by Aaron Hodges
“Only the arm,” Cara whispered, drawing the recruit’s attention back to her. She lifted the offending limb, as though it were an offering for some sacrifice.
Lukys still hesitated, his eyes on Romaine. The axeman shrugged. “She doesn’t like to be touched.”
Understanding blossomed in the recruit’s eyes. “I’ll try to be careful,” he murmured.
He gestured for Cara to seat herself on the barrel, then waited until she was comfortable before moving alongside her. Taking the dried herbs form Romaine, he plucked a flower from the tip of one and offered it to Cara.
“For the pain,” he explained. “Chew, but don’t swallow, or you won’t be able to taste food for a week.”
“No,” the young woman replied, shaking her head.
Lukys raised an eyebrow. “This…is going to hurt. I need to check whether the bone is set right.”
“Thank you,” Cara said shortly, “but I can handle the pain.”
The lad hesitated a moment longer than was wise, but when Cara still made no move to accept his offering, he finally relinquished. Romaine sat back on his barrel as Lukys took Cara’s arm in his hands once more.
Her face immediately lost the last of its colour, though this time Romaine wasn’t sure whether it was from pain or fear.
With meticulous care, Lukys peeled back the sleeves of her coat once more. “Is this okay?” he asked, placing a finger on the injury.
Cara flinched, and her lips drew back in a snarl. Romaine expected the young Perfugian to retreat in fear, but curiously he stood his ground, brown eyes fixed on his patient. Cara’s breath came in short gasps and Romaine feared she was working herself into a panic, but finally she gave a short nod.
Permission granted, Lukys moved his hands softly over the purpled flesh, fingers prodding gently at the bone beneath. Pain flickered on the young woman’s face and her jaw remained clenched, though she did not let out even a squeak to show her pain.
“Okay, it’s only broken in one place,” Lukys said finally, straightening to look her in the eye. “You were lucky.”
Cara’s face was still pale, but she offered a fleeting smile. “I’ll remind you of that next time you break something.”
“That’s fair,” Lukys chuckled.
With his hands at work, he seemed more relaxed than earlier. Taking the copper rods from Romaine, he lined them up with her arm.
“Could you hold these here for me?” he asked, flashing his patient a smile.
The grimace had returned to Cara’s face with his touch, but she did as he bid. Lukys placed his fingers back on her arm, and then hesitated.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like the—”
“Just do it,” Cara practically snarled.
“Ahh, okay,” Lukys said, and pressed his fingers to her wrist.
A shrill keen sounded from the back of Cara’s throat as she arched atop the barrel. For a second, Romaine thought she would strike the young man. Veins bulging on her forehead, she clung to the copper rod.
Then it must have been done, for Lukys was removing his hands. Cara let out a short exhalation as the tension fled her body. Her shoulders rose and fell in rapid succession beneath the heavy cloak, her breathing short. Gently, Lukys took the rod from her hands and moved it back into alignment with her newly set arm. Taking up the bandages, he wrapped several layers around the rod before adding a second rod, then finally a third, until Cara’s arm seemed twice the size as normal.
“There!” he exclaimed finally. “Done!”
Cara sat back with a sigh, though her face still showed her tension. “Thank you,” she murmured. She sounded faint, and worried the woman might collapse, Romaine stepped closer. She waved him back, curious eyes turning on Lukys. “How did you learn to do something like that?”
Lukys only shrugged. “Like I said, the academy.”
“An academy.” She said the word as though tasting it.
“We all go,” Lukys murmured, becoming self-conscious again now that the job was done. He lowered his eyes. “But like I said, I failed.”
“Oh…” Cara deflated. She clutched her arm to her chest for a moment, before her head came up again. “But you seem so good at this!”
Lukys scratched a spot of dried mud from his tunic, looking away. “I…well…” His cheeks grew red, standing in stark contrast to her paleness. “I throw up when I see vomit.” The words came from his mouth in a rush.
Laughter burst from Romaine’s lips before he could keep himself silent. The recruit’s head snapped around, anger touching his brow. Rising from his barrel, Romaine clapped him on the shoulder.
“All got our weaknesses, lad.”
“Some of us have a few more than others,” Lukys replied, his eyes drifting out across the mudflats.
Pity welled in Romaine’s stomach and he saw again the eyes of another young man, staring up at him from the snow, terror in their murky depths. Romaine quickly shoved the memory away. He couldn’t afford such sentiment out here, not with the Tangata gathering. He wouldn’t survive losing anybody else.
“Romaine.” The young man’s voice was taut as he spoke, his eyes still fixed in the distance.
Following his gaze, Romaine saw that the pyres had almost burned out, though there were still shapes amidst the embers…
“I don’t want to die here.”
That makes one of us.
Romaine said nothing. Faces flashed before his eyes, of those he’d lost, of those he hadn’t been able to save, all the way back to that night ten years before…
“The general won’t train us. He says we’re not worth the time. I…I won’t last another battle against those things, not without help.”
No, no, no!
“Please, I saw you fight. You’re a warrior, a great one. Please, Romaine, will you train me?”
No.
It was a fool’s request. Even had Romaine been inclined, General Curtis was right. He usually was. It took months to turn an untrained recruit into a soldier—and based on the night’s assault, they might not even have a week before the true Tangatan army reached the frontier.
He let out a long sigh, readying himself to spurn the man’s request, to crush this last hope before it could catch light. He faced the young recruit.
“Meet me here tomorrow, at first light.” The words leapt unbidden from his mouth. “And we’ll see whether there’s hope for you yet.”
10
The Recruit
Darkness.
A full moon over silent peaks. Rock and snow and cold.
Light flashing, a shadow in the night, the hiss of an inhaled breath.
Pounding, the racing of a fleeing heart, the panting of pursuers.
Cold, rushing water, fire and flames, shouts in the night.
Loss, failure, death!
Lukys gasped as he snapped awake, sitting bolt upright in his cot—
Crack.
Cursing, he crumpled back into the tangle of blankets, head ringing from the blow he’d struck against the bunk above. Somewhere in the dark, the other recruits grumbled and muttered dire warnings against disturbing their slumber. Outside, a rooster crowed.
Holding a hand to his chest, Lukys tried to slow his racing heart. Already the dream was fading. The rooster crowed again. Beyond the heavy shutters, night still clung to the city. He needed to rise, to stumble out into the cold and meet with the bearded warrior of Calafe.
The thought did not fill him with excitement. By the faint glimmer of a shuttered lamp he could see his breath misting on the air above him. It would be worse outside the dormitory. Surely he could lie here a little longer.
But no, Romaine had said the hour before dawn.
Stifling another moan, he pushed himself up more carefully and swung out the bed. It was a drop of two feet to the ground. The bunks were three-tiered, and being one of the last to the barracks, he’d been left with one of the middle beds.
Unable to light a lamp, he fumbled in the dark for his clothes an
d quickly dressed himself in every layer he could find. The muttering began again but Lukys ignored it. There was little he could do about the noise. He continued collecting his gear and was just pulling on his chainmail vest when a rough hand grasped him by the shoulder and spun him around.
“What the Fall do you think you’re doing, peasant?” Dale spat.
Eyes wide, Lukys found himself staring up at the larger man. Dale’s lips were drawn back into a snarl and he looked ready to throw Lukys through the window. He quickly tore himself loose and raised his hands in a gesture of peace. Voices rose at the commotion and movement came from nearby beds as the other recruits woke.
“Sorry!” Lukys whispered, trying to get away from Dale.
Across the room, someone unshuttered the lantern, allowing a flicker of light to illuminate the scene. Dale’s eyes narrowed at the sight of Lukys fully dressed, though he hadn’t quite managed to get the chainmail into place.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he snarled. He gestured around the room, though most of the recruits looked like they’d rather be asleep. “Look, brothers, sisters, the peasant shows his true colours! The coward seeks to flee!”
Anger touched Lukys at the recruit’s words, washing away his fatigue. He stepped up to confront the man, though Dale was several inches taller.
“Strange,” Lukys said, keeping his voice soft. “I did not see you atop the wall, Dale. Where were you, when the Tangata came?”
A flicker passed across Dale’s face and for a moment he did not seem able to reply. Lukys spoke into the silence:
“I’m no coward,” he said softly, addressing the others in the room now. Thirty-seven of their number had survived the battle. “The rest of you can accept your fate, but not me. I won’t let them throw away my life like yesterday’s garbage.”
“So you are a deserter,” Dale snarled.
“No.” Lukys flicked his eyes back to the recruit. “I’m going to train.”
Dale sneered. “Who would train a runt like you?”
“A Calafe warrior,” Lukys snapped.
With that he spun and strode to the door. A cold breeze swirled into the room as he yanked it open. He snatched a spear from the weapons closet beside the entrance, then stepped out into the darkness and slammed the door behind him.
There he paused, half thinking Dale would follow to continue the fight. But no one appeared, and after only a moment’s stillness he found his teeth beginning to chatter. A faint glow lit the sky pink and he saw now that fresh snow had fallen during the night. It crunched beneath his boots as he started down the alleyway, making for the section of wall he had first met Cara and Romaine.
Romaine had said to meet there, and judging by the light in the sky, he was already late. He picked up the pace, but the cold had frozen the earth solid, making it precarious to go faster than a walk. Even then, he had added more than a few bruises to his already aching body by the time he found himself standing in the shadow of the palisade.
There was no one there.
Cursing, Lukys hugged his chest and shifted his weight from foot to foot. Where was the axeman? The dawn was still and the cold wind cut like knives through even his heavy coat. Had this all been some prank, some act at Lukys’s expense?
His legs were just beginning to go numb when the crunch of footsteps came from overhead. The Calafe warrior appeared, jogging along the tops of the ramparts. He wore his full chainmail armour and the giant butterfly axe hung from a sheath on his back. The man lifted a hand in greeting.
“You’re late, recruit,” the axeman called down.
Lukys’s face grew warm but when he opened his mouth to offer an excuse, Romaine only laughed.
“Relax, lad. Why don’t you get on up here? View’s better from the top.”
Nodding, Lukys started up, but soon found the task more difficult than it appeared. With the earth frozen, the mound was now slick beneath his feet and he had to dig the toes of his boots into the earth with each step. Fortunately, he was able to use the butt of his spear for balance. He was puffing hard by the time he reached the top, but couldn’t help but grin when he looked around at the Calafe warrior.
Romaine laughed, gesturing away to the side. “When it’s frozen, we generally use the stairs.”
Following the man’s indication, Lukys groaned when he saw the makeshift steps that had been cut into the earthen rampart a few yards away. He looked into the distance and saw they repeated at regular intervals. How had he missed them earlier?
“Come,” Romaine said, turning towards the wooden spikes that topped the wall, pointing towards the river.
Beyond, the sky had turned from pink to scarlet, the rising sun setting the distant mountains aflame. Looking upon those towering peaks, Lukys could almost imagine that time all those centuries ago, when the Gods had rained their fury down upon humanity. The conflagration had destroyed humanity’s ancestors, reducing them to little more than animals, scavenging in the remnants of their former greatness. Only pockets of civilisation had survived—places such as the noble city of Ashura, guarded by the open seas.
Lukys glanced at Romaine, but the Calafe’s eyes were not on the mountains. The warrior looked out across the river, and though a light mist clung to the waters, obscuring their view, Lukys sensed the man’s mind was on the distant lands to the south.
“Do you miss it?” Lukys asked softly. “Your home, I mean?”
A rumble that might have been laughter came from the warrior. “I miss many things, lad,” he said, then gestured to the river. “But time, like the Illmoor there, flows on whether we like it or not. Can’t go back. If you fight the current, you die. So best just go along for the ride.”
“Unless you have a ship,” Lukys replied.
Romaine shot him a glare and Lukys’s cheeks warmed with embarrassment.
“So,” the warrior said, shaking his head. “What did they teach you in that academy of yours? About war and that spear of yours?”
“Not much,” Lukys murmured. “I thought we would be trained when we arrived here, but…” He shrugged, not wanting to linger on the general’s words.
“Good,” Romaine grunted. Lukys gave him a sharp look and the Calafe grinned. “Means I shouldn’t have to beat any bad habits out of you.” His eyes flickered to the spear Lukys held awkwardly at his side. “Why don’t you have a go at me with that thing?”
“What?” Lukys gasped, eyes widening. He glanced at the spear, its razor-sharp point shining in the sunlight, then back to Romaine. “I could hurt you.”
Romaine chuckled. “I doubt that very much.”
“You don’t even have a weapon!”
A smile crossed the Calafe’s face, and calmly he lifted the massive axe from his shoulders. Ice spread through Lukys’s veins as the warrior shifted into a fighting stance. He clutched the spear in front of him, thinking of that axe flying at his face. The point of his spear began to shake.
Laughter boomed across the wall, and then Romaine was driving the head of his axe into the frozen earth.
“By the Gods, lad, you look like you might die of fright.” He shook his head. “Was a joke. Come, most of the Tangata don’t have weapons either. Let’s see if you can hit me with that thing.”
“I…”
Lukys stared at the man. Romaine’s hands were empty now. Steel chainmail protected his chest and caked leather gauntlets his arms, but Lukys still couldn’t help but fear he might harm the warrior. But he’d been given an order, and gripping the spear in two hands, he thrust out half-heartedly at the axeman.
Romaine moved calmly to the side and batted out with one arm, sending the spear careening into the earth. The shock of the weapon striking ground was almost enough to jar it from Lukys’s hands. He opened his mouth to protest, but yelped instead as Romaine leapt and struck at him with an open palm.
Even through his chainmail and heavy furs, the blow to his chest sent Lukys staggering back. The breath hissed between his teeth and he doubled up around t
he spear. For once he managed to keep his footing, but as Lukys straightened he saw Romaine coming again, face dark, unreadable.
In terror, Lukys thrust out with his spear. A cry left his lips as he realised what he’d done, but it was too late. Romaine moved faster than thought, his arm flashing down to deflect the attack, and he narrowly avoided being skewered by the spearhead. Lukys flinched as the warrior straightened, but Romaine only chuckled and stepped away.
“Well, you’re quick, I’ll grant you that lad,” he said, “but you’re also right. You don’t know much about spear work.”
Lukys lowered his eyes and clutched the offending weapon to his chest. Despair touched him as he saw himself on the ground once more, the Tangata standing over him, that awful chant ringing in his mind.
Death, death, death.
He began to shake. That image had haunted him through the night. It was only a matter of time before the creatures returned. How could he ever hope to face such monsters?
“It’s useless,” he whispered, voice bitter. “It’s too late. That general is right. I’ll never learn. May as well just go back to my bed. Least it’s warm there.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Romaine rumbled. “Might be I’m wasting my time. After all, you’re only a Perfugian.”
Lukys’s head snapped up, but the angry words died on his tongue as he saw the humour in Romaine’s eyes. Grinning, the warrior crossed to one of the water barrels and sat, gesturing for Lukys to join him.
“You can quit if you like, lad,” he said as Lukys lowered himself down. “The Gods know, you’ve drawn the short stick in this bloody frontier.” He paused, steel-blue eyes flickering. “But don’t quit because of what some old bugger told you. Even if that bugger is a legend. This is war, not bloody architecture. Anyone can learn to hold a spear, if he's determined, if he puts his heart into it.”
“You don’t really believe that,” Lukys muttered.
“Oh?” Romaine rumbled. “You think I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart then?”
Lukys hesitated. Why was Romaine doing this? He glanced at the grizzled warrior but found himself unable to ask the question. A sigh slipped from his lips and his gaze flickered in the direction of the hills. Two of the recruits had disappeared during the battle, but their bodies hadn’t been found. Lukys was sure they’d taken advantage of the courage to flee. If so, they wouldn’t get far. The world was at war, and deserters were not treated kindly.
