by Scott Baron
“Actually, yes.”
“Good. And Captain, I do appreciate your concern with my safety. You’re a credit to your position, and I thank you for it.” He turned and surveyed the men. “All right. We’re going for a little stroll. I know this is new to you, so if you feel you can’t keep up, catch your breath and we’ll gather you on the way back.”
Charlie knew the men’s pride would not allow them to allow that to happen.
“Captain, I’ll see you and your retinue on the trail shortly.”
“Aye, you will, Sire.”
“Excellent. The rest of you, with me,” he called out, then started off at a very easy run.
It was the first time many of the men had done a run of any distance since their youth, so he made a point to go easy on them this first day. Once they’d gotten over the initial soreness, he’d start upping the pace and mileage.
By the time they returned an hour later, the men looked as if they’d been dragged through hell and somehow crawled back out the other side. The exhausted troops collapsed to the ground, chests heaving, clothing drenched with sweat.
Charlie wasn’t even breathing hard.
Wow. Just four miles in over an hour, and they’re all toast. Not the fittest of soldiers, I dare say. Okay, I think I’ll need to adjust training plans downward a bit more than I expected.
The following day, per Charlie’s instructions, the captain had the men do a light jog around the castle. Charlie knew the real pain would hit them the following day, as delayed-onset muscle soreness always did, but at least getting them moving would reduce the impending agony somewhat.
“Okay, listen up,” Captain Sheeran called out when they returned, the aching soldiers moving a bit more freely now that their aching limbs had warmed from the exertion. “The king has a new task for you today.”
Groans rose from the ranks.
“No, it won’t be more running,” he added, to the men’s delight. “The king wishes you to work your other muscles. Every man grab an axe and assemble here in ten minutes. We are heading into the forest.”
The men hurried off to do as they were told. Young Owen, loyal to the captain, stepped in close to his commander.
“The king is sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong, Captain. And the men are not happy with it.”
Sheeran merely grunted. “Best get with the others,” he finally said.
“Aye, captain.” Owen replied, and went to join the men.
When all were ready, they began their new task. Deep into the woods they trekked, the trees Charlie wished for them to fell already marked with ribbon tied around them.
“When did the king have time to do this?” one of the men asked.
“I hear he sometimes rises with the sun and goes out alone. Must’ve been one o’ them times, I reckon,” another replied.
Captain Sheeran strode to the head of their ranks. “All right, you lot. The task is one you should all be well familiar with. Chop down the trees marked with ribbon, then section them every seven feet. Once that’s done, partner with one of the others and carry one of the logs back between you. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Captain,” the men shouted in unison.
They set to work with vigor. This was more like it. Swinging hard metal, building their arms and backs for battle. This was useful for fighting, unlike that ridiculous running about. They would likely use the logs to build some sort of battlement, or maybe a siege weapon.
When they returned to the castle many hours later, a great many shovels and spades sat waiting for them.
“His majesty wishes a three-foot deep hole be dug for each log,” Bawb informed the captain. “Have the men hew the top until it is flat, then place each one upright and secure it with stones and dirt in the hole.”
“I fail to see how this is a job for soldiers,” Captain Sheeran grumbled. “Men of action should train for action. There are laborers for tasks like this.”
“Perhaps. But it is the king’s command. I merely relay his wishes, but if you would like to take the matter up with him personally, I’d be happy to pass along your request.”
Sheeran forced his ire down. There was no sense arguing with the foppish, pale man. Why the king kept such a weak-spirited aide was beyond him. But they had arrived to the kingdom together, so there was obviously some history between them.
“I will make it so,” the captain finally replied.
“Excellent,” Bawb said with a grin. “He will be quite pleased. And tomorrow, he requested the men have a recovery day consisting of only a short run around the castle. After that, he wishes them to have the rest of the day to gather their strength. The following morning, he shall meet with you and instruct as to the new training regimen the men are to begin.”
The king’s aide then turned and left the men to their labors.
“What did he mean, new regimen?” Owen asked the captain.
“Honestly, lad, I do not know.”
Chapter Ten
The first week of Charlie’s strange new training regimen had left every last soldier sore, exhausted, and more than a little disgruntled at the new king’s seemingly-insane tasks for them. Some were more vocal about their displeasure than others.
“Standing atop a pole in the ground? For hours?”
“I know, but he is our king,” the captain replied. It was becoming a regular utterance.
“And holding cups of water? It makes no sense. That’s women’s work.”
“Yet the men keep failing as if they were as weak as one,” the captain hissed, eyeing the king as he walked among the men. “Now keep your voices down and your gripes to yourselves, lest you draw the king’s ire.”
“I’m not sure he should even be king,” Owen said, quietly.
It was a thought that had passed through all of their minds at one time or another since Charlie seized the throne from their former liege. But with the mighty dragon on his side, and an apparent talent for combat only recently revealed, none dared move on those impulses.
“Captain? A word, please,” Charlie called out to him.
Captain Sheeran gave Owen an odd look, then walked over to the king. “Yes, Sire?”
“The men. How are they doing?”
“Not terribly happy, if I’m to be honest about it, Sire.”
“No, not that part. I know they’re not happy. No one is happy during basic training. But that’s not the point. The point is drilling the basics into them. Preparing them so they will instinctively survive when they’d otherwise fail. Making them realize they can do more than they previously thought possible. So tell me, it hasn’t been long, but do they seem stronger to you? More agile?”
The captain thought about it a moment. It had only been a week, but the men actually did seem to be moving better, and fewer were tumbling from the poles when they’d perform that particular task.
“I think so, Sire,” he said. “Fewer are falling, and it seems that they are recovering from the runs faster.”
“Excellent.”
“But Sire, when will they begin training in combat once more? These are men of action, and I fear this is not helping morale.”
Charlie paused a moment.
Shit. Hadn’t really thought about that. Different time, different life. Of course they’d react differently than the people of my Earth. Stupid, Charlie. You’ve gotta fix this.
“You’re right, Captain,” he said. “My thanks for bringing this to my attention. I may have been a little overzealous in changing training schedules around on them. What would you suggest as a means to keep the men engaged while also improving their fitness with the new exercises?”
Sheeran stroked his chin in thought. “Combat training. That’s what the men always look forward to the most. If we incorporate that back into their routine, I think it will go a long way toward easing unrest.”
A smile slowly spread across Charlie’s face. “If it’s fighting they want, then it’s fighting they’ll get.”
“Thank y
ou, Sire. I’m sure the men will like the change.”
“I don’t like this,” Owen said, adjusting the belt holding his wooden sword in place on his hip. “No armor? Wooden weapons?” What sort of fighting is this?”
“I don’t know, but the king himself is leading the demonstration,” the grubby soldier at his side said.
“It was luck and tricks that beat Captain Sheeran the other week. This time we’re ready. This time, we get him back.”
“Whoa. Watch that talk, and keep your voice down. You want to get us both thrown in the dungeon?”
The younger man reluctantly shut his mouth, but the dislike still burned in his eyes.
“All right,” Charlie called out to the assembled men. “First training group of the day, and I see you’re all outfitted with your short swords. Good.”
“Sire, but these are mere wooden sticks. And they are a good deal shorter than our usual weapons.”
“Yes, that is true, but I’ve watched your fighting styles and noticed you expend a lot of energy with swinging and blocking those enormous blades. Now, there are obviously times where tactically that is the best option. But there are also times where you may be at an advantage if you surprise your opponent and opt for a shorter blade. It will require modifying your armor to allow for more freedom of motion in the shoulder joints and across the hips, but I think you’ll find the new techniques you will be able to employ well worth the slight bit of additional vulnerability.”
“Less armor?” the men murmured.
“I understand your concerns, but allow me to show you what I mean. Captain, please have one of the king’s guards over there come attack me.”
“Sire?”
“They’re in full armor. The usual makeup of plate and chain, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You are not. But––“
“Don’t worry, Captain. I’ll be fine.”
“But you have no weapon, Sire. And no armor.”
“I have this,” he replied, waving his short, wooden sword. “Now, if you please.”
Sheeran hesitated.
“If I wasn’t clear, that is an order, Captain.”
The soldier turned on his heel. “You. Simms. Attack the king.”
“And don’t hold back,” Charlie added. “I’ll be fine.”
The men whispered in disbelief. “It’s madness. He’ll be cut in half!”
Owen’s dark gaze flicked from Simms to the king. “All the better, then,” he said, quietly.
“Now, notice the restriction of Simms’ hips? The way he has to sort of lumber when he moves?” Charlie ducked a wide swing. “Please, do try to actually hit me. That’s the entire point, after all.”
The men continued circling one another, Charlie effortlessly dodging the armored man’s increasingly energetic attacks. Seeing how easily the king could evade him, Simms had finally begun trying in earnest, hoping for at least a glancing blow, if only to prove his worth to his king.
“See here?” Charlie said, slipping under a high attack and jamming his stick into the shoulder joint at the rear of the man’s armor. “With a long sword, I could not have made that move. But with this,” he waved the wooden implement. “The shorter weapon, in this case, is the deadlier one.”
Simms tried to surprise him, dropping an elbow toward the king, but Charlie kicked the back of his leg at the joint, sending him to one knee. From that angle, he easily stuck his short sword in the small gap between the helmet and armor.
“Again, an angle a long sword could not reach. And see how much easier it would be with more freedom of motion in the joints? Now, obviously, in melee battle with multiple attackers, you’ll want your armor. But these modifications should allow you to have the best of both worlds. Mobility, and protection.”
He turned to the men. “Let’s have four more of you join in. The rest of you watch closely. This is your first lesson in the use of the short sword, similar to a gladiator’s gladius.”
Four men stepped forward and began circling, unsure if they should attack with full force, then remembering how easily the king had moved through their number when first he showed his true skills.
One by one, they attacked, and Charlie easily evaded them, landing blows as he did.
“No, no. Not one at a time like that. In battle, there is no honor. Only survival. Save honor for your daily lives. It would do you well to remember that you cannot live honorably if you are not alive.”
Watching from the sidelines, Bawb couldn’t help but smile at that. Charlie had used one of his lines, and quite well at that.
The four men with wooden swords, and one in full armor, attacked at once, hoping to overwhelm their adversary. Charlie used their momentum against them, pivoting and sending them careening into one another, all of them tumbling to the ground in a heap.
“This is one of the problems with an uncoordinated attack. Even if you have superior numbers, an agile enough opponent can use your strength against you.”
Charlie’s gladiatorial perceptions sensed something off. He spun, dropping low and casting a silent kika rahm spell just as his hands connected with the midriff of his surprise attacker. Owen flew backward nearly twenty feet, tumbling to the ground.
The captain snatched him up angrily and dragged him to the king. “You dare dishonor yourself and attack our king from behind?”
“He said there is no honor in battle,” Owen said plainly. He was entirely unrepentant.
Charlie laughed loud and hard, defusing the tension. He was actually rather annoyed, but he knew the effect his laughter would have.
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” he said. “Well learned, uh, Owen, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Very well done. You have potential. I can see it. But I think that’s enough demonstration for today. Now, let’s get you all to work. I’ve shown the captain and his assistants the moves I wish you to work on. If you excel at them, we will progress to sparring this afternoon.” He looked across the expectant faces. “All right, then. Get to it!”
The men split off into groups to train, the captain pulling Owen aside for a few private words before sending him to join the others. Charlie casually walked over to Bawb. The Wampeh was not amused.
“You used magic, Charlie.”
“I know. But I don’t think anyone noticed.”
“They didn’t, and believe me, I was watching. But you might not have been so lucky, and while they may tolerate you as king, a wizard ruling them would likely lead to an unpleasant outcome.”
Charlie sat quietly a moment. Bawb was right. He had to be more careful. But one thing that had happened stood out.
“Bawb?”
“Yes?”
Charlie held up both arms. They were bare. “No konus. No slaap,” he said.
“I noticed that, too, Charlie. It seems your own powers continue to grow.”
“I still don’t get it. We’re back on my planet, and no one here is magic.”
“No, but you are bound to a mighty Zomoki.”
“Ara’s doing this to me?”
“Not directly, but I suspect the unique rays of your system’s sun is increasing her power, much as it is flowing into Hunze’s locks. And in turn, that is flowing into you. But you must keep these abilities hidden, Charlie. Never let your enemies know your full potential.”
“I know. But these are my men, at least.”
“And more than one could very possibly stab you in the back one day. It would serve you well to remember that.”
“Always such a downer, Bob.”
“It is one of my most endearing traits, I am told.”
Charlie laughed and turned for the castle. “Come on, let’s see what Thomas has in the kitchen. I showed him how to make a hoagie the other day.”
“Hoagie?”
“Trust me, you’ll love it.”
The deadly assassin chuckled, shaking his head, then followed the unlikely king on his quest not for gold or power, but a hearty sandwich.
With her king busy helping train the troops for several weeks, Leila had begun to feel her own stirring need to do something more with her days. Castle life was fine and all, but the novelty had quickly worn off.
Essentially, she was beginning to climb the walls.
“I don’t need all of this,” she said to the armored man riding at her side.
“You are the queen. You must travel with the queen’s guard to protect you.”
She glanced at the dozen men riding with her on her outing to the neighboring farms of the realm. Plodding alongside them was her faithful four-legged companion. He had been a tiny little thing when she rescued him, but Baloo had rapidly grown in to a strapping mountain of an animal.
Leila gave a little whistle, and Baloo trotted up close, his enormous head rubbing Mom’s leg. He was so tall now that she could scratch his ears while still mounted on her horse––a stoic animal that had fortunately become accustomed to the giant canine.
Something rustled the leaves. A rabbit or fox, most likely. Baloo’s ears stood up straight. He looked at Leila with questioning eyes.
“Oh, all right. Go get ‘em, boy.”
Not waiting for any further encouragement, he took off in a flash, a blur of dark gray fur vanishing into the woods. At least it wasn’t another farmer’s goat, she reasoned.
“You were saying something about protecting me?” she said as he trotted back from the woods just minutes later, specks of blood on his muzzle, but nothing more.
“Well, I––“
“I realize it’s your job, so go ahead and do your duty. But really, I think I’ll be fine.”
They rode for a while, cresting a few hills and crossing streams as she visited farms along the way. Most of the crops were growing well, but a few seemed to be having problems.
That was more her father’s area of expertise––Leila being the animalist at Visla Maktan’s estate while her father handled the grounds––but she had learned plenty from him growing up.
“Let’s head over there,” she said, nodding to a particularly shoddy-looking series of fields.
