Steel And Flame (Book 1) (25 page)

“Boy, that feels good after a mean sweat!  So that’s
the town, or the important parts anyway.  It’s pretty small compared to even a
village.  Everything’s packed in neat and tidy so there’s a lot to be had
despite the size.”

Broken from his musings, Marik reminded Hayden, “You
were going to tell us a story once we settled down.”

“Oh yeah!  The safe house and all that.”  He adjusted
his position on his seat while Marik and Dietrik squatted between the jagged
points of the log rows.  “You don’t know anything about the Kings?  I mean
about the past and all that?”

“Does it matter?”

Hayden considered for a moment.  “I guess it doesn’t,
except it helps explain the whole mentality around here.  And a few other
things.  Here’s the short version.

“I’m no story teller, but it starts out like this. 
However long ago it was, one of the kingdom’s dukes wasted most of his funds on
whatever it is dukes piss their coin away on.  Galemar was still turbulent, or
at least more than it is today, and all the lords had to maintain larger
fighting forces to lend to the king if he sent out the call.  Or they had to
have large forces if
they
were the reason the king sent out the call to
his loyal retainers.”

“Sounds a bit like every man for himself.  There must
have been no shortage of work for chaps like us then.”  Marik nodded his
agreement with Dietrik’s observation.

“Yeah, like that.  Anyway, this duke suddenly couldn’t
afford his men, so he cut half of them loose.  A group banded together and
managed to get themselves hired by a lord who was in trouble, and they made a
good name for themselves.  The soldiers who hadn’t banded with them at first
heard about it and tracked them down and joined together again, so you’ve got
half of this duke’s trained army running around acting like mercs.

“They were doing a good job of it too, so later when
the duke’s wife and mistress both poisoned him, the other half decided to jump
ship and hunt down their former shieldmates.  Now the band was too large to
move around randomly looking for hires, so they dug into this nice defendable
spot on top of this here hill after they sank a few wells.  Then they sent out
runners to potential client lords.  No one else had enough coin to hire such a
large group of men.”

Marik could already discern the seeds of the band
today in Hayden’s story.  The band’s history still richly colored its members’
outlook.  Deeper meanings contained within Fraser’s greeting speech unfolded
while Hayden spoke, and Marik listened with interest.

“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 food here.  I think I’m going to need plenty of energy tomorrow.”

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.”

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!”

Braydon picked a sword from the cart.  Other than the
orders for laying the mats, Marik had yet to hear him speak and assumed he
merely acted as an assistant for Mylor and Nyla.  Mylor took the sword, holding
it point upward.

“This is the most common design around Galemar and the
weapon you’ll be seeing the most of.  You can see the guard to the left and
right of the hilt curves upward toward the tip.  This gives you an advantage
when blocking an enemy sword since they have to pull their own blade back
rather than slide it off to the side.

“The pommel is this giant medallion of steel.  It’s
heavy and very effective for smashing your enemy’s face when your first strike
misses to the side.  The grip is leather over wood; one of the best types in my
opinion.  It’s easy to clean or replace and maintains a firm grip.

“Look at the blade color, a bright silver-gray.  It’s
the best quality steel our smithy can produce, which means it’s among the
strongest steel in the kingdom.  The wide fuller running the length of the
blade cuts down on weight and also maintains the blade’s strength.  This
particular blade is two and a half feet long and two inches wide for the most
part.

“It has its own strengths and weaknesses, just like
any other weapon around.  It’s best suited to unit fighting, by which I mean
lots of men close together.  It’s great for chopping and even thrusting in the
right circumstances.  Not much finesse is required of this blade.

“Its weakness is its short grip, suitable for only one
hand.  It’s unwieldy in a one-on-one fight.  The one-handed grip works best in
a lighter weight sword such as a rapier, several of which are in the cart, but
in larger blades it makes for a slower response to threats.  In spite of that,
don’t make the mistake of thinking it’s a slow weapon.  When I say this blade
is unwieldy, I mean when comparing it against other types we’re going to look
at.  Take your eye off this for a moment and you can lose your head.  Now, I
need a volunteer.”

No one leapt forward.  Mylor pointed to a man at
random.  “You there.  You seem to have a similar blade next to you.”

The man sat without moving for a moment, unsure what
Mylor expected.

“Come on!  Get your sword and your ass up here!”

Obviously feeling ill treated, the man rose and
stepped onto the raised flooring.  He was uncomfortable standing before
everybody as the object of their attention.

“Pull out your sword so we can compare.”

Marik happened to recall the man’s name from the role
call; Orbier, if he remembered correctly.  Orbier drew his blade and irritation
flashed across his features when Mylor snatched it from his grip.  Their
instructor resumed as he held the two side-by-side.

“I see this one is nearly the same length, though a
tad longer.  The metal is also darker, a lower quality steel, and the guard is
straight rather than curved.  It has the same fuller design and pommel and the
blade’s weight is greater by a half pound if I’m judging it correctly.  Here.”