I didn’t bother to contradict him. Captain Rosten sat behind a portable desk covered with maps and parchments. He was signing something, which he handed to a waiting courier. He glanced casually at me. “He gave you quite a fight, then?”
“Well… er… he was no problem for us, of course. We know how to handle them see,” the sergeant answered.
Rosten nodded, and then looked me in the face. “What is your name?”
“I am Carl of Landersall. I am a traveling entertainer. I came here to escape the Jegu and I had hoped to use my talents to help morale during the siege.”
“And have a safe haven from the Jegu?”
“That, of course, would be a fringe benefit.”
Rosten grinned. “What do you do?”
“I sing, play the lyre, when I have one,” with that, I gave a significant look at the sergeant. “I juggle, tumble. I write poetry and am conversant in philosophy and the sciences.”
“Quite a repertoire. Show me something,” Rosten sat back and crossed his arms.
Great, a cold audience, but I knew Rosten for the type of man he was.
I began an a cappella rendition of “My Bonny Lass” and sang it just long enough for his eyes to begin to glaze a bit, then made my move.
I swept my arms wide as if to emphasize a dramatic bit of inane doggerel then grabbed daggers off the belt of the sergeant and my other guard, Mr. Blackteeth, then kicked up my heel and the manacle magically sprang off my foot and into the air in front of me.
Before the men could move to subdue me, I began to juggle the three items, moving, weaving the steel forcefully enough so it could be deadly for them to intervene. Rosten, amused, raised a finger for them to hold back.
I began the nastiest bar song I could think of “Black Sally’s Bum”. I finished by launching one of the daggers into the center of the main tent pole, tossing the hoop of the manacle to land neatly around it, then finished by burying the last dagger within a half inch of the first, neatly in the center of the manacle’s ring. I then took a bow and figured I had even odds of being hired or getting stabbed in the spine.
Rosten laughed loudly and clapped his hands. My vertebrae were safe for the moment.
I stood. “Thank you, Captain.”
“Carl, we will certainly need much in the way of diversion in the coming days. But, I have little choice but to levy you into the army. Every man must lend a hand. However, I think your service would be more valuable as an entertainer than warrior and I intend to use you as such. “
“Just like Elvis in G.I. Blues.”
“Excuse me?”
“A minstrel of legend, sir. I would be honored.”
“Don’t think this is an appointment to the court. I will expect you to sweat and bleed all day and then play for the troops and myself at night. Also, can you play the pipes?” He pointed to the corner. A set of bagpipes lay there.
I walked over and picked them up. I wet the mouthpiece a bit and inflated the bladder. Then I rattled off a fiery reel.
Rosten stopped me with a wince. I didn’t think he was much of a bagpipe fan. “That’s fine. They’re more for the battlefield. Do you have any problems playing for the men while they fight? It will somewhat limit your ability to engage in the battle yourself.”
“I’ve no problems with that. However, I do have one question for you. I am curious about something.”
“Yes?”
“Those men who didn’t do so well in this interview? Were they spies?”
“No. I doubt the Jegu actually have any spies. I don’t think they need them. The men who didn’t leave this tent were those who refused to fight. The kingdom is in peril. We can’t afford to allow cowardice to infect the ranks.”
I nodded. “But can you think of no reason a man might refuse to take up arms and yet not be a coward?”
“Carl, in our situation a man who doesn’t fight is either a coward or suicidal. In the case of the former, one coward infects a squad like gangrene. It has to be cut out before it destroys all around it. In case of the latter, I simply helped them along.”
I nodded. He was pragmatic if a bit bloody. It would be hard to argue with him, and since I didn’t want a sword stuck in me I decided not to try.
“Thank you captain. I understand. Now, is there any way possible I could have my lyre returned to me?” I’ll need it if you want me to entertain. Unless you want me to play the pipes all the time.” I gestured menacingly with them as if I intended to blare out another rocking tune.
“Of course. Sergeant Toger, give the man his lyre.”
The sergeant sputtered. “But, I don’t know—”
I reached behind the guard with the rotten teeth and retrieved the lyre from out of sight. “Thank you. I see you’ve taken good care of it. These are truly men to be proud of, Captain.”
With that, they led me out of the tent. I followed and bit my tongue as Toger berated the bad-toothed guard. Perhaps there would be a bit of payback for his method of waking me up.
“So Hendel, you had it all along,” Toger griped at the guard. “Well, I’ll remember this you dog. It will be equipment cleaning duty for you all next week,” Toger grumbled.
“But, I didn’t.”
“Don’t even start, you lying cur.”
CHAPTER SIX
The camp was much like any other. The regulars were housed in tents according to their companies and function and we “volunteers” made do on the ground with bedrolls.
At first we didn’t get issued any weapons more menacing than a spade. We were comprised of farmers, old men, young boys, the sick, the criminal, the stupid and the unlucky. They put us to work on digging latrines, creating earthwork barriers, and excavating pits. We also cut down trees to provide both fuel for the city and to prevent them from being used as a resource by the enemy for siege engines. We did whatever they could think of to put us to work. doing To tell the truth, they needed workers as much if not more than warriors at this point to prepare the defenses. As we worked I could talk to the conscripts and learn more about Jegu warriors and their strange new god. I listened to the rumors and testimonials and tried to gather a consensus of truth from the wild stories.
From what I could discover, the Jegu had appeared about six months prior. The God’s first followers were a band of insane warrior priests who had come from the mountains in the northern badlands. They told stories of how the god had appeared from the heavens and had fallen down to the mountaintop and revealed himself to a small barbarian tribe. These became his chosen people. They prophesied Jegu would destroy the old gods and create a new world for his followers. The typical snow job. Lots of emphasis on us versus them. Plenty of sin and the degradation of moral values and a need to retake the world from the infidels who threatened to plunge the world into evil.
They took to raiding the villages to collect supplies and gain converts to build their “righteous” army. This new army was not of a foreign nation, but was entirely comprised of religious zealots who had joined the new god’s cause.
It sounded familiar. I had raised an army or two that way myself, but to tell the truth, I had never seen a success rate like Jegu had.
As larger cities were taken, the resources were absorbed and the army became better equipped. Uniforms were made for their elite troops, the sign of the “X” which represented their strange god. Soon forges were put to work producing implements of war at an incredible pace. The Jegu were taking over the world in record breaking time.
They had spread from the mountains, to take over the plains and were now crowding the capital. Entire cities had been taken without a fight. The entire population converted to the cause. It smacked of unholy magic.
If battle did occur, the toll was incredible, even accounting for the normal tendency in time of war for atrocities to be exaggerated. It matched the vision shared by Yond.
From what I could tell, no one knew much about the religion itself. Only that they either wanted you as one of the faithful or one of the dead. There
were no agnostics allowed.
We were digging a ditch one afternoon and the foreman let us take a short break. A bucket of water was passed around and each of us took a turn dipping a hollowed gourd into the water and getting a long drink. A large man named Dalt, red headed with bushy sideburns who’d come from one of the conquered lands sat down next to me, enjoying the reprieve. I took the chance to ask what I could.
“You’re from Hallon, aren’t you, Dalt?”
He nodded, and finished taking a drink and passing the bucket to the next man. “True enough. Born and raised.”
“I keep hearing stories, but I don’t know who to believe. Why are the Jegu so powerful? What happened in Hallon?”
Dalt got a distant look on his face. “I’ll tell you what happened. They just came in and took over. Them that fought were killed by their own. The Jegu didn’t need to do anything. The locals did their dirty work for them. And to their own people.”
“They just surrendered?”
“I could understand surrendering. But it’s like I said, they took up arms against their own people. If you’d have told me a year ago that most of my friends and relations would turn traitor and kill those they’d known all their lives I’d have said you were crazy.”
“But how were they convinced?”
Dalt shrugged. “They weren’t as far as I could see. It’s like they changed all at once. They woke up one day and began to worship Jegu with insane fervor. My brother and his whole family came after me and mine. I don’t have a doubt if we hadn’t been able to get away they would have killed us all… and been happy to do it. Jegu has some power over them I can’t understand.”
I listened to Dalt’s story and the story of a dozen others and I didn’t understand it either.
On the third day we began our training, such as it was. Most of the new “recruits” were going to be drilled with halberd. Of course, there weren’t enough halberds to go around so they got to practice with the shovels they’d used to dig trenches with Halberd was really was the only practical weapon to teach them. It was a long stick with a pointy thing on the end. You stick pointy side toward enemy and hope they run into it.
They were trying to get at least that much across to them, but at first even that was a challenge. If they could hold fast and face the first brunt of the charge it would at least help the regulars a bit. Although they were trying, I doubted much hope existed of getting anything better out of the green recruits in time for the battle to come.
Sergeant Toger was in charge of training the conscripts. You could tell he relished the job because he looked like he’d taken a bite of a lemon every time he watched us attempt to line up.
“Single-file you maggots! I thought you were farmers. Do you plow your fields so crooked? Get it right!”
He walked up and down the line and looked each of the men in the eye. “Wipe off that grin.” “Stand up straight.” “Suck in your gut, fatty.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at that one. Toger was one to talk, he looked like a pregnant ox. Of course, I knew what was coming as soon as I let out the chuckle. Toger rushed over to my position and got smack dab into my face.
“Is there something funny, Mr. Music man?” His breath was something I can’t properly describe.
“No, sir.” I said, choking back my laughter.
He scowled. “Really? Well, then, I suppose you were just volunteering for a little lesson. Over there, you miserable piece of shit. Stand in that circle. Move it now! Go! Go! Go!” He chased behind me the entire way, screaming in my ear as I ran to the practice circle.
I stood at attention. My battle shovel was held at ready, my eyes were focused front and steady.
He circled me slowly, staring at me with his beady red eyes. “We know how to deal with smart asses in the King’s Army, Mister. I suppose you think you can handle that weapon?”
“Do you mean this shovel?”
Toger cursed and threw down his hat. “That’s a halberd. How many times do I have to tell you idiots? You are soldiers and while you are training those are halberds.”
“Sorry sir, it looks like a shovel.”
“All right, that’s it. Hendel? Hendel! Get over here and get Mr. Fancy Pants Musician a real halberd. He’s too good to be like everybody else, he’s gotta have him a real weapon.”
Hendel rushed over and handed me a wobble-headed halberd that looked like it had last been used about a hundred years ago.
“More to your liking, your worship?” Toger asked, his voice thick with sarcasm.
“The head needs to be tightened to the shaft, but it’s workable.”
“Oh, it is, then. Well, that’s good because I’m gonna show you something.” He turned to the rest of the men. “I’m gonna show all of you something.”
Toger barked at Hendel. “Give me Mr. Music Man’s shovel.”
“I thought you said it’s a halberd.” I know, I know, I was pushing all the buttons, but I was having too fine a time to stop.
Toger turned red as cranberry. He came at me with the shovel at port arms. “Defend yourself.”
He launched a sweeping shot at my midsection with the flat of the shovel head. I was impressed that as angry as he was, he didn’t intend to do me any more damage than possibly busting my spleen.
I leapt back, using the butt of the halberd to block the blow and then I countered with a hooked shot around Toger’s guard and slipped just the barest bit of the tip of the bladed head into his backside.
He screamed like a scalded cat. “Arghh, you bastard!”
Then he lost it completely. He launched blow after blow, every one of them powerful, but too big and too reaching. He was so easy to read I countered every one of them, but I made no further attempt to attack him again. After a few seconds of this, just as I saw Toger was tiring, I backed away and raised my hand.
“Sergeant Toger, please. I don’t want to get hurt. I don’t know how long I can protect myself. I’m sorry about that lucky shot.”
He seemed confused for a moment by my words because he obviously knew I had him outclassed. But he quickly recovered. “No harm done, lad.” He turned to the others. “I hope you all learned something. See, even with a shovel you can do some damage if you have the right training. We do it right in the King’s Army. Now, let’s practice some basic moves.”
I started back to my place in line. Toger gave me a grin before he started us all on practicing simple thrusts and parries. He really wasn’t a bad sort, but he definitely needed to work on his people skills.
It didn’t take me long to demonstrate I had previous experience and was soon I was allowed to practice sword with the regulars. Part of me wanted to stay with the conscripts, but I had learned all I could from them and frankly, I was getting tired of lugging around a shovel, er… halberd.
It had been centuries since I had held a practice sword. Although I had personally developed many fighting techniques, those techniques had since been honed and perfected by other sword masters. I was enjoying learning the newer forms and movements. My muscles had lost much of their skill memory, and it was sweet joy to put them back to use.
I was careful not to look too good. After all, I was a Nancy-boy musician, not a war god. And if the truth be known, at first I did not have to entirely fake my ineptitude. How could I have forgotten so much?
At first the regulars made fun of me and I was the butt of more than a few jokes. Their laughter didn’t last long. Those with an eye knew almost immediately I was someone to be reckoned with. As I practiced, I felt myself developing quickly.
In no time, no one could match me, although I let them win often to hide my abilities. My muscles were growing stronger, swifter, and the lethal potential inherent in my nature was becoming honed like a razor.
It took the mortal way, the honest and hard way. I could have reclaimed all my skill and my power instantly. But with it would come the arrogance of godhood and the power of reckless and wanton destruction. The innocence and purity of s
weat and labor was a benediction to me in comparison. And though I tried not to let my skill become suspicious, there were times when I displayed a move the sword master would ask me to repeat and I felt the joy of martial art and a discovery of self that had been so long denied me.
During breaks in training, I played the lyre and mixed just a bit of magic into my songs. Just enough to help them focus and listen to what their trainers were telling them. It was really no more than any entertainer would try to do--just getting them to relax. I wasn’t brainwashing them with religion and hocus pocus for holy war.
I did what I could to help those around me in less magical ways as well. The conscripts were beginning to come to me regularly with questions about techniques and styles. However, I tried to avoid appearing to know too much. I had a role to play. I needed to make sure that “Carl” wasn’t perceived as too much of a leader or I would get saddled with responsibility and be unable to have the freedom I needed.
Some things I could affect on a more subtle level. Our meals, for example, consisted of an almost tasteless gruel. This was not considered bad by most of the conscripts. I gathered that life on the farm had not been good lately and they were just happy to eat. The regulars, however, complained loudly.
I did what I could to make those meals more enjoyable. I played every night at dinner time and blended a bit of magic there as well to make the meals more palatable. It helped, but not much. There are some things even a god can’t fix.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Although the king’s men were stationed beyond the outer city walls, every evening those that had earned the right by rank or by special pass were allowed to enter the city of Tarnon and enjoy what pleasure might be had. They could spend their hard won money to purchase food, beverages or whatever they had need of. I imagined that the gold was mostly spent on drink based on the troopers staggering returns to camp.
Training with the regulars paid off when Captain Rosten awarded me with passes into town as well. I suppose I should have stayed with Olo and the others, but to tell the truth, I was getting cabin fever, and an inn was just what I was longing for.
Duty Calls: The Reluctant War God Book 1 Page 4
