Cathexis: Necromancer's Dagger (47 page)

The corporal continued down the line and
then walked back along behind the sorry
lineup
until he got to G’Taklar again. The corporal
spotted the old dagger stuck in the back of G’Taklar’s pantaloons
and yanked it out by the hilt. After inspecting the blade he walked
around in front, slapping the flat of the blade against his palm.
“What is this
ye’re carry
’in?”

“
What do I tell him?”
G’Taklar
quickly asked Jatar.

“
I think it is safe to assume he already
knows what it is, so just tell him the truth, he’s going to burn
you no matter what you say,”
Jatar informed G’Taklar sadly,
knowing what was coming.

G’Taklar’s pause, while he consulted with
Jatar, was too long and the corporal hit him in the stomach with
the butt of the dagger.
“I said, ‘what is this?’”
he
repeated, even louder, his nose nearly touching G’Taklar’s.

“A dagger,” G’Taklar finally answered.

“
Sir,”
Jatar instructed him to
add.

“... Sir,” he added late.

“No it isn’t,” the corporal said
immediately.

“Yes it...
uhhh
,” G’Taklar had started to reply when the corporal
hit him in the stomach.

“Were you go’in te argue with me?” the
corporal said in a quiet and deadly tone.

“No, sir,” G’Taklar immediately replied
without prompting from Jatar.

“Good, now as I was saying, this isn’t a
dagger, it’s a butter knife. You see a dagger would cut someone’s
throat if you did this,” and he lightly pulled the blade across
G’Taklar’s throat, barely breaking the skin. A few drops of blood
welled up from the scratch across his neck. “You do see the
difference without me
demonstrat’in
further, don’t you?” He asked as he began
to pull his dagger from his belt sheath.

“I see what you mean, yes,
definitely,
I do, sir,” G’Taklar answered
quickly, trying to avoid another blow to his stomach.

“That’s good, I hate having to clean
me
blade three times a day, and
I’ve already done it twice
t’day
already. Now soldiers are allowed to carry weapons, but
ye’re
not a soldier,
ye’re
a recruit, so I won’t be
giv’in
this back just yet. Besides, unless I sharpen it
up, it isn’t a weapon, it’s a butter knife,” and he tucked the
dagger into the back of his belt. Then he continued back down the
line of men.

“
This guy’s a real gem in the rough, I’d
like to see someone reach down his throat and turn him inside
out,”
G’Taklar told Jatar.

“
Typical infantry corporal, I think they
come out of a misshapen mold from the Dark Plane,”
Jatar
answered dryly.

The corporal moved in front of the line of
men
while the sergeant looked on.
“Raise yer sword hand then repeat after me, or you’ll regret it for
the rest of yer three heartbeats o’ life. I, whatever yer name
is... swear to obey the officers of the Tchulian military... unto
death if they so command. I swear to complete my voluntary
enlistment of six years in the glorious traditions of the honorable
Tchulian army. I swear to accept all orders and punishments given
out by any of my superior officers, without question or argument...
on pain of torture and death. With free choice and aforethought, I
accept the terms of this enlistment. Now put yer arms down,
ye’re
caus’in
a stink.” He said when the line of men had
muttered at least some of what he had told them to repeat.

“All right recruits, let’s go see yer new
home, but don’t look so glum, you’re in the army now, so they’ll
take care of you. Regular slop and water
fer
meals, new uniforms, at least new to you, and four
coppers a month, tax-free!” he promised.

This little sally didn’t bring any cheer to
the new recruits marching down the dusty street to the training
barracks outside town.

“
Didn’t I say something about avoiding
going here at all costs?”
G’Taklar noted as they headed in the
direction of the
walled-in
complex
.

“
Yes, I do seem to recall you mentioning
a desire to avoid this portion of the Headwater city tour,”
Jatar replied lightly, trying to keep up G’Taklar’s drooping
spirits.

“
How do we get out of this?”
the
reluctant recruit asked him back.

“
I’m not so sure this is a bad thing
right now; people don’t tend to look under their noses if they are
searching for something. They’re going to be looking for an escaped
noble, but I doubt they’ll look in their ranks of recruits to find
a noble. Besides, the good news is you’re getting paid and fed.
Once the search has cooled down we can think about deserting this
fine organization. Since an oath under duress is not a real oath, I
don’t think you should be worried about breaking this one.”

“
Believe
me, I’m not,”
G’Taklar responded.

“
Good, then just sit tight and endure,
they’ll be tough on you, but it’s nothing you can’t handle if you
try. Besides, I’ll be here to coach you through the rough
stuff,”
Jatar promised.

“
Oh boy, I’m happy now!”
G’Taklar
answered sarcastically. He tried to keep step as the corporal
marched them through Headwater’s dusty main street.

Rachael was in the kitchen where Fats sat
with his huge bulk plopped in a rickety chair that groaned under
the immense weight of its occupant. She had helped two of the other
waitresses and the cook, supporting and guiding the complaining
Fats into the kitchen from where he had landed on the stairs in his
recent fall.

Unfortunately,
Rachael thought,
Fats wasn’t seriously damaged.

A waitress was dabbing a wet cloth on the
forehead of the innkeeper who kept his eyes closed as he moaned
about his near brush with death from the four assailants. Suddenly
he turned and fixed his beady glare on Rachael. “Don’t think that
you’re off the hook, vixen, the sergeant and his men should be here
any time now. Go up to your room and wait for them. I’ll send all
four up at once, that way the others can watch and cheer each other
on to greater efforts. And you better perform well for them and for
me later, or I’ll beat you and then throw you out.”

Rachael fled the kitchen without a word. She
knew that whatever happened she was not going through with this;
she had been wrong earlier, death was preferable to some things.
Besides, someone still cared about her; Guitar had come to her
defense at the risk of his life.

Though he is still a snot nosed, wet
behind the ears, country boy,
she thought incorrectly,
remembering his rejection,
at least he treated a girl he didn’t
even know with some
respect
and defended her when she was in danger. He
wasn’t all bad,
she concluded in thought.

She reached her room and quickly changed
into her spare dress, tied up her other meager garments and
belongings in the blanket off the bed and retrieved the single
silver and six coppers from the hole in the bottom of a wooden bed
leg. She had managed to save the round from her tips at the
tables.

Without a backward glance of regret, Rachael
left the little room that had been her home for the last two months
and crept down the back stairs into the alley.

She was just about to head down the street
when she saw the sergeant and his corporals coming up the street
toward the inn.

They were marching four civilians in front
of them; Rachael had seen them recruiting before, so she knew what
she was seeing. She started to slink away when she noticed that one
unhappy looking civilian was the boy she knew of as Guitar.

Rachael stayed where she was and watched
them march by; she was hidden by the side of the building. A
corporal went into the inn and after a
moment,
he returned to the waiting group. Rachael was
close enough to hear their conversation.

“I told Fats we
were go
’in te be late
fer
dinner tonight,
tak’in
these new recruits
te
the barracks. He told me
te
hurry back; he has a treat
fer
us. Remember that new young waitress you’ve been
ask
’in him
fer
, the one called Rachael? He’s got her
wait’
in in
her room
fer
us! Do you want
te
let these wimps go and test that beauty out right now,
or come back later?”

“Hmmm, well, it’ll only take a quarter bell
to drop these eager recruits at the barracks, besides a little wait
will make the reward even sweeter! Move them out, double time!” the
sergeant commanded.

Rachael shook her head in sadness for
Guitar’s plight, she had seen other young men grabbed and forced
into the Tchulian army in the last two months.

Then she had an idea. “
Once he's had a
taste of boot camp perhaps he’ll want to leave Headwater,
permanently. He and I could escape this rotten town together. I’ve
got a little round for provisions and he might know where to go. We
could help each other escape. The only trick will be getting in to
see him and plant the idea.”
The young girl continued down the
street headed for a stable where she had decided to hide from Fats.
As she walked she made her plans for getting into the barracks to
talk to Guitar.

Much further west, in the town called Roper,
Elizabeth and Hetark entered a rundown tavern through a side door
while trying not to attract too much attention. Elizabeth had on a
long gray cloak with its hood pulled up over her head to hide her
features. Hetark’s worn leather armor helped him blend in with many
of the other patrons. Quite a few were dressed in leather armor or
wore a variety of concealed or blatantly visible weaponry.

This was a border town, where many bandits
out of the surrounding area came to spend their
ill-gained
round
metal. Other patrons made their living protecting
merchants from these same bandits. Here, in these rough taverns,
they mixed without rancor.

As Hetark looked around he recognized the
subtle signs that were only obvious to another fighter, almost
everyone in the room had some expertise in the martial skills.
There was a weary look in their hard eyes, a fluid movement to
their bodies and a way of keeping their hands near their weapons
and their eyes scanning the room.

Elizabeth and Hetark took a table in a dark
corner and started to watch the other patrons as unobtrusively as
possible. Hetark leaned in close to Elizabeth's ear and spoke
quietly. "The woman I was told about is right over there, she's
here to meet us."

He gestured casually with his hand without
actually pointing.

Elizabeth only nodded in reply, but her eyes
and aura powers were active, watching all around her in this
dangerous place.

Hetark stood up and said, "I'll ask her to
join us."

He returned with the woman and Elizabeth
took in her details. Her brown hair had specks of gray streaking
here and there. From the hard lines around her eyes and the almost
worried expression on her face Elizabeth felt that this woman was
hard used by time and circumstances. The sorceress used her aura
sight to watch the woman's patterns when she spoke.

The woman took hold of the back of a chair
with both hands, but she didn't sit down. "I hear you're looking to
hire some protection."

Hetark took his seat and answered, "Perhaps
we are, your name was given to us, they said you were good."

"I'm good enough, if you can afford me," she
replied, but her eyes were shifting around the room nervously as
she spoke. "How much are you willing to pay?"

Elizabeth sat forward and the deep hood she
wore concealed most of her face. At her
movement,
the woman stepped back a pace. Elizabeth spoke
only loud enough for the woman to hear, "I'm concerned about being
attacked by bandits, and with the
cargo
we're moving, it is very likely that we might be
robbed. Are you up to a battle?"

The woman released the chair and held up
both hands, palms facing Elizabeth. "Keep your round I don't need
that kind of trouble. I thought you were just moving some standard
goods."

Elizabeth sat back into her chair and said,
"Then I'm glad we straightened this out before we both made a
mistake."

The woman nodded and then slipped off into
the crowd.

Hetark leaned over and spoke to Elizabeth.
"I take it she wasn't what you are seeking?"

"Not even close; I'm looking for a strong,
confident woman, not one already defeated by life. I need to find a
warrior."

Hetark shook his head. "Well, I doubt you
are going to find a woman like that easily. Fighting is mostly a
man's profession."

Elizabeth nodded, but said, "Let's just
watch for a while."

Hetark shrugged.

It was a half bell later when the front door
opened boldly and a magnificently proportioned woman stepped into
the room.

She had raven black hair tied back from a
face with high cheeks; her features were set in a serious
expression. Her left eye socket was covered by a black patch. Her
one eye held a keen
glare
and was
so light blue as to almost look like gray steel. A rough scar cut
down through her eyebrow and cheek on the left side going
behind
the patch, like an artist’s
signature on his greatest work.

She held her chin up and looked around the
room as if she owned the place.

The woman was dressed in black leather armor
that fairly bristled with knife hilts poking out of every
conceivable and inconceivable place. Her black boots came up to her
knees where they met the tight black leather pants. The
black
long sleeved leather jerkin above it
was laced up the center with black leather thongs that slowly
widened to about a hand’s span toward the top. Through the laced
leather,
you could see a wedge of
tanned skin, the top of the wedge displayed the sides of her bosom.
Black leather thongs cross laced their way up the side of the pants
and sleeves of her armor, with soft black leather beneath.