Steel And Flame (Book 1) (16 page)

“What for?”

Why does everyone keep asking that?
  “Because I want to find him.”

“That’s not good enough if you really want me to help
you.  Why should I help you find a member of the band if he doesn’t want to be
found?”

“He happens to be my father.”  As soon as he spoke,
Marik could see the same thoughts rising in Janus’ mind as had come to the
guard’s.  “No, he didn’t run out on us, he just didn’t come back one winter.”

“That amounts to the same.”

“No.  He always came back, except for the last time.”

“Then he’s dead somewhere.”

“I’ve no proof of that.”

The old man snorted, then gazed at Marik in an
appraising manner.  “What do you do boy?”

Was that a change of topic?  Well, he could go along
and see if it would lead anywhere.  “I’m searching for my father.”

“No!  Don’t be stupid, you know what I meant.  What do
you
do
?”

“I was apprenticed to a woodworker in a small town,
but there’s no future in that for me.”

“And your mama?”

“She died not long ago.”

“Mmm.  So now you’re wandering the roads?”

“Searching.  As far as I know, the last contracts he
worked were with the Crimson Kings.”

“Does he have a name or am I supposed to guess?”

“Rail Drakkson.  He disappeared five years ago.”

Janus stayed quiet for long moments.  He became deeply
lost in his thoughts.  Several emotions seemed cross the unfamiliar terrain of
his face for nearly two full minutes.  Marik had no idea what the old man was
thinking about so deeply, but bit his lip, hoping.  Janus at last grudgingly
allowed, “Fine.  You come back here tomorrow and
maybe
I’ll help you.”

Why the wait?  Why couldn’t he help right then? 
Except it was better than nothing and Marik didn’t want to push his luck.  The
fact the old clerk had even considered helping him was enough.  For the
moment.  Perhaps showing an interest in the old man’s job might win a shred of
regard and increase the odds of him exerting some actual effort on the search.

“How are you going to decide who to accept from all of
these?  You’re not going to take everybody, are you?”

Apparently Janus had thought himself rid of the young
man.  After tugging his vest and taking the last swallow, he answered the
question while he filled a second cup.  “No, we definitely are
not
.  We
register the fighters who wish to join by listing their stated skills with
various weapons, field craft and campaign abilities.  Once we have an accurate
picture, we must collate the files into a comparative catalog for the officials
to review.  Then everyone is tested to ensure that their actual capabilities
match their braggadocio.”

“Test them?  How do you do that?”

“By watching them fight of course!  How do think?”  He
did not wait for an answer.  “Everyone is matched up and given training
blades.  Then the officials watch and assign each man a skill level from A to
E.  Once they choose who is acceptable, and if there are still more men than openings,
then we go to the next test on the other side of the hill.”

Marik followed the old clerk’s finger, which gestured
at the town’s walls.  “Presumably there’s something over there that’s not over
here.”

“Of course there is, boy!  Can’t you see the rock?”

He nearly pointed out that no one could see through
walls, then thought better of it.  Instead he focused on the western corner. 
Now that he looked for it, he could see a variation in the ground’s color near
the horizon line.  It looked like rock rather than the grass and scrub brush
under his feet.

“So the other side is all stone?”

“No, the other side is stony!  It’s almost a cliff
with boulders everywhere.  All these toughies get to show how they go when the
going gets tough!”  Janus laughed for a moment.  It was a most unpleasant
sound.

“It sounds harsh.”

“It
is
harsh, boy!  We need harsh men.  The
second trial always cuts enough men.  The officials also reevaluate the
rankings after it.  Since your pay’s based on the skill rank you’re judged at,
you want to show everything you have.”

“And how many openings are there this year?  I assume
it changes from year to year?”  The conversation was proving more interesting
than he had expected.  Marik had assumed the old man would drone on about the
various boring details of the clerk’s actual practice.  Instead he’d chosen to
explain the application process for the band.

“It depends on how many fools get their heads chopped
off during the summer!  And on how many members choose not to renew their
places in the band for the next year’s fighting.”

“And on how many people get ejected from the band I
suppose.”

“Yes, that too.  I won’t know how many places there
are until I get reports from the stationed units hired through the winter. 
They should get here any day now and the challenges can commence a few days
after.  I’d say about two hundred openings this year.”

That would have struck him as an amazing number of
fighters for a group unpledged to any specific lord if Marik had not seen twice
as many camped on the town’s outskirts.  He started to ask how the officials
kept the peace with the volatile men who were judged unworthy when a clerk
called to Janus from the desks.

“They need me, you don’t.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Janus returned to his duties without waiting for an
acknowledgement.  Marik felt he had put in a good day.  He left to find Maddock
and the others in the mob.

*        *        *        *        *

Or at least he tried to.  With the encampment large as
it was, he anticipated it would be difficult to find the one camp he wanted in
the entire mess.  Just standing still he could see a dozen that were absent of
his three friends.  The difficulties were compounded by a total absence of
planning.  Men had set their camps wherever they wanted.  With no order to the
layout, returning to areas already visited became easy.  Also,
everyone
constantly moved about the encampment.  Camps seemed different the second time
he encountered them with new men there or no men at all.

The afternoon neared its end.  Marik had no idea how
many camps he’d checked.  Once again he found himself near the road and it
irritated him that he had gotten turned around for the fourth time.  He stopped
to rest and think.

While he’d been unsuccessful at finding his friends,
he had seen quite a lot to consider.  The variety of weapons alone wielded by
this mob astounded him.  Marik had never seen or heard about many and could
only guess at their uses.  Also, several dressed in manners that suggested they
were foreign to Galemar.  He could only guess at their origins.  Maddock had
described many different people beyond the borders, but a handful eluded his
scant knowledge.

A few women sat near private fires, speaking to no
one, and Marik at first assumed they were companions to men who were busy
elsewhere at the moment.  Except they all wore chainmail, and one sharpened a
dagger while she ignored the men around her.  Maybe their stories ran deeper.

He had heard from his father and many travelers in
Puarri’s that the Crimson Kings Mercenary Band was the best to be found if you
worked as a sword-for-hire.  It stood to reason it would attract many who
wished to become part.  Still, the fact that so many applied from so far away
made him wonder.  Did they travel here solely for the band trials or were they
wanderers in their own right who happened to be nearby at the right time? 
Short of asking, he would never know, and he bore no inclination to do so. 
Best to hold his tongue around this crowd.

During his search he also discovered several impromptu
businesses.  They must be men from the next town coming specifically to make a
quick profit.  Men who were familiar with this gathering of applicants, an
event that probably occurred every year.  Most laid long boards across barrel
ends to create a makeshift tavern.  Kegs sat on wagons behind several such
boards forming long countertops, protected by guards who resembled mountains
with legs.  One or two blanket peddlers sat near the road hawking trinkets. 
Marik saw a man with his own tent who specialized in equipment repair.  He had
immediately thought this man a fool to believe he could earn a profit here.  No
professional mercenary lacked the skills to care for his own equipment, except
the tent held a considerable pile of leather goods, chainmail and several small
weapons, forcing him to revise his view.

Marik rested under a sapling beside an enormous pile
of chopped wood he assumed had been left here by someone from inside the town. 
Apparently the mercenaries didn’t want all these hopefuls to chop down the
nearby woods to fuel their fires.  Not far away was a fragrant latrine trench
he had taken pains to sit upwind from.

He pondered whether to put his stomach at risk by
eating what the impromptu tavern masters claimed was food when Chatham strolled
by, gazing at the various men in their individual camps.

“Hey now!  An’ here we have our young inquisitor
taking his ease from the toils o’ the day.  What have his tireless efforts
netted him from the vast sea o’ mystery an’ unfathomable knowledge?”

“A ‘come back tomorrow’,” Marik laughed.  Chatham’s
loquacious antics soothed him in a way it never had before.  Finding one of the
few men he regarded as a friend lent a sudden relief he was unprepared to
accept.  The mere re-encountering of a familiar face should not have so great
an effect on him.  After all, hadn’t he spent the last few eightdays training
his skills as much as possible so he could stand on his own wherever the road
led him?  He would think about it later, and shelved the thought in a back
corner of his mind so he could focus on Chatham’s running dialog.

“As could only be expected, I’m sorry to say.  A
hunter friend o’ mine from long ago an’ far away once told me that no matter
how well trained the beast might be, if presented with a dilemma outside the
scope o’ its meager capabilities an’ training, it will revert to the behaviors
that it knows best.  Such, I believe in my heart o’ hearts, is the case with
yon members o’ the Homeguard.  Anytime one is unfortunate enough to encounter a
situation in which an oral response is required, all it has to fall back upon
is the tried an’ true, ‘come back tomorrow’!”

“Actually, they told me to piss off, though not in
quite as cultured a manner.  The head clerk over by the registration tables
told me to come back tomorrow.”

“Ha!  Even more to their nature is a clerk not helping
you in any manner whatsoever, though such is hardly their stated job
description, an’ so you prove my point, my budding young pupil.”

“It must be their habitat.  Who’d want to be stuffed
in a room full of scrolls and going cross-eyed by candlelight anyway?”

“If world-worn Maddock were present, he’d tell you not
to knock a roomful o’ scrolls until you’ve read them all.  Forlorn an’ desolate
Harlan would tell you a roomful o’ scrolls is only as useful as the people who
scribed them. 
I
happen to say there’s nothing as useful than a roomful
o’ scrolls if the jakes happen to be full up at a critical moment.”

“Err…ah, I can’t say I’m surprised,” Marik said,
trying not to laugh out loud.  For all that he had disparaged Chatham’s
frivolity, listening to him now was a comforting familiarity during this first
solitary step into the world.  “Where did you set up the camp?  I’ve been all
over this damned place.”

“Over on the far side o’ all these circus troupes an’
two copper attractions.  Down by the base o’ this lofty perch near where that
small brook burbles so pleasantly to the ear.”

Marik followed Chatham’s outstretched hand.  He saw
the group had backtracked along the road climbing the hill.  The brook skirting
the hill passed through a small wooded grove near the base before joining a
larger stream further to the east.

Apparently Chatham had seen enough of the competition
he would be facing, for he turned back downhill.  When they drew closer, Marik
could see the unlit fire in its stone circle, laid out in readiness under the
tree line near the water.  The packs lay on the ground marking each man’s
preferred bunking spot.  Maddock sat in the shadows, a squat barrel left under
a tree.  Marik only noticed him when he raised a hand in greeting.  Harlan was
gone, but that was normal.  Most likely he was setting his clever wire traps
for the local small game to wander into.

As he dropped his own pack on the fire’s unclaimed
side, a surge of comfort raced through him.  Why?  They had only been apart for
a short time.  Had he fostered a dependency on their experience and skills that
he’d been unaware of even as he created the bonds?  Perhaps the…relief,
is
it relief?
, he felt at rejoining them was a deeper recognition of his
inadequacies.  If so, then had his efforts at becoming independent amounted to
nothing in the end?  Whatever it turned out to be, Marik decided he would need
to spend time in deep thought.