by Robert Beers
“Not surprised.” The man stuck out his hand for Ethan to take, “name's Ruther, what's yer handle?”
Ethan took the man's hand, “Call me Ethan. Where did they pick you up?”
Ruther jerked his head again, “'Bout two days march from where they got you. I'm lucky, I ain't got no family to worry me.” He looked back up at Ethan's expression, “Sorry ‘bout that man, guess I forgot.”
Ethan's reply was cut off in the borning by a shout from the Trading States Sergeant, “Awright, all of you, on your feet, we march for our breakfast in this outfit! Let's go,” The last was said in a more moderated tone just like the day before.
Ethan wondered if he was going to hear the same refrain repeated over and over as the days went by. Most likely so, if history was any judge. He stamped his feet firmly into their boots and joined the others in the line.
Escape had been proven a bad idea the day before. One of the conscripts, a man approximately Ethan's age and size, tried to bolt from the line into a stand of timber twenty of so yards away. He fell to the ground less than half the way there, his back bristling with crossbow bolts. Ethan had no desire to end his life as an ersatz hedgehog so he kept his mouth shut, obeyed the soldier's orders and watched for a time when a break could be made without dying.
They marched for two more days along the northern side of Cloudhook where they met up with other patrols herding their own lines of conscripts. The combined patrols bivouacked for a few days and then moved on towards Grisham. Ethan learned little about what awaited them at journey's end, though there were plenty of conscript rumors. Ruther found him during one of the stops on the high prairie where they were allowed to move freely, though the ever-watchful crossbowmen gave the lie to the feeling.
“'Lo, Berggren.”
“Ruther, the watchers treating you well?” Ethan bent to pick up the bundle of firewood he'd gathered as his morning duty. At least they were allowed hot food in the evenings.
Ethan's companion in misery scratched his head, dislodging a number of vermin. One thing they'd not been allowed to do was bathe, all water was reserved for drinking, cooking and the horses. “Yeah, kinda, leastways I don't have no arrows stickin’ in me back. You heard the news?” Ruther fell in alongside Ethan as he carried the firewood over to where the rest was stacked.
“You mean the rumors?”
Ruther screwed up his face, making it even more homely, “Yeah, rumors, I guess. Some of ‘em kinda make you think, you know?”
Ethan finished stacking the wood and turned to face Ruther, brushing the dust off his hands, “Like what?”
“Well, the one I keep hearin’ the most is where the Duke of Grisham's gonna invade the Southern Empire an’ we're gonna be the ones he puts up front,” Ruther's head with its oversized nose and ears bobbed up and down as he talked.
“Yes, that seems to be the favorite. Did you hear the one about the Dragons and the Wizards?” Ethan ran his eyes across the camp as they walked back from the woodpile.
“You mean the one where there's this army of Dragons an’ Wizards just waitin’ for us at the other side o’ this mountain?” Ruther gestured with his left hand.
Ethan reached the spot where his bedroll sat and picked up the canteen he'd been allowed to keep. The water, though slightly warm, tasted good after the sweaty work.
“Did you hear me? Wizards, an’ Dragons! I don't wanna face no Dragons.” Ruther squatted next to Ethan and stared into the afternoon haze.
“I heard you. Far as I know there aren't any more Wizards and as for Dragons...” He let go with a short derisive laugh, “I stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago.” He held back the thought of Circumstance and the fire. There was a lot more in the world than these men were prepared to face.
“I hear we's gonna be taken into Grisham itself an’ trained, trained to be them night-fighters.” Another conscriptee sat down next to Ethan and Ruther. This fellow sported a good-sized paunch and had the complexion of one who spent little if any time outside. His bald pate glowed red from exposure.
Ethan looked over at him. “You'd like that, huh?”
“They ain't gonna train you to do more'n peel spuds m'man.” Ruther snorted.
The target of Ruther's humor looked down at his paunch and nodded. “I suppose you're right,” He chuckled, “never was much good at anything other'n enumeratin’ anyways.” He looked at Ethan, “You think they'll be needin’ that? I mean, can you see me in a battle?” He waved a hand across his paunch.
“Only for a very short time I'm afraid.” Ethan leaned back against one of the large stones that littered the area where the combined patrols camped. “Look, I've been around armies, and if that senior Sergeant is anything like the others, only those men able to swing a sword will be given one. The last thing they want is to have a man on the lines who's as much of a danger to his own mates as he is to the enemy. You may find a few officers that stupid but they usually get killed during the fighting, often by those under them. Poetic justice if you ask me.” He picked up a small pebble and tossed it.
The fellow with the paunch looked at Ethan with wide eyes, “You've been in a war? You have, haven't you? I'll bet you got's stories.”
He was given no chance to hear any of them for at the moment the call to march came. As they were formed into their lines Ethan saw a caravan of wagons approaching from the west. They were of the type used by the military for running supplies between camps. The lines of conscripts were held in place until the lead wagon drew alongside and then they marched.
They marched for the rest of the day and into part of the night, then repeated it again for the next two days. By the time they reached Labad's highway Ethan felt as if his feet were going to drop off.
“C'mon scrip, get a move on, this ain't no vacation where you get's ta put yer feet up. Yer in the army m'man, now acts like it, march, lift them puppies, march.”
Ethan comforted himself with visions of what he was going to do to that Corporal when given the chance.
* * * *
Purple spots of agony blossomed and burst before his eyes as McCabe clawed his way back to consciousness. As his awareness increased he found himself to be stuck to the ground. His hands and feet were tied to stakes and he lay spread-eagle in front of a mud and wattle hut thatched with reeds. The scent of bitter herbs mixed with decay came to his nostrils and then left leaving behind only the musty odor of the soil beneath him.
Another wave of pain washed over him and he blacked out again. When his senses returned he opened his eyes upon the ugliest crone he'd ever seen, including those dwelling in the Lowers. She was muttering something in the Elf language as she bent over him.
“Help me.” The fire in his belly, though lessened was still there.
The crone cocked her head as if one eye worked better than the other. “Help you?” She cackled, “Yes, I'll help you, help you to die, just like your kind helped my mate to die.” Her grasp of the human language made the words barely understandable but McCabe guessed her meaning.
More of the pained burned through him and his back arched as he rode it out. “My kind? He gasped. “What about my kind?”
“Mankind!” She spat out the word as if it was a curse.
McCabe laughed in spite of his agony, “...not a man—not any more...”
She cackled again, the sound of her laughter grated in the still air, “Not a man? Old Haberstroh isn't as blind as that. My mixage'll prove me right.”
She stood up and vanished into the hut. Seconds later she shuffled back out carrying a small pottery vessel and sifting a fine powder into it. “You claim to be not a man. A few drops of this'll tell me if you be not. Oh yes they will.” Wisps of a foul smelling steam poured over the edge of the vessel as she bent to hold it over his mouth.
Fear rose up in McCabe and lodged in his throat. He tried to drain the crone but it was as if a wall stood between him and his powers. Faintly, he could hear the voices from behind the wall screaming at him to run
, but the stakes were fast into the ground and he was too weak to do more than try to twist his head away from the vessel.
“No you don't, not be a man,” Haberstroh giggled, “you take your medicine. You take it and prove to me you be not a man. You take it now,” She tipped the vessel until drops fell from it and splashed onto his face. The oily liquid bubbled and hissed as it burned its way into the flesh.
McCabe screamed with pain as he fought to keep Haberstroh's mixage out of his mouth but she continued to dribble the potion.
“Come, not be a man, old Haberstroh'll fix you up. Hold that head of yours still,” She reached out and grasped him by the chin. Her strength was surprising, McCabe felt as if his head had been placed in a vise.
“There you are my pretty, take your medicine now,” She poured a measure into his mouth held open by the pressure of her thumb and forefinger.
The liquid traced a fiery path from the back of McCabe's throat into his stomach where it exploded into a furnace that spread fingers of fire throughout his system.
Haberstroh rocked back on her heels and waited.
* * * *
The dining hall built for Grisham's Guard Officers made Adam feel like he was looking at a toad squatting in the midst of a rose garden. The uniform he'd been given itched and the shiny black boots pinched his toes. To top off his discomfort the steward had him seated next to the wife of the Colonel and the old biddy chatted non-stop, moving from one inane topic to the next seamlessly. For some reason Thaylli seemed to enjoy the older woman's chatter and joined in the laughter whenever she or one of the other officer's wives made a joke.
He concentrated on trying not to squirm but a spot in the high middle of his back started up an itch that was nearly impossible to ignore. Perhaps a small shaping would ease things a bit.
Adam nodded politely at whatever Sirena Culperti was saying as he sipped a bit more of the wine and concentrated.
The itch went away along with the tightness of his boots and several members of the luncheon party suddenly sighed as a waved of relief washed through them.
Thaylli shot a sharp glance in Adam's direction but he avoided her eyes by dipping his nose into the wine goblet. Damn his lack of control, no matter what he tried in shaping, things still went further than he intended them to. He was just lucky he didn't send any of the women in the group into spasms of ecstasy.
Sirena Culperti said something.
He looked up from his plate, placing a pleasant smile on his face, “I beg your pardon Sirena, what did you say?”
“I asked you where in the world you learned to use a sword they way you do. You're very good, especially for a man as young as you are,” She graced him with a coquettish look. Adam felt like the rabbit being sized up by the mastiff.
“Uh ... well most of it I sort of picked up on my own, but I did spend a short time with a man named Ethan, he taught me a few things.”
“Ethan, Ethan of Swaledale?” Captain Bilardi looked up from a whispered conversation with one of the other officers.
Adam looked across the table he shared with Thaylli, Sirena Culperti, Major Lossin and his Consort, a darkly handsome woman with amazingly thick black hair, “I don't know. He never told us his surname, but now that I think of it, He did mention your name ... unless he meant your father.”
Mundy, seated on Bilardi's left muttered something.”
“No, I don't think so, let it be, Mundy.” Bilardi picked up his drink.
“Let it be” Mundy snorted. “He insults the Guard, and you say, let it be.”
Adam blinked, “I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“Adam,” Thaylli felt the tension mounting.
Major Lossin held her back with a hand placed on Thaylli's left shoulder, “This is the Lieutenant's game young lady, he has to play it out.” The statement was spoken scant inches from her ear.
Mundy snorted in a manner that begged for a punch in the nose, “No idea, he says.”
“Perhaps he really hasn't,” Bilardi mused, putting his glass back onto the table. “Perhaps he had no intention to be insulting.”
“I say he did,” The Lieutenant growled. “I say he lies about it now to try to cover his tracks.”
“I don't want to have to fight you Lieutenant Mundy,” Adam forced his voice to be steady even as his pulse began pounding in his ear, “You know you can't match me.”
“I agree,” The Captain said lightly, “I warned you earlier Mundy, you'd best listen.”
“Are you saying you're better at blades than I am, bumpkin?” Mundy sneered.
“Adam! Don't let them do this,” Thaylli hissed.
“Hush dear, sometimes it has to be this way, besides, from what I've seen in your young man he is more than capable of taking care of himself,” The Colonel's consort dimpled at Thaylli.
Mundy stood slowly all the while keeping his eyes on Adam, “This is the second public insult I've taken from you bumpkin, I'll take no more.”
Captain Zac, as blonde as Lossin's consort was dark, started to rise from his own chair, “Lieutenant...”
Bilardi's voice cut him off in mid-word, “Sit back down Zac! This is none of your affair!”
“Bloodsport at the table? The rules...”
“The rules be damned! I want this whelp's liver! I've heard what he's said about me. Stand back Zac, or I'll call you out as well,” Mundy grated without taking his eyes off Adam.
The Lieutenant was growing more furious by the second. Adam had no doubt killing the man would take little effort. The real task would be in keeping him alive without creating an even more dangerous enemy.
He glanced around at the others in the dining hall. For the most part each face betrayed an avid interest in what was to happen next. Thaylli, Zac and the Colonel were the only ones appearing to be upset about the business. Major Lossin and his consort showed no emotion at all as if this was something they'd been through too many times and were merely waiting for the inevitable.
Captain Bilardi stood, “A challenge has been given. According to strict custom, it must be answered. Usually the answer is at dawn on the parade ground, but it appears the Lieutenant's temper will not allow that courtesy”
“Adam, he wants you to fight this man.” Thaylli looked at him out of frightened eyes, her fear making her skin even more pale against the red of her hair.
“I know,” He whispered back without moving his lips, “and he knows Mundy's no match for me. Why?”
He said it louder, for Bilardi's ears, “Why?”
The Captain sat back into his chair. “It is out of my hands. Mundy has issued the challenge and honor must be served. If you walk away from his challenge, you not only dishonor yourself, but your family as well. The Honor of the Grisham Guard is at risk here. My honor is at risk, since I recruited you.”
Every eye in the hall switched from the Captain to Adam.
“How am I not aware of what is honorable or not?” Adam's voice came out cutting sharp, “What have I done that dishonored myself or those with me? Answer me Captain! You have a man standing there who will die soon if I'm forced to do this.”
“That is between you and Lieutenant Mundy, Lieutenant! The challenge was issued and it has to be answered. One way or another,” Bilardi's features darkened into a scowl, “it has to be answered.”
“I don't see it Bilardi.” The Colonel spoke quietly from his chair as he toyed with the rim of his wineglass.
Mundy darted a look from the Colonel back to Bilardi.
“Really Colonel, and why is that? “The Guard Captain's voice was dangerously soft.
Colonel Culperti grimaced, a brief twitch of his left cheek. “I see nothing arrogant in stating a known fact. We've all seen Mundy fence and we've seen this young officer in the exercise yard at forms. He spoke the truth, if Lieutenant Mundy draws on him he's a dead man.”
“So, you insult my honor as well?” The Lieutenant growled at the Colonel through his teeth.
“Believe what you wis
h Lieutenant, I'm too old for you to challenge and too well protected for you to kill. You wouldn't live long enough to draw a second breath.” He tipped some wine into his mouth, “Go ahead. Have your silly duel. Captain Bilardi won't be happy until it comes to pass. Good riddance anyway, I say.”
“Are you going to allow this old fossil to speak to me this way?” Mundy turned in appeal to Bilardi.
The Captain stared at the Lieutenant for a long still moment. The hall seemed to hold its breath along with that of the diners. Adam thought the Captain looked like a man struggling within himself.
Bilardi shrugged, “Yes, I am. You have wanted this since the day you collided in the barracks hallway. I told you then to keep your temper, but you have not listened. Go ahead; enjoy your folly, if you can.”
Mundy shifted his stance, “You heard the Colonel, bumpkin, stand on your feet!”
Adam ignored him and leaned over to speak to Thaylli, “I think we'd better go.”
She stood and smoothed the skirts of the gown given her by Sirena Culperti, “I'm sorry for this Hirittia...” Her throat closed on what else she was going to say.
The Colonel's consort opened her mouth to answer Thaylli but Mundy interrupted, “Coward, hiding behind a woman's skirts!”
Adam and Thaylli continued to walk toward the door.
A wine bottle shattered against the door jam showering Thaylli with wine and pieces of glass.
She shrieked and stumbled backwards away from the door. She shrieked again as she noticed the ruin the wine had made of her gown.
Adam whirled at the same time the bottle hit. The sword made a ripping sound as it left the scabbard. Chairs crashed to the floor as the hall's inhabitants scattered away from the inevitable swordplay.
“So, the bumpkin wants to play after all,” Lieutenant Mundy sneered as he slowly pulled his own sword from its scabbard.
“You shouldn't have done it Mundy, Thaylli has no part of your argument with me.” Adam kept the tip of the sword steady as he sidled to the left away from the chairs on the floor. He could feel its magik flowing through his arm and into his body.
The Lieutenant sneered, it seemed to be his favorite expression, “Your bitch was a tool, nothing more. It got you to pull that sword, didn't it? Now let's see if you can use it.” On the word see Mundy lunged and swung his blade in a wicked arc that carved the air in a figure S beginning at Adam's knees and ending near his throat.
