by Damien Lake
“You’d better form a group if you want to practice in a T-R on your own. The mages get pissy when they have to set up for only one or two. Other band members like to schedule a time and leave a notice in the records office. You can check to see who’s doing what and join them. Since you’re the D Classes for this year, you’ll get your chance regardless. There’s four scheduled sessions during the winter you’re all required to attend.”
“How’s that?”
“It’s the officers’ way of making sure all you green boys have experienced each odd terrain at least once. If you miss, you’re kicked out, so don’t miss. The first one’s two eightdays from today.”
Now they walked to the armory. Dietrik tried raising his spirits.
“I’m sure it’s never a terribly complicated piece of work for the mages. They do it all the time and must be very good at it after so much practice.”
“I still don’t see the whole point. The only desert like that is in Perrisan! It would take us half the summer to reach it if we were riding, and I doubt the Kings get any contracts there!”
“Wouldn’t you rather be prepared for the off chance?”
“Since when have the Perrisans ever involved outsiders in their struggles?”
“The Kello-beii Desert does cross into Galemar a short distance you know.”
“Only by a day or so at most! No one lives on it in Galemar, only along the edges. The actual border might as well be the edge of the desert.”
Dietrik changed courses. “The desert aside, my friend, the swamp should come in handy. There are places throughout Galemar with bogs and whatnot.”
“And you can bet anyone living near them doesn’t traipse through looking for picnic spots!” Marik kicked a broken stick while they passed one of the few trees within the walls growing outside a training area. “No sane leader would send his men into a bog, and the Kings would never follow the order if one tried to!”
“There might not be a choice if it’s a large one.”
“You and I both know the largest swampland is the Kiadelva in Vyajion. Are we going to cross the Stygan Gulf to take a contract in Vyajion? Not damn likely!”
“Regardless, the others are local and useful. What is your problem Marik? So far since we’ve met you’ve been cool and thoughtful for the most part. I’m surprised to see you so off-center over this.”
“I’ve been better about controlling my temper, I suppose, but I don’t trust magic.”
“I remember that, from when Hayden brought us up on the wall.”
“Yes, well…let’s stop talking about it. There’s the armory.”
There it lay indeed, a two story building with no discernable windows from their vantage to the west. The doors were in the north face. When they stepped inside, Marik recalled the records building.
A long counter top also cut through this room, one that could be folded up on a hinge for access to the area beyond. On a chair against the wall sat a man in stained leathers who glanced at them when they entered. He had not been busy and stood upon their arrival, displaying his height. While hardly overlarge himself, Marik rarely needed to tilt his head so far to meet a man’s eyes.
“Yeah?”
Dietrik spoke. “We understand we can find arms and such here as members of the band.”
The man gazed at them. It seemed superfluous. Marik felt he had taken their measure before they fully crossed the threshold. Finally, “New guys then?”
“Indeed, we are that.”
“You know anything about our equipment?”
“Mylor and Nyla, the two who have been speaking to us, said you would fill us in.”
“They would have, the lazy louts. Well, come on then. You’re the first of the new fish to come in this year.” He gestured to the counter’s other end. They expected him to raise it so they could enter. Instead he reached underneath the solid desk portion and brought out two sheets of paper.
“The way this works is simple. You can take about anything out that you want and use it. If it breaks in a battle on a contract, fine. If it breaks any other time, you either pay for it or pay the repair costs. You maintain all the equipment you get. If it’s discovered that you haven’t, you either pay for it or repair it to my satisfaction. It’s not my job to clean mail you were too stupid to let go to rust.”
“So we can take anything out if we keep it in good shape?”
“Almost anything. It all has to be approved. You can only take out two weapons at a time unless you have special permission, and only enough armor to make one full set. What’s your squad and unit?”
“Ninth Squad and Fourth Unit for us both.”
“Fine. Two Nine-Fours.” He wrote on the sheets, making a page each for Marik and Dietrik, listing their names as well as their squad assignment. “Once you get everything you want, bring it back here for approval. We’ll write it all down and you can sign it.”
Dietrik looked pleased, but Marik said, “I can’t write.”
“That’s fine. We’ll take care of that when you’re done. First floor’s all armor, second is weapons. Don’t take all day.”
With that, he finally raised the countertop to let them through. Two doors led deeper into the building, one each on the east and west walls. They chose the eastern one, finding a corridor running south which turned right after a distance. Several doors were set in both sides of the hall. Behind the first they found a room packed full of shelves, chests and helmets. Quite a lot of helmets in fact, of every type they could name.
Marik waded through the room to open chests and examine the helmets they contained. Before long, Dietrik suggested they make a brief study of the other rooms before deciding what they wanted. They peeked into the rest of the first floor, finding additional helmets at first but other armor fragments filled rooms further down the hall. Shields, breastplates, hand protectors, different sized mail, greaves and even a smattering of full plate; everything was to be found here.
The hallway turned at right angles and they arrived at the western door into the armory’s entrance. They retraced to climb a stairway at the hallway’s south corner. On the second floor they found as many different weapons. Everything they had seen during the days of orientation filled these rooms as well as many others not touched upon. Three doors along the upstairs hallway were locked but they already had too much to sort through to wonder what might rest beyond them.
After much searching, Marik found a sword he liked. It looked similar to the hand-and-a-half blade Mylor had shown them, except the grip stretched slightly longer, more easily accommodating two hands. This moved the blade’s center of gravity slightly closer to the hilt than on other designs, which made the sword easier to swing and feel lighter, though it was not.
Also, leather wrapped the hilt rather than wire, as so many hand-and-a-half blades bore. Marik could wield it in relative ease without needing gloves. The ring guard extended more than the others, but he liked the design. He doubted the larger rings would hinder him once he grew accustomed to the sword.
He performed as much of a practice swing as he could in the confined area, feeling the blade flex slightly. Good. It was not so rigid that it would shatter against a heavier blade, though not so flexible that it interfered with accuracy.
Marik struggled to decide what else to requisition from the armory. In the end he simply settled on a sleeveless mail shirt that reached past his waist.
Dietrik had the time of his life. Every other minute he would exclaim and call out for Marik to come see what he had found. He emerged from the storeroom chaos with a small-headed battle axe and a swept-hilt rapier with matching dagger.
“Do you think this counts as one weapon? It is a set after all.”
“You’ll have to ask him when we get back downstairs.”
“I hope so! What a magnificent blade!”
“Why do you want that thing? Didn’t you hear Nyla? That’s not a good field blade.”
“But she also said a rapier is extremely
deadly in the right hands! Just look at this!”
Its slender bone grip and elaborate sweeps of bent silver-steel bars flowing around the hilt were indeed magnificent. The long thin blade shone bright, ringing when Dietrik tapped the dagger against it, testifying to the steel’s quality. The dagger had been designed as a main-gauche type, with a matching bone grip and a cross hilt curving extremely toward the blade’s tip like the pinchers on some gigantic insect.
A shout from the stairs brought them back from their explorations. Time had flown faster than they imagined. The armory needed to be locked down for the evening.
“You find everything?” the tall man asked.
“No, I think we’ll have to come back soon to get the rest. Were all of these made in Kingshome?” Marik inquired.
“A good deal were. More are from our campaigns. If we capture a supply line or a holding, we take everything we can and bring it home. The good stuff we keep and the other stuff we sell to band members who want it or to one of the merchant caravans who pass by.”
“How many times have you captured a supply line?”
The man smiled thinly. “I don’t fight for the band. I only work here as the weapons master.”
“Really? I’m sorry, but I didn’t ask your name before.”
“Sennet. Call me that, plain. Let’s get you signed out so I can eat my dinner.”
The procedure proved to be simple after all. Sennet refused to give Dietrik the rapier and dagger as a set after all so the battle axe remained behind. He wrote their equipment on the papers under their names. At the end he produced a small square bottle. It contained a different ink, though it turned out the last of it had been used earlier in the day. Cursing, he rummaged until he found a matching bottle, then needed to shake it a great deal before its contents mixed properly.
Sennet dripped a few drops at the bottom of each page. The ink seemed to swallow the light, which heightened the sparkle of what looked like flakes of gold it contained. He turned to Marik first. “Give me your hand.”
Unsure what to expect, Marik did so. The larger man had him close his fist with his thumb sticking out. He carefully lowered Marik’s thumb into the ink drops, holding it there a moment, then repeated the procedure with Dietrik.
“That’s as good as your signature. These are going over to Records to be stored. Anytime you take out equipment the clerks will check your requisition sheets to make sure you aren’t taking out more than you should. Let me tell you not to bother denying anything on these pages if we ask you about it. The mages can use your essence contained in your mark to confirm everything on this form. It keeps theft down.”
He ushered them into the evening and reentered his building, firmly shutting the doors behind them. Marik and Dietrik, the former’s mood spoiled by the reemerging topic of the mages, returned to their quarters to lock away their new aquisistions before foraging for dinner on Ale House Row.
* * * * *
Hayden called for another ale from the server, a boy on the verge of entering manhood. The youth nodded and disappeared under the mountain of plates and tankards he delicately balanced.
“You’re going to get a set of armor soon, right?” He had met Marik and Dietrik in the barracks, joining them when they left for the Row. Many other men shared the common room which forced them to speak louder than normal. Marik felt his apprehensions slide away in the face of the crowded, noisy, but mundane tavern room. Hayden’s laid back, slack manner of speech helped the new recruit ground himself in the here-and-now.
“Indeed. Except for Marik’s mail, we exhausted the entire afternoon simply looking through the building!”
Marik nodded, his mouth full of beef stew.
“Don’t spend too much time in there now if you’re smart. Most of the stuff in there has already been picked over. The loot from the summer campaigns hasn’t been sorted out in the smithy yet. As soon as they move it over to the armory, then you should go back and look for the best piece for you.”
“They didn’t look bad,” Marik mumbled around his food.
“None of it’s bad, and it’s all battle ready, but keep your options open, that’s what I say.”
“Well I intend to hold onto that set I picked up today,” Dietrik enthused. “I can’t believe no one snatched it up yet!”
“What, that sewing needle you had back at the bunks?” Hayden looked uninterested. “Most around here don’t go for that kind of blade.”
“Nyla said you don’t see very many on the battlefield,” Marik offered.
“That’s right, you don’t. When you do, it’s usually a merc carrying it though. For all that the nobles love to talk about sword fighting like it’s some kind of sport, you’ll never catch one bringing anything less than a broadsword into a real fight.”
Dietrik would not be dissuaded. “I’m going to use it for the rest of the winter. It feels at home in my hand more than my other sword does. Better than anything else ever has as well.”
“Then go with it,” Hayden shrugged. “I know others who say the same thing about their choices, and they’re all damned good with them. I don’t ever want to meet them on opposite sides of the field.”
Marik asked, “So when will Sennet move the new in with the old?”
Hayden turned so he faced Marik squarely as his new tankard arrived. “Oh, you talked to Sennet himself, huh? He usually prefers to hole up in one of his rooms on the top. The normal guys must have been out.”
“He seemed nice enough.”
“I guess so. Sennet likes to make random checks all winter to make sure people are taking care of his precious equipment. He knows most everyone in the band, by sight at least since we all use his armory, but he doesn’t talk much with anyone outside of his duties as weapons master.”
A spark of interest flared in Marik. “How long has he been here?”
“Don’t know. A long time I think. At least as long as Fraser, and he’s been here near on seven years now.”
So he was here when father was. And he knows everyone in the band does he? Marik filed that away for later consideration while Hayden continued.
“He should move it all in two or three eightdays, I think, once he’s sorted through the junk.” Hayden paused for a moment. “You know, I remember. There’s going to be a huge merchant fair in Thoenar next summer and Sennet was going to purge out most of the stuff that’s been sitting around for years without being touched. You might find a good deal right now if you offer to make a purchase.”
“Why bother though?” Marik replied. “The band lets us use anything we need, and probably better quality too.”
“Are you going to stay with the band forever? You’ll need equipment for the road when you leave.”
“What about my new rapier and dagger? Would the weapons master send those out, too? I wouldn’t mind having them at a good price.”
“I doubt it. He loves to hold onto things if they’re good craftsmanship. I think he’d want to keep them even if no one else has ever used them.”
Disappointment clouded Dietrik’s eyes. “Oh well. For now we can train in ordinary mail and helms. The extra weight will help our growth in the training areas.”
“You’re right.” Hayden swirled the last of his ale around the tankard’s bottom and gazed about in search of the serving boy. Dietrik downed the last of his stew, then exhaled deeply in appreciation.
“Ahhh, that’s good. Much better than that foul concoction this afternoon.”
“You don’t like Luiez’s cooking?”
“Is that his name? The one with the brown skin?”
“Yeah, that’s him. The other one is Borrno, with the pale eyes. They handle the Ninth’s cooking at home. What was the menu today?”
They described it to him, sparing no detail.
“I don’t see how people can eat that,” Marik confided.
“Oh I don’t know. The meals are all usually pretty good, but I know that one. Some like it.”
“I saw the ones wh
o did. It does nothing to reassure me.”
Hayden laughed. “Naw, the ingredients are all normal, but they combine strange. Find an alchemist and he could probably tell you what goes wrong in that dish when it’s cooking. Even so, I’ve had worse before.”
“Out during a contract?”
He nodded. “The worst right now is the east, out on the Nolier border. The skirmishing’s been getting worse lately and the farmers there can’t grow much.”
“I heard about that,” Dietrik interjected. “The king over there died recently, didn’t he? The son has been causing trouble?”
“Yeah, it’s a long story. Galemar wasn’t exactly friends with the old man, but we weren’t enemies either. He did okay by his people. His son that took over though, he’s a different story. We got more contracts from the border barons to the east than from anyone else last year.”
“What, is he trying to start a war?”
“I don’t know what in the hells is going on over there. The man doesn’t make any sense at all. He does whatever strikes his fancy, it seems like to me. Too bad the contest is over. I wouldn’t mind pulling bodyguard duty next summer.”
“You mean the Arm of Galemar?” Marik asked. “Tattersfield is right on the Southern Road, so we usually got tournament news, except I wasn’t talking to very many people in the town last summer. Nyla mentioned contracts there, didn’t she?”
“She did indeed,” confirmed Dietrik.
“The Eighth, Eleventh and Fourteenth got contest duty this year, the lucky bastards. They got to miss out on the fun against the Noliers. Border duty’s the worst contract to get.”
“Why? A higher danger factor?”
“You can take that to the counting houses! Half the time in a dispute between lords, the one who shows up with the fewest men sends out one of their strongest fighters for a duel of honor, or whatever load of crap they like to swallow. You stand there looking mean and holding your weapon while the other sends his man out. They fight, face is saved and everyone turns around and goes home after the higher ups meet to agree on restitution.”
