by Guy Antibes
Boxster took a little longer, but he still beat the fifteen-count mark, defeating his opponent at the count of eleven. The others lost, including the woman who fought with abandon but little skill. Trevor hoped her archery was better.
Trevor and Boxster didn’t fight again and watched as the others fought each other twice.
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to spar with your partner?” Handleton asked.
Trevor shrugged. “I’ve done it often enough, but we will be at it for longer than the fifteen counts.”
“Then do it.”
Boxster nodded to Trevor, and they stood on the sawdust ring.
“Three, two, one,” Handleton said.
Trevor jumped at Boxster and then jumped to his left. He usually jumped to his right, and that disrupted Boxster’s attention. They traded slashes, parries, and thrusts, moving this way and that as their feet threw up the sawdust as they fought.
“Fifteen,” Handleton called out. “You could go all day?”
“This was a friendly match,” Boxster said. “You wouldn’t want to see one that wasn’t friendly.” All day was not a possibility. “We could last maybe two minutes fighting each other like that.”
Trevor’s chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath. “We also used wooden swords, although we would have fought as hard with steel blades.”
“Blood would be spilt?” one of the trainers said.
Boxster nodded. “Even with wooden swords, but not today.” He was out of breath, as well. Handleton was a slow counter.
“I don’t think anyone can defeat you in the camp,” Handleton said. “I had expectations, but you seem to have exceeded them, both of you.” He looked at the others. “Shall we try other weapons?”
Trevor and Boxster were on a much higher level than the other three. The testing went past midday when Handleton told them the last test was archery. Trevor had to grin. He was always better than all his competition.
“What is with the stupid smile?” Handleton asked.
“I like archery, that’s all, Trevor said.
“Then show it.”
The trainers emerged from the weapons tent with bows and arrows.
“I will use my own bow,” the woman said.
Trevor would have to make do. He took the bow offered and began to test it. The string was too loose, so he unstrung the bow and retied one of the loops.
“Do that, and you won’t be able to pull the bow,” one of the trainers said.
Trevor sighed. “I don’t need much,” he said. He pulled on the bow, and the tension was much better. “I’m ready.”
Boxster didn’t ask for permission to tighten his bow. Handleton called him to shoot first.
“Five arrows at thirty paces,” Handleton said. “Two arrows to use warming up.”
Boxster was an excellent shot, but Trevor thought Boxster could do much better. The woman stretched and sauntered up to the line as if she owned the world. She had a fluid motion to the entire shooting sequence. The woman smirked and slinked back, folding her arms and watching the trainers fetch the arrows and take her score. When the score was announced, she did better than Boxster by a single point.
The other two mercenaries shot and were adequate, but both scored much lower than Boxster. The woman seemed very confident, cocky even, leaning on her bow.
“Last. The tall one,” Handleton checked his papers. “Denton.”
Trevor wondered if he should restrain himself. He looked at Boxster, who raised his eyebrows and pointed to the target. If his friend was trying to communicate, they were both failing.
A light wind blew across the range, so Trevor made the mental adjustments he had always done, almost without thinking, and watched his arrow hit the target dead in the center. He quickly did the same with his next shot.
He heard the woman gasp in the back of him. Trevor turned, trying not to look as cocky as the woman had when she performed, but he didn’t say another word and nocked the first arrow that counted.
Like the first two, the arrow flew true. It was off a hair, but still well within the bull’s eye. He took his next shot, and as the shaft reached the height of its flight, the missile changed direction slightly, and the arrow fell wide of the target. The next two shots behaved the same way.
“Magic?” Trevor asked Handleton, who smiled with folded arms.
Trevor didn’t have a defense against such a thing, but the arrows were deflected in the same way, so he closed his eyes and drew up the arrow’s path and compensation for the magic in his mind.
The arrow flew wide of the mark, but then turned and struck the target. It wasn’t a bull’s eye, but Trevor still earned a few points. He quickly shot his last arrow, and it flew true since he was sure the woman, or whoever else, wasn’t ready for Trevor’s quick draw.
“Who deflected my arrows?” Trevor asked.
The woman took a step forward, the overconfident smirk on her face. “I did. What are you going to do about it?”
Trevor waited for the trainers to return. He didn’t beat the woman on points, but she scored two bull’s eyes to his three.
“I didn’t win,” Trevor said, “but thanks for the education. I’ve never encountered magic before.”
“You’ll get sick of it when we fight the Viksarans,” Handleton said. “Where did you learn to shoot like that?”
“A misspent youth,” Trevor said.
“You are still a youth,” the officer said.
“I’m still misspending it,” Trevor said.
Handleton didn’t respond to Trevor’s comment. “You all scored well enough to accept you in our band. We will assign you to squads tomorrow,” Handleton said. “Go back to your tents and sharpen your weapons or something. Report back to the recruiting tent after breakfast.”
Boxster held Handleton back while the three other mercenaries walked away. He returned to a waiting Trevor. “We have permission to go into Coaling to buy a tent.”
“And get a proper dinner besides?” Trevor asked.
Boxster nodded. “Besides, I’m sure our campsite has already been taken.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
~
B oxster’s prediction turned out to be true. They returned to the mercenary camp before nightfall and had to find an empty spot. At least their bedding hadn’t been stolen, since everything had been piled to one side.
They had bought additional thick blankets to use instead of piled leaves and soon camped closer to the woods and farther from the camp, but Trevor didn’t have any worries. He had gone into the forest and dragged a dead tree back to the camp. They hacked enough firewood from its branches for a week and still had enough of the log left to use as a bench.
The woman found them in the dark and sat on her haunches, warming her hands. “Why are you two mercenaries? I’ve never seen fighting men as competent as you two. Have you fought in tournaments?”
“Local things,” Boxster said. “Big-time tourneys aren’t appropriate places for mercenaries.”
“But I’m sure you haven’t always been mercenaries. I can see that from your swordplay. Those were practiced strokes, and your footwork was taught, not picked up along the way.” She picked up a stick and stirred the fire.
“And?” Boxster said. “What do you want?”
“To be in the same squad as you,” she said. “I asked Captain Handleton. He said we could be in an elite unit with our skills.”
“What is an elite unit among mercenaries?” Boxster asked. “We are generally rabble and poorly used by the army.”
“You are experienced, after all,” the woman said. “I’m Breda Jackwin.”
“Your real name?” Trevor asked. Captain Handleton had called her a different name.
She laughed. “Of course not.”
“What about your two friends?” Boxster asked.
The woman shrugged. “Rabble, as you said. I joined them two days ago. When we found we were headed in the same direction, we traveled together. I
know a few in the camp, but none are as accomplished as you. Our lives depend on who is at our backs, and neither of you knows any magic.” She laughed and turned to Trevor. “You should have seen your shocked face when I shifted your arrows.” She looked at the tent and the fire. “Can I camp with you?”
“If we get in the same squad,” Boxster said. “Isn’t there a women’s section in the camp?”
“Not in this one. There aren’t enough women yet, and I was told that there might not be by the time we are called to join in with the army.”
Trevor looked at Boxster. “I don’t care if you don’t,” Trevor said. He’d just have to remember to call Boxster by his camp name, Karn Kissel.
Boxster shrugged. “As long as you realize that you rank number three in our merry band.”
“Fine with me,” Breda said. “I’ll catch up with you in the morning after the squads are assigned.”
~
Breda’s pleadings had worked. Mercenary squads consisted of a squad leader and ten members. One or two of the members were usually magicians. Trevor had thought Handleton might make Boxster a squad leader, but he didn’t recognize the squad leader’s name, not that he expected to. Corey Crackle was their new superior.
Breda grinned. “We are to report to the back of the mess tent,” she said.
Trevor didn’t like using the mess tent as the assembly spot for an elite unit. He was about to object, but Boxster clapped him on the shoulder. “Keep your weapons loose,” he said quietly, whispering the same advice to Breda, who took her bow in hand.
They turned the corner of the mess tent and found eight men standing, swords drawn.
“You think you are good enough to replace three of my friends?” one of them, likely Corey Crackle, said.
“Did you want more replaced?” Breda said, striding up to Corey and looking him in the eye. Trevor was surprised they were almost of the same height. She pushed the man who wheeled back and sat in the dirt.
“Magician,” Corey muttered. “I have another in the squad. We don’t need you. Handleton is crazy to think we would accept you in our group.”
Breda looked over at the seven men gawking at their leader brushing dirt from his clothes. “Magician’s duel? Bring it on. Who is the magician?” She looked at the men and chose the tallest. “You are the magician. Do you want to test me?”
She held out her hand and blinked. A tiny ball of flame bounced up and down above her palm. She grabbed it as it came down to touch her palm and threw it at the magician’s feet.
The flame splashed up, but it met a barrier that shimmered for a moment before going out just after the fire dissipated. Trevor could smell a sulfurous scent in the air.
“Not bad,” Corey Crackle said. “What do you think, Shed?”
“Good enough. I can’t bounce a flaming ball like that, but I can throw as well as she,” Shed said as he instantly held a flame the size of a walnut in his hand and threw it at Breda’s face. She batted it away with her bow. “That doesn’t deserve a magical defense,” Breda said. She pushed with her hand and knocked Shed over, just like she did Corey Crackle.
“Now, how do you feel?” Corey asked.
“A little tired, but then that is why I carry a bow, and Shed carries a sword. Magic doesn’t last long before it burns its way out of you for a bit.”
“How long?” Trevor asked.
“How long, what?” Breda said.
“How long are you without power? I haven’t been around much magic.”
“A day or so. Sometimes a little less, sometimes it takes two days. It is something you should always remember fighting the Viksarans,” she said.
Trevor nodded and felt a lot better about his chances against an army filled with magicians after learning about their losing power. The waiting period was a significant vulnerability if he could keep from burning to a crisp while a magician’s power expired.
“Swords?” Corey asked Breda the question.
“Both of them defeated their trainer opponent in less than fifteen counts.”
“Less?” Corey said.
“The young one took seven counts and the older, eleven. There is no accounting for whichever trainer was better.”
Corey sheathed his sword and nodded to his men. “I suppose I do have a place in the squad for the three of you. I couldn’t go without testing you to see if Handleton was shoving some rejects on me.”
“Now that you know we aren’t defectives,” Boxster said, “you do realize we will be getting the worst assignments in the corps.”
“Not the worst,” Corey said, grinning. “We get the toughest, and we are the toughest and the roughest, aren’t we boys?”
The seven fellow squad members sheathed their swords and introduced themselves. Their menacing looks evaporated as they said their names.
“You are the two guys who camped on the slopes above the camp, right?”
Trevor nodded.
“We can camp as a squad. Is there enough room for us all?” the same man asked.
Boxster grinned, but he avoided looking at Breda, who seemed very disappointed. “Of course. It is our camp, so we will have a few rules to keep the place orderly.”
“You’ve been in the army?” Corey asked.
“I served some time,” Boxster said. “I liked a clean camp and have always practiced a certain level of orderliness everywhere I go.”
“We can stand a bit of discipline,” Corey said, “and that includes me. We have the rest of the day to get to know each other and test each other out, so we get out of the daily drills. I’m sure we can find your camp…or should I say our camp?”
~
Corey Crackle had a reputation. The hillside campers had already crept closer to Boxster and Trevor’s camp; they were told politely and not so gently to depart.
“We’ll put up a little stockade,” Corey said, assigning squad members to find suitable poles in the forest.
Trevor joined in and enjoyed the physical work and got to know the other men. They were all ex-army at some time or other and didn’t mind accepting a little discipline where they thought they would benefit. Having a camp section to their own, was a benefit, Trevor found out.
Below them, Boxster laid out a picket line. The mercenary band seemed to have an endless supply of rope that Shed could procure. By the time they headed back to the main camp for dinner, the space within the short stockade was orderly.
Boxster had given instructions about personal hygiene and the portage of water from a spring that one of the men had found not too far into the forest. Tents and bedrolls all had leafy mattresses, and the fallen limb ended up being a coveted spot around the campfire, now sporting a rocky ring.
After dinner, Captain Handleton walked out of the darkness. Some of the men had gone to bed, and a few others chatted around the fire. Trevor sat on a stump someone had cut and left in the forest some time ago, sharpening his sword.
“Crackle?” the captain said.
Corey crept out of his tent. “Here, sir.”
“Who gave you permission to make your own camp?”
“You did, sir,” Corey said. “If I remember correctly, you said we could gather together as a squad. This is our gathering place.”
The captain nodded. “I have orders for tomorrow. I want your squad to scout the forest land all the way to the border. We have maps, but I don’t trust maps that haven’t been vetted. Can you do that?”
“We can, sir,” Corey said, giving Handleton a lazy salute.
The captain gave two packets to the squad leader. “You can split into two groups if you wish. It is up to you. The more you verify, the better the commander will feel.”
“Right you are, sir. Can we take provisions?”
“Permission slips are in the envelopes,” Handleton said. He nodded to the men and slipped away back into the darkness.
“I don’t like this,” Corey said. “Getting maps ready means our little vacation is over.”
Boxster stepped up.
“How long have you been camping here?”
“Two months,” one of the other men said, “almost two months too long. I’m looking forward to some action.”
“Not me,” Shed said. “The longer I can go without facing a Viksaran magician, the better.”
Trevor shot a glance at Boxster, whose lips had made a thin line across his face. Shed might be a candidate for desertion. He would have to be prepared. The other men seemed to be seasoned enough, so Trevor didn’t worry about the entire squad.
Breda joined them. “Not all of them are trustworthy,” she said.
“What about you?” Boxster asked. “Are you anxious like Shed?”
“I’d be a liar if I didn’t say I was a bit worried, but don’t fret about me. I’ll be there when I’m needed.” She yawned. “I’m done for. Too much physical work getting the camp done, and my power isn’t recharged yet. A good night’s sleep helps.”
“How do you know when your magic has returned?” Trevor asked.
“A magician knows. You feel full in a different kind of way. It’s hard to explain.”
“Plump with magic,” Boxster said.
“That is a magician’s term,” Breda said. “Where did you hear it?”
“I’ve been around. I’ve heard all sorts of things. I think I’ll turn in early myself. We probably have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow.” Boxster turned and slipped into their tent.
Breda did the same. She had a single tent almost as large as theirs. It didn’t have a floor like Trevor’s, but at least Breda didn’t have to sleep in the open like three of the squad did. Trevor felt a little sorry for the woman, but she was a volunteer, as were they all.
Chapter Twenty-Three
~
T he forest showed as a dark line across the undulating landscape. The squad stopped at the top of a swell in the grasslands that surrounded them on three sides. The massive wood that ran along the southern edge of Presidon met the forest that made up the eastern border of West Moreton.
They rode toward Viksar, which shared a border with West Moreton on the south and Presidon to the north. Trevor had never been this far east or this far south, but the grassland that started east of Coaling just kept going for miles, making the landscape very dull.
