Florian’s squad had infiltrated the city to kill the governor's family while he was out there talking to Eden under the white flag. Enough to drive a normal man to make bad decisions in the name of revenge. Another thing to add to the list of injustices. But that hadn’t stopped Florian from following the orders.
A squad of pikemen came walking up the hill. Some were laughing while others were quiet with that look in their eyes, that recognition that only luck kept them from being another body on the battlefield. Some were walking wounded, but all bore scars inside. They were the fortunate ones who had made it out, and so was Florian. With Redpool free, Florian had done what they were supposed to do. Maybe it was time to get out, before the next war came along.
“Hey, Ham, how are you doing? Haven't seen you in ages,” called a man from the pikemen squad.
Florian looked up to see who had called. “Ervin. Glad to see you made it out of there,” he said.
“Me too,” replied Ervin. “Let's get a drink tonight and catch up. I'm with the Eagle Company. You'll find me later?”
“Sure,” said Florian, though he knew he would not seek company tonight. The pikemen walked on past he and Joe, continuing their way to their camp of the past few weeks.
“Why did he call you Ham?” asked Joe.
“It's a long story,” said Florian.
“Well, there's not a lot else going on is there? Go on, tell me the story. It might take your mind off all this shit.”
“Well, I guess it might. Alright, sure. But only until the sarge arrives.”
I have to go back a long way to tell this story. I have a twin sister. Her name is Aiola. We're not identical, which is good news for her.
I'm a few seconds older, and I got the strength of dad and she got the smarts of mum. Where I picked up the sword quick from dad, she was never any good. But she was half decent with a bow, taught by our dad too. A good thing too.
This all started when we’d become teenagers. We were always close, like most twins, but we didn't spend all of our time together. I had my friends, other village lads. We would play knights, fighting giants or dragons or vicious spiders that protected ancient treasure.
My sister had her friends. A lot of them girls, and they would be falling out over something all the time. They’d get into a fight and one of them would stomp off. I could never understand it.
One day I was playing in the forest, just on the outskirts of the village with a few my friends. We were fighting a demon if I recall, running around with our wooden swords, and I heard her call.
“Florian!”
“What?” I called back. I expected she wanted me to come and help her with something. Something I wasn't interested in. But I didn't want to lose my place in the game, so I didn't come.
“Florian!” came the call again. She sounded a little upset, but sometimes she got upset about things that didn't matter to a boy, like what one of them said to the other. So, still, I didn't move.
I kept on playing but then I heard her call again.
“Florian!” There was a shrill edge to her voice now that was not normal. It was enough to raise the hairs on the back of my neck. I ran to where I thought the sound of her voice had come from.
“Aiola? Aiola!” I cried in return, but there was no answer.
I found her behind a fence on the south paddock. A wolf, hackles raised, and fur bristling, had backed her into a corner. She told me later that she’d been the one to stomp off, when she had noticed something bothering the sheep. Normally, any predator would run off at the sight of a human, but this wolf was determined to eat, and a skinny girl would do just as good as a fat sheep. Aiola screamed again as the wolf leapt toward her neck, teeth bared. She shielded her face with her arm and the wolf’s jaws clamped down on her upper arm.
Wooden sword raised above my head, I charged the little shit. And I hit it with all of my strength, just below the wolf’s ear. I tell you, it was only a wooden sword but it damn near took its head off. I’m not sure the wolf knew what had been coming, but it let go of Aiola and literally ran for the hills.
I took Aiola in my arms before checking her wounds. The flesh of her upper arm had a series of deep puncture wounds that welled a deep red blood. I tried my best to clean it up but I didn’t know what I was doing. She cried deep gasping sobs and moaned my name. And all I could think about was how I wasn't there when she first called. How I ignored her twice.
“I'm sorry Aiola,” I said. “I'll always be there to protect you. I'll never let you down.” And that turned out to be my first lie to my twin sister.
From that day forward, I protected her.
Everyone around the village, and even around the whole county, knew if they so much as laid a hand on Aiola they would have me to deal with. As I got older, I got bigger and better with a sword than most grown men, so nobody wanted to try anything.
It was about three years ago now, after we turned sixteen, when it happened. I'd been away for a few days, Mum and Dad sending me to find a couple of sheep that were missing. Now, when sheep go missing it can be a few things. It could be wolves, rustlers, poachers; but more likely, they could've just wandered off and got stuck on some hill. I’d grown stronger than Dad and could carry two of the buggers at the same time.
It took a little searching, but I found them sheep, huddled together at the top of a rocky hill, using each other to shelter from the wind and the rain while they kept munching on that sweet untouched grass. I brought them down and back to our house thinking I'd get at least a small pat on the back. But everything was quiet as I approached the little farmstead. I called out, “Mum! Dad! Aiola! I got them.”
A few moments of silence passed before I heard my mum call out.
“Florian!” She ran outside to meet me. I could tell something was wrong straight away.
Her hands were shaking and her eyes were red as if she'd been crying some time ago. She ran right over without saying another word and grabbed me in an embrace.
“What's wrong, Mum?” I asked, though I was afraid of the answer.
“Oh, Florian,” she said, “It was the army. They came looking for recruits.”
Well that sounded okay, I thought. Not bandits, or thieves, or werewolves, or some other nasty. Just the army, right? The Edland army, there to protect us.
“Don't tell me, Dad signed up again?” I asked. Dad was ten years older than my Mum, and the other side of fifty, but he loved his days in the army. Not sure he ever loved being a farmer.
“It's not your Dad,” sniffled my Mum. “They were looking for two recruits from each family. They had records of everyone. They wanted you and Aiola to sign up, no question about talking them out of it. But your Dad, he tried. And he only knows one way to convince someone.”
“Dad? What happened to him?”
“They kicked three bells out of him, that's what happened. He's not dead, but he's pissing blood. I'm making him rest,” she said looking back to the house.
“And Aiola. Where is she?”
“They took her. Weren't you listening?” she said, panic and frustration clear in her voice. “They took her for the army.”
“They took her? She can't join up, she won’t be safe,” I said, worried about Aiola but also a little disappointed she had gone with them and I had been left behind. I had dreamed about being in the army. Heard the stories from my dad, who only told the good kind of stories, those of brotherhood and heroes and fighting for what’s right. Unless he drank too much gin. Then he'd tell the truth of it.
“When did this happen,” I asked.
“Two days ago, not long after you left. They carried on down the road to hit the next poor family.”
“I got to get her, Mum,” I said.
“I knew you would say that, Florian.” She stroked my cheek, giving me a half smile. “I knew you would want to. You're a good boy, and you love your sister. But I won't think any less of you if you stay here. At least I'll have you,” she said, tears welling in her eyes.
“I can't, Mum. I got to go.”
“Well keep an eye out for her then. You won't get her away. Deserters hang. If you go, you must sign up too. And then I lose both of you.”
“Don't worry, Mum,” I said, trying to reassure her in a scene I’m sure is repeated the world over when the young go off to fight some stupid war and leave their family behind. “I'll be hard to kill. Nothing will stop me coming back!” I said with as much certainty as I could fake. “Let's go see Dad, then I need to go if I’m to catch them up.”
Dad lay in his bed, looking old. Dark blue bruises already turning to a sickly brown. He woke, and we talked; but he didn't make much sense. He spoke about some people he used to serve with, as if they would still be around. Told me to seek them out. I nodded and smiled and then said my goodbyes. Last thing he said was to take his sword, the one above his bed. I haven’t let it go since.
I set out that evening with my father’s sword, the bag I had not yet unpacked from my few days away, and the small amount of food my mother could spare; some bread, cheese and a single jug of beer brewed by my father earlier in the summer.
From our farmstead it was a mile to what we called the main road to Ilkestop. A path worn by cartwheels; it was nothing like the roads around the rest of the kingdom. I don't know as I had ever seen a cobblestoned road before. It would be a few days until I set foot on one for the first time.
The grasses were flattened around the cartwheel track, showing evidence of the recruiting team's passage, and following their trail was easy enough. I spent the nights sleeping by the pathway, not bothering to make a fire, just lying down with my blanket and bedroll in the warm early autumn air.
I passed through Ilkestop, Nettering, Little Hampton and Snodden. In each village, the locals told a story similar to the one I'd heard from my mother: two recruits from every family, man or woman, ages fourteen to thirty. Some families took the shock easier than others if they had more than a handful of kids. The mothers missed their babies, but at least they had enough hands to work their farms.
I arrived in Snodden early on the third morning to find I had closed the gap; my quarry having left the village only the previous afternoon. Beyond Snodden was the main north-south road from Aria down to Wombourne. Which way had they gone was the question I didn’t know the answer to.
Reasoning they would head north to the town of Aria, Lord Eden's district seat, to assemble with the rest of the army, I turned that way. I thought luck was with me when I saw heading toward me men and women traipsing behind two lead horses and a mule-led wagon.
It dawned on me too late that they were travelling in the wrong direction to be the right squad. But I didn't think about that. Hadn't had too much experience hunting men back then. When you are looking for sheep, you don't give too much thought to which direction they are moving in.
This was how I signed up with Sergeant Morris, all the while craning my neck, looking around to see if any of the sorry-looking souls in the train were Aiola. He wasn’t happy that he’d been dragged out for the muster. Normally he picked the cream of the crop for the Ravens after training, but the higher ups had ordered a rapid call to arms and needs must. Flathead and Moley were there to keep him company; and believe it or not, Morris was even more of a miserable bastard thanks to that grunt duty than he is nowadays.
The sergeant noticed I was looking for someone so I told him about my sister. He laughed so hard, and I turned so red, I thought I would pop him one, but I held back my anger. Between his laughs he told me he hadn't been by Shortdrop. Must have been a different crew. Me running to meet the wrong squad was the highlight of his year.
At least until I said I had better be going then to catch up with the other squad, which almost made him piss himself.
“You ain't going nowhere boy,” he coughed out between laughs, while Flathead and Moley looked their intimidating selves. “You don't get to decide now. Get back there and get to know your new family.”
Morris's squad was slower moving than the one I had been pursuing. We only stopped at one village each day on our way down to Crossroads. While the sergeant plus either Flathead or Moley handled the conscription of willing and unwilling alike, the other would lead us in drills.
We ran back and forth across freshly tilled fields, the shifting soil causing many to fall on their faces.
In fields of corn taller than me we would play a version of tag. A handkerchief hanging from the back of our belts the target and the winner would either be the one with the most flags or the last one standing, depending on the order of the day.
And we trained in arms.
Most of the recruits had brought no weapons of their own. I had my sword and there was another boy who also had inherited one. At first the two of us paired up to practice while the three score other recruits received instructions in how to handle a pike and shield, long staves cut from trees along the journey making as substitutes for the real thing.
Matching me with the boy, I think his name was Garth, wasn't the best of ideas. I tried to go easy on him, but the lad had never held a sword. Parrying his crazy flings, I gave him the chance to swing it around but when I counterattacked he threw up his hands to protect his face. And dropped his sword.
It dropped point down, straight through his boot, slicing off three toes. Sergeant Morris was pissed when he got back that night. At Moley who was supposed to be in charge. At me, even though I said I did nothing. Even at Garth. The sarge put his toes in a sack and told him to piss off home.
In retrospect, Garth was one of the lucky ones.
Afterwards, I did double training duty. With the rest I practiced with pike and shield, and my second shift was with Flathead each night by the camp fire. We'd spar, and I'd watch his moves while the other recruits huddled in their blankets, thinking about what they'd left behind. Me, I thought about what I'd found. I was getting better every day, and Flathead, already a veteran of a couple of wars, was not much better than me.
A week passed as we made the slow march down to the second infantry mustering point at Crossroads, and truth be told, I didn't give much thought to Aiola. I was still concerned about her. I didn't want her to go off to this war, but I also knew I couldn't do much about it at the moment. So, I would lose myself in the day's training.
I remember walking with the sarge and Flathead at the front of the train, more than a hundred raw recruits by now. We turned the bend and saw our destination; the camp for the Second.
My heart dropped into my boots, my mouth flapped open, and I stood stock still. Ten thousand people in the field beyond; drilling in squads, cooking around camp fires, great tents pitched all over the place. I knew I was fucked.
The sarge looked down at me then. “Don't worry lad. You might bump into her,” he said. “Now shift your arse.”
“That don't sound like me,” said a voice from behind Florian. “Well the bit about moving your arse does. But not the first bit. Much too caring.”
Florian turned to look at Sergeant Morris, flanked by Moley and Midnight. Morris was sharp; in the angles of his face, the bite of his eyes, the sting of his two swords.
Granted, a few long scars interrupted the stubble on his chin, but Florian couldn't recall any other sergeants near forty who still saw action. Florian also hadn't come across any other sergeants who were anywhere near as good leaders of men. Morris was better than most of the captains. It was a mystery why Morris was still only a sergeant; although there was a rumor that the army was his escape route from the gallows, so that could have had something to do with it. Florian had served under Morris for three years but had yet to pluck up the courage to ask him about it.
Morris wore a long shirt of chain-mail under plates of boiled black leather secured by leather straps, which had become the standard armor for their squad. Moley, the man so named because of the star map of moles over his face and body, wore the same. Midnight however eschewed the chain-mail. She preferred padded black leather, her silver hair kept tied
under a cap of similar material. Her attire combined with her dark skin had led to her highly original name—grunts were not the most poetic of folk.
“Sorry Sarge,” said Florian, instinctively getting to his feet. “We were waiting for you and got to chatting.”
“It's all right, Twins. You can sit down. I might join you,” he said, as he lowered himself to the ground and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Now it sounded like a story. What's the tale?”
“Some bloke called him Ham, Sarge. He's supposed to be telling me why. But it's not making much sense at the moment,” said Joe. “And you and Moley call him Twins, which makes a little more sense I s’pose. Why don't I have a name and Florian has two?”
“Hah, when you earn one, kid, you'll get one,” said the sergeant. “And we call him Twins for another reason. I’m sure he’ll get to that eventually.”
“Aye,” said Florian. “I will do, Joe, if you shut up and pay attention.”
“We'd just arrived at the camp and there were more people in one place than I'd seen in my life. More than the harvest festival in the village, more than the county fair even. I’d always been the big lad in the village, everyone knew me. But there, I felt small, a nobody. And how was I going to find just one person? I didn't know what to do. So, I shut my mouth, put one foot in front of the other, and followed the sarge.
The veterans had us set up camp on the outskirts, and then they handed us off to the instructors whose job it was to give a bunch of farmers, smiths, poachers, and tanners enough training so they wouldn't run at the first sight of battle. I settled into the training and the natural winnowing that happens where folks with some ability are selected for more important squads. Over the first week I progressed from pike man, to skirmisher, to armored infantry. All the while I kept looking for Aiola, but I didn't see her.
Tales of Kingshold Page 2
