Reclaiming Honor

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Danik had warned him. Even after joining the Great March, the stigma of his father’s legacy would follow. At the time, he had not believed that possible. Now, he knew different. The shame and disgrace would follow wherever he went. It was clear he needed to earn respect. But how? How could he do that if he wasn’t allowed to serve? Like Dagon, how many other company commanders would turn him away? He suspected most, if not all. It was an impossible knot.

  He raised his eyes to the darkened sky above. Low-hanging clouds drifted past a cloak of midnight black and a field of stars, which twinkled back at him. The moon, just coming up over the horizon, was bright.

  “I will trust in you, Thulla,” he whispered. “Lead me and I will follow.”

  He drew in another deep breath that turned ragged and let it out slowly through pursed lips. He felt the weight of his past and the stain of his dishonor like never before. It weighed upon him.

  He thought on Dagon’s parting words. Could it really be as easy as leaving his family’s name behind and starting fresh with one of his own making? Although he felt a certain amount of disgust at the thought of casting off the last vestiges of his family, the idea of starting over did appeal to him. What would his ancestors think when he made it to the great feasting halls? Would they shun him, just as he was being shunned in life?

  Tovak kicked at the ground, dislodging a tuft of grass. He made his decision. Yes, he thought. I will lose my name. He would take on a new name and keep his Warrant hidden, along with his shame. He couldn’t bring himself to discard the document, though. He had worked too hard to earn it, and one day he might be able to display it openly. That was, after reclaiming his name and honor.

  He took a step in the direction Dagon had suggested, but something made him pause, pulling him the other way. It was almost palpable, and for a fleeting moment, he thought he heard his name called. He looked around and saw no one about other than the guard before Dagon’s tent and a group of warriors twenty yards off and moving in the other direction.

  And then he thought he heard his name called again, distantly, and the pull was even stronger. Was he imagining things? Tovak shook his head and glanced back again at Dagon’s tent. The guard was looking in his direction.

  “It’s not fair,” Tovak whispered. He started walking. His thoughts, despite his decision to take a new name, were a turbulent storm. He walked just to walk, moving from street to street, passing countless tents and ignoring everything. He wandered about the inner encampment until his legs ached.

  A dog barked harshly, jarring him. Tovak stopped. He blinked and looked around. The night air was cold and he shivered. He found himself standing a few yards from the headquarters pavilion. Despite the late hour, the clerks were still hard at work under the dull glow of lamps.

  Besides the sentries posted strategically about, a group of armored warriors stood just outside the headquarters pavilion, conversing quietly. Amidst them he saw something that made him pause. At the center of the group was a female. He’d heard of such warriors, but he’d never seen one before. She had long hair that had been tied into a single braid and fell down the back of her armor. Her chest plate had been painted a bright crimson, and her greaves and bracers were similarly decorated. It was clear she came from a family of some means. She held a hornbow in one hand and two zjains sheathed at her waist, one on either side. On her back were a pack and a tied leather-wrapped bundle of arrows.

  She had high cheekbones, full lips, and fierce eyes that glinted in the torchlight. Gazing upon her, Tovak felt something stir within. He wasn’t quite sure what it was. It was inexplicable but he felt a pull toward her. He’d never seen her before, yet he suddenly felt as if he knew her, that he’d known her since childhood. That couldn’t be right. She turned her head, and their eyes met, locking for a long moment. She was clearly a stranger and yet in her gaze he thought he saw a flicker of something. Was it recognition? She blinked and Tovak suddenly felt foolish.

  He turned and quickly walked away, losing himself in the traffic of the street. He came to a wagon and cart park. There he paused, breathing in and out as if he’d run a great distance. He stopped next to a torch and leaned on the side rail of a wagon. He gazed into the empty bed. The torch guttered and hissed as a light wind tugged at the flame. His thoughts were interrupted by the scent of roasted meat, causing his empty stomach to rumble.

  “Great gods, boy,” a voice called from just behind him. “I heard that all the way over here.”

  Tovak turned to see an older warrior wearing leather armor dyed a deep blue and inlaid with the gold-etched patterns of a captain. He stood nearly as tall as Tovak, with a thick mane of brown hair that filled the air around his head as if it had a will of its own. His beard also splayed out in all directions, with a half-dozen thick braids running down his chest and secured with iron beads above a belt buckle shaped like an iron fist. He was clean and tidy, like the other warriors Tovak had seen, but there was a sort of wildness to him that couldn’t be entirely concealed.

  The captain had a blue cloak with gold trim draped around his shoulders. He held a blue helm with a golden crest under one arm, and in his hand, he clutched a metal mess bowl that steamed in the cold air. He’d clearly just come from a cook tent.

  Tovak’s stomach rumbled yet again at the sight and smell of the food.

  “Sorry, sir,” he said.

  “Never apologize for things outside of your control,” the captain said and strode forward the last couple steps between them. He held out the bowl. “Have you a knife?”

  “A small one . . . in my pack, sir,” Tovak said.

  “Well, don’t bother getting that out. Grab mine and take some of this meat, boy.” The captain twisted his body and pushed out his hip, offering the hilt of a long, simple dagger with a black leather grip. “The perks of being an officer mean I can get more whenever I want. Besides, you look like you could use some, and from the sounds of your stomach, you’re famished. Make sure you take a good portion.”

  Tovak did as he was told, pulling the blade free. He grabbed a thick chunk of meat in his hand and sliced some off. He wiped the blade on his leggings and carefully returned it to the scabbard at the captain’s hip.

  “Thank you, sir,” he offered, bowing his head.

  “Well?” the captain said expectantly, raising an eyebrow. “What are you waiting for? Eat. That’s an order.”

  Tovak bit in hungrily and chewed. The meat, slathered in butter, practically melted in his mouth. It was rich, tasting strongly of nuts with garlic, and was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.

  “That’s more like it,” the captain said. “I always say, hunger makes the best cook.”

  Tovak could only agree. He took another bite and chewed, grateful for the offering.

  “I’m Captain Struugar Ironfist, and by the sorry look of you, and no company cloak, I’m guessing you’re in need of a home. Beghan said a recruit stopped by Dagon’s tent earlier this evening. That, I am thinking, is you. Do I have that right?”

  Tovak froze in mid-chew. He had no idea who Beghan was, but Struugar knew Tovak had been to see Dagon. What else did he know? Would he have offered to share his meal had he known Tovak was a Pariah? Somehow, he seriously doubted that.

  “Beghan,” Struugar said. “Big scarred fellow, a pioneer. He was on guard duty outside of Dagon’s tent. I bumped into him at the mess. He said if I was looking for a recruit, one was wandering about. Took me a good long while to find you. That’s you, right?”

  Tovak swallowed the meat.

  “Yes, sir. I wanted to join the pioneers, but it seems there isn’t a place for me there.” The words burned and filled his heart with another surge of anger at the crushing of his dreams.

  Struugar cocked his head to the side. A thoughtful expression came over his face.

  “Dagon’s picky on who he takes,” Struugar said with a half-shrug. “Me, not so much. My company is understrength, and what with the Great March about to get underway, we’ve
not seen very many recruits come through.”

  Tovak took another cautious bite. Was the captain offering him a position? Hope suddenly flared, like the sparking of a fire.

  “What is this?” Tovak asked, pointing at the meat in his hand. “I’ve never had anything quite like it.”

  “Some type of centipede,” Struugar said. “I think the cook said murinok. Once it’s coated in butter, they all taste the same to me. I prefer my murinok salted and grilled, but the cooks had already steamed it and smothered it with butter. In the army, you take what you can get and be grateful for that. I tell you, some of the cooks in this warband could ruin a hardboiled egg.”

  Struugar chuckled at his own joke as Tovak glanced at the meat in his hand. He had always heard of how delicious murinok was, but he never imagined it could be so tasty. He’d not been able to afford such delicacies and his uncle had only shared scraps from the family’s table.

  “Well, don’t you worry none, son,” Struugar said, clapping him on the shoulder. It was more of a blow than anything else, and Tovak nearly staggered. “We’ll find a home for you yet. That is, if you are still looking to join a company?”

  “I am,” Tovak said.

  Struugar gave Tovak a knowing nod, as if he’d fully expected the answer.

  “Walk with me,” Struugar said. It was not a request. The captain strode off, surprising Tovak by the suddenness of the move. He had to scramble to catch up.

  Struugar glanced over at him. “What are your intentions, son?”

  “To serve, sir,” Tovak said eagerly, stepping in beside the captain as he bit off another mouthful of meat. “And perhaps earn a bit of Legend on my own,” he added around the mouthful.

  “So, what was it Dagon said to you?” Struugar raised an eyebrow. The look in his gaze was suddenly intense. Tovak had the feeling the captain already knew the answer. “What reason did he give you? Come now . . . you can be honest with me.”

  Tovak started to speak, prepared to give Struugar the whole story. He’d taken an instant liking to the captain, although it could just be the offer of food that warmed him to the other. The captain seemed relaxed, almost friendly, and he had an air about him that instilled immediate trust. However, Dagon’s words echoed in Tovak’s ears.

  You’ll find that we all believe stones don’t roll far from the mountain.

  “It doesn’t matter, sir . . . beyond telling me there was no place in his company for me.”

  Struugar got a strange look upon his face. It passed in a flash. “Dagon can be hard as granite, that one. And unforgiving . . . .”

  They walked in silence for a few yards as Tovak ate. The butter ran over his fingers and hand. He resisted the urge to wipe it on his tunic.

  “I’m captain of a skirmishing company,” Struugar said. “We’ve spent most of our time lately on foraging and hunting duty. It’s not fun work, but we serve and do what we’re ordered.” He motioned around them at the encampment. “In truth, the Blood Badgers would go short on supply and there’d be more than a few hungry bellies were it not for foraging. We also get dangerous jobs too, depending on what Karach needs doing. If you join us, I can promise regular food, hard work, and hazardous duty when it comes to skirmishing.”

  Tovak felt a pang of disappointment. Foraging and hunting. Skirmishers? That meant Struugar’s command wasn’t even a line company, but light troops. It was a far cry from what he’d hoped for, but it was better than a labor gang.

  “I won’t fool you none,” Struugar continued. “My boys work hard, and when I mean hard . . . it’s hard. We typically get up well before the rest of the warband, march many miles, then we’ve got work that needs doing and we get to sleep an hour or two after they do. We have to move quick wherever we go, whether it’s to forage or screen the main body during a march. It isn’t easy, but it’s honest work.” He paused, sizing up Tovak. “So, what do you think?”

  “I would be grateful for any opportunity to serve, sir,” Tovak said. He swallowed the last of the meat Struugar had given him. He’d been turned away by Dagon, but now he was being offered a place in the skirmishers. How could he pass it up?

  It would be enough. It had to be.

  “How are you with weapons? Any training?” Struugar indicated the heavy blade sheathed at his right hip by tapping its hilt with the bottom of his mess bowl. “Know how to use a zjain?”

  “I do, sir,” Tovak said. “I was instructed in the use of the zjain as well as the shield. I must confess, I was much more comfortable with the longer, two-handed volzjain. It just feels more natural to me, sir.”

  Struugar gave an appreciative nod. “Well, you are a good deal taller than average, but I’m afraid you won’t find many volzjains around here. And the warband only provides a basic zjain . . . a shield and armor too, if you join a regular infantry company and become a striker. I have some strikers in my company as well—full plate and everything. They’re veterans, of course, the best of us . . . but most of the rest are skirmishers and issued only leather armor.” He tapped his own armor. “It’s a lot more comfortable and makes us a heck of a lot more mobile, which we need to be when it comes to skirmishing outside the protection of the line.” He looked over at Tovak. “How does that sound? Are you certain you want to join my company, son? Once you do, I own your ass. Other companies surely have openings. You could honestly do worse.”

  Tovak didn’t really have to think about it. His dreams of joining the pioneers were finished. The idea of foraging and hunting for food didn’t sound at all appealing. But he felt a fondness for the wild-haired captain.

  “I think I’d like that, sir,” Tovak said, and he found himself feeling at least a small spark of hope. The spirit cards came to mind. Thulla, through Dagon, had indeed taken from him. Struugar now presented an opportunity. He sent a quick silent prayer of thanks up to the heavens.

  “Fair enough,” Struugar said. “I’m gonna be a lot less friendly once you are entered into the company books. Officers are officers and you’re not. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good,” Struugar said. “There’s hope for you yet. Do you see that banner on the left?” He pointed to a banner up ahead of them. “The one with the silver baelix on it. That’s my tent, and those tents just beyond are our camp.”

  “Baelix?” Tovak asked. He did not know what that was. He looked where Struugar was motioning and spotted the banner rising above a medium-sized tent a dozen yards off. Struugar was leading him towards the tent. The banner was a field of blue with a silver border. At its center was the image a silver bird of prey, talons outstretched.

  A guard stood outside the tent and next to the standard. He came to a position of attention and saluted as they approached.

  “They’re magnificent birds . . . from the south . . . small but deadly hunters,” Struugar said. “I was raised on a farm, south of Garand’Durbaad . . . . My father kept one to hunt. He used to bring down birds for the dinner table. Beautiful creatures, baelix, covered in black feathers that gleam iridescent in sunlight.” Struugar abruptly blew out a breath. “But that was a long time ago.” He shook his head, stopping before the flap, and then turned to the guard. “Bex,” Struugar asked. “Did you get chow yet?”

  “No, sir,” Bex replied, still at attention.

  “Well then, off you go, while it’s hot,” Struugar said. “I will be fine while you are away.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Bex said, saluted, cast a curious look at Tovak, and then stepped away.

  Struugar turned back to Tovak.

  “Just behind my tent is our supply tent and the rest of the company area. When we’re done getting you signed in, I’ll have one of my lads take you to get issued with a skirmisher kit. You will be charged for that and it will come out of your pay. Anything damaged in action will be replaced at no cost. Lose anything, break it, and it too gets deducted from your pay, which happens at the end of each week. You’ll be paid two yuul, seventy-two suuls a month. There are mess deductions,
of course, and the contribution to the pension fund, funeral fund, and more. There won’t be much left over when it’s all said and done, but it’s better than no pay. Sergeant Bahr will go through that with you at the first payday.”

  Tovak was astonished. In all the jobs he’d ever had, he’d only received a handful of copper suuls for a month’s work. For a Pariah, work had been scarce, and he’d had to take what he could get. Even after all the deductions, he guessed whatever pay came into his hands would seem like a fortune.

  Struugar held aside the flap and led him into the tent. A small lantern hung from the central support pole. It provided a muted but sufficient light. The interior was almost as simple as Dagon’s had been. Struugar did, however, have a cot, a desk, and medium-sized trunk. There was also a small table next to the desk, with a folded gray cloth, along with a pewter platter and a clay drinking mug. A stool and a second chest sat off to the side, and a rug had been thrown over the grass. It was old, threadbare, heavily stained, and had seen better days. Struugar stepped around the small table and set down his mess bowl on the platter. He placed his helmet on the desk, then grabbed the cloth and tossed it to Tovak.

  Tovak caught it, got the meaning, and wiped his hands free of butter before handing the cloth back.

  “The warband’s finally got its marching orders and we’ll be pulling out, early. Tonight, make sure you get what sleep you can. In the morning, Lieutenant Benthok should be back. He’ll assign you to a squad. Since the warband’s marching, there won’t be time for the basic training we normally run all recruits through. Once you’re in the field, there’s work to be done.” Struugar’s face grew hard. “Pay attention, listen to the corporals, sergeants, and, most importantly, the officers. Learn everything you can as quickly as you can. It might just keep you alive . . . . Benthok will take care of the rest. Now, let’s get you signed in.” Struugar went to the larger of the trunks, opened it, and pulled out a thick book. He placed it upon the table with a thud and opened it. A charcoal pencil lay inside, which he picked up. “Your name? I never did get it.”