by Kody Boye
“May the boat ride strong for you who ride it,” she said, “and may the hammer guide you in need and steel.”
She rose, then, but not before leaning down and kissing each grave, including the littlest meant to signify that a young child had died.
When she turned and began to make her way out of the cemetery, she thought she felt a hand upon her shoulder.
“Mama?” she asked, turning.
There was no one, nor reply.
Carmen stood there for a moment—waiting, if only by serendipity, for someone to reply—before turning and making her way back into town.
- - -
To honor her proclaimed profession within the military, she was tasked to schedule, and then meet with, the proper authority. So on the seventh day after she returned from the Deep Roads, mostly healed but still very sore, she went in search of the battlemaster who would likely be at the barracks training the new recruits.
When she arrived, she found the place in disarray, with men and women scrambling to and fro, carrying arms, armor, and straw dummies that would likely be used to train the new recruits.
“If I’ll be damned,” a man’s voice said. “If it ain’t the drake slayer herself.”
“Sir,” Carmen said as she turned to face the brawny red-haired and bearded battlemaster. “Carmen Delarosa reporting for assignment sir.”
“I was wondering when you would show up,” the battlemaster replied. “Thought I’d have to send for you myself.”
“My apologies, sir. I was giving myself time to recover from my wounds.”
“You could probably use a little more time,” the man said, craning his head to look at the reddened flesh along her collarbone, “but no matter. I’ll give you something easy. Come with me.”
He turned and began to lead Carmen through the sleeping chambers, then down a hall and into an office where he immediately sat down. He pulled, from a series of drawers, a large book, then opened its gargantuan pages to a spreadsheet. “As you are already aware,” the man said, “my name is Simeon Chieftrain, and I am Ehknac’s battlemaster. I serve not only to train new recruits, but teach them the art of reconnaissance upon the walls. You will, until further notice, stand post on the southern wall that faces out of the city and toward Thor’s Hammer. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir,” Carmen said.
“You will be supplied armor, a weapon if you do not have one of your own, and suitable clothing to wear, and will be given two meals a day—one in the morning and one at night—for your service. Your property hereby falls under military jurisdiction and can be seized if you fail to comply with your scheduled duties. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir,” Carmen said. “I understand, sir.”
“Then follow me. We will outfit you now and will relieve one of the afternoon watch so you can take their place.”
- - -
She was adorned in simple leather armor with a heavier chestplate and leggings before she was stationed along the wall. Given that she had not brought her own weapon with her on this day, she was armed with a simple axe whose effects she familiarized herself with on the training grounds, its sharp edge sickening in the light burning from the torches at her side. In the distance she could see another guard—her companion for the afternoon—and she raised a hand to note his presence.
We aren’t expecting any caravans or travelers, the battlemaster had said, but there may be traffic.
Given its proximity to the outside world, Ehknac was often host to the humans who ventured into the mines to trade, though never did they appear without a caravan or at least some king of escort. Beyond Thor’s hammer—the landbridge named for its peculiar resemblance to the aforementioned weapon—lay pits where Hornblarin Angels were known to rest, and though silent they usually were, the white devils with the red eyes did not often tolerate travelers.
Crossing her arms, Carmen rolled her head about her shoulders and examined the darkness beyond, contemplating how maddening the process was and why some men preferred to guard walls when there was nothing to look at.
Easy work? she thought, but didn’t dwell on the matter further.
She had a wall to watch, and by the Gods, she was going to do it.
With that in mind, she leaned forward, settled herself into the stone chair built into the wall, and began to perform her day’s work.
- - -
She was exhausted by the time the day was over. With a belly full of food, a mug of mead and the greatest conversation one could have with members of the guard, Carmen made her way home feeling satisfied and buzzed, then collapsed into bed with a smile on her face.
By the time she rose the next morning, she was up and ready for a new day to begin.
Growing up, she’d’ve never anticipated enjoying the military aspect of the Dwarven government. Told, consistently, by her father that ‘war was not meant for women’ and refuted, always, by her mother, her aspirations had lain in construction, but always she’d trained, per the standard requirements. Were there to be a war, all Dwarven youth would be conscripted under the king’s mighty banner, but the time for wars was long over and the peace within the Dwarven realms almost complete. But still she’d armed herself on a daily basis, swung her sword and donned her armor, and yet at the time she’d never believed it would be of use.
Until last year.
Until the drake.
As Carmen donned herself in her uniform, taking extra care to draw her hair into a ponytail so she could slide a helmet over her head, she looked at her reflection in the mirror and tried to force a smile regardless of the memories that bombarded her. Yesterday had been a fluke—her mind’s fine gesture of blocking out emotions in order to concentrate on actions. Today, however, they were en force—assaulting her with the most vivid of joys and the most awful of sadnesses. She saw her mother fighting the drake, felt the flames as it coursed from the beast’s mouth, experienced the caravan as it buckled beneath her, then heard the screams as the people around her died.
Stop, she thought.
As if commanded by a God, the images ceased to come.
She paused—breathless, chest heaving and mind struggling to come down from the emotional high—and looked at herself in the mirror.
She hadn’t cried a single tear. That in itself was progress considering she’d done it constantly shortly after the event.
But you were mourning, she thought. You couldn’t help what you were feeling.
It gets easier every day, Sister Griffa had said. Not better, because it will never be better. Just easier.
Even in this moment she was struggling to maintain focus. She should’ve heard her mother in the other room, rousing Tonomoto for breakfast, and her father getting ready for work. She should’ve heard their laughs, their complaints, their dialogue as they engaged in casual banter, yet none of this was present. Only the casual silence of an empty home greeted her ears—the worst company any man, or woman, could ever have.
She walked into the living quarters and pulled from its place above the mantle her father’s mace, admired the sapphires adorned upon its surfaces, then clipped it to her waist, feeling confident that she could face the world now that she was armed.
After grabbing a piece of jerky and a slice of bread, she walked out the door and ate on her way to work.
She heard, distantly, the sound of yelling, then screaming.
She dropped the half-eaten loaf and drew her mace.
It was still so early, still so quiet. Yet somewhere there had been the sound—of a woman screaming as something happened.
But where was she?
Carmen was just about to spin about to try and determine the location when she heard it again—this time louder, and with more insistence.
She took off at a run, hindered only by her armor and the endurance she had lost from having been laid up for nearly a week, her feet trampling across the ground and crushing the gravel beneath. As she drew closer to the sounds—which were coming from an al
leyway not far from where she lived—she prepared herself for the worst. It was not uncommon for lone women to be accosted, let alone raped at this hour at the morning. But if what she found were the latter—if, in the act, she caught the perpetrator, what would she—
She rounded the corner just in time to see the beggar pull a knife and turn on her.
“STOP!” Carmen cried, raising her buckler to protect the armored flesh above her heart. “In the name of the city guard, I command you to put your weapon down and submit to me.”
“Bitch,” the thief growled.
The woman took a step back as the attacker lunged at Carmen.
She stumbled back into the wall, then raised her shield as he tried to stab her in the exposed section of her throat. She whipped the knife out of his hand with its surface and then slammed him in the face not once, but twice, before driving him against the opposing wall with all her weight.
“Guards!” she called. “Guards!”
She didn’t hear anybody, so when the would-be thief attempting to squirm, Carmen slammed her weight into him again, all one-hundred pounds of mean muscle. The attacker grunted, collapsed, then made a move to scramble away, but not before Carmen pressed her boot against his back and held him in place.
“Go and get the city guard,” Carmen said as she glanced over her shoulder to look at the woman.
She was out of the alleyway within a flash.
A short moment later, two guards appeared upon the horizon—one carrying a wicked halberd, the other a pair of chains.
“Delarosa,” one said, though who he was she couldn’t be sure. The other she recognized as a familiar face from the watch who had relieved her the night before.
“Timon,” she said, nodding to the guard she knew.
Timon—blonde, lightly-bearded and young—aimed his halberd at the thief as Carmen removed her foot from his back. He scrambled to his feet and attempted to run, but was stopped as Carmen slung her mace and clipped his hip.
“YEOWCH!” the man cried.
“You are under arrest for assault and attempted burglary,” the guard with the chains said as he began to shackle the man into binds. “Thank you, Miss Delarosa, for being so vigilant this morning.”
“Sir,” she replied, clipping her mace at her waist.
“Return to your post. I’ll inform sir Chieftrain about the events that have taken place and excuse you for being late.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, then turned and began to make her way to the wall.
- - -
By the time Carmen arrived, she was breathless. Having run on full adrenaline and fought on pure impulse, it was no surprise that she was starting to collapse—not only from the aggravation inflicted upon her injuries, but also her psyche.
She could’ve been hurt, Carmen thought. Killed if I hadn’t gotten there quick enough.
Petty crime was common in Ehknac, but rarely did thieves ever pull a knife unless they were outnumbered or threatened. The woman had barely been Carmen’s height, if that. She’d’ve never been able to pose a real threat, not in the state she’d been in.
Or cornered, she thought.
He’d’ve gutted her like a pig.
She heard footsteps behind her and was just about to turn when Timon said, “Good work back there.”
“Thanks,” Carmen said, turning to face the bearded Dwarf. “I thought I was relieving you this morning?”
“You are,” he replied, smiling beneath a thin mustache and above a finely-braided beard. “I was returning home when I heard the commotion. She’s lucky you left when you did, otherwise she’d probably be dead.”
“Or the victim of rape,” Carmen replied. “Or both.”
Timon didn’t say anything. Instead, he shifted, adjusting the weight of his halberd against his body. He looked out into the near distance and sighed. “Your second day on the wall and you’ve already dealt with trouble.”
“I guess I’m prone to it,” Carmen said. “It seems like it follows me everywhere I go at this point.”
“Maybe the Watch will be your escape,” Timon said.
“Hey. Wait a minute. How did you know about?”
“Chieftrain mentioned something to one of the senior guards, then someone overheard it and started spreading it through the ranks. You’re famous, Carmen—not only for killing that drake, but for getting recognized by the king. You’re becoming a bit of a celebrity around here.”
“I just wish people would stop staring when I go in and out of the house,” she mumbled. “I’m not as impressive when I’m in plainclothes or my pajamas.”
Timon laughed and clapped a hand across her back, which instantly caused Carmen to grimace. Old wounds flared bright along her collarbone, but she only let it show long enough for Timon to draw his hand away and offer a brief nod of apology. “Yeah,” she said. “Skitters.”
“Nasty little bastards, aren’t they? You’ll likely deal with them on the way up to Dorenborough, whenever you go.”
“You don’t think some of the guard will come with me?”
“It’s hard to say. Even if we do, there’s a slim chance that anyone in particular will get picked. There’s… what? Fifty guards on the troop? And they’ll send maybe three, four with the next outgoing caravan? You’re more likely to get struck by lightning than get picked to accompany a potential Watchman.”
“We’re under a mountain.”
“My point exactly.”
Carmen frowned and reached down to finger the hilt of her mace. “Would you go with me,” she said, “if I asked you to?”
“Would I?” the man laughed. “By Thor and Hel I would. What do you think I am? Crazy?”
“I don’t know,” Carmen shrugged. “I haven’t known you for that long.”
“If there’s one thing I’m not, it’s crazy,” Timon said. “You’d be a fool to not accompany a caravan to the capital, much less through Ironmend and Xandau. I mean, have you seen Xandau?”
“No,” Carmen said.
“It’s like Thor came right of the sky and carved a tower from the jagged peak a blow from his hammer made.”
“That sounds like something.”
“It is.” Timon paused. He glanced back at the world behind him, yawned, then turned and began to make his way down the stairs. “You know,” he said as he began to slowly creep away, “you might have a better chance of having me along with you if you ask Chieftrain specifically. I think he’s the one who decides who accompanies whom and to where.”
“I’ll remember that,” Carmen said. “I’ll see you later, Timon.”
“See ya.”
The guard disappeared down the stairs.
Carmen turned and leaned against the chair.
She’d only been to the capital once, as a little girl. She could barely remember it now.
How different would it look when she finally got there?
- - -
“Sir?” Carmen said, knocking on the battlemaster’s door with the back of her hand. “Are you still awake?”
A slight grumble filled the room before a lock snarled and the door opened. The red-headed Dwarf—dressed in simple pants and a button-down shirt open to reveal the chest hair beneath—looked out at her beneath bushy eyebrows. “Yes?” he asked. “What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to discuss my upcoming trip to the capital with you.”
“Come in.”
Carmen entered cautiously as the battlemaster crossed the brief expanse of his personal quarters and to his desk. He settled atop it, poured himself a shot of whiskey, then offered one to Carmen, which she refused with a shake of her head. When he downed the shot, he wiped his lips with his wrist and said, “What do you need to tell me, or what do I need to know, about this trip of yours?”
“That I’m not sure when I’ll be leaving,” Carmen said, “and that I wanted Timon to accompany me to the capital.”
“Why him?”
“He seems friendly enough, and it’ll be nice to have
a familiar face.”
“That’ll leave us short a night guard,” Simeon said. “Can’t get many people to take those shifts cause of how damn long they are. You do know that, right?”
“I do, sir.”
“We’re clocked to fall asleep at certain points of the day,” the man continued, “and after business hours is one of them. Which is why it’s a blessing when someone is able to remain awake and willing to hold those posts. If I schedule Timon to go with you, I’ll be losing one of those people. Understand?”
“I understand, sir.” Carmen paused. She drummed her fingers along one thigh, then added, “It was just something I wanted you to consider. That’s all.”
“I’ll consider it.” Simon jutted his chin, and the lengthy beard upon it, toward the door. “Now go. I need my rest as much as anyone.”
“Thank you for your time, sir. And sorry to disturb you.”
The battlemaster mumbled something as Carmen made her way out the door—something to the effect of ‘yeah’ and ‘whatever.’
She giggled as she closed the door behind her and made her way out the barracks’ front door.
- - -
“So,” Timon said when she met him on the road the following morning. “Did you talk to him?”
“You just want to get out of Ehknac,” she said as he turned and began to follow her toward the wall. “That’s what this whole thing is about, isn’t it?”
“I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t,” the man admitted. “Free trip, all expenses paid, gold up front. I’ll be able to buy some new furniture for the house upon my return.”
“So you’re using me for sofas,” Carmen said. “That’s good to know.”
“Hey!” the man laughed. “Don’t take it personally. I need a new bed.”
“To woo the ladies into, I assume.”
“A comfortable bed always makes it easier.”
Carmen laughed, slapped his shoulder, and climbed the stairs to her post, shortly followed by Timon.
“To answer your question,” Carmen said, turning to face the man as she settled onto her stone seat, “I did talk to Chieftrain.”
“And?”
“He said that men like you were hard to come by.”
