As he spoke, his voice seemed to be coming from an increasingly far distance and by the time “gate” rolled off his lips, Malicar’s body had faded to nothing but shadows.
Renamir chuckled. Even though he is exhausted, he still has to have his dramatic exits.
Chapter Five
Esselles woke bright and early to the sound of a trumpet just outside the barracks. His head came up with a start and it took a few seconds for him to realize where he was. Once he got his bearings, he swung his legs over the edge of the bunk and leaned forward to stand up. It was not a good idea. His head spun and he began to fall backward. Instinctively, he tried to catch himself with his left arm before realizing it was still in a sling. The flexing of his shoulder muscles rewarded him with a solid dose of pain and he became even more light-headed.
Suddenly, someone was at his side, keeping him from falling off the edge of the bunk. The person helped him sit upright. Once Esselles’ head stopped spinning, he looked up at the person who had helped him. He had dark eyes, short dark curly hair, and a short well-groomed beard. The lines of his face and the darkness of his complexion hinted that he was a native Ostarian, although his thick facial hair said otherwise.
“Thanks. I guess I forgot what my body had gone through yesterday.”
“A grishmagi can take a lot out of you.”
“How’d you know about that?” Esselles asked.
“Oh, it’s all around the barracks, you being the first new recruit in over a month,” he answered with a grin. “Of course, I imagine that Walket’s story isn’t quite in line with what really happened, but he generally tells the truth. He just does so in a way that embellishes it a bit.”
“You know him that well?” Esselles said with a chuckle. “As far as any embellishments, I would have to hear the story in order to tell you how much is fact and how much is fiction.”
“There will be plenty of time for that later. Right now, you should hit the baths and get ready to start the day. You’re running late, although you do have a valid excuse.”
It was only then that Esselles noticed the barracks were predominately empty. Only a few people remained and they were strapping on weapons and heading out the door.
“Why’s everyone up and out? Didn’t I just hear reveille?” he asked.
“Reveille? No. You slept through reveille. You just heard call to roll.”
“Which way to the baths?”
“Through that door and down the hall. Can’t miss them.”
Esselles headed down the aisle of bunks, still dressed in the white robes of the temple.
“Oh, and my name is Randol.”
“I’m Esselles.”
“I know. I heard,” Randol said with a smile. “I’ll see you out on the grounds. They’re even easier to find than the baths. Just head down this hallway towards the light of day.”
The bath was nothing more than a large pool with stairs heading down into the waters. The pool could easily have held sixty or seventy bathers. Esselles grabbed a cake of oil soap, shed his robes, and slowly walked into the water.
The water was ice cold, but refreshing. Esselles only went in a few steps, not wanting to get his chest wrappings wet. With his one good hand, he carefully lathered and washed his face. He thought about what Randol had said, ‘first new recruit in over a month.’ Was that what I agreed to last night? he wondered. It would be wonderful if true, but it can’t be. Why would I be added to the recruit class? I’ve been turned down every time I applied to the Legions. The competition is just too great. They must just be mistaken.
As he got out of the water and toweled himself off, he realized he had nothing to wear but the temple robes. Somewhat reluctantly, he pulled them back on and headed back to the barracks and out onto the grounds.
The day was bright but slightly overcast. Thin clouds stretched from far over the plains to well out over the ocean. A strong easterly wind brought a hint of salty air to his nostrils. Looking around, he spotted what he assumed was the Twenty-Third as he saw Walket and Randol donning armor for a morning weapons workout. He started walking towards them, but before he could reach the group, he was intercepted by an officer.
The captain’s face was hardened and creased from the sun. He had a scar running down his right cheek, following the lines of his face. The top of the scar was hidden under the end of a bushy mustache, once dark, but now graying. The captain called to Esselles by name and saluted him.
“Well, Mister Hawkblood, I see that you are up and about.”
“Yes, sir,” Esselles responded, coming to attention.
“At ease, son. We will have to get you a uniform. Those robes are both out of place and impractical. As for the sling, you should be able to take that off. The temple clerics said you need only wear it ‘til morning. But they said be sure to stretch it out as it will be tight and sore and painful to move at first.”
It was then that Esselles realized he had heard that voice before. Captain Falconer. The captain still had a solid build and appeared to be in excellent shape, although his hair and eyes hinted at his age. Esselles guessed he was somewhere in his late thirties or early forties. He did some math in his head, figuring him to have been in his twenties during the Wars for Freedom, and concluded that his guess of early forties was probably more accurate.
The captain called to a soldier and instructed him to lead Esselles to supply and equip him with a uniform, armor, and a sword. The soldier led Esselles toward one of the many nondescript buildings on the compound while Captain Falconer headed off in the other direction. The sounds of combat were just beginning as Esselles and his escort entered the supply building.
In addition to a new uniform, Esselles was also outfitted in thick padded armor. By the time Esselles was fully suited up and returned to the grounds, the Twenty-Third had completed their weapons workout and were headed to the well for water. He went to join them, stretching his shoulder as he walked. He swore he could feel the healing spell continuing its work. The cleric had informed him that they had applied a spell that would cause his shoulder to heal at an accelerated rate. Each hour that passed would be the equivalent of a day’s normal healing process. For his arm, it meant that it was about two weeks since being torn apart by the grishmagi.
As he approached the group at the well, liberally drinking their fill, Randol and Walket greeted him. Walket seemed quite excited about how the morning workout went, but Esselles was learning that Walket seemed quite excited about almost every aspect of being an Imperial Legionnaire.
“You going to join us for the second round of weapons?” Walket asked.
“Depends,” Esselles answered, “is it with one-handed weapons or two?”
“Your choice actually,” Randol answered. “You’ll see all different types of swords here. Although we all primarily learn the longsword, they teach a variety of swords from the rapier to the two-handed dragon sword.”
“You can also fight with or without shields. We have to learn both,” Walket added.
“I can give it a try.”
A sergeant’s whistle cut their conversation short. The legionnaires fell into ranks back in the practice area with Esselles taking a position on the end of the second row.
“You know the drill,” the sergeant barked out as he approached the ranks. “I’ll expect a gallon of sweat from each of you.” He began walking down the rows, calling out a number as he passed each soldier. Upon hearing the number, the soldier would walk to one of the many circles inscribed in the hard-packed turf.
When it was his turn, Esselles took a step forward, a little befuddled. Fortunately for him, Randol was paying attention and pointed out the circle Esselles was to take.
Esselles examined his opponent as he walked towards his circle. The man was about three inches taller and outweighed him by a good fifty pounds. His frame was a lot wider and more muscular. Esselles could see the trace work scars, characteristic of a swordsman, on the man’s forearms. He held a thin rapier in his right
hand so casually that it gave the appearance he did not even realize he held it.
A faint grin twitched at the corner of his opponent’s mouth, as he looked Esselles over. “Andor,” was all he said.
It took Esselles a moment to realize he had told him his name and before he could answer in kind, the sergeant barked out, “Twenty minutes. Begin.”
They saluted each other with a quick swing of their swords to their foreheads and began advancing. Andor held his blade pointed straight at Esselles’ head. Esselles held his blade lower and angled off towards the side.
Andor struck Esselles’ blade once or twice with lightning quick flicks of his wrist. Esselles held his sword strongly and the light rapier barely deflected the heavier longsword.
Esselles made an initial lunge with the longsword but had to retreat as the rapier lashed dangerously close to his face. He sidestepped, lunged, and swung at Andor’s shoulder. Andor merely retreated, ducked to avoid the swing, then lunged back and slashed Esselles’ exposed shoulder. Though just practice blades, and on top of armor, the strike still stung considerably.
Esselles attacked more cautiously, lunging forward and aiming a stab at Andor’s chest. Andor merely twisted at the waist, leaning back slightly to avoid the longsword, and whacked Esselles on the wrist before he could even fully extend the lunge. The rapier resumed its previous position as if it had never been moved.
Esselles was surprised by the speed of the contact and retreated a step. As he did, Andor lunged forward and made a downward stroke toward the top of Esselles’ head. Esselles blocked the strike with his sword. But the rapier continued to curve downward and scored a solid thump on the top of Esselles’ head.
Esselles made two more cautious attacks. Each time he was turned aside and struck with the rapier. He decided to attack full out. He swung high, he swung low, he stabbed, he sliced, he even kicked. But each time, Andor avoided the attack with a combination of a parry and a dodge. Though the rapier was too light to block the longsword, it proved more than adequate at deflecting it.
When Esselles’ assault faded out, Andor attacked. He thrust toward Esselles’ midsection. Esselles parried the attack with his blade, but with a flick of the wrist, Andor brought the rapier whistling around to the other side of Esselles’ blade, smacking him on the knuckles. Esselles brought his blade down over the rapier to drive it away from his body, and again Andor flicked the thin blade around, this time catching Esselles under the chin. Time and again, the rapier whistled through the air and struck Esselles. He knew he would not last much longer.
As he circled, he wiggled his left hand out of its gauntlet behind his back. He lunged, tossing the gauntlet towards Andor’s face. He watched Andor’s body move to dodge the gauntlet and brought his swing in from that side. He started the swing high, but brought it in low, knowing that with his opponent’s center of balance off center, he would be unable to move his feet any farther.
Esselles’ swing caught Andor in the back of his forward knee, buckling the leg forward and to the right. Esselles stepped inside of Andor’s guard and thrust his free arm into Andor’s exposed ribs sending him crashing to the ground. He took a full overhead swing, intentionally missing Andor’s neck.
Andor cracked a smile. “Nice move.”
“I had to do something. You were dicing me to ribbons,” Esselles said as he freed his sword from the dirt. “I’m Esselles, by the way.”
“I know.”
“Is there anyone here who doesn’t know my name?”
“Not in this squad,” Andor said. “We all heard about your adventure at breakfast. Walket loves to tell a tale.”
“I think I’m going to have tell the story myself one of these days.”
“We’d best begin a second bout before Drex thinks we’re resting.”
“Drex?” Esselles asked as he moved back into the en garde position.
“Yeah, Drex. The mean looking guy with the sergeant stripes.”
With no further warning, Andor lunged and once more began to slash Esselles about the head and arms. By the time the twenty minutes was up Andor had defeated Esselles three times. Esselles’ only victory had come from his gambit in the first bout.
Esselles fared better against his next opponent, defeating him six times in the twenty minutes. But between the injury and the toll exacted by the healing spell, the combat had completely drained him. He was forced to sit out the third round.
After a fourth round, Sergeant Drex called the squad in line and informed them they would be spending the afternoon on a fastmarch to Lichen Keep and back. He dismissed them to gather their gear.
As the recruits headed towards the barracks, Drex intercepted Esselles. “You are not expected to go on the fastmarch. You are to report to Captain Falconer’s quarters instead. Dismissed.”
Esselles made his way across the grounds to the officer’s quarters.
“Come in, Mister Hawkblood,” Falconer called through his open door. When Esselles had taken a seat, he continued. “I took the liberty of speaking with the commander of your guard unit. I put in a request that you be temporarily suspended of your duties due to your injury.”
Esselles jaw dropped slightly.
“I know what you’re thinking. Don’t worry. You’ll be back on duty for the conclave.”
Esselles face slid into a grin as he realized he had been so transparent with his reaction.
“Your injuries, because of the healing the temple has done, should only keep you out for a day or two. I’d like you to stay much longer. If you are interested, I would like you to join this recruit class and work towards becoming a legionnaire.”
Esselles could not believe his ears.
“The grim determination you demonstrated in the face of that grishmagi is exactly what we are looking for in members of the legion. And in speaking with your commanding officer, he has informed me that you have demonstrated great merit in your performance as a guardsman. But the decision is yours to make. Do you wish to join the ranks of the Imperial Legion?”
“Yes,” Esselles belted out without a moment’s hesitation. “I mean, yes, sir,” he added, a little sheepishly.
“Well, then let me be the first to welcome you, Cadet Hawkblood.” Falconer stood up and formally saluted him.
Esselles snapped back an equally formal salute, a smile broadening his face as he did so.
“Now I imagine you have some things to take care of, since you will be living here for a while. I have asked a driver to bring a cart around to the front gate. You can meet him there and go retrieve your personal belongings.”
“Thank you, sir.” After the captain dismissed him, Esselles left the officer’s quarters with a smile on his face from ear to ear. He saw a horse and cart near the main gates and headed towards it.
There were three people waiting beside the cart. The first was obviously the driver. He was wearing loose fitting clothes in the livery of the Imperial Legion. The second was just as obviously a personal guard. In his job as a guardsman, Esselles had seen enough of them to be able to spot them on sight. The third person was not obviously anything, other than female. She was beautiful. Perhaps not the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but not far behind either. It was more of a healthy, farmer’s daughter beauty than the fake, made-up beauty he had seen around the court, although her clothes seemed to indicate she was from the latter, not the former. Her face had very strong features of a racial stock Esselles could not identify. Her large blue eyes, framed by thick, black eyebrows, sparkled in the morning sun. But what captivated Esselles’ attention most was her smile. There was something about her smile that sang to him.
She was dressed in finely tailored riding clothes. They were not at all gaudy, or made from rare, expensive materials, but their fine workmanship told of their value. She moved with an ease and grace that said she was just as comfortable in a ballroom as she was on a military compound. Esselles had no idea who she was, or why she was here, but he was anxious to find out.
“Yes,” he answered, positioning himself so he could still see the woman.
“I’m Teck. I’m to take you to gather your things.” He grabbed the reins of the draft horse and climbed into the seat of the cart. “They’re bringing your horse out now.”
“Esselles?” the woman called to him, questioningly. “Do you know who I am?”
For a few seconds, Esselles’ brain would not function. He rarely forgot faces, especially ones as remarkable as hers, but for the life of him, he could not place her face. Then his brain started working again and he realized he had never seen her face before, but only heard her voice. He searched his memories for her name.
“Rashel?”
“Yes,” she said and her face lit up in a smile that Esselles found even more stunning. “Landir said you would be coming this way. I wanted to see how you recovered from the assault.”
Esselles lifted his arm to show the mobility of his injured shoulder. “Not quite as good as new but well on the way.”
“That’s good. For a while on the ride back we were a little afraid. You took quite a bit of damage.”
“So they tell me. Fortunately, they had taken care of most of it before I had even woken up.”
“I see you have duties to get to. Do not let me interfere.”
Interfere? Hardly! he thought to himself.
“Actually…” she paused, turning to the guard next to her. “Coen, would you mind assisting Esselles? I imagine with his injuries he could use some help moving his belongings.”
“I would not mind at all, milady,” Coen answered.
Esselles was about to voice a protest that he did not require assistance, but then he realized that Rashel might also accompany them. “I would be very grateful for your assistance,” he said instead.
They mounted their horses and headed out the front gates. As they rode, Rashel talked to Esselles about the grishmagi attack and how amazed they were that he had been able to survive it. Coen had been one of the other riders with her and seconded her opinion.
Demonified (Hawkblood Chronicles Book 1) Page 6
