“Well then, you won’t be needing no boots,” Bahr said matter-of-factly. “And don’t call me sir. That’s bloody annoying. You should have better sense. I work for a living. Do it again and I’ll put you on report.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Tovak said.
Bahr turned away and began searching through a stack of blue leather chest plates, and then grabbed one. He tossed it to Tovak, who barely caught it in time.
“Try that on,” Bahr said. “It looks your size. You’ll want to leave the tunic on underneath. The last thing you want is blistering, especially on a long march. That leather is boiled, hard as bone, and will rub you raw in a hurry.”
Tovak did as he was told. He pulled off his bedroll and pack, making sure to put his Warrant back inside, and then he slipped the chest plate on. It settled on his shoulders. He shrugged to get a better fit, then began buckling the armor up, tightening the straps. The armor was clearly new and fit better than what he’d worn during training back at the Academy. It was also a little lighter, with a collar that left him plenty of room to move without cutting into his neck.
“Here,” Bahr said and tossed a pair of bracers, strapped together. Tovak grabbed them out of the air. A set of greaves followed. He grabbed those too and set the greaves on the ground at his feet. The bracers were as hard as the chest plate, and their smooth, plain surfaces gleamed under the torchlight. As Bahr continued moving around inside the tent, Tovak put the bracers on and cinched them up so they were tight, but comfortable. The greaves went on next.
Bahr returned once again, this time holding a battered steel helm under his arm, a standard military pack in one hand, and a wide leather belt and sword in scabbard in the other. He had a blue cloak thrown over his shoulder. He handed the belt over first, and Tovak quickly put it on, setting the sheathed sword over his left hip and securing it to the belt. Then came the bowl-like helm, which he set upon his head. It was a little loose, but once the straps were tied tight, it would likely be snug.
“Don’t bother putting this on,” Bahr said, setting the pack at Tovak’s feet. “You know how to use one?” he asked.
Dvergr backpacks were made of a light metal frame with a leather pack wrapped around it. The whole thing was secured with two long straps of metal with hooks on the upper ends that then went over the soldier’s shoulders and locked into metal clips attached to the breastplate, just in front of the shoulder. The warrior’s bedroll was secured underneath with leather straps. Once secured in place, the whole pack was effectively locked into position. It was bulky but allowed a warrior to carry a lot of gear over a long distance.
“I’ve worn one before.”
“Good,” Bahr replied as he stepped over to the table. “Perhaps you won’t be as useless as you look. The lieutenant should be pleased.”
“Benthok?” Tovak asked.
“That’s Lieutenant to you,” Bahr said, “and you better get used to using it or the lieutenant will have your balls for breakfast.”
Bahr made several notes in the ledger and then went into the tent again. When he returned, he had a crate full of equipment. “Here’s the rest of your gear. Put these things in the pack as I hand them to you . . . and try to remember the order. They work better if you put them in there the right way the first time. Your corporal, whoever has that sorry duty, will go over this again with you. Best learn it now, eh?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
“Fifty feet of rope, a small oil lamp, a torch head, and one flask of oil.” Bahr handed them over, and Tovak slipped them into the pack, doing his best to arrange them neatly. “A cooking pot, a sewing kit, a leather cleaning kit, one whetstone, a knife for eating, two slings, two pouches of lead shot—one solid and one full of whistlers—a flask of vinegar.” Bahr paused and looked up. “Don’t use the vinegar for cooking. It’s for treating wounds.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Tovak said.
“Bandages, a metal mug, two jars of durpa fat for weatherproofing your cloak when needed, two empty waterskins, a leather haversack, and room for whatever you have in that old pack. Your entrenchment tool goes on the outside, held in place with those straps. And keep that sorry-looking blanket of yours too. It should roll up easy enough with the bedroll there and the two blankets inside. Three blankets are better than two, especially on cold nights, understand?”
“Yes, Sergeant.” Tovak slipped everything inside.
“You are responsible for this gear. Anything you lose comes out of your pay. Understand?”
“Yes,” Tovak said.
“Yes, what?” Bahr asked with a sharp edge.
“Yes, Sergeant,” Tovak said. In less than a quarter hour, he had been given more possessions to keep track of than he’d ever had. It was a bit overwhelming, but in a strange sort of way, there was a certain comfort in all the gear. So long as he was with the warband, he wouldn’t have to go without the things he needed to get by each day.
Bahr made another notation in the ledger and then pointed at the hilt of Tovak’s new blade. “That zjain I’ve issued is used but serviceable. We’ll replace it if it’s broken in combat. You might want to start thinking some on getting a better one you can call your own. A good zjain will run you about seven yuul at any of the honest blacksmiths in camp. When it comes time, I recommend Jugon Foerge. He will sell you a good sword and not pauper you. Return that blade to me for the next recruit, if you get a new one, that is, and don’t waste all your pay on drink. Oh, I almost forgot. Grab one of those spears beside the tent and take it with you when you go. You’re responsible for that too.”
Bahr paused and looked him over. He ran a hand through his beard.
“And now for the last bit,” he added, his surly manner abruptly replaced by just a hint of pride. “This here is my favorite part.” He pulled the cloak off his shoulder, stepped forward, and almost reverently placed it around Tovak’s. The plain, deep blue material was a soft wool that didn’t scratch his skin. It was, without a doubt, the nicest cloak he’d ever owned. Bahr then pulled a silver cloak pin from his waistband and secured it in place over Tovak’s right breast. The silver bird of prey glinted in the firelight, and Tovak found himself smiling at the sight of it. “Welcome to the Baelix Guard,” Bahr said, the surly tone returning. “If you ever need anything, even if it’s just someone to talk to, don’t come find me.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Tovak said.
“I’m just doing my job,” Bahr said. “You at least look presentable now.”
Tovak glanced down at his new armor and the heavy cloak that was quickly warming him up. He held out his arms as he took it all in. He was a skirmisher with the Baelix Guard. A feeling of belonging he’d not felt for a long time washed over him. He had a place again.
“Now, fill up those waterskins, boy,” Bahr said, the surly tone returning. “There are a couple of water barrels right around the corner there. And fill them every opportunity you get, especially while marching. You never know when you’ll get another chance. Despite the added weight, it’s better to have a full skin than an empty one.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Tovak said. He opened his pack, pulled out the skins, and moved around where he found two tapped water barrels sitting on low stools. He filled one skin and then the other, corking them both. When he returned, he found Bahr standing there, a bored expression on his face.
“There should be room for your bedroll back there by that last fire,” Bahr said. “Didn’t know we’d be getting a recruit tonight, otherwise I would have had a tent pitched. We have one other without a tent. I’ll have you situated the next time you come into the main camp.” He glanced up towards the sky. “It may get cold, but at least it doesn’t look like it’s going to rain.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Tovak replied.
Bahr nodded. “The latrines are that way. As long as you can smell them, you are headed in the right direction.” He suddenly turned and called out to a passing warrior. “Morda.”
“Yes, Sergeant?” Morda asked, stepping over to
them. He was half a head shorter than Tovak, with thick brown hair that was cut shoulder-length. His beard was tied into a single tight braid. He wore only his service tunic and leather leggings dyed a dark black.
“This is Tovak. He’s a new recruit. Take him back to the last fire and have him bed down next to that other recruit . . . you know, the one we got in one week ago. What’s his name again?”
“Gorabor?” Morda offered.
“Right, Gorabor,” Bahr said. “Take him back there.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Morda said and turned to Tovak, sounding less than thrilled. “Come on. Follow me.”
Tovak picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder. He grabbed his spear and followed Morda down the alley past the tents and campfires. He realized that the armor, weapons, and equipment were heavier than what he’d become accustomed to at the Academy. It wasn’t more than he could handle by any stretch.
As he passed by, the warriors who had not retired mostly ignored them. A few looked up with mild curiosity, but said nothing and returned to what they’d been doing. A good number were busy cleaning their kit.
Morda stopped beside the last campfire, an impatient expression on his face, where a single bedroll was already laid out. A pack, spear, and a set of armor lay on the grass beside it, but there was no sign of the warrior they belonged to.
“You bed down here,” Morda said, pointing at the ground. “The latrines are back there,” he added, motioning towards the rear of the last tents. “If you need anything else, I have every confidence you can figure it out on your own.” And then he walked away, headed back the way he’d come.
Tovak felt a little awkward just standing there, staring at Morda’s back. He caught a few of the warriors at a nearby fire looking at him, but they said nothing. When they turned their eyes away, he could see them talking to each other in hushed tones, and he thought he picked up the words “fresh meat.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. At least they didn’t know who he was. He set his spear down in the grass and then removed his pack, laying it beside the spear.
“New recruit?” a voice called from behind him.
Tovak turned to see a smallish Dvergr with pale blond hair that had been cropped close. He had kind eyes of green and wore his beard with a half-dozen braids running down from his jawline, each one tied off with a leather cord. He appeared to be Tovak’s age.
“Yes,” Tovak replied. “I just joined.”
“I’m Gorabor,” he said and held out a hand. “Got here a few days back, myself.”
“Tovak . . . and thanks.” Tovak shook and found the other’s grip firm.
“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” Gorabor asked as he sat down on his bedroll. He held his hands out to the fire, warming them. “When you first get here, I mean.”
Tovak nodded. “It is, but I’ve dreamed about this for as long as I can remember.”
“So did I. It’s not at all what I thought it would be,” Gorabor said and stifled a yawn. “It’s mostly backbreaking work and lots of marching.” He yawned again, this time not able to stifle it. “Look, they’ll be sounding the horn soon. You better get set up and ready for sleep.” Gorabor paused. “A word of warning . . . unless you have a good reason, they don’t take kindly to excuses, especially the lieutenant.”
“A hard one?” Tovak asked.
“Benthok’s the hardest,” Gorabor replied in a serious tone. “Like cold granite in winter. He’s a real mean bastard. But he knows what he’s doing—at least that’s what the veterans say. I heard other companies don’t have it so good. Their officers don’t know one hand from the other, if you take my meaning.”
Tovak said nothing as he set his pack down.
Gorabor yawned.
“It’s been a really long day,” Gorabor said. “We marched all the way back to the warband from our forage camp in the hills. Then Sergeant Kelloth got the brilliant idea into his head it would be a good idea to work on arms training. I’m beat. I will see you in the morning. We can talk more then.” Gorabor rolled over onto his side, away from the fire, and pulled his blanket up.
Tovak undid his bedroll and laid it out near enough to the fire to stay warm without getting too hot. There were two thick blankets inside, as Bahr had said. Tovak laid them atop the bedroll. Several cut logs lay stacked next to the fire. He threw on another piece of wood for good measure.
Opening his pack, he peeked inside and looked at his skirmisher kit . . . it was all his. He set the pack aside, then pulled off his cloak and carefully rolled it up into a pillow, a softer one than he was accustomed to.
He set the cloak pin beside it, the silver baelix glinting at him in the firelight. Standing, he pulled off his armor one piece at a time and laid it almost reverently next to the pack. It too was his and he’d take good care of it. Gazing down at it, Tovak was suddenly reminded of his grandfather’s armor. He could still see it on display in his family’s home. The intricately etched breastplate had always fascinated him as a child.
Tovak pushed that memory aside as he lay down next to Gorabor, who was already snoring softly. Tovak pulled both blankets over him and rolled onto his side, staring into the fire. There was so much running through his head, he almost couldn’t think straight. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as a wave of exhaustion crashed over him. It had been both a trying and exhilarating day, and his conversation with Struugar had left him bewildered about what he should or shouldn’t think about his father.
He wondered who the survivors had been. A horn sounded.
“That’s ten horns,” a voice shouted nearby. “Time for bed, children.”
Tovak could hear other shouts across the camp as sergeants and corporals, like mother hens, set about putting their companies to bed. Tovak lifted his head to see Bahr standing by a fire, hands on his hips.
“Hit the sack and get some sleep,” Bahr said. “Don’t make me have to hand out any punishment charges. Besides, we’re pulling out in the morning and you all know what tomorrow’s gonna bring.”
“A ride with you in a supply wagon, Sarge?” a voice called out.
There was a round of laughter at that.
“That’s right,” Bahr replied. “I’ll be thinking of you, my children, while you’re marchin’ off to foraging duty. Now go to bloody sleep and stop bothering old Mother Bahr.”
“Will you read me a bedtime story, Mother Bahr?” someone called out from inside one of the tents Bahr gave a disgusted grunt and stomped back towards his supply tent.
Tovak rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky. He pondered the events of the day, and a sense of gratitude washed over him, a feeling he had not felt in a very long time. There was the kindness of Struugar, both for letting him join the Baelix Guard and for giving him so much to think about regarding his father. He’d been trapped for so long by his shame and anger that he wasn’t sure how to move forward without it. He ran a finger over the silver baelix pin beside his head one more time, and a sense of pride flowed through him. And above it all, he had his place in the Great March. His days as a Pariah were finally over. He would be able to serve his people.
He closed his eyes and offered his heartfelt thanks to Thulla for the opportunity to build his Legend. As he drifted off to sleep, he found himself struggling with Struugar’s view of his father. He felt a stab of anger. It passed as a wave of exhaustion rolled over him. He would keep moving forward, one foot in front of the other, and build his Legend. Perhaps once he had achieved that goal, he would be in a better position to seek out the mysteries of Barasoom.
With that, he faded off to sleep.
CHAPTER SIX
“On your feet, you lazy durpas,” a gruff voice called out from the darkness. “Even though the sun’s not up yet, I can just tell it’s gonna be another wonderful day. Sunshine and roses. Come on, you layabouts, get off your asses and on your feet.”
The words broke Tovak out of a deep sleep, the deepest he’d had for a long time. He had drool on
his cheek. Blinking, he wiped it away with the back of his hand. Groans sounded from all around as others dragged themselves out of sleep. A bright half-moon shone down from a cloudless, starry sky. Tovak rubbed at his eyes. The sun wasn’t even up yet.
He glanced over and saw no sign of Gorabor, save for a flattened area of grass where his bedroll and pack had been. Someone nearby in the darkness coughed, hawked, and spit. A few hushed voices and movement sounded from the nearest tents.
Most of the camp beyond the company area, however, seemed quiet. It was clear the rest of the warband still slumbered. He climbed to his feet, rolled up his blankets, and secured his bedroll to the pack. As he tied it off, several warriors walked by, headed towards the latrines. Tovak realized that he had to piss, so he followed them—and his nose—to a trench dug into the ground ten feet behind the last tent. He relieved himself as wordlessly as the four warriors who stood there, and then went back to where his equipment lay.
In the darkness it took him a few minutes to get his armor back on. He saw a flare of light as someone lit a torch. The night air was cold. He shivered, for the fire had died down to embers and no longer generated any heat. Satisfied that his armor was on right, he knelt in front of his pack and placed his hands on the bulge that was Thulla’s Blessed Word within. He closed his eyes and whispered the same words he repeated every morning.
“Thank you, Thulla, for the opportunities of a new day. Blessed are those who follow your word. Blessed are they who will carry the light to your people with every breath. I am and ever will be your humble servant, ‘til that solemn day when I return to your breast and stand in the glory of your magnificence.”
“What was that?” the gruff voice that had awakened him asked from behind.
Startled, Tovak turned to find a short, stout officer with a salt-and-pepper beard. He stood a few feet off, peering down where Tovak knelt. There was a hardness to his squinting eyes that bespoke irritation. The officer had the appearance of a person wholly without humor, one who did not tolerate fools or perhaps even believers. Tovak found the officer’s gaze unsettling.
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