Damicos pointed at his fellow captain to emphasis his words. “The days of chariot charges are over. Understand this well, men: the deep wilderness is where much of our fighting will take place from now on. Our formations and structured movements are largely useless in there.”
Pelekarr cleared his throat and went on. “You know these lands are home to indigenous peoples that we term ‘barbarians’. But these wild men—and women,” he amended, glancing over at Perian, “have learned how to survive in the forests and mountains that are so alien to us. We need to learn from them. All they have to teach. Not just new ways of fighting, but all their woodcraft and lore as well.”
That drew angry mutters from many of the men, especially the infantry who hadn’t encountered the White River clan up close.
“What use is their primitive lore to us?” Keltos heard one hoplite mutter aloud. “They work no metal. What need have we of flint knives and bone awls?”
“Which herbs can heal and which can kill?” Pelekarr asked, voice rising above the murmurs. “How do we hunt these fearsome creatures? Where do they live, and what are their habits and weaknesses? Until we learn these things, we grope blindly through every pitfall Ostora holds. We must hire native Ostorans, barbarian exiles, hunters, trappers, and scouts—anyone who can teach us what we need to know. By the gods! We ignore such things at our peril, men!
“Most of our rivals are hugging the coast, unwilling to venture out along the frontier. They hire on with lords in forts and castles, on land that was cleared and settled generations ago. They are good fighters, but their reach is limited. We must outdo them, out-train them, out-distance them. When we accomplish this, when we gain a reputation for effectiveness in the forests of Ostora as well as the open lands, then we will find work no other company can do. If riches are what you seek, then this is the way to long term wealth.”
The captain waited for the men to digest this round of declarations. No one said anything. It might be profitable work, but it was also difficult and frightening. Keltos, along with the rest, had been thinking mainly in terms of competing with larger, more experienced companies on the coast. He felt his pulse race at the thought of quick riches earned through valiant struggle on the frontier. The sooner he earned it, the sooner he might see his mother and sister once more.
“A final word. Everything you think you know about soldiering is about to change. What works will be added to and improved; what doesn’t will be tossed aside. You will all learn new skills, new weapons, and you will drill with them until your arms droop and your skulls ache! The oldest veterans are new recruits again, beginning now.
“You are all chartered members of this company. As such you have the full right to draw your pay at any time and seek your fortune elsewhere. There is no shame or dishonor in moving on if that is your wish. For Damicos and myself, we are here to stay, and we want only men who believe in the evolution of our war-craft. And make no mistake: evolution is what will happen to those of you who choose to remain. The changes I have spoken of will begin at dawn tomorrow.”
Pelekarr stepped down from the stump. The murmuring grew again, and this time none of the sergeants tried to stop it. Indeed, some of the loudest murmuring came from the sergeants.
Keltos looked at Makos, who appeared stunned. A friend of theirs from another tent, Tolanos, was shaking his head. Somber Dom looked melancholic, as usual. Arco frowned.
Sergeant Bivar, however, had a small smile on his face, and Keltos took heart at that. Other than Captain Pelekarr, Bivar was the most professional and experienced man he knew, had taught Keltos almost everything he knew about soldiering. His approval counted for much.
Captain Damicos looked at the position of the sun and then shouted to be heard over the murmurs of the men. “We reassemble here at midday to mark the decision facing each of you. Those who choose to stay with the company will begin organizing the training we have here discussed. Sergeants, you will ensure that the wounded are also fairly consulted. Dismissed!”
The debate quickly grew intense as the company dispersed in knots of arguing men. Keltos and Makos began a slow circuit of the ruins, sandals rustling the tall grass. Here and there they listened to the swirl of voices. It was difficult to discern how many favored the captains’ proposal and how many did not, but so far things seemed mostly equal.
A cluster of spear-men walked by on their way to a nearby stream for a drink. “Hate to admit it,” said one tough infantryman with barred sideburns, “but the captains is right. We’ve left Kerath, and new ways is the only ways. I value my skin enough to try, anyway.”
“New ways, my boot jack,” muttered another. “Used to mean something, working for the king. Pride, reputation, authority. No longer, it seems. Work alongside the barbarians and puke-faced farmers? Like to die of shame.”
“Aye,” another agreed, “may Mishtan strike me down if I ask a raff to teach me anything. I already know what I need to know—enough to kill them, anyway.” He fingered his sword hilt, scowling.
“Damicos is a decent sort,” another chimed in, “if a bit fresh compared to some commanders I’ve known. But what’s wrong with sticking to the coast? Some of the garrison boys do all right, plenty of time for ale and wenching. I can think of worse ways of making a living.”
“Ale and wenching?” the first infantryman echoed. “Turn in your sword and hire yourself out to a brew-master, then. What I want is plunder, and if the Captains can lead us to it, I’ll follow, new tricks and all.”
The men wandered off, and Kel and Makos turned and walked by a few of their fellow cavalrymen who had stopped at the edge of the field, arguing loudly.
“Rukhal’s plague on Kerath and Kerathi ways!” one them shouted. “They left us here, didn’t they? After killing Lord Jaimesh, too. Now I lost me best friends in the forest to apes and monstrous big things. It’s blood I’m after. Whatever gets me closer to sticking a lance in the belly of every man and beast that’s crossed me.”
“But our gods will curse us if we forsake them and go native.”
“We’ll be the laughing stock of the country for this,” said another. “I mean to draw pay and take service with Craya. Now there’s one that has it all figured out. I could follow her anywhere—maybe even into her bedchamber!”
The men guffawed.
“But how can you talk this way when you saw our mates lying in the forest with the kites and crows picking out their eyeballs?” This gruff soldier, who Kel remembered as being one of the newer and quieter members of the company, took a step away from the others. “Captain led us back to avenge them. For that, I’ll follow him on to the next battle, praise Mishtan! And train up for it, if need be.”
“I was already trained once,” groused another of the men. “Every day we waste in practice skirmishes here is a day we’re not earning pay. I’d rather find a company where they take me straight to the battle, give me my money, and leave me alone until the next fight.”
Makos plucked at Kel’s sleeve and motioned him to move on. “Those men are all fools,” he whispered.
They found a patch of shade under the spreading limbs of a gnarled apple tree that bordered the field, branches picked clean during the harvest. Makos sat on a fallen limb in the shade. Keltos picked a too-green apple, bit into it, grimacing at the bitter-sour tang.
He’d always been too unsure of himself, he knew, too quick to agree with whatever argument sounded best at the moment. He liked Pelekarr and the new company, but he also had to admit that so far it hadn’t worked out well, and he was lucky to have escaped their early campaigns with his life.
Some of the dissenters had valid points. And some of the men talking of leaving were strong, seasoned warriors, people he might end up following some day instead of Pelekarr. Who could tell which way the winds would blow a year on, or ten?
He looked over at Makos. His friend was different; Mak had the ability to see through the smoke and make rational decisions that didn’t depend on popular opinion or the
baser instincts of other men. It was what Keltos admired most about him, and why he stayed close by him in battle and in camp. If he was to be selected for any special duty, he could do no better than to have Makos at his side.
“All right, Mak. What’s your mind on this?”
Makos grinned ruefully. “We’re all in Mishtan’s hands, anyway, since the ships left. What’s the difference?”
“Mishtan, or Rukhal. It’s the difference between heaven and hell! This could end up badly for us if we go the wrong way.”
Makos sighed. “I want to trust the captains. Their plan sounds good. But maybe the truth behind their words is that we got in over our heads. I mean, how many chances should we take, how many lives lost, before we admit that this isn’t working?”
Keltos raised his eyebrows. “We’ve only had two battles. Three, if you count the infantry battle, and theirs wasn’t nearly so disastrous. I’d go farther than two battles with Captain Pelekarr. Much farther.”
Makos held up his hand. “Then you have your answer. I’m still hunting for mine.”
Keltos leaned against the tree trunk. “I think that no matter where we go in Ostora, we’ll be forced to change our ways in the end. That part of the captain’s speech, I truly believe. And if that’s the case, then our captains’ plan speeds the change along, and should make us a stronger company, faster.”
“If we survive at all.”
“Well, yes. But…” Keltos struggled to put his thoughts into words, but there was something important forming in his mind and he pushed to get it out coherently. “If I am to fall in battle, I’d as soon it be in the pursuit of something larger. The high king’s control is fading from these shores, and spending a life in his service no longer has the glory and meaning it once did. But I would reclaim that meaning, find battles worthy of giving my life in.”
“You sound like a young recruit I once knew. He’s dead now.” Keltos wondered who Makos was talking about, or if he was just being symbolic. “The real question is, how devoted are we to the mercenary life? I think many of us believed this new company would bring a quick purse of coin and some excitement while waiting for the Kerathi court to settle back down. But is this our future, taking jobs for pay in the colonies? And will we stick with it even if the king sends forces back across the sea again?”
Keltos shrugged. “That does seem to be the level of commitment the captain was asking for.”
“I joined the cavalry to show my father I can be trusted more than my fool brother. After a glorious return and an advantageous marriage, I could really start to rise, Kel! Past the success of my father, some day. I could do it.” Makos dropped his voice. “Maybe I’m fated to do it. But the battle on the beach when Jaimesh died… it changed things. Makes it hard to move forward, hard to go back.”
“At least you can still go back to your family’s estate, if you choose,” Keltos said, softly. He couldn’t keep the bitters out of his voice. “I wouldn’t shame you for it, even now. In fact, I wish it for you, some day. It sounds like a good way to spend a life.”
Makos looked at his friend with sympathy. “It’s not your fault, Kel. You’re a fine warrior, and the best friend I could ask for. And whether the king were to recognize it or not, you’ve cleared your family’s name. You are honorable.”
Keltos managed a smile. “Consolation enough, I suppose. It will have to be, for it’s all I’ll ever get. Especially in this company.”
Makos sighed and stretched his legs. “So, what do you want, Kel? Would you live out your entire life here, marry an Ostoran girl, settle down somewhere?”
“Mishtan, you sound like a gray-beard, Mak. What do I know about settling down? Or care? I’m still young. For all I know, I’ll be in a grave tomorrow, or a thousand leagues from here in a few months. If it’s with Pelekarr, fine. If it’s with some other commander with other ideas and strategies, so be it. Who am I to twist the hand of fate?”
The two of them remained silent for several minutes, thinking, looking out across the land. Far to the south, clouds were billowing, thunderheads of piercing whiteness towering above the flat, slate-gray storm beneath. From the west came a warm breeze. It smelled of green grass and growing things. Reminiscent of the Kerathi plains with fylla blossoms everywhere.
But it was all different, too. Its own world, vast and unknown.
As he stood there, Keltos felt a longing stir deep inside him. He’d felt it previously while traveling Ostora’s roads and fields. The dark forests and the mountains looming beyond the horizon called his name.
In his mind’s eye he plunged into them, deep, deep into the dark, welcoming trees. Moss and mushrooms. The smell of cold granite. Taste of winter in every gulp of clear water. Hills and ridgelines, endless valleys, rank on rugged rank of trees and cliffs.
And far off, the great mountains that he’d only glimpsed once or twice since setting foot on these shores, crowned with snow, cataracts of ice plunging echoing into dim green valleys. The night wind, hissing and keening through soggy tundra where strange beasts migrated. Red joints of meat roasting on fires, the scream of battle, the rain hissing in the grass.
All open. All free. And unknown.
Come.
He closed his eyes and thought of praying to Mishtan for guidance, but somehow Mishtan was not in this vision. He was excluded here. The chief Kerathi god was a god of sun-kissed plains, of olive groves and cypress and pomegranates, of white-walled cities and splendor and old kings in dusky crypts. Mishtan was powerful across the sea, where thousands lived and died in his grip.
But here…
And that was what decided him. The old ways were full of pain. Loss and then more loss, all the things that made life harder to bear than it might be otherwise.
But Ostora was new. Rife with possibilities, new beginnings. There might be pain, even sudden and violent death. But it would be his own pain and his own death, freely chosen. It would be clean, and the kings in their silent crypts had no power to hurt him here.
Keltos turned to his friend, and Makos read the answer in his eyes.
“Well enough, Kel.” Makos nodded, and a smile played about his lips. “I am with you. Brel has taken a liking to your new mare, anyway.”
It wasn’t until later that Keltos realized this was the first time in their friendship that Makos had followed Keltos’ lead, and not the other way around.
At noon, they found out that they were far from alone: a full eighty percent of the men in each arm of the company pledged again to the Tooth and Blade.
Here ends Tooth and Blade
Book One
Click here to buy Book Two: Red Valor, in which Pelekarr and Damicos lead the company on new campaigns that will stretch them all to the breaking point even as they test their new strategies.
A settlement in the interior has gone silent, and there are rumors of a vast empire growing in the deep wilds, a place with fabulous riches waiting to be tapped. The Tooth and Blade are ready for the challenge.
Read on for the appendix material, and sign up to be notified of Shad’s next release to get a Tooth and Blade Fan Pack with artwork commissioned for this series, free stories, and more!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Shad grew up on Tolkien, Narnia, Star Wars, and the rest but never quite got enough. Now he writes to satisfy that urge for more epic stories.
He writes sci-fi and fantasy from his home in the western US, and welcomes suggestions and questions at [email protected].
“Thanks for reading– it means a lot.”
Find out more about this and other Barde Press titles at bardepress.com.
Appendix
Heroes and Villains in order of appearance:
Keltos: Keltos Kuron, a young cavalryman whose family lost their estate in Kerath.
Makos: Makos Vipirion, a young cavalryman from a noble family in Kerath, best friend of Keltos.
Jaimesh: Ulcades Jaimesh, Kerathi cavalry general who commanded the Cold Spears and other units
/> Pelekarr: Ios Pelekarr, commander of the Cold Spears cavalry unit and co-founder of the Tooth and Blade.
Iscabos: a scheming Kerathi chariot general
Spatha: Vilcos Spatha, newly appointed High Lord Governor of the Ostoran colony
Lofeg: Governor Spatha’s regent and right-hand man, a strategist and schemer
Nolus Hykios: One of Iscabos’ lackeys that assisted in General Jaimesh’s murder
Chiss Felca: Iscabos’ right-hand man, staying in Ostora to prepare a place for his master’s eventual return
Damicos: Dalcon Damicos, infantry commander of the Storm Furies
Leon Stonehand: Damicos’ infantry lieutenant and right-hand man
Black Tur: a dangerous outlaw king preying on the settlers in the absence of legion guards
Loku: an exiled shaman of the Wolfsbane clan, returned to the Ostoran coast to wreak vengeance
Fieron Tarmull: a young infantry soldier, a bit of a drunk but stout of heart
Cormoran Telos: one of the few veterans in the Tooth and Blade company, battle-hardened but generous
Meldus: a capable councilman from the town of Dura
Ireth: a councilwoman from Dura whose sister Rafe was captured by bandits
Brannon Caithrie: an old soldier and proprietor of the Tooth and Blade Inn, with his wife Haila
Tibion Alsaces: the company cook who jealously guards his domain, known as Crumbly Tib
Baroness Craya: a cruel local leader willing to pay for fighting men
Baron Telros: a young contender for regional domination on the north coast, owner of tin mines
Baron Vocke: an older baron in control of the port city of New Lantos
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