by Kody Boye
After looking to the clock to find that she still had some time to prepare, she grabbed a fresh pair of clothes and made her way into the attached bathroom—where she drew, from an intricate series of pipes powered by crystalline fixtures, water from some great depths below to fill a bath. She waited for the bath to fill, took a hot stone from its place in the nearby sun to heat the water within, then stripped down before sinking into the water.
After so many weeks without a bath, it was bliss to finally be clean again.
She prepared herself as she would any special occasion—by washing her hair, cleaning her face, shaving the fine hairs upon her arms and legs and underarms and then applying antiperspirants before rising and brushing her hair. She looked at herself in the lengthy mirror—admiring the gentle curves of her body while at the same time awing over the musculature upon it—before dressing and making her way out the door.
This time when she stepped out into the afternoon sunlight, she wasn’t as readily blinded. Rather, she only had to narrow her eyes to adjust to the light streaming down from the massive crater above before she was able to see the city I detail.
The copper stone here shone brilliant in the light of the new day, glimmering like ornate stones in particular places and radiating with heat in others. Her eyes—drawn along the road and to the castle—fell upon a series of fixtures along the massive towers. After a moment’s consideration, she found that they, like the diamonds she had once carried, were translucent, and were likely carrying light and with it power into the castle to illuminate its interior.
Good ol’ Dwarven ingenuity, Carmen thought as she started forward.
Though she’d little more than a half-hour to spare, her leisurely walk along the street was met with casual glances, occasional waves from passerbys, and men and women attempting to hawk wares ranging from foods to weapons and even jewelry Carmen would’ve stopped and awed over had she the time.
“Gotta go, gotta go,” Carmen said to the vendors who tried to direct her attention her way.
“Miss!” one cried.
“Lady!” another beckoned. “Wouldn’t you like some fresh rolls?”
“Or a new axe!”
“Or a better shield?”
Carmen looked down at her buckler, amused that such common peoples couldn’t recognize it as a utility object used by workers in the mines, then approached the massive threshold that led into the castle’s front courtyard.
“Papers?” the Dwarf the human man named Alan had spoken to yesterday asked.
“Yes ma’am,” Carmen replied, pulling the scroll from her belt and passing it forward.
The woman nodded, returned the papers, and smiled. “Welcome to the Watch, Lady Carmen.”
“Thank you,” Carmen replied, shaking the woman’s hand before passing beneath the threshold.
If there was anything she enjoyed most about Dwarven culture, it was that women were encouraged to the forefront. Though sexism often existed, the government did not discourage women from serving in the military or any other aspects of the judiciary system. There were female judges, countesses, soldiers, task and battlemasters—and there’d even, at one point, been a ruling queen, though she’d passed long ago, much to the grief of the kingdom. To know that she would be serving amongst such grand women sent Carmen’s heart aflutter, and as she entered the castle and began to make her way toward the recruitment offices, she smiled, glad that she had come all this way and thankful that she had been given such an opportunity.
Once inside, an old Dwarven man at the head of a long table lifted his head to regard her. “Yes?” he asked, his voice echoing in the slight room around them.
“My name is Carmen Delarosa,” she replied. “I’m here to be sorted into the one of the Watch’s Battalions.”
“Ah. Yes. Have a seat. I’ve been expecting you.”
Carmen settled down in the chair across from the man and adjusted her mace so it wouldn’t bang into the wooden chair’s legs. She then focused her sole attention on the older, hook-nosed man in front of her.
“Papers for… a Lady Carmen Delarosa,” the man replied, sifting through a number of parchments before withdrawing a crisp, almost-empty sheet above. “All right then, Lady Delarosa. I’ll just need to ask a few questions for you before we send you off to be tailored for uniforms and armor.”
“I get a uniform?” she frowned.
“Yes, my lady. You won’t be in the field at all times.” The man smiled and drew a pen and an inkwell from his side, careful to fill it to the exact proportions before nodding and taking hold of the paper in front of him. “Your age?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Place of birth?”
“Ehknac.”
“The date of your birth?”
“Sixteen-ninety-four.”
“Your height, if you are aware of it?”
“Five-feet.”
“And your measurements, if you happen to know them offhand.”
Carmen said she didn’t, as she’d never been personally outfitted for anything, nor had any clothes custom-tailored for her.
With that set of paperwork done, the man leaned down, fumbled with a series of keys upon his belt, then began to sort through the drawers until he unlocked and withdrew from within one a solid red crest. “This brooch recognizes you as a member of the king’s watch,” he said, passing it over to Carmen with the most delicate ease. “Please protect it at all costs, and make sure it is on or at least near your person at all times.”
Though Carmen had initially assumed it would be something simple, the crown that made up the majority of its surface was pierced by an arrow, atop which a bird of prey sat. It was intricate in detail and quite heavy—which, she imagined, marked it as true stone and not some sort of knockout. Its slight glow in the firelight, along with a series of Dwarven runes along the back of it, confirmed its legitimacy and, likely as a result of it, her personal identification number.”
“Can you read off the number that is listed upon the back of the brooch?”
She did so without question—and was surprised when, at the end of it all, the Dwarven rune for the number five came up.
“Five?” Carmen asked, noting that none of other numbers within the sequence ranged from one to the aforementioned number. “Does that mean—”
“That you’re in the Fifth Watch? Yes, it does, so long as they are not currently overflown with members and are in need of extra assistance.”
“What does the Fifth Battalion do?” she asked.
“The Fifth Battalion is primarily known for patrolling the Far Roads and ensuring the safety of the peoples in the settlements beyond Dorenborough,” the man said, riffling through a series of papers and scribbling a series of notes down as he spoke. “You should be honored to be included in their ranks, Lady Delarosa. They are perhaps the most recognized Battalion in the corps.”
“What do the others do?”
“The first Battalion guards the king, the second the city, the third the perimeter surrounding the capital and the fourth the Deep Roads. The fifth, as I’ve already mentioned, manages the Far Roads—and like I’ve also already mentioned, is probably the most well-known.”
“I’m honored,” Carmen said, pressing the brooch to her breast.
“Though I am aware that you are injured, you will be required to attend a few moderate training sessions to ensure that you are capable of fighting. Otherwise we may withdraw your status from the fifth and place you in something like the first or second.”
“I’ve also served as a gate guard in Ehknac,” Carmen offered.
“Or third, if we find that necessary, which I believe we won’t.”
The way he said it, followed by the slight wink he gave while looking down at his papers, made Carmen smile.
“Now if you’ll take this,” the man said, dripping wax and then stamping it with a seal before signing his name at the bottom, “you will deliver this to the men and women in the tailor’s quarters. They will
take your measurements and then will begin sewing your uniform while you are fitted for armor.”
“Thank you,” Carmen said, rising. “I didn’t expect it would be this short.”
“Oh, trust me,” the clerk chuckled. “You haven’t even see the beginning of it.”
- - -
The seamstresses were meticulous with Carmen’s measurements. From her legs, to her arms, to the width of her shoulders, all the way down to the curve and length of her breasts they measured, all in an attempt to determine what would create the best fit for her come time they began sewing her uniform.
“You’ll look beautiful in red and gold,” the seamstress named Agna said, gesturing Carmen to tilt her neck up so she could record the measurements at her neck. “Especially with those beautiful brown eyes of yours.”
“Thank you,” Carmen replied, swallowing as the woman encircled the measuring tape around her jugular. “How long do you expect this will take?”
“Not too long, dear. We’re normally very quick about this sort of thing. Our line of work demands it.”
“Yes,” Rana, the other seamstress and sister of Agna, said. “The king wants his men on the field as soon as they can be, and with the Fifth Battalion having returned from their most recent excursion, will want them back out in the field as soon as possible.”
“How long are the Fourth and Fifth Battalions usually in the field?” Carmen asked.
“Oh, months at a time.”
“The longest was a year at one point. You should’ve seen the state of their uniforms, much less the way they smelled. Egahd.”
“I can only imagine,” Carmen chuckled. She’d only just gotten used to being clean. Having to be dirty—much less sweaty and smelly—again would be downright depressing. The vanilla-ey soaps about her body were pleasing to her conscience. She’d miss them when they finally wore off.
“All right then, dear,” Agna said. “You run along now. Ronald will want to see you for your armor.”
“And likely to replace that buckler of yours,” Rana added. “Though they are handy for the miners, they’re a bit small for soldiers.”
“Awfully small,” Agna replied.
Carmen chuckled.
- - -
She delivered the measurements recorded by Agna and Rana to the blacksmith named Ronald and waited patiently as he tested different strengths of steels and metals upon her body for adequate weights.
“Something tells me you’ve never worn heavy armor,” the man said, smirking as Carmen grimaced as he set a much heavier piece upon her.
“Not particularly,” she said, flexing her shoulders as he attached the pauldrons to the breastplate. “It’s not too heavy, but it’ll take some getting used to.”
“The Fifth Battalion tends to see more action beyond the walls. I’d rather you be uncomfortable while acclimating to your armor than dead and rotting in the catacombs.”
As would I, Carmen thought, but didn’t say anything.
He outfitted her in a sterling suit of iron armor, complete with an emblazoned copy of the king’s crest in red upon it, then removed it from her person and settled it into a heap at her side. He then withdrew, from the wall, a massive tower shield—which, though intimidating, was a lot less heavier than it appeared.
“It’ll keep you from getting your limbs chopped off and give you a place to hide if you’re ever unfortunate enough to be within a rain of arrows,” the man said as he passed it to Carmen. He looked down at the mace at her side and frowned. “Normally we would outfit you with a standard sword, but seeing as how you’re already armed—”
“It’s the weapon I know how to use,” Carmen said.
“I won’t question it. I’ll still give you a sword, though, just as a precaution.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Well… that just about does it then. I’ll send your armor up to the Battalion’s barracks and have it placed within your personal chest. You’ll likely be leaving within the next few days, if intelligence gives you means to venture beyond the outer roads. Good day to you, Carmen.”
“Good day,” Carmen said.
- - -
The next order of business was to seek out Ignatius Armstrong and meet the members of the fifth battalion. Though knowing that they would not be in their barracks at this hour of the afternoon, Carmen chose to venture beyond the castle walls and to the training fields, where she would test her skills with the mace after three days without battle and try her damndest not to fall over crying from pain.
Hobbling, at a leisurely pace, from the castle to the nearby training grounds, she stepped up to a nearby training dummy, drew her mace, and smacked it alongside its wooden head for good measure.
I just have to practice, Carmen thought as she rounded the dummy, taking extra care not to put too much pressure on her left leg. That’s all. Move to the left, move to the right.
She jumped, grimaced as she did it, then made move to parry an imaginary sword, which she deflected with a flick of her wrist before slamming the hilt of her mace against the dummy’s wooden head and then the head of it against its chest. The resulting smack it made against the dummy’s sand-filled chest was satisfying, so she did it again, over and over and over, until finally her arm felt as though it could move no more.
“I didn’t think anyone would be out in the training fields today,” a familiar voice said, prompting Carmen to turn and find its source.
None other than Ignatius Armstrong stood there, watching her with intent eyes and a smiling face.
“Sir,” Carmen said, lowering her weapon as she stepped forward. “I—”
“Was looking for you, I know. Which is why I stayed here—waiting.”
“To see if I would come,” she nodded, clipping her mace to her side. She turned and hobbled over to him, grimacing as the strength in her leg began to wane.
“Are you sure you’re fit to leave in but a day’s time?” the man asked, nodding as he jutted his chin down toward Carmen’s leg.
“I’ll be fine,” Carmen replied. “Don’t worry about me.”
“I wasn’t particularly worried. I was more… concerned, than anything. I don’t want to bring one of my men into the field with an injury that could potentially get them killed.”
“It’s just bruising. Nothing more.”
“Have you been inspected by a healer to insure that?”
“No, I—”
“I would suggest,” Ignatius said, placing a finger to her lips, “that you make your way to the nearest healer as soon as possible. I could accompany you, if you like?”
“I don’t know my way around the city,” Carmen said, “so that would be appreciated.”
“Then let us go.”
- - -
The healer held his hand over Carmen’s knee and channeled blazing-hot energy into the swollen tissue. Grimacing from the excessive heat that came from the red magic, she was reminded of how soothing Honest’s blue healing magic was and was thankful that she had been blessed with such a decent healer back in Ehknac. Not that this man was bad, however. Before her eyes the swelling began to die down, but in its place came irritated red flesh that burned the longer he held his hand in place.
“That’s all I can do,” the healer said, “unless I want to risk burning you.”
When he pulled his hand away, the black and blue marks were all but gone—resembling, now, a fading purple. Carmen tested the strength in her knee and found that it was much better, albeit with a sharp pain from where the skin had begun to burn.
“Thank you,” Ignatius said, helping Carmen to her feet before they turned and began to make their way for the northern walls.
“Is he just a bad healer?” Carmen asked, making sure she was an ample distance away before she spoke up. “Or is it just—”
“The color of his magic?” the man asked. Carmen nodded, to which Ignatius responded with a nod of his own. “From what I understand, the softer magics are better for healing—greens and blues, somet
imes yellows. Reds and whites tend to leave burns on their victims, which is why you don’t see many healers with red magics working on simple injuries.”
“But he’d be good for cauterizing a wound,” Carmen admitted.
“That he would,” the man said. He pointed to a high tower in the distance. “See that tower there? That’s where the Fifth Battalion stays on its return trips to the capital.”
“You don’t really make yourselves at home when you’re back, do you?” Carmen asked.
“Not particularly,” Ignatius replied. “Colby’s single, our broadswordswoman Stella visits her aging parents. The twins, Anna and Adrianne, are the ones who tend to stay in the tower, as they don’t have any family to return home to.”
“What happened?” Carmen frowned.
“Bandit caravan. Killed their mother and father when they were just babes. They trained their entire lives just so they could join the watch.”
Carmen couldn’t imagine what either of them had gone through. On one hand, it seemed better to not have known one’s parents before they died, for at least then there was no lasting impression, no lifelong memories of the ones you loved so much. Yet on another hand, the questions that took their place could’ve driven one mad. Who were they? What were they like? Were they funny, callous, happy, sad, and did they have any particular hobbies that distinguished them from the rest of the Dwarves in the city? This, Carmen knew, haunted the twins to no end, and as they approached the tower and the guards stationed upon the walls near it, she tried her hardest not to put herself in their shoes, but knew she was doing it anyway.
What would it be like, she thought, if I didn’t know?
Or, at the very least, couldn’t remember her parents, much less her little brother. She stilled dreamed of him falling some nights—and she hoped, to dear God, that it had not been a prolonged death.
Shaking her head, Carmen steeled herself onward.
If anyone was to know of her plight, and if anyone were to quickly be her friends, it would be the twins.
As they entered and then began to round the tower’s spiral staircase, Carmen sighed and let out a long, unsteady breath.
“They’re friendly,” Ignatius said. “Don’t you worry—”
