Land of Madness

by B T Litell

  After the brigade of soldiers left the courtyard, Alwin removed his sword from its scabbard and practiced against one of the wooden dummies set up in the courtyard. In addition to the dummies, several target bosses had been set up for archery practice. The largest boss was roughly a meter in width, made from tightly bound straw backed by thin wood panels that would slow the arrows without breaking them. One of the bosses was about a quarter meter in size, placed twenty meters from where the archers were designated to stand.

  In preparation for the training day, Alwin had sharpened and oiled his sword the evening before. He was proud that that was a skill he still did himself. Some of the Generals had their servants sharpen and oil their swords, but Alwin still preferred to do some things himself, especially as a career soldier. Because he was the Master General, he didn’t often have to worry about things as trivial as fighting with a sword, but he still cared for, trained with, and maintained his weapons as any soldier should. This was something he had learned early in his career as a lowly private. His sergeant, at the time, had been adamant about a soldier needing to maintain his weapons.

  The blade of his sword struck the dummy repeatedly, and the sharpened edge sliced through the soft wood held together by strands of rope. The dummy moved, to a degree, much like a person would; the arms and legs writhed under the constant attacks. The sword flashed left then right, up then down. It never stabbed, always slashed. Air rushed past the blade, which sounded like a soft, high-pitched whistle, as it swept through the air toward the dummy. Alwin’s feet moved gracefully, though surely, as if in a dance, left foot here, right foot there. He stepped with grace and speed; He still remembered the forms and routines he had been taught all those many years ago as a private in the army. These were things that would be impossible for a career soldier to forget, even after retirement.

  As the blade of the sword sunk into the head of the dummy, Alwin noticed his new recruits had arrived. They stood a few meters away and watched in varied levels of amazement, the hardened, mercenary was impressed though no emotions on his face. The priest’s face was covered by his cowl though visible enough to show he was also impressed. The third, the former carpenter, stood and gaped at the sight of the performance. Alwin removed his sword from the dummy and returned it to its scabbard. He still thoroughly enjoyed the feel when his blade slammed into the scabbard. A Mage Captain walked out of the castle as the Master General welcomed his recruits. This was the Mage who would test the priest’s skills.

  “Let’s begin your training. Michael, would you like to go first or last?” Alwin asked, returning the Captain’s salute.

  “Second, Master General,” Michael replied.

  “Týr, please step forward,” Alwin called.

  ***

  Týr stepped forward and clapped his fist to his chest as he had seen soldiers doing. The Master General returned the salute and immediately barked orders for the former thief. His voice was grizzled as he barked the orders, something that likely didn’t happen as much for someone in his position.

  “Draw your weapons!” he called. Týr removed two knives from his belt.

  “Engage the target!”

  Týr faced the dummy with his knives readied. He had left his cloak in their room at the inn and no longer had to worry about the lightweight cover garment getting in his way during the exercise. Some of his other knives had been left behind as well. He only carried two knives and his sword. Svenka’s knife felt comfortable in his hands. The handle had formed to her hand after years of use, but it still felt like it belong in his own hands. The leather was now smooth from the long periods of use. He tightened his grip on the knife as he waited for the next order to be called.

  “Attack!” the Master General called.

  Týr flew into a whirlwind as his blades struck the dummy in the stomach, arms, legs, and what would have been its neck. The knives flashed, struck and moved quickly. His feet danced about, nearly as graceful as the Master General had been. After a quick strike to the stomach, he ducked, spun and planted his other knife in the dummy’s left leg. The blade sank a few centimeters into the wood, the tip of the blade wholly hidden inside the dummy.

  “Well done. Now, what can you do with a sword?”

  Týr removed his knives from the dummy, sheathed them, then drew his sword and stood at the ready for the command to strike. Once the call came, Týr again flashed at the dummy, as he made sure his sword targeted key areas. Strikes landed on the head, arms, chest, and legs, just as with the knives. Týr danced from side to side, dodging imaginary strikes and attacked enthusiastically. He ended his dance with an uppercut slice that stuck the blade of his sword in the right armpit of the dummy, just below the rope that connected the arm to the torso.

  “You’re aggressive, but good,” the Master General called. “We can use soldiers with your fighting skills, especially if we are to take down this Shadow Knight. Well done.”

  ***

  Joshua waited for his trials to begin and wondered what spells would be tested. The Captain revealed an orb from behind his back and tossed it into the air, as the ball traveled upward, he called out ‘lightning’ and Joshua threw a bolt of lightning which struck the orb. Another orb appeared as the first fell, and the Captain called out “ice”. As the second orb fell, it was coated in a thick, unnatural frost and the orb shattered when it landed. The original orb flew into the air again, propelled by a simple spell made of air, and the Captain called out ‘fire’ and watched as Joshua cast a fire spell that threw fire that moved as a liquid which cut the orb into two pieces, each piece burning away as it landed on the ground.

  “Where did you learn that spell?” the Captain asked.

  “I received a book of spells from one of the Heron Priests and this was one of the spells in that book,” Joshua answered.

  “Bring me the book later,” the Captain replied. “I am very interested in learning that particular spell.”

  ***

  Michael stepped up to the examination area when he was ordered. He could feel his heart beating like a timpani drum. It sounded like it was in his ears. His hands shook and his knees wobbled. His breathing was shallow and fast, and he tried to take deep breaths to calm himself. He thought back to his time training on the boat and the stances and motions he had learned. Be the sword, he thought to himself, the sword is an extension of your arm. The sailors’ voices echoed in his head between the heavy pounding of his heart. Everything in his life that had happened up to this point now rested on this test and his ability to fight a fake, wooden man with a sword. His breaths came faster now. Waiting for the Master General to start calling commands felt like an entire lifetime was passing. Everything around him seemed to slow down. The dummy, which still wiggled from the first test, moved slower. The sound of his heart thumping in his ears slowed to where it felt like minutes passed between each beat. Even his breathing felt slower somehow, even though he knew he breathed faster.

  He heard the first call. Even thought it was barked like it had been for Týr, the words slowed, leaving the Master General’s mouth so slowly that it felt like each letter was being sent to his ears individually. He emptied his mind and felt his right hand grasp the handle of his sword, drawing it from the scabbard that hung at his left hip. The blade slid from its sheath with ease, the scrape of the sword against the metal gate at the end of the scabbard rang in his ears as time slowed down. He knew the next command was coming, but there was no telling when it would—

  “Strike!” the Master General called.

  Michael moved his left foot forward and to the left slightly; the sword came down, swinging from the left to the right, the tip of the sword whistled as it sliced through air on its path toward the dummy. He felt resistance as the blade contacted the wood and slid through the outside of the dummy’s chest. His right foot slid toward his left foot and the sword was brought back to his target. He missed the chest and struck the right arm. Michael winced as he saw that he missed a strike. He felt like he co
uld see the sword moving, as if time had slowed down to a crawl.

  Michael’s right foot, planted near his left foot though it stayed shoulder-width apart, moved toward the dummy. He brought the sword back, pointing the blade to the ground and threw his shoulder into his wooden enemy, which made the whole wooden man bounce before Michael spun to his left. His sword swung with him and the blade became lodged in the dummy’s back, midway up. The dummy jolted as the blade connected and stopped.

  ***

  “That’s plenty, Michael,” Alwin said, ending the test. “You are more skilled than I was expecting, given your background. Captain, have you concluded your testing?”

  “I have, Master General. Joshua will make a wonderful addition to the Battlemage Legion,” the Captain replied.

  “Very well. You may go with him for any equipment issue and assignments that must happen. Týr,” Alwin said, as the Captain saluted once more before leaving, “I can have you assigned to a special unit that I will discuss further with you, in private, if you are interested. You will still be in the army, but there won’t be uniforms involved, and you would not be on patrol duty. What do you think about this possibility?”

  “I would have to hear more details but, I’m very interested,” Týr replied.

  “Very well. Michael, you have enough skill to be quite successful in the army. Unfortunately, because of your skill and opportunities not being available, I cannot offer you anything more than a standard guard position for the time being. This does mean you can get all of the training you need if you’re going to fight something as dangerous as a Shadow Knight. I’ve not fought one, but I have read the history texts from the First Mages’ War when there were Shadow Knights fighting with the Dark Mages. What do you say?”

  “I accept, Master General. When do I start training?” Michael asked.

  “Training will start tomorrow here in the courtyard. Now, I need both of you to come with me, please,” Alwin replied as he led the two to his office to discuss details about their assignments.

  ***

  “Týr, I have an unofficial unit that handles…special assignments that the King does not want attributed to the Kingdom or our military that I think you would be a good fit for, for now. They could use someone with your fighting style, and your taste in weaponry,” the Master General said as he pulled his chair out from under his desk and sat down. He opened a small, plain wooden box on his desk and removed a pipe and a small leather pouch with tobacco.

  “What types of missions are involved with this special unit?” Týr asked, breathing in the sweet smell of the pipe smoke.

  “The missions range from disrupting supplies to assassinating a myriad of targets who threaten the Kingdom.”

  “When I’m not actively on a mission doing those things, what will I be doing for you?” Týr asked. His interest had certainly been piqued.

  “You will spend time in Shemont or the surrounding areas, looking for threats to our Kingdom. You will report to me once a week with your findings, or more frequently if you find something drastically dangerous.”

  “What dangers would require more frequent meetings?”

  “Recently we discovered a den of werewolves were living in one of the forests not far from here. We have supply wagons that go through that forest so that was a threat that had to be put down with extreme prejudice. Your unit has the ability to arm its soldiers with specialty weapons when the need dictates,” the Master General replied flatly.

  “I accept this assignment. When do I start?” Týr asked.

  “I can have you meet with the unit’s Captain tomorrow morning. Be here, this time tomorrow, outside my office. We will discuss your assignments further at that time.”

  “What will my assignment be, Master General?” Michael asked.

  “You will be part of the regular army, patrolling as a guard while you are in garrison. And unless we go to war or have someone attacking the city, you will be in garrison. Your Sergeant will be able to provide you with the specifics about your assignment. You will meet him tomorrow morning in the courtyard when you start your training,” the Master General replied, puffing on his pipe…

  Chapter Fifteen

  …About a year later…

  Michael woke up in his barracks room the same as he had for quite a while now. It was a simple but cozy room, large enough for sleeping and enjoying a day off, when one of those came along, but little else. He had a bed and a desk in his room, in addition to an armor stand and a weapon rack. The furniture was spartan. Dark wood that had been varnished so it shone slightly in the light of the single oil lamp he was permitted to have in the room. A crimson rug covered most of the wooden floor, the golden griffon centered in the rug. Every guard living in the barracks had the same furnishings. This ensured that life felt equal to everyone.

  The rug felt soft against Michael’s bare feet; despite looking old and worn, the rug was still plush. He stood beside his bed, stretched, then started putting on his armor. A cotton shirt and thick pants first, then the chainmail. Over the chainmail went the tabard, crimson with the golden griffon, just as everything else he wore. Stiff leather greaves covered his legs and matching pauldrons covered his shoulders. He then put on the leather bracers finally his helmet. After enough practice, Michael had gotten the process of putting on his armor down to about half an hour. And now, the only things missing from his uniform were his sword and belt. Those always went on last, the leather belt cinching the tabard close to his waste.

  With his uniform on, Michael left his room and walked down the narrow hallway to the stairs at the end of the hall. To leave the building, he would have to go down two flights of stairs then go back down two hallways. Doors line both sides of the hallways, plain wood much like the furniture. On Michael’s floor the doors were painted green, on the next floor up they were blue, and the floor below had gold doors. There seemed to be little reason for the colors of the doors, though it could have correlated to the assigned regiment. That seemed unlikely with as often as assignments changed. Týr, for instance was now within the guard regiment instead of the special unit that didn’t exist. When Michael had asked, he was told it was something about an assignment that went wrong but learned nothing more. Michael hadn’t pressed the subject, as he could tell that Týr was upset about losing his special assignment. The reassignment had only happened a few weeks before, so the hurt was still incredibly fresh.

  For the most part, Michael had enjoyed his time in the army. Within six months of completing training he had been promoted to Corporal and was assigned a squad of guards he was in charge of. Leadership, while rewarding, came with its own heavy price that had to be paid. Michael had noticed, some time ago, the presence of more grey hairs, and his face showed creases on the sides of his mouth and around his eyes. There had been grey in his hair before, but the subtlety of that color had worn down as he led the soldiers. After another few months, he was ready to be promoted to Sergeant, something that was not expected for anyone so new to the army. HIs promotion ceremony was scheduled for late that afternoon. With the promotion would come a new assignment, a whole platoon. Michael felt excited for the new assignment, but also some anxiety about having so many guards to look after. The next step would be lieutenant, though that would require serious dedication and leadership. Not every Sergeant was promoted to the officer ranks, and for good reason.

  Neither Týr nor Michael had seen much of Joshua since he was assigned to the Battlemages. They kept to themselves in a tower on the other side of the castle, and rarely did anyone visit them. Even though they were in the same army, soldiers seemed wary, to say the least the least, of the Battlemages. Something about Magic users was still unnerving to the Drendillians as a whole. A letter had arrived the day before, under Michael’s door, saying that if at all possible, Joshua would be at the ceremony today. It would be nice to see the priest again. Michael wasn’t sure if they could even call him a priest anymore, as he hadn’t been involved with anything to do with the
order since the goblin attack in Erith.

  Týr, now that he was in the regular army, patrolled the streets like anyone else. He was also being promoted to Sergeant that afternoon, though his was more a formality than Michael’s promotion. While with the special mission unit, he had been paid as a Sergeant when Michael was promoted to Corporal. Now it was simply to ensure he was wearing the right uniform. He would also be getting a platoon assigned to him that afternoon, though rumors said he would be getting an evening shift platoon. Týr seemed to be a person that preferred the night to the day, anyway.

  Michael opened the door and stepped outside. The day was already bright and sunny, an omen for a hot day. The cooler autumn weather had started a week earlier, but then it warmed up again. This was something Michael found strange. On top of the sudden shift in the weather, any day spent wearing armor and walking the streets was hot, but today would be especially warm. Only a few clouds floated in the sky; shade would only come from the buildings in the city. Thankfully, Michael would only have to stay in the guardhouse for the day and report any findings the patrols found to the shift captain. It would be a slow day waiting for the ceremony.

  ***

  Michael walked up to the guardhouse to relieve the previous guard. He was early, by a little less than an hour, but he made it a point to relieve guards early. This was a principal that many guards didn’t hold. Even with as early as he was, it would still take at least ten minutes for the turnover with the previous guard. Walking in, Michael saw the man asleep at the desk. He lounged in the chair with his arms folded over his chest, and feet propped up on the desk, one crossed over the other. Careful not to wake the man prematurely, Michael examined the ledger that sat under the guard’s right heel. He had failed to log three hours of activity! This will be fun.