Call of Fire

by P. E. Padilla

  Several liveried men and women spread out throughout the crowd. They separated the recruits into groups of no more than five in front of each.

  “You will hold the oath stone and repeat the oath after the Order neecs—those are the non-combat contracted helpers—in front of you. Once everyone has sworn, we will continue. In case you are curious, yes, the stones are magical and will make the oath binding through that magic.”

  Kate was third in her line. She watched and listened to those in front of her, so she sped through her own oath, repeating it immediately after the neec spoke it to her.

  “I, Kate of house Courtenay, do pledge my life and my strength to the Order of the Fire, working to destroy the demons that are trying to invade our world. I commit myself fully to the Order and its mission for as long as my term of service endures. I will reveal no secrets or knowledge to any who do not have sufficient rights to such.”

  It was a simple vow, much like the others she had already signed. The Order was careful of its secrets, that was for sure. The tingling from the stone’s magic was stronger this time, but whether because she spoke the oath or because the stone was more powerful, she didn’t know.

  Kate stepped aside and allowed the next person to take his vow. Soon, all present had repeated the oath on the glowing stone.

  “Good,” the lieutenant said. “Now Captain Abney will tell you what you need to know.”

  “Good evening,” the captain said. Kate thought he made a point of meeting her eyes, but then his gaze moved on to the next person. “It probably does not need to be said, but I will, as per tradition, give you an overview of the Order of the Fire and tell you about what will happen in the coming days.

  “As everyone in Telusium knows, even the smallest child, the Gates of Hell are within our kingdom of Brasea. That gives us the responsibility to protect mankind from the demons that occasionally come out of the gates. To do this, the Order of the Fire was created.

  “The Order is the largest standing army in all of Telusium, but never have we taken up arms against other humans. Our sole purpose is to hold the line, to keep the demon threat at bay.

  “The organization is simple enough. There are two regiments, consisting of six battalions. All told, there are just under seven thousand members of the Order, though the exact number will change once all of you either finish your basic training or are excused.

  “Besides being separated into logical military units, a simple color scheme is observed to separate soldiers into commands. Those in a particular command wear the colors for that command. Brown is for trainees, as you can see by looking at your own robes. Once you have passed your basic training and are sorted into the appropriate commands, you will be issued uniforms of the appropriate color.

  “Blue is the color for support personnel. They clean, cook, heal, and do whatever else is necessary to support the combat units. They do not participate in combat.

  “Red is by far the largest group. These are the front-line soldiers. You will learn much more about this later, since training is heavily weighted toward the Red.

  “Orange are the sergeants, the majority of them responsible for squads of Red.

  “Yellow are the officers, lieutenants”—he nodded toward the man who introduced him—“and captains.

  “The White are mid-level officers, majors and lieutenant-colonels who command battalions.

  “Gold is the color for the upper level of officers, full colonels and higher. These are the men and women who run the Order, including the Supreme Commander.

  “Grey robes signify administrative positions. These are the people who make sure we get paid—a very important function—and who make purchases and take care of supplies.

  “Though you may not ever see one, tan robes are for those involved in research and intelligence. In the entire Order, there are only thirty-two of these.

  “And then there is the Black.” He paused and allowed the audience to ooh and ahh. “Everyone has heard of the Black, even if they know nothing else about the Order. These are the elite, the special forces. When a hole opens in the shield wall and the line is at risk of collapsing, the Black plug it up. When there is a rare sortie into Hell itself, it is the Black who go…and often return. They are the heart and soul of the Order, and they are the color to which many of the Order soldiers aspire. Even the demons have learned to fear the black-garbed men with the death masks.

  “There are one hundred twenty-three of you, new recruits to the Order. Congratulations on being accepted for training.

  “You should not, however,” he continued, making eye contact with several people in the audience in turn, “think that you are part of the Order just yet. You will be drilled and trained and pushed to achieve the best your bodies and minds can handle. However, until you finish your basic training and are awarded your token, you are not—I repeat, not—an Order soldier.

  “Some of you, many of you, will not make it.

  “Those who do will be separated into the appropriate colors upon graduation. All colors except black. No one, no matter what their skill, starts in the Black. It is something that must be earned after years of outstanding service.”

  The captain scanned the room. Kate thought he might have been looking for something. Several people whispering to others, probably boasting about how they would be the first person to go straight to the Black after graduation. She chuckled just as the captain’s eyes met hers. His mouth twitched as if he wanted to smile, but he smoothed his face and moved his eyes to the next person, so she couldn’t be sure.

  “Tomorrow,” he continued, “we will rise with the sun and begin our march to Faerdham Fortress, where your training will occur. The march is not difficult, but we will set a fast pace. You would do well to get to know those around you. You will be spending a lot of time with them in the future. Your life may depend on your relationships and interactions.

  “That is all. Choose a spot, lay down the bedrolls provided you, and get some sleep. We will wake you in a few hours.”

  The captain stepped off the stage, and excited conversation broke out throughout the hall. As usual, Kate felt isolated from it all. No one even seemed to be looking at her. Just as well, though. She was tired. Accepting a bedroll from a neec, she spread it out in a corner of the room and tried to rest.

  Kate barely slept a wink. The bedroll was thin, and the floor of the reception hall was made of stone, and those things did not add up to a good sleeping experience. The cold radiated through the minimal pad and leached into her bones, chilling her no matter how she tried to arrange the blanket that was nearly sheer enough to see through.

  She had to face it, what Dante had told her on many occasions was true. She was too used to the comforts her rooms and the manor house provided. True, she was no stranger to pain and hardship when it came to training, but she had never really thought of her large, fluffy bed as a liability in getting used to life in the Order. She knuckled her back and rose slowly when the neecs came to wake them up.

  Each of the recruits received a backpack. Hers looked like it had probably belonged to her great-grandfather Drascom. It had a definite odor, though it wasn’t really foul. It was strange, though. She tried not to think about what caused it.

  Inside the backpack were mundane things: a blanket, a cup, a bowl, a fairly dull knife and fork, flint and steel, and little else. Despite each of the items weighing almost nothing, the pack’s heft seemed substantial.

  “The most despicable and pathetic bunch of slime-grubbing maggots I’ve ever seen in all my years with the Order!” someone yelled so loudly it made Kate jump. “Get in line, all of you. Let me take a look at you.”

  People started shuffling into some semblance of order but apparently not fast enough.

  “Now!” the voice called out even louder. “If you can’t follow a simple order, you might as well drop your pack and head out that door. We have no use for you.”

  This time, everyone around Kate started scrambling madly to g
et into some kind of line. Kate wasn’t sure what to do, so she followed two men closest to her and eventually made it to where the others were arranging themselves in ranks before the voice could single her out.

  “Good,” it said. “So you can move if you want to. I highly suggest that you want to from now on. I’ll not be putting up with sloths and layabouts.”

  The man to whom the voice belonged finally came into view. He was a bear of a man, tall and wide, and with the bushiest beard she had ever seen. In the small patch of skin between his mass of hair and his beard, she picked out a few white scars crossing his face. There were more on his bare arms, peeking out between the hair.

  He wore an orange breastplate with a sleeveless tabard underneath. Cords of muscle jumped in his biceps when he moved his arm. The way he maneuvered the sword at his hip without thought, Kate appreciated that this man knew how to use the weapon.

  Dante had explained to her that one must take little cues to determine combat skill. The way a person handled his sword and shield when not in combat was a very good way to gain information.

  “I am Phileas Darknoll,” the bear said. “I also happen to be your drill instructor. It is my job to try to squeeze the pathetic blobs of flesh that you are into something resembling a soldier for the Order of the Fire.” He glared at them. “Some of you are beyond even my help.

  “To start, let me tell you about myself. I am Phileas Darknoll, as I said. The rest of my life is none of your damn business. You will do what I say, and you will do it quickly. If you do not, you will go home. You will not thank me, but it will be the biggest kindness anyone has ever shown you. Not everyone is cut out to be an Order soldier.

  “If I send you home, don’t take it personally. It just means that you’re worthless and a waste of human flesh. Are there any questions? No? Good. Get your cloaks, put on your packs, shut your mouth, and follow me. We are to be on the trail within the hour. Move!”

  A thin hand waved in the air in the front of the group. Kate sighed. She wished she could warn whoever owned that hand not to ask whatever question he had. But it was too late. Phileas stepped up to stand in front of the young man trying to get his attention. In fact, he stepped so close, the slender young man stepped back as if he were afraid he was being attacked. His hand dropped.

  “You have a question, you putrescent puke?”

  “Y-yes sir.”

  “Don’t call me sir. I’m not an officer. Do I look like an officer to you, boy? Are you color blind?”

  “N-no sir.”

  “Don’t call me sir! What color is my armor, puke?” Phileas spat.

  “Orange, s…orange.”

  “Is orange for officers?”

  “No.”

  “What is orange for, you lumpy excrement from a pock-marked whore?”

  “Sergeants.”

  The sergeant turned to look at the rest of the crowd, his eyebrows raised in an exaggerated manner. “Sergeants? Sergeants. So, let me see—and try to keep up with me boy—if orange is for sergeants, and I am wearing orange, then…?”

  “You are a sergeant, sir.”

  “Do. Not. Call. Me. Sir. What is your name, boy?”

  “I’m Wilfred Gaylord Lisney,” the slender young man said. When Phileas raised an eyebrow, he continued. “Sergeant.” Chuckles broke out within the ranks.

  “Wilfred Gaylord Lisney.” The sergeant glared at Wilfred for a moment. Even Kate felt uncomfortable. “Well, Wilfred Gaylord Lisney, you may call me Sergeant or Sergeant Darknoll.” He smiled at the young man and said, “Does that answer your question?”

  “Yes s…Sergeant.”

  “That’s wonderful,” the sergeant said in much too sweet a voice. He paused for a moment and then yelled, more loudly than he had yelled before, “Then get your cloak and stop wasting my time!”

  “Yessir,” Wilfred said as he scurried off toward the neecs handing out the green cloaks.

  Phileas Darknoll shook his head and walked through the door to wait for them in the courtyard.

  Kate got her cloak and put it on, putting her backpack over it. As she did, she heard one of the other recruits saying, “Brown and green. We look like a bunch of branches.”

  “Kindling, more like,” another voice said. The owner didn’t sound like he was joking.

  8

  As the recruits moved outside, the neecs handed each a small wooden tile with a number printed on it. Kate read hers. It had the number seventeen on it. When she looked back to the helper who had given it to her, the boy pointed toward a pole a dozen feet away with the number seventeen painted on the plaque affixed to it. Kate thanked him and walked toward the four others standing nearby, shuffling from foot to foot.

  She arrived the same time as another person, one she recognized.

  “Wilfred Gaylord Lisney,” she said and was surprised to find the other four saying it along with her. She chuckled, but no one else seemed to find it funny.

  “Hello, everyone,” Wilfred said. “I guess you know my name now, but I don’t know any of yours. We’ll be training squad mates. Could you please introduce yourselves?”

  “I’m Kate,” Kate said, putting out her hand to shake Wilfred’s. Shaking another’s hand was uncommon among the nobles, but Dante told Kate that it was what commoners did when they met each other. Wilfred smiled and shook her hand.

  Kate had a hard time believing the young man had even passed his trial. He was not only apparently timid, but he was willowy. His dark blue eyes seemed so naïve and innocent, she worried for him though she had just met him. He swiped his chestnut hair from his face and turned to the others.

  “I am Arronax Sparks,” said a tall, muscular man. He was maybe a year or two older than Kate, but the way he held himself, he seemed much older. She was familiar with the type. He must have been from a noble house.

  “Jasper,” the next young man said. “Jasper Pole.” The way he enunciated his words, Kate recognized immediately that he was from one of the rural towns to the south of Kalytras. One subject she had always been interested in during her studies was the peculiar differences between peoples in different areas of the kingdom, especially their speech.

  Kate looked Jasper over as she shook his hand. He was shorter than Arronax by maybe an inch, but he was very bulky. The way his muscles strained at the simple robes the Order had given him, she had no doubt he was strong. She wondered if he was fast, too.

  His blue eyes flashed as he shook her hand. A flick of his neck swung his blond locks out of his face.

  The next person was another woman, one of the few Kate had seen among the recruits. She looked nothing like Kate, who was tall and muscular, but still slender, with a definitely female shape. The other woman was just slightly shorter than Kate, but probably outweighed her. By a lot. She was muscular, too, but in a bulky way. It was hard to tell with the robes, but she didn’t seem to be toned at all. Still, she looked strong. The glare that had not left the woman’s face made her look like she wanted to kill someone.

  “Charity Moody,” the woman said, keeping her arms crossed across her chest. “When do we get to kill some demons?”

  The last person was an older man, probably in his late thirties. He was compact, just a hair taller than Kate, and solid. He moved with the grace of an experienced swordsman, and when he shook Kate’s hand, she felt the thick rough skin on his. His pale blue eyes widened a little when her callouses scraped against his, but he said nothing about it. His short, sand-colored hair identified him as being from Icirus, where that style was popular among the soldiers. He must have served.

  “I am Sampson Dawkins,” he said. The way he emphasized his consonants confirmed to her he was Icirusian. He bowed to them but said nothing further.

  The six stood around for a moment, no one quite knowing what to say to the other. Phileas Darknoll rescued them from the silence.

  “Recruits!” he yelled, even louder than he had in the castle. “Follow me. We have a march ahead of us.”

  Serge
ant Phileas Darknoll marched them hard all day, every day, for longer than Kate could track. She was sure it was nearly three weeks. Each day, they got up before sunrise, broke camp, and marched. They took breaks several times during the day, and Phileas screamed at everyone to eat and drink or they would be left dying by the side of the road.

  A dozen Order soldiers accompanied the recruits, all of them Red. They didn’t say much to the recruits, but neither were they rude. Their purpose, one of them told Kate when she asked, was to guard the potential soldiers from bandits and wild animals.

  The first day was the hardest. Until the second day. It took at least four before Kate didn’t wake up sore and aching in the morning. She was in combat shape, but marching, often over uneven terrain, was different. The pack, seemingly so light at first, dragged at her, and the straps cut into her shoulders. She wondered, more than once, if she would get in trouble if she threw the blasted thing into the river.

  After a few days, she stopped focusing on the dull, difficult marching and started to notice the areas she passed through. She had been to a few other cities and had visited some of the other nobles’ estates, but she had never seen the land as she did now.

  Late in the second day, they left the roadway, traveling across a field and toward a large group of trees on the horizon. She wasn’t sure she agreed with leaving the nice, even road, but she had no say in the matter.

  That night, they camped at the edge of the forest she had seen earlier. It looked so wild, trees taller than anything she’d ever seen—even the castle spires—with vegetation choking the space between the huge wooden monoliths. Chitters, grunts, and coughs that nearly sounded like roars came from those trees while she was falling asleep that night. Her dreams were of monsters that breathed fire and spoke directly into her mind. When she woke in the morning, she was thankful she had not had to take a watch duty the night before. The next night, she would.