A Flight of Marewings

by Kristen S. Walker

  The spy, disguised as a simple country farmer, wove her way through the crowd and stood over the empty chair next to the lone girl. “Is this seat taken?”

  Korinna barely raised her gaze from her empty plate and shook her head. “No, go ahead.”

  Herokha wobbled a little as she sat down, rattling the dishes on her tray. “Whew, thanks so much. I thought I’d never find you guys. That sergeant told me to eat with my unit, but how am I supposed to know which unit is mine? There are so many people here!”

  That teased a little hint of a smile out of the girl. “Yeah, it’s pretty crowded. Is this your first day?”

  Herokha ducked her head down to feign embarrassment and began to weave her story. “Oh, you can tell? I would have gotten here sooner, but it was such a long walk to the city, and I didn’t want to take the main roads in case my pa sent someone after me. I left as soon as the harvest was in.”

  Korinna lifted her head. “It’s my first day, too. And don’t worry, I heard that they keep accepting recruits all summer, so we won’t be the newest ones for long.”

  “Oh, thank the gods.” She stuck out her hand. “My name’s Herokha.”

  Korinna smiled but didn’t take her hand. “Nice to meet you, Herokha. I’m Korinna.” She turned her head away and looked back at her empty tray.

  Herokha saw her losing interest and studied her as she started on her fish cakes and vegetable couscous. Even mercenary recruits ate well enough in the city. Nothing about this girl, even her illegitimate birthright, impressed Herokha; stubborn, ambitious, high-born girls were easy to come by in Kyratia. Why should the Warlord want to waste his time on her now that the Council had denied her claim to rule? But she had to feign genuine interest, so she leaned forward with an eager expression. “Why did you decide to join?”

  Korinna flicked her eyes back at Herokha. “Hm? Oh, my father died and my family lost everything. I just thought this was the best option.”

  The story was close enough to the truth that anyone could have delivered it with ease, but Korinna said it in a rush without quite making eye contact. She had no skill to tell a lie. Herokha pretended not to notice, though, and put a sympathetic hand on Korinna’s shoulder. “Oh, you poor thing! I’m so sorry about your pa. It’s family troubles that bring me here, too.” She looked around the room as if she was afraid of who might overhear, and lowered her voice. “To tell you the truth, I ran away from home.”

  Korinna looked bored. “Oh, really?”

  “My pa had me all set up to marry this horrid man. He was old—more than ten years older than me—and cranky, and nothing more than a sheep herder.” Herokha made a rural gesture invoking Deyos, to build on her superstitious country girl persona. “I honor the Allfather, but I can’t listen to my pa when he makes such bad choices for me. I just knew I had to get away and do something exciting with my life.”

  The other girl nodded vaguely and pushed back her chair. “I wish luck to you in your new life.”

  Herokha beamed back. “And you, too. We should stick together in training. I could use a friend here. Oh! Maybe we could even get beds next to each other in the barracks!”

  Korinna stopped short and frowned. “Barracks?”

  Herokha nodded. “My recruiter said the whole unit sleeps together in one long room, to save on space. We have to find someone to sleep next to. I promise I don’t snore or talk in my sleep.”

  “Oh. I didn’t realize that.” Korinna swallowed. “Well, I guess we’ll see how the arrangements turn out.” She turned and walked quickly out of the room.

  Herokha watched her leave. She hadn’t made a fast friend of the girl, but she had learned a lot. If she turned up her nose at an open offer of friendship from another country girl like herself, she wasn’t going to go very far in the Company. Herokha thought that she might take a certain pleasure in watching the stuck-up duke’s daughter fall on her face in her wild bid for power.

  10

  Korinna IV

  Korinna and the other recruits left the city early in the morning. The walk to Fort Ropytos was only supposed to take a few hours, but their journey was complicated by their need to march together as a unit. Before they could even leave the military complex, every one of the forty fresh-faced recruits had to form their place in the rank. Sergeant Yoren spent a great deal of time arranging them into even lines, barking orders to stand up straight, square their shoulders, and march in time. Every time one of them took a step out of sequence or broke formation, Yoren would make them stop and correct the problem.

  Marching evenly with the others was tiring, even considering that Korinna, being the shortest, had to set the pace. Yoren put her in the front line of their formation so that everyone could see her. To her left side was one of the tallest boys, and he kept stepping farther than her short legs could manage; then he saw his mistake and stumbled. Yoren yelled and they all had to stop again.

  They didn’t talk as they marched. Korinna learned the names of her fellow recruits only when Yoren yelled at them. When they took a rest for lunch, she learned their stories.

  The tall boy to her left, Orivan, had a dark tan and spoke with a sailor’s accent. He came from the largest one of the island nations off the western shore, Keldrinos. With his awkward, gangly limbs, he had no knack for sailing like most islanders, who populated most of Seirenia’s fleet of fishing boats and trading ships. He had come ashore looking for opportunity in the big city of Kyratia and found the mercenary companies were all that would hire him without a family to vouch for his apprenticeship.

  Some of the other recruits had come from even more foreign origins. There was another tall boy, Mkumba, whose name was difficult to pronounce right. He had the same dark skin and broad features of Galenos and his brother, and the same massive physique that suggested he would be a terrifying fighter on the battlefield. He spoke of their home nation, Khazeem, with great pride. He came hoping for the same kind of glory that the warlord had earned with his success.

  On the other hand, the two Northern girls who always stuck together were taller than the average Seirenian, thin as reeds, and so pale that they almost looked like spirits. Yulina and Zinoviya both wore their fine, white-gold hair in a variety of intricate braids, and barely spoke a word of Meresto. They whispered to each other in a lilting language that Korinna had never heard before. They were close as sisters, but when Korinna compared their features she couldn’t quite see a family resemblance, and the way that they looked at each other was sometimes very unsisterlike. She recognized them from the descriptions of barbaric tribes in the Kaldonian Empire who sang spells unlike any Academy-trained mage. They wouldn’t say what they ran from, only that they had come south to try their fortunes.

  The third girl, Herokha, had already told her story to Korinna in annoying detail. Her story was similar to many of the other Seirenians in the newly-formed unit: they came from poor farming villages where there weren’t many opportunities, they didn’t like their families’ plans for their lives, and they had come to the city to seek their fortunes. A few years’ contract with a mercenary company could earn them the money that they needed to get an education or start over in another village. Korinna felt sympathy for most of them—except Herokha, who seemed determined to be her best friend and wouldn’t leave her alone.

  There were five other women in their unit, making up almost a quarter of their total numbers. They were all of a rougher sort, however, the kind of person that Korinna had expected would be drawn to a mercenary’s life. She felt too intimidated to approach any of them.

  The sun was at high noon by the time they marched up to the fort, and now Korinna could see why the main company of the Storm Petrels wouldn’t fit in Kyratia City. The fortress itself was massive, surrounded by thick walls, and an even larger set of walls surrounded a compound of many squat buildings. Outside the wall were fields of drilling soldiers, running tracks, obstacle courses, and unfenced grass fields of grazing marewings. The perimeter around the whole fort was cl
eared from the neighboring forest and enclosed by wooden fences.

  Sergeant Yoren led his unit in through a huge gate and up to one of the buildings. When he called for a halt, the exhausted recruits stopped in formation and tried to stand at attention, but many of them were distracted and looking around at their new surroundings.

  Korinna saw Yoren look them over with disapproval. Without thinking, she snapped out, “Recruits, attention!”

  The others pulled themselves upright and looked forward at the sergeant.

  She saw Yoren turn to look at her, and instantly regretted saying anything. Now he was going to chastise her for giving orders instead of him.

  But instead the sergeant nodded his approval. “Good job, recruit. For this week, you will be our first unit leader. That means you are responsible for leading the whole unit in chores, drills, and exercises. We’ll rotate responsibilities after that to give everyone a taste.” He looked out over the rest of the recruits. “And if any of you step out of line again, you’ll all run laps around the fence. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir!” they said in unison.

  “Now step inside and get your gear together. Remember that you’re responsible for the upkeep of your gear from here on out.” Yoren opened the door and gestured for them to enter.

  Korinna was the first inside. While she received her gear, she was preoccupied with the idea of being the unit leader. In Anoberesovo, she had been used to giving orders to her staff, but those were people that she grew up with—most of them knew how to do their jobs and just looked to her for major decisions, and they only had come to respect her authority after she had learned how to manage things from Myron. How was she supposed to lead a group of strangers in this new place when she didn’t know any more than them about military training or even how to fight?

  When she was finished, Korinna looked down at her new gear. Her clothes had been taken from her, and now she was dressed in a plain uniform: a cheap blue cloth tunic that only went down to her knees, black leggings, a pair of leather sandals, and a leather belt with only a small eating knife. Next a woman combed her hair for lice and declared her clean, but still gave her the option of cutting her hair instead of wearing it up every day. “Saves time in the morning,” she advised.

  Korinna refused, and saw that the Northern girls and Herokha did the same; several of the rougher women already had short hair. The boys weren’t given a choice: each of them was shaved down to less than a finger’s length of hair. A few of the older boys lost their mustaches and beards as well, so that by the end they all looked younger with short hair, bare chins, and bare legs.

  The only other piece of gear that they were given was a nightshift. Korinna raised her eyebrows in surprise, but decided to say nothing.

  Mkumba did speak up. “Where are the weapons and armor?” He held up his knife. “I can barely kill one man with this cheap toy. I won’t go into battle without gear fitting for a warrior.”

  Sergeant Yoren strode up and yelled directly into the taller, bigger boy’s face. “You put that knife away, recruit! That’s for mealtimes only. If I catch you brandishing it again, you’ll be cutting your meat with a spoon. Do you understand me?”

  Mkumba sheathed the knife. “Yes, sir, but to fight—”

  “You’ll be ready to fight when I say so, and not until you learn some discipline!” The sergeant stepped back and looked at the lot of them. “This is your gear for the time being. Weapons and other equipment will be issued later in your training when you are ready to handle them. Does anyone else want to complain about that?”

  “No, sir!”

  “Good! Now, on to your barracks assignment.”

  Inside the barracks, Korinna saw that Herokha was right: all forty recruits slept together in one long room. The beds were assigned without asking the recruits’ preferences, and she found herself in a bed far away from the annoying girl. As the unit leader, she was placed at the head of the room, with Orivan next to her—assigned as her second.

  After they had all made their beds to Yoren’s satisfaction, they lined up in formation again outside. By this time Korinna was tired and hungry and wondering what the fort would be serving for lunch, but she forced herself to stay upright and wait for the sergeant’s instructions.

  She was staring in surprise when the sergeant turned to her and nodded. “Keep your unit together and march them into the mess hall.”

  “Yes, sir!” Korinna looked around the yard, but all of the buildings looked the same. “Sir, where is the mess hall?”

  Next to her, Orivan snickered.

  Yoren whirled to face him. “Do you think that’s funny? If you’re so smart, recruit, then you tell us where the mess hall is!”

  Orivan blinked and looked around, too. “Uh, is it over there by the wall?”

  “That’s the infirmary.” Yoren turned and pointed down the row of buildings. “The mess hall is down that way and to the left. Your nose will tell you more when you get close. Now, march!”

  Several recruits started forward, but they were out of sync and they stumbled to get back into position.

  “Get back and wait for your unit leader!” Yoren barked.

  Korinna blanked for a moment and then realized that he meant for her to give the order. “Left foot—” Her voice broke in a squeak.

  Yoren looked at her and pointed to his chest. “Deep breath, head up, and project out.”

  She did as he said, and this time managed to call out in a loud voice, “Left foot, march!”

  This time the unit marched together down the row, and Korinna was grateful that the distance was short, because she had to correct them twice more before they finally made it into the mess hall. The food was simple, but she wolfed it down as fast as any meal back home.

  By the end of the first week of training, Korinna was more than glad to hand over the leadership of the unit to Orivan and move down the ranks to the last recruit. She moved her bed in the barracks down to the far end, next to the two northern girls who whispered to each other in their language.

  She thought that she was a bad unit leader until the first time she saw Orivan try to lead them all in the drill exercise. The big youth couldn’t make his voice loud enough to be heard from the back of the ranks, so only the first two lines in formation started on time, and the rest of them struggled to keep up. When Yoren scolded Orivan for their failure, the islander boy turned bright red and burst into tears.

  Orivan lasted for only two days as the unit leader before Mkumba related him. He adopted the same harsh taskmaster attitude as Yoren and earned the sergeant’s praise, but Korinna noticed that the other recruits weren’t always quick to follow him, and often gave him dirty looks behind his back. She felt sympathy for both boys: the others would come to understand how hard the position was when their turn came around.

  Meanwhile, the unit spent their time drilling in formation and performing menial chores around the fort. Instead of practicing with weapons or learning anything about combat, they wielded shovels and hammers to dig ditches and repair fences. The work was exhausting and pointless. The recruits were allowed to talk as they worked, at least, so the conversation inevitably turned to grumbling.

  “If I wanted to dig ditches, I could have stayed at home,” Herokha complained for the ninth time that week. She dropped her shovel on the ground.

  Mkumba scowled at her. “If you dug as much as you ran your mouth, this ditch would already be finished.”

  Herokha glared back at him and picked up her shovel again, but she dug slowly, and when he turned his back to look at the other recruits, she put the shovel down again.

  Korinna could feel the tension in the group growing. She moved closer to Herokha and went on digging in the spot next to her. Although she was nervous, she tried to project a feeling of calm, and to her relief she noticed that most of the other recruits cooled down and went back to work without another thought.

  But Mkumba turned around and saw Herokha’s shovel was down. H
e crossed the ditch with one long stride and stood over her with his hands on his hips. “You pick up that shovel and get back to work, recruit!”

  Herokha threw her head back and laughed. “You can’t order me around, recruit!”

  Korinna put her hand out to touch Herokha’s shoulder and try to calm her down. “He’s just passing on the sergeant’s orders—”

  Mkumba raised an open hand and struck Herokha across the cheek so hard that it knocked the tall girl down.

  He stepped closer and loomed over her. “You will respect my authority!”

  Herokha looked up at him with her hand on her cheek and fire in her eyes. She opened her mouth to snap back.

  Korinna put herself between the two of them and held up her hands. “Stop! Brawling will get both of you kicked out of the company.”

  She was watching Mkumba when she moved, afraid that he might strike her too in a moment of rage, but she saw him recoil and take a step back. He lowered his hands. “Yes, well, I—I’m sorry about that. I went too far.”

  Korinna was relieved that he had backed down. She turned around and offered a hand to Herokha to help her up off the ground.

  But Herokha still looked furious, though she was quick to hide it behind a cold expression. She ignored Korinna’s outstretched hand and stood on her own. With her back to the others, she brushed the dirt off her uniform.

  Mkumba stood there looking around at the other recruits. “Let’s please just finish this ditch and the rest of our chores so we won’t be too late for supper.”

  The others picked up their shovels and went back to digging with renewed efforts. If they were late into the mess hall, the kitchen stopped serving supper and they would all go hungry. Food was the most powerful motivator that they had.