“Sloppy!” Tribest yelled. “You should be able to form up in thirty seconds. It took you fifty six!” He held up a battered pocket watch for effect. “The other Captains might let that slide, but I won’t, you understand!? If there was cavalry bearing down on us, they would have been dining in our baggage train before you idiots in the back got your dicks out of your hands!”
“And you, mudfucker!” He jabbed his cane at Grith. Grith gritted his teeth against the slur. Don’t bite back, he told himself, trying desperately to hold onto his temper. You’ll just make things worse. “You were the last in formation! Your position is the linchpin of the entire squad! Without a strong back line, our unit falls apart the moment we enter combat!”
“I wasn’t given a pike, sir,” Grith said, just loud enough so that he, Tribest, and the men in his immediate vicinity could hear.
“And you think losing your pike is an excuse?!” Spittle flying from his lips, the captain took a step closer and struck Grith across the back with his cane. Tribest didn’t pull his blows. Grith could feel his ribs bend underneath the force of the impact. It took all his will, all his rage at the events of the past few hours, days, to hold back a cry of pain.
I thought Delvers weren’t supposed to feel hits like that. Clearly he had a lot learn about the extent of his abilities.
“Your pike might be broken already!” Tribest continued. “What then!? Will you scramble around looking for a replacement while the men around you have their guts spilled!? No, you’ll get in formation and fight with your bare hands if that’s what it takes!” Grith kept his eyes forward, breath controlled, as the captain left him in search of more prey.
He did a circuit of the formation, inspecting the shape and spacing of the block. He poked and prodded men into position and struck a few who were particularly far out of place. But there was no more shouting, no more insults. Of course, none of the other men in the squad were from the Shaleese Marshes. To say his people and the Selivians had a rocky history would have been an understatement. Constant land and water disputes had left both sides with bad tastes in their mouths. And that didn’t even factor in the differences in religion, culture, and skin color.
“Good!” the captain said, mockingly. “Now that we’re in something resembling a block, LOWER PIKES!”
Grith looked to his neighbors. They held steady, even as the first three ranks took battle stances, leaning forward so that the points of the weapons extended feet in front of the formation.
“BRACE!” Tribest yelled. The back ranks pushed forward, placing their shoulders against those ahead of them. Grith followed suit, trying to keep his pike raised while having his head against the back of the man in front of him.
“Good!” Grith could hear the captain’s steps and the clank of armor as he came to stand behind Grith’s section of the formation. He prepared himself for another strike of the cane, delivered for some hair Tribest might have found out of place. But the captain passed without so much as a comment, silently circling back to the front of the block. “You might actually be able to stand against more than a stiff gust of wind!”
“Alright!” Tribest yelled from the front of the formation. “Break! I want everyone in marching order!” The men scrambled to form a column, and the shouts and curses started all over again.
* * *
The sky to the east was shadowed, the west colored like one of Grith’s many new bruises, when they finally broke for dinner. The squad assigned jobs to every man, from laundry to watch duty. Half-a-dozen were assigned as cooks. They were already chopping potatoes and splitting carrots for the soup as Grith came to sit down. He hoped the cooks had been chosen for their skill in the culinary arts and not by random chance, as was everything else in this army.
The men without pressing jobs were already breaking loaves of bread and cutting into wheels of cheese. Grith took a proffered piece of the crusty loaf and gnawed on it. How the hell did mainlanders eat this stuff? Perhaps this was why so many were missing teeth.
Grith’s arms and shoulders ached from the day’s exertions. He hadn’t expected that. If he was some sort of Delver, wouldn’t he be immune to the pain from simple exercise?
Tain had said something about food earlier. If he ate, would he be healed? He remembered feeling significantly better after large meals, even back in the Marshes. He had always put it down to having a full stomach, but could it be something more? His powers perhaps?”
Grith threw himself by one of the cook fires. He removed his helmet and loosened his breastplate, gritting his teeth against a blossoming of pain around his ribs. The armor had chaffed badly, especially around his shoulders. Its original owner seemed to have been wider around the middle than Grith, but less broad.
One of the soldiers, a short Selivian man, stood up and went to the line for dinner with the others. “Hey,” he said, turning back to Grith. “You want anything?”
Grith frowned. It wasn’t like a Selivian to be kind to one of his people. At best the Shaleese were considered a nuisance, at worst an infestation. “Thanks, but I think I’ll get something in a minute.”
“You know, I grew up on a farm close to the Marshes,” the man said. “I used to know a couple of the Shaleese. They aren’t like people say. They don’t steal your grain or your livestock. One of the families even shared some of their fish with us when a storm washed away our crop.”
Grith tried to smile. At least there was one man in the squad who didn’t hate him. That meant he only had ninety-eight more to impress.
“I had to learn the same thing about Selivians,” Grith replied. “When you’ve traveled as much as I have, you start to realize that most people are the same, no matter where you go. Same wants, same dreams, same fears.”
Most, he reminded himself. Irrin is still a bastard, and Tain… he didn’t know what Tain was. In the next few days he hoped to find out.
Grith shooed the man off without another word. He should have showed the fellow more kindness, he knew that, but he just couldn’t bring himself to joviality right now. Memories of Kuul were still fresh in his mind. Less than a week ago, he had been sitting in his house, his biggest worry repairing his roof in preparation for the late spring monsoons. Now he was heading towards a strange continent to fight in a war of conquest, all while being trained as a Delver. He smiled ruefully. His life was beginning to feel like one of the dark comedies that he had often seen performed on the streets of Akiv. King Qinar and the Fool, perhaps.
The scraping of shoes on dirt to Grith’s left caught his attention. He turned to see a dark figure step into the firelight. Tain had traded in his brightly colored suit for a pair of dark gray breeches and a plain shirt, in time since they had parted. Despite his thin youthful face and foppish demeanor, the outfit gave him an heir of menace. He had metamorphosed from an aristocrat into his proper form, the form that Grith knew: a killer.
“You look like you enjoyed yourself,” Tain said, noting Grith’s sweat stained uniform. “How’s the life of a pikeman treating you?”
“Wonderfully,” Grith replied, wryly. He rose to his feet on shaky legs and deposited his partially removed breastplate beside him. “I even got a free beating from the gracious Captain.”
Tain shook his head and turned to walk towards the pine forest that lined the left side of the road. Grith followed a few paces behind him. “Tribest won’t like you taking me away like this.” All he needed was another beating because of this man’s stupidity.
“I’ll talk to him about it later tonight. Tribest may be an ornery shit, but he knows his place. He won’t lay a finger on you if I say so.”
“I thought no one was supposed to find out I was a Delver. Wouldn’t telling Tribest be the same as telling the whole camp?”
Grith could see a flickering light ahead, between the pines. It must have been their training ground, far away from the prying eyes of the rest of the army.
“Tribest won’t know. He might not like the lie I give him, and might even come to some inconvenient conclusions, but he’ll keep his mouth shut. He knows what I’ll do to him if he doesn’t.” Grith could imagine Tain tearing the captain to pieces with that saber of his. Despite his appearance and demeanor, he wasn’t a person to be trifled with.
They came to a clearing amongst the trees. An area about fifty paces to a side had been opened, leaving enough space for a roaring bonfire and a cart similar to the one on which Grith had ridden that morning.
“Welcome to my modest camp,” Tain said, walking over to the fire and sitting down in one of a pair of folding chairs. He motioned for Grith to take the other.
He sat down heavily and groaned as the muscles in his legs loosened. He was starved. “So this is where we train?” It was a prime location, he had to admit. There were a solid hundred paces of trees between them and the rest of the army. The heavy boughs and needles would block all but the brightest light and the sharpest sounds.
Tain nodded. “Other than the High Lord’s personal bodyguard and a few of his scribes, no one knows you even exist. The rest of the army was kept at the edge of the Marshes while Irrin went in to recruit from amongst your people.”
“You mean to press my people,” Grith growled, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms. “I know what ‘recruitment’ means to your High Lord.”
“I think you’d be surprised how many of your people joined by choice. There are a lot young men out there who want nothing more than to run away from mommy and daddy and find adventure.”
“Not realizing they’ll get neither.” Grith glanced at the cart. He could smell food, coming from the other side of the vehicle.
“Tirrak be damned! You are depressing, aren’t you?”
Grith worked his hands, imagining how satisfying it would be to wrap them around the insufferable man’s throat and just squeeze.
As he sat fantasizing, a man and woman appeared from behind the cart, carrying platters laden with meat, bread, and vegetables. They sat one of each in Grith and Tain’s laps and handed them forks and knives. Tain thanked them both and gave the redheaded woman a mischievous smile. Grith simply nodded to the other.
Spirits! The plate was piled with enough food to supply a small dinner party. “They’re your servants?” he asked once the pair had disappeared back behind the cart. The man seemed familiar, almost like Grith had seen him in a dream. Had he driven the cart where Grith had lay unconscious? He couldn’t be sure.
Tain nodded as he dug into a sausage. “My private cooks. When you eat as much food as I do, normal camp fare just doesn’t do it for you anymore. In quantity or quality.”
“So all this food-” Grith began.
“Will help you unlock the door that holds all that power back. The more you eat and the more you train, the stronger you will become. That’s mostly the key to being a Delver, I’ve found. Simple, isn’t it? Certainly simpler than you’d expect.” He motioned with his fork. “Now dig in or it’ll be midnight before we so much as stretch.”
* * *
Grith was shocked by his own ravenous hunger. He devoured his first plate in minutes, and felt like he could go for seconds. He stopped himself. He needed to learn as much about these powers as he could. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time filling his stomach. Tain rose to his feet as soon as he was finished, leaving his plate for the servants, before disappearing behind the cart.
“You’re already well versed in the spear, bow, and club,” Tain said. “After what you did to Irrin’s guards the other day, I don’t think anyone would argue with that.”
He came back into view with a pair of small staves in his hands. No, not staves, wooden wasters, the kind that soldiers often used to spar. He tossed one to Grith and sauntered to a spot a dozen paces from the fire. The waster had the same heft and weight as a real weapon, in this case a saber like the one Tain carried at his belt, but would leave only welts in the place of bleeding wounds.
“I’d prefer a spear,” Grith said. “I’ve never had a chance to train with a blade.”
“And that’s precisely the reason I want you using one. You need to get used to wielding a new type of weapon. Fighting while using your power is very different from without. With this,” he held up his own waster. “I won’t have to break down any bad habits.”
Sighing, Grith got to his feet and went to stand before Tain. His muscles no longer ached. In fact, he felt stronger than he had in months, and ready to burn off some of his accumulated energy. Tain gave his waster a few testing swings. Grith mimed the gesture and tried to act like he had the foggiest idea was he was doing. It’s just like using a club, he told himself. Except that the balance was off, closer to the hilt, and he had to constantly worry about aligning his edge with whatever he wanted to cut. He sighed. No, the weapons were nothing alike at all.
Tain took a combat stance, feet spread, off hand close, sword held in front of his body and slightly off center. “You know how to fight, which is good. I won’t have to teach you timing or footwork.”
Grith took his own stance, trying to imitate Tain’s easy guard. “I thought you said fighting with our powers would be different.”
“I did.” Without warning, Tain leaped into the air, covering the distance between them and landing hard. Grith barely had time to bring his weapon up to block. Tain looked ready to deliver an overhead slash, but changed direction suddenly, moving with blindingly fast speed into a cut to Grith’s leg. He must have pulled the strike at the last moment, because it kissed his kneecap with only the lightest touch.
Tain smiled and with a cry pushed his blade up, transmuting speed into strength, crushing Grith’s clumsy guard and bringing the point of his waster to just underneath Grith’s chin. “See what I mean?” he said, drawing back and returning to his original guard. “Out of the six types of Delvers, Enforcers are the most suited to combat. Our strength and speed, our survivability open up modes of attack that most warriors could only dream of.”
“So…” Grith was still reeling from the attack and his words came slowly. “If I enter my Battle Trance, I’ll be as fast and strong as you?”
“Battle Trance?” Tain asked. Realization crossed his face. “You mean the Deepening.” Seeing that his student didn’t recognize the word, he continued. “The world slows and your abilities seem to get stronger?”
Grith nodded
“As you put it, it’s a kind of Trance. All Delvers have it in one form or another.”
Grith took a deep breath as Tain spoke. He stretched out with his senses, attuning them to every sight, smell, and sound around him. The calls of birds and chirping of crickets took on a sharpness. The fire seemed brighter than before, and the scents of spring were sweeter on the wind, mixing with the bitter smell of ash. He entered the Battle Trance, the Deepening, and the world slowed, captured as if in the oils of a painting.
Tain’s words were drawn to a comical length, making him sound drunk or struck dumb. Time to give the fop a taste of his own medicine. He drew his power from a deep well of fire. That fire came to him, and he forced it into every crevice of his body. His muscles ached to move, to fight, to do violence. And Grith obliged…
He rushed forward, propelled like the winds at the head of a storm.
Tain brought his sword up and blocked the first of Grith’s blows. The wood of their wasters flexed and creaked under the weight of each attack, but Grith continued forward, beating aside Tain’s last parry and getting inside his guard. Using the waster’s intense curve to his advantage, Grith made to bring his blade across the other man’s belly. If it was a real sword, it would spill Tain’s guts.
Tain leaped back before Grith could attempt his cut, and twisted, his feet nearly coming out from under him. The motion turned his backwards momentum into a forward lunge, something that would have been impossible for any non-D
elver. Grith was out of stance, his sword badly placed for a parry. Tain gave a sharp rap on Grith’s forehead with his waster, enough to leave a welt, and fell back into his guard.
“You almost surprised me,” said the other Delver, excitement in his voice. “You have the foundation, but it still needs to be built on.” He came out of his guard. “Now, if you’re done trying to kill me, we can get down to the real lesson. Get back into stance. Practice hasn’t even begun.”
Six:
Kareen
The Cutaran raid came on their third day out of Kwell. The sun set behind Tirrak, and the world fell into the shadow of halflight. It was a time of meditation and prayer for the faithful, this hour of near-complete darkness. Kareen had often contemplated the words written in the Book of the Eye, but Livran, whether he was faithful to the God of the Skies or not, refused to call a halt to their march.
Kareen kept an eye on the copse of trees to their right, the first trees she had seen in two days. They were tall with broad trunks and leaves twice the size of one of her hands. They were so unlike the trees back home, all bent and gnarled as they were, like something out of a fairytale haunted forest.
“Are we still being followed?” Kareen asked Livran. Perhaps it was just her nervous mind, but she swore she had seen a Cutaran scout hiding behind the low scrub to their rear. At first she had thought she was just seeing things, but it turned out her suspicions weren’t completely unfounded. The watchmen had reported seeing eyes staring back at them in the dark for the last two nights, the bright sapient eyes of a thinking creature—of a Cutaran.
Despite this, Livran still dismissed fears of an attack. The Cutarans had small scouting parties scattered across the savannas, presumably to report the movement and disposition of soldiers heading towards the Front. He had assured her that such small bands wouldn’t pose a threat to a group of well-trained soldiers, but his words did little to calm Kareen’s nerves.
Livran slowed his horse to let her come alongside his stallion. “The rearguard say they spotted the same two scouts from before, still on our trail. Yesterday, they kept to half a mile behind us. Now, they’re just outside of bowshot. They’re getting more confident.”
The Argument of Empires Page 10
