Colonel Jamieson immediately stepped forward.
“I ordered the blacksmith to burn the ships... on the general’s command,” he said, loudly. Jacobs turned to Joseph.
“Is this true, sergeant?” he asked the young man.
“No, sir,” Joseph said, in a clear voice. At these words, the Colonel looked horrified, but the general became enraged. He flew at Joseph, surprising everyone. Inermis knocked the young man to the ground. Drawing his sword--he looked down at the young man--a murderous look in his eyes. Though caught off guard Joseph did not forget himself. In the blink of an eye, he caught up a nearby sword from a dead enemy soldier and swung hard at the general’s weapon, knocking it neatly from Inermis’ hand. Standing, Joseph found himself faced with several swords pointed at him, lest he attack the General further.
All at once, Dunner came through the crowd of soldiers, stepping right up to the general, his fist forward.
“In the name of the King, stand down. Leave the boy be,” Dunner growled. The general stared at Dunner’s hand; crowning the gnarled fist was crowned, the gold and silver crest of the King gleamed in the full sunlight. The general recognized it at once.
“The Shamar,” he sputtered, stepping back. “Put your swords away men.” Inermis gave a short bow to Dunner. “I do as the kingsmen command, sir,” he said.
“The boy deserves honor for his heroism,” the old sailor, calmly. “You owe him your men.” The general looked almost sick, but bowed again.
“Of course... it has been... a long day. I lost my head,” he said as if forcing the words out, his face turning slightly gray.
“Where is your horse?” Dunner asked, taking out his pipe. For a moment the general did not know what to say.
“He ran off during the fighting. I know not.” Inermis said, finally. Dunner nodded dismissively. The general saluted and walked off, Colonel Jamieson following close behind.
Taking a few, deep breaths, Joseph tossed the sword back down to the ground. Jacobs was giving orders for the frigate soldiers to return to the ships.
“A good soldier you are, young Asher,” Jacobs said, nodding respectfully at the young man. “I’d be honored to have you transferred to one of my ships, should you wish it. The Lord watch over you until we meet again.” Dunner had few words for Joseph, but patted him stoutly on the shoulder, with a look that made Joseph take heart.
“For those who are loyal, help is never very far away,” Both captains boarded the longboat again and headed back to the frigate.
Continuing his work helping lay out the bodies, Joseph studied the scene around him.
The sheer numbers of their own dead were staggering, but even more so were the amount of dead invaders. The charred hulls of the ships were still smoking as the sun set, hissing as they were extinguished by the slow hand of the rising tide. The unnecessary troops pulled out the next day; as Joseph drove his forge-wagon over the last knoll, he looked back at the pockmarked ground of the meadow, the trodden grass, the darkened bloodstains and the large circles of ash where they had burnt the enemy corpses.
Turning back, Joseph saw Colonel Jamieson riding up to him. The officer turned his horse expertly and walked it next to the blacksmith cart. The officer spoke no words but merely nodded to Joseph. After a moment’s pause, Jamieson rode up past the smithy cart and out of sight along the line of moving wagons and soldiers.
SIX
Relative quiet ruled the fort, in the weeks following the battle.
Joseph’s duties mainly comprised repairing damaged weaponry and wagons. One early morning, however, the smith was feeding the live coals in the forge when Colonel Jamieson rode up to the blacksmith’s annex.
“Asher,” said the officer, his voice replete with authority. “You’re ordered to appear before General Inermis at once, concerning your promotional status.” Nodding, Joseph put his jacket back on, stoked the fire and followed the officer on foot, buttoning his uniform up as he walked.
The general’s face immediately put Joseph on guard, though the young man couldn’t explain why. Inermis seemed pleasant enough in voice and had even dressed his face in a benevolent smile.
“Sit down, my boy,” the general said. When Joseph had done so, Jamieson left the room, closing the door behind him. “Well,” Inermis continued. “I have excellent news young man. Your bravery at the defense battle was duly noted. I have here a promotion order for you, to the rank of Lieutenant. It was recommended by Admiral Jacobs--promoted himself recently--as well as the officers under his command. Congratulations... you’re now a minor officer.”
Joseph kept his face like stone. The only thing he could think of was how much he distrusted the man sitting before him. Inermis sat, holding up parchments and smiling behind his ornate desk. The general did not need or ask him to respond, however and continued speaking in his affable tone.
“I’d be speechless, too. Jacobs, himself, wrote to the king apparently. He cites bravery, presence of mind in battle, cunning... all good qualities, and rare these days, to be sure. Officer’s qualities, and I’d agree. Now, I, being over the south-eastern division, and the former Colonel Jamieson, who has now been promoted to general in the Northern Division of Mirden Province, feel your gifts and abilities are needed elsewhere. Your new position is at the Vyreten Stronghold, outside the town of Kenet. You will command your own men up there, and have more pay in your pocket...”
Inermis stood, placing his hands on his desk and looked closely at the young man seated before him. Joseph stood up as well, his height overcoming the general’s by a few inches. With a great effort the young soldier kept any trace of revulsion off of his features.
“Well, off with you,” the General said, lightly, turning away to some scrolls he had stacked by the wall. “You report in four days at Vyreten. A transport cart waits to take you there on route to one of the northern supply lines.” Here the General broke off and chuckled to himself. Taking his orders, Joseph returned the general’s salute and walked out in soldierly fashion. Returning to his forge he found a new smithy being trained in his place. Gathering up his belongings, Joseph left the fort at once; he headed into town, seeking passage north.
The journey north took up all four days allotted. His transport, an aging farm wagon--proved the be the slowest variety the young soldier had yet endured, drawn by powerfully smelly oxen. Harvest being nearly over, the farm lands along the road swarmed with workers; feverishly they gathered in every last fruit, seed and grain before the frosts came. Winter was not far away. As the wagon ascended the low foothills of the mountains, the sunlight seemed to wane in strength and the nights took on a bold chill. The driver spoke little during their journey; Joseph felt glad each night to bed down at an inn or monastery,just to listen to voices and warm himself by a crackling fire.
The tiny ‘town’ of Kenet seemed like a village to Joseph, harboring little more than an inn, a very small marketplace, perhaps a dozen homes and an abandoned smithy. A single dirt lane ran down the middle of the town, ending at the stronghold.
Stronghold Vyreten in no wise lived up to its name, either. Comprising low, wooden bunk house and yard--surrounded by a palisade wall of sharpened posts--it seemed more like a dilapidated inn than a garrison for soldiers. Flanking the main building stood a small horse corral; it sat opposite to the disused smithy, on the other side of the palisade.
The smelly cart left Joseph and his knapsack near the stronghold’s entrance. High overhead, the noontime sun warmed the young lieutenant’s shoulders as he approached the front gate. He would not see anyone standing watch; no one called out a reprimand as he unbolted the front gate and drew it open. The yard within appeared deserted. No horses stood in the corral, the gate of which was wide open. Piles of manure and old, grayed hay stood in stacks by one wall.
Stepping a little ways inside, Joseph stood--for some moments--in the quiet. The air and feel of this place felt much the same as his childhood village, Rishown. His father had begun his own command at such a hu
mble place as Vyreten. A brief wave of homesickness washed over him.
The sound of approaching horses made him turn. A line of soldiers rode haphazardly through the open gate and into the corral,some, less than a dozen in number. Two more, on mules, rode in last; one of these jumped off his mount and closed the gate. Spying the stranger--standing in the yard with his knapsack--a soldier called out to Joseph.
“Hello there!” the young man said, walking forward. As he drew closer, the man recognized Joseph’s uniform and quickly saluted. “It’s the new lieutenant!” said he. The others saluted as well.
“We’ve been at the Inn, sir,” another young man explained. “Celebrating my birthday.”
“Is the forge operational?” Joseph asked, pointing outside the gate at the dilapidated forge nearby.
“I... don’t know, sir,” one soldier replied, somewhat uncomfortably. “The peasant say it needs repair. These two, here, are supposed to be trained as blacksmiths.” He indicated the two men who’d ridden the mules. They stood apart from the others; they appeared somewhat similar in the face. One bore a large burn mark, from his ear to his chin.
“The scarred one is Jed; that’s his brother, Robert,” the young soldier who’d first spoken told him. Joseph nodded at the two smiths and then walked to the barracks to stow his gear.
The forge indeed was in need of repair. With the brother’s help, however, Joseph had the place cleaned out and functioning properly within a fortnight. He found the two apprentices apt learners in the arts of smithing. Once smoke began to drift from the smithy again, townsfolk jumped at the chance to get some metal work done. Farmers, tradesmen and traveling merchants alike began coming by with plowshares to straighten, wheel axles to repair and horses to be shoe’d. The money earned allowed Joseph to make minor repairs and upgrades to the smithy, as well as the stronghold. The rest of the soldiers were put to work, -re-shingling the stronghold roof, disposing of the copious horse dung and taking turns standing watch. Most of the men seemed used to limited supervision; when not working for their new lieutenant, they frequented the inns.
During that first winter at Vyrten, Joseph trained the two brothers to his satisfaction. He spent most evenings thinking up new ways to keep his men occupied. The short days and long nights could only be filled with so much work. But, finding the other soldiers were fond of sparring, Joseph would often be found in the ice-bound yard, crossing swords in practice. Again, his life seemed to be taken up with routine and--for awhile--his mornings were filled with hammering horse-shoes or plowshares. Soon, however, the work dwindled and Joseph spent more and more time strengthening his skills at swordplay. His men did not know what to make of their silent officer, but utilized his time to better themselves with the sword.
Spring came, a welcome thawing of the ice and snow. Orders arrived--by rider--to dispatch the newly-trained blacksmiths to different forts, where their new skills were needed. Two more recruits arrived to train soon after the brothers left. Joseph began the task of training all over again and every three to four months the cycle would repeat itself, with men leaving and being replaced with new recruits. Joseph lost count of the men he’d trained as smithies.
One late spring morning, a farmer--one that Joseph had seen before at the market--came into the smithy. The man hovered by the door uncertainly. Joseph stood from stoking the furnace to greet the man.
“My name is Robinson,” the farmer told him, looking around the neat smithy. “Two of my horses are needing shoes, and I have some repair work on my wagon needed.” The farmer paused a moment, studying Joseph; he twisted his hat in his hands. “I can’t pay you now; I just spent all I have on seed for this year’s crop. But, one of my horses is about to have a foal. Would you do metal work for me, until winter, in exchange for the foal?”
Joseph pumped the bellows a few times in silence, thinking.
“Yes,” he replied, to the farmer’s obvious relief. “Bring your horses by in the morning and I will re-shoe them.” Robinson’s work-calloused face broke into a smile; he shook Joseph’s sooty hand heartily before he left.
Several weeks later, the farmer came by the barracks one night in his wagon, smiling.
“Come and pick which one you want,” the farmer told him cheerfully. “The old girl had twins!” The two foals nestled into their mother’s side, asleep as Joseph and the farmer stood outside the stall, looking over the stable door. One baby was a pure white and the other deepest black. Squatting down by the black one, Joseph touched the little head and looked up at the farmer.
“I thought so,” Robinson said, satisfied. “The black ones always seem stronger, but you may have a fight on your hands when it comes to gentlin’ him.”
“You can sell the other one to a priest,” Joseph told him, standing back up. “They only like white horses.”
The farmer chuckled as he led the way back out of the stables.
JOSEPH NAMED his horse Belator. It was the name of a courageous warrior sung of in ancient myths of the kingdom, stories only told by firelight on moonless nights. When the young colt was weaned, the farmer brought him to the smithy. Training the obstinate young horse indeed proved difficult, but the challenge provided a welcome change to Joseph’s routine. By the end of the harvest he’d won Belator’s trust, and gained an officer’s steed. Winter didn’t give Joseph much time to ride his horse, however. Belator often watched from his stable--by the forge--as his master swung swords with the others, learning to gain footholds in the icy yard.
The spring came again. Joseph’s daily ride broke up the monotony of training smiths and sparring. Fashioning his own brand, Joseph branded his steed with the small Kingdom military design, along with his own initials. As none of the other soldiers stayed at the stronghold very long, the horse had become his only constant companion.
That harvest marked Joseph’s third year at Vyretant. Arider brought a military dispatch from Fort Munitio, directly from General Inermis. Joseph took it from the messenger in his smithy, reading it by himself. He was ordered to report to Fort Saref in the North-East part of the Kingdom, in Mirden Province. According to the message his new duties were to lead a detachment of men on routine patrols between the two major Northern port cities. His new commander was the former Colonel Jamieson--now the general in charge of Fort Saref. Taking his leave of the stronghold and the town Joseph rode to his new assignment on Belator.
Three days later, Joseph arrived at Saref. The large fort, itself, was building into a majestic coastal mountain; its fellows protected the fort’s namesake city. Joseph arrived--just after sunset--at the bleak, stone entrance to the fort’s outer walls. Riding up to an iron-studded gate, Joseph saluted to the captain of the guard.
“Name and rank,” the man stated briskly; his breath showed as a cloud in the cold air and torchlight.
“Lieutenant Joseph Asher, sir, reporting from the Stronghold Vyretent,” Joseph replied, handing over orders.
“A long way to travel,” the captain said, musing over the paper. “See the General, inside, before you head to your men. The great hall just inside the castle.”
This ‘fort’ was far grander inside than the last Joseph had seen, looking more like a lord’s palace than a place of defense, Polished suits of ancient armor stood along the passageways; richly-colored tapestries hung on the stone walls and delicate tables and chairs graced the rooms. At the end of the main passage, a guard let Joseph through a carved archway into the main hall. Peering into the dimly lit room, Joseph spied a man, sitting at the end of a long table. Several platters of fine food and pitchers of wine sat on the table’s polished surface.
“Come, Lieutenant Asher,” spoke the man. At once, Joseph recognized Colonel Jamieson--now a general--Inermis’ aid from the battle at Munitio. Setting his features to an impassive expression Joseph came forward, standing straight before his new commander.
General Jamieson was in no hurry to speak. He meditatively sliced pieces from a large apple and ate them with apparent enjoyment
.
“I hope you had a pleasant journey,” he said at last, still chewing.
“It served to get me here, sir,” was Joseph’s answer. The general looked past the young man to gaze at a tapestry on the wall.
“General Inermis feels you are superbly fitted for certain missions in my region,” began Jamieson, absently poking at the last bit of apple with his knife. “I hope his faith in you is not misplaced.”
“The general is as known for his wisdom as his courage,” Joseph returned calmly.
Jamieson seemed to find this remark upsetting; he choked on a piece of apple and coughed hard for a moment.
“Your men are stationed... in barracks building Three, Asher,” he wheezed. “See they are prepared for the northern patrol... get them rested and report back here at dawn.” Saluting, Joseph walked back out of the hall. Behind him, he could still hear Jamieson coughing.
He found his men easily. Only one barracks had lanterns alight, and activity bustling within. Opening the entrance door, Joseph found himself looking at a full score of very young soldiers. They stared back at him, uncertainly. Joseph shut the door and brushed the hood of his cloak back.
“I’m your new commander, Lieutenant Asher,” he stated. “Names and positions.” His unwavering voice and serious demeanor had an immediate effect on the men. They stood straight; each sounded off his name and rank in succession. All were privates, but one, and--from their behavior--appeared newly recruited.
“Who here knows the area?” Joseph asked. A small doubt began to form in his mind. Each of the men looked at each other but no one stepped forward. “Is there an archer among you?” he asked looking at each soldier.
The Road To The King (Book 1) Page 9
