Steel And Flame (Book 1) (23 page)

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.

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.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Since their bunks were on the northern wall, they both
had small windows over their cots.  Inside his new closet Marik found two iron
locks with keys protruding from the keyholes.  He located the latch on the
closet door and a similar one on the metal footlocker.  The locks would secure
his two storage units.  Fraser’s departing comment made sense now.

Marik distributed his belongings between the two.  He
shut his silver within a small drawer inside the closet containing its own
built-in lock above the knob.  Once his meager belongings were stored, he
studied his new home.

These wooden walls and floors bore a time-worn, yet
homey, feel.  Though darker than outside, enough light illuminated the room so
it did not seem gloomy.  Attached to the closet’s side, near where his head
would be when he lay down, was a short wooden shelf with old candle wax stuck
to it.

The half wall separating the Third and Fourth Units
held a double fireplace which opened on both sides to keep the place warm
during winter, though it still remained unlit.  Not far above, planks had been
spread across the rafters.  Between them he could distinguish shapes and
forms.  Most likely it served as a storage area for whatever equipment belonged
exclusively to the Fourth Unit, or else was materials for building maintenance.

A new man entered the Fourth’s living quarters and
unlocked the closet to Dietrik’s other side.  He stashed away a sword before
re-locking the door.  Hair hung to his shoulders, the brown locks pulled back
into a short tail.  Like everyone else in this town except the clerks, he
possessed muscle over a solid framework of a body.  With a casual nod, he
addressed Dietrik.

“So you must be one of the new recruits.  I was
watching part of the games from the wall.”

“Dietrik here.  And this chap is Marik.”

“Welcome aboard, chums.  My handle’s Hayden.  I guess
Fraser gave you his own welcoming speech.  It’s never changed in the three
years since I joined.”

“It was rather short on detail, other than the
reporting lines.”

“Yeah, he’s big on that.  Earnell’s been talking about
possibly retiring after the next campaign season and Fraser’s the best candidate
of the squad’s four sergeants to take his place.  He’s been acting like that, I
think, so none of the others seem overly influential with the men by ordering
them around.  It’s sort of funny really.”

“Why is that?”

“Earnell’s been talking about retiring for at least
the last three years.  Fraser keeps snapping at the bait like a horse at a
dangling carrot.  Why’s it so damned hot for this late in the year?”

It felt fine to Marik, especially as the noon bell was
still two candlemarks away, but judging from the damp armpits on Hayden’s tunic
and the smell of sweat he must have been working or exercising heavily.