes to leather pouches to new clothing. He could not imagine anything he might need which one of these shops did not stock. Also, each shop he inspected with Dietrik seemed to specialize in one specific commodity. In the first shop, a whole side room had been filled with assorted wine bottles resting in racks. Marik knew little of wine, but the prices on a few of the imported bottles stunned him. Something called Terriquis Rosé from Tullainia went for three-and-a-half silvers a bottle, and Egret White from Vyajion went for six!
No other shop carried so much as a single bottle. Another establishment sold knives, the display cases holding every sort Marik and Dietrik had ever seen as well as several they had never encountered.
On reflection, it seemed sensible that the shops should operate thus. Being the only shops in a town of many men itching to spend their pay, it would be common sense to carry stock unique and separate from their neighbors. In this fashion, Marik felt certain, the shopkeepers reaped a substantial coin harvest without intruding into each other’s profits. They both agreed to return in an eightday and thoroughly inspect every shop on Ale House Row once they had settled in.
Several other new recruits also wandered the town. Twice they almost encountered Big Beld and his friends. Marik saw them first and abruptly dodged between buildings to avoid a meeting. He had nothing to say to Beld, yet he suspected the opposite might not be the case. The large man still looked to be in a foul mood.
Before returning to the Ninth’s barracks, they looked closely at the Second Training Area, which lay nearest to their quarters. From above, it looked a small place, a forgotten patch of land waiting for a building to come along and take a seat. Once on the grounds it was much larger, containing, as promised, several shacks of various styles, a wide gully like a miniature canyon running along the north end and curving over a hundred feet to the east, and plain terrain from rocky and uneven to dry, cracked mud.
“How in blazes did they manage that?” Dietrik stared at the dried mud patch large enough for two units to have a substantial battle upon. Marik shook his head.
Tired and hungry, they decided to see whether the barracks food would be edible or if they would need to pony up their coin in the taverns for a meal. No sooner had they entered than they were intercepted by Sergeant Fraser.
“You two, I’ve got orders for you.” Marik considered a reply, except why bother? Let the sergeant have his head. He nodded. “Tomorrow at the second morning bell, report to the east training hall. All D Class fighters are to report and begin training. You have the winter to raise yourself to a C Class.”
Marik decided to speak after all. “And if we don’t?”
“The Crimson Kings have no use for a fighter with D Class skills. You will be asked to leave by the Homeguard. Report tomorrow for the orientation.” His piece said, the sergeant left to pursue other matters.
“Friend Hayden nailed that one, didn’t he?” Dietrik mused.
“I suppose he did. Let’s find him now and ask about the foo
d here. I think I’m going to need plenty of energy tomorrow.”
Chapter 10
Dietrik and Marik examined the training hall well before the appointed mark. They were among the first to arrive. The room was actually a sally rather than a hall, being large, open, free of dividing walls and all but two support beams. Its wooden floors shone from constant oiling. Tan wood panels covered the window-free walls from floor to ceiling. In fact, the entire room felt like the interior of a packing crate, though, Marik mused, a higher quality one than most.
Weapon racks were mounted on the short southern wall, which in turn held the practice weapons used during the entrance trials. The two new friends commented on the few unfamiliar types mixed with the swords and spears. Lining the north wall were doors so closely packed that the rooms beyond must be severely cramped. Raised flooring stretched the length of the east wall, fifteen feet wide and a foot tall.
Other men trickled into the hall while they explored. Most came in pairs or small groups. Marik guessed they were new acquaintances from the same units like himself and Dietrik. Very few came in alone.
The heavy atmosphere in the room remained unsociable. Marik considered this upcoming training as a golden opportunity, a chance to significantly improve his blade skills. Apparently few others shared his outlook. His impression from the newcomers led him to believe many had expected to spend the winter warm and comfortable once they entered Kingshome. They could swing their swords, right? What was all this sudden bunk about training and skills and precision talent? Was this a mercenary band or the army for the sake of the gods?
With no experience concerning either group, Marik drifted with the current, accepting anything because he held no expectations on normal behavior inside a mercenary band. Which probably worked well in his favor, given Dietrik’s occasional comments on the subject, though the smaller man seemed nearly as content as he.
The aimless grumbling mostly centered on the implication they were inferior warriors. He could admit without shame that there were men whose talent at swordsmanship made his seem childish, yet he understood their dissatisfaction. His own grumbles might have joined the chorus had Chatham not beaten his illusions from him nightly on the road.
Of course, if Chatham hadn’t, he would not be standing here now.
One of the many doors opened, revealing a cramped office dominated by a large wooden desk. From inside strode a man who paused to gaze without love at the gathering before pounding on the neighboring door. A moment later, another man and a woman emerged. The woman looked as if she would have no trouble defending her virtue in a town full of men, most of whom tended to view laws as a suggestion rather than a code of conduct.
She wore a leather tunic with cutoff sleeves, showing hardened muscle beyond what Marik could claim. Her leather breeches were loose, though not terribly so, and her hair cropped short. Being in the hall probably meant she would handle some aspect of their training, which could be interesting. Marik had never interacted with a female fighter before.
The second man appeared unremarkable, his only significant feature a shaggy mop of black hair falling into his eyes, but the first man matched the woman in both muscle and attire. His face displayed a geography of scars and marks which conveyed not so much an impression of disfigurement as a visual representation of his personality. When he drew closer, his body revealed as much history.
He held several papers in his hand as he stepped onto the raised section. The second morning bell rang outside when he reached the platform’s center. While the twin bongs faded, he counted heads, then spoke. From his demeanor, Marik decided the man had been unhappy to receive this assignment, but was professional enough to do the job right, and to the best of his ability.
“Fifty-one. Anybody know the other eight?” Nobody volunteered. “Take this as a lesson then. There’s always some at first who don’t take the band’s rules seriously. If you can’t follow orders here, what good are you in the field? Now they’re gone. I’m going to call out names, so if you’re here make sure I know it or else you’ll be walking through the gates with those others this afternoon. Squad Six, Unit One, Messer?”
“Over here,” called a man from the crowd’s far side. Eventually their instructor arrived at Squad Nine, Unit Four and Dietrik called, “I am here, sir.” Marik followed with a raised arm and, “Present!” With each acknowledgment, a charcoal stick marked a tick on the papers.
When he reached the end, he rolled them and handed them to the second man. “Take this over to Records.” He faced his audience squarely after the other departed. His gruff voice sounded annoyed, if not actually irritated at his lot.
“To business. I’m Mylor and this is Nyla, and we’re not masters, and you are definitely not our students. You should all know by now about our skill system and how we classify our men. Your pay is based on your skills, so you want to have the highest evaluation you can. In your case, you’re the lowest of the low, at least among us. If you don’t improve over the next four months, you’re going through those gates alone and without any contracts under your belt.
“You already know how to use your swords, otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten through those gates in the first place. We’re not here to teach you how to be a fighter. We are here to tell you about the town and to tell you a few things you might not be aware of, so you can be a better fighter.”
Nyla took over when Mylor glanced in her direction. Her voice, Marik knew with conviction, was how steel would sound if it were a noise rather than a solid object. “First of all, this town is designed to allow its residents to strengthen up their talents. Every inch of the place offers opportunities. I’m going to show it to you and tell you how to use it. After orientation, it’s up to you to train yourself. Every fighter contracted with this band is expected to maintain and increase their combat abilities when on home ground. Any of the officers may choose to test you whenever it strikes their fancy. Results will be compared to your personnel file in the records building. This ensures you men don’t degenerate yourselves into fat sacks of lard during the off-season.”
Soft murmurs floated to Marik’s ear. These men disliked such a tone, especially from a woman. Mylor barked a noise between a cough and a threat. His audience quieted as he resumed the narrative.
“The first few days will be in this room, and you are all expected to be here at second bell every day until I say so. First, I’ll ask you a question and I want you to raise a hand above you if the answer is yes. How many of you have experienced actual combat besides a tavern brawl and the entrance trials?”
Half the men raised their hands, including Dietrik. Marik’s hand kept his belt company.
Mylor nodded and continued. “That’s normal. Now of you all that saw combat, how many of you are familiar with the centerline killing method?”
This time only six men raised their hands and Dietrik was not among them.
“Thought so. Breaking point strategies? No? How about squares and spearheads?”
Everyone looked blank.
“The next few days, I’m going to tell you a lot of things you didn’t know, show you a lot of weapons and discuss them with you, armor too, and in general talk a lot about fighting. Fighting is more than swinging your sword, so never forget that. The more you know, the better the chance you have of keeping your head on your shoulders. At the very least, you should be able to take an enemy down with you. Being cut down without felling even one of your foes means the pay we gave you went completely to waste.”
Nyla added, “You won’t have to worry about planning strategies or battlefield tactics. Your commanding officers will tell you boys what to do, but you need to know which tactics are what, so you can follow the orders when they tell you what they are.
“When we’re done, you’ll spend the rest of the winter in the training areas practicing what you learned here, so you’d better pay attention. We don’t repeat ourselves. Now we’ll wait until Braydon returns, then we can begin.”
&nbs
p; Marik and Dietrik retreated to a corner to compare impressions. Dietrik also thought Mylor disliked lecturing like a street preacher, but he seemed to handle the job well nonetheless. Nyla appeared to be enjoying her power over a group of men. They hoped she would not cause trouble just because she could. Neither intended to be cast out come spring, and they vowed to learn everything their instructors had to offer.
* * * * *
Instruction began with the second man’s return, now known to be Braydon. He must have stopped by the armory on the way back from delivering the scroll. Braydon pulled a small, two wheeled cart containing a variety of weapons. Bringing it into the hall required opening the double doors. The twin dirt tracks stood out like scars on the polished floor.
After parking it beside the raised flooring, he conscripted two men to help drag out stuffed mats from a room in the north wall. The two new friends overheard a different pair commenting on them. These mats were, according to the unknown voices, sparring mats filled with hay or grasses or other soft materials to soften the impact of a body being knocked down.
They would not be used for sparring today though. Once the three workers had spread several on the floor, Mylor raised his voice while Braydon took a place beside him. Nyla had vanished during all this without Marik noticing.
“Everybody sit down where you can see me! We’re going to start with some interesting stuff to make sure you’re paying attention. Almost all of you choose swords as your weapon. It’s the most common and the most diversified weapon available. There’re so many different kinds of swords that we could spend the day naming them all and never come close to finishing. But most of the variations are so minute only a swordsmith could tell the difference, so we’re only going to talk about the major base types. Remember, your life out there and your unit mate’s could depend on what you see today. Don’t nod off!”