Steel And Flame (Book 1) (32 page)

“Listen to you!  You just made sport of that fool and
all you can say is how bad you still are!”

“I know I need to work harder.  I can feel it when I
fight!”

“Well, from the outside, you looked impressive.  You
can fancy yourself a lucky chap all you want, but the truth is if you stopped
right now, you’d still qualify for the band next spring.”

“You seemed to be doing well too.  I didn’t see much
of it myself, but that fellow was chewed up something fierce.”

“Thank you.  It’s mostly the work of the sword I’m
wearing rather than anything else, but as long as the job gets done I’m
satisfied.”

“I wonder, though.”

“You wonder what?”

“I don’t know.  It’s funny that Beld came in as a C
Class at minimum, since he’s not with us in Mylor’s sessions.”

Dietrik glanced at him, reading his thoughts.  “He was
judged ‘adequate’ by the panel, is that what you’re saying?  He skills are
acceptable, so he has not been training overmuch.  Meanwhile, all of us ‘lower’
fighters have been working our bloody arses off, and look at us now!”  Dietrik
laughed loudly.  “Maybe the band should hire on more D Classes than Cs!”

“At least we won’t have to worry about Beld any
longer.”

Dietrik’s expression fell, turning grim.  “Don’t be so
sure about that one.  Chaps like him learn slowly, if they ever do at all.  I’m
sure by tomorrow morning he’ll have convinced himself he lost by an
unimaginable stroke of chance.  His friend didn’t look much humbled to me
either.”

“He can only fight us in the training areas though. 
Not unless he wants to be hauled off to the holding cells by the Homeguard.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting?  Knowing that we
might have to face those three every day after exercising?”

“I guess not.  But I’m not worried about him anymore. 
If he acts up, we can put him down.”

“It’s how he’ll choose to act up that has me worried. 
He could decide to play underhanded.”

Marik shrugged.  “Watch your back and it won’t
matter.”

“If life were that easy, it wouldn’t be this hard.”

*        *        *        *        *

Five days later, a delegation arrived at the town
gates.  Marik and Dietrik were perusing the shops along Ale House Row looking
for thread and waterproofing wax among other items when it arrived, so they saw
most of the action.

Or rather, they saw what little action there was.  Two
men rode in on horseback dressed in fine livery accompanied by six guards with
leather vests displaying a family crest of the aristocracy.  Dietrik and Marik
went unnoticed by the two as the gates opened and they were admitted onto the
Marching Grounds.  Their eyes fixed firmly ahead until they crossed the empty
field and dismounted at the command building.

A man emerged to greet them, then called another from
inside.  The second led the guards around to the back, probably to the guest
quarters, while the two in finer clothing were allowed inside.

“Must be the first of our clientele for the coming
fighting season, arriving to hire extra swords for their disputes,” Dietrik
thought aloud.

“I guess it’s serious if they rode all the way to us
during winter.”

“Perhaps not.  Hayden told me contracts tend to
trickle in during the last half of the winter months.  By the time spring
finally arrives, most of the band could be committed to hires already.”

“First come, first served, right?”

“I do believe that’s the flavor of it.  Might be a
local lord who wants to ensure he’ll have the men he wants.”

“Or try to at any rate.  The band doesn’t take every
contract that’s offered.”

“Another reason to jump in early, I suppose.  If you
can’t get us on your side, you’ll need to scramble and find others.”

The noon bell sounded.  Marik jerked from his study of
the horses the delegation had ridden in on.  “Oops!  We’re going to be late if
we don’t get a move on!  We told Kerwin and Landon to meet us at noon.”

“Yes, we’d better go.”

Kerwin and Landon were two fellow unit members.  Of
the twenty-three men in the Fourth Unit, they had gotten to know around half on
friendly terms.  There were no hostilities between them and the other unit
members, and the worst those men could be accused of would be a strong desire
for solitude.

The four had agreed to meet on the archery range to
settle a friendly bet that had arisen from Landon’s confidence in his
marksmanship.  As an archer, he possessed greater skill with a bow than most
men in the unit.  He had been raised in a hunting family.

Teasing over the supposed degradation of his skills
during the winter lull had forced him to prove himself.  Kerwin, Marik and
Dietrik had a quarter silver each against Landon being able to outshoot all
three of them.

“I already know how I’ll do on the range.  I’ve been
on it exactly once before,” Marik confessed while they trotted to the
northwestern corner.

“I’m not too worried.  Kerwin says he’s spent as many
marks on the archery range as anyone else in the unit.  And it’s not as if we
spend every copper of our stipend each eightday.”

“Mine’s been piling up in the safe drawer in my
closet.  I could probably make a steal at Sennet’s bargain sale before he carts
it all to Thoenar without having to tighten my belt any.”

“I’m going to try getting this rapier for my own.  I
may need to borrow a coin or two if he’s attached to them.”

“I’m not spending them.  You’re welcome to them.  You
can pay me back when our pay doubles during our first contract.”

Since they were fed in the barracks and housed for
free, the band only paid the men half wages during in-town residency.  As the
only establishments where a man could spend coin in Kingshome, the shops and
taverns along Ale House Row received most of it.  Men were free to visit the
other nearby towns to spend their pay in pursuit of luxuries unavailable in
Kingshome, the most notable of which was women, but the two friends had been
too busy in their training exercises to travel.

“Excellent!  Doubled wages and a pay increase when
we’re elevated to the next class.  I should be able to pay you back in no time
at all!”

“Depends how much Sennet wants for that set.”  Marik
paused.  “It’s a beauty you know.”

“I know, believe me I know.”

“Veeerrry nice craftsmanship.”

“You don’t have to tell me!”

“Could cost you a pretty copper if Sennet knows his
weapons.”

“Tell me a
new
story, mate.”

“And Sennet
really
knows his weapons…”

Dietrik stopped his trot.  “You aren’t helping at
all.”

“Maybe
you
should start tightening your own
belt,” Marik snickered.

“And maybe
you
need your lips sewn together.” 
He resumed his pace.  “They’re probably wondering where we are.”

Marik laughed and followed.  Before they reached the
range, Dietrik commented, “You know, you don’t laugh much.”

“What’s that?”

“A fact I realized just now.  You spend most of your
time focused on your goals and looking so dreadfully serious.”

Marik thought about that.  “I don’t want to fail.”

“I know that, I was only commenting.”

“I’m not oblivious, if that’s what you were asking.”

“No, but I thought it interesting that a person with a
sense of humor spends most of his time looking so serious.  Like the clerks.”

With a scowl, Marik replied, “The clerks have
no
sense of humor at all.”

“I know.  That’s why it’s strange you resemble them
most of the time.”

Marik punched Dietrik’s arm.  “I don’t think that’s
much of a compliment.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be,” Dietrik replied and
punched him back on the side of the head.

Marik chased him the rest of the way to the range.

*        *        *        *        *

The daylight marks had started lengthening, heralding
the coming change of season.  Marik and Dietrik entered a tavern and were
looking over the tables when a voice called out over the noise.

“Well, switch me up an’ down!  It’s been long days an’
many nights since the path o’ my once so promising young friend crossed my own
route through this troubled world!”

“Gods, why did I agree to this
today
?” Marik
mumbled under his breath, so softly Dietrik barely caught it.

“Don’t stand there like a barn raised gully puppy! 
Come hither an’ rest your oh so weary bones,
lad-o!
”

“What’s wrong with you, Chatham?  Hello Maddock,
Harlan.”

They both nodded, Harlan as gloomy as ever.  Maddock’s
expression lightened.  He looked happy to see the younger man.

“It is good you see you, Marik.”  Maddock arranged his
features in a stern expression, spoiled by the slight upturn at the corner of
his mouth.   “Now young lad, you were supposed to keep in touch with us more
often after we all crossed the threshold into this lauded haven.  It’s been
over two eightdays since we last got together.”

“I’m sorry about that.  Things have been busy…”  Marik
trailed off, unable to think of an adequate excuse for having not met them as
frequently as he originally intended.

“That is all right, my young friend,” Maddock
soothed.  “Rumor has it that you have had a busy time of it.”

Marik and Dietrik both pulled out chairs to sit at
their table.  “That’s one way of putting it.  We’ve had to work hard to make
sure we don’t get booted from the band soon.”

“That is understandable.  From here, I’d say you have
come quite a distance since we traveled together.”

“Or say you’ve left behind the sallow flesh o’ callow
youth.”

“Or at least hardened it up a tad,” Dietrik added. 
“We’ve met once before, haven’t we?”

“Indeed, that is the case if my own aged an’ faulty
memory can be trusted.  I was watching as you so deftly handled the Brute o’
Craggy Slopes over yonder, an’ then you two showed a fair bit o’ talent against
his friend o’ the impaired mental capacities.”

“You heard about that?” asked Marik.

“Not a bit,
lad-o.
  I just so happened to be
walking along the walls at the very moment Lady Fate played buggers with you.” 
Chatham placed a hand on his chest while extending his other in a festival
attraction caller’s broad sweep.  “I have no doubts we’ll be sharing many a
fine, glorious day upon fields o’ battle yet to come in our part as warriors
for the Kings o’ Crimson!”

“Oh, shut up,” muttered Harlan.

“It speaks!  An’ only two days since the previous
utterance as well!  Harlan my friend, you must be going senile as old age
approaches to become so talkative.”

He continued on.  Dietrik sat and watched the
flamboyant Chatham run amok with an expression approaching wonder.  Marik
thought he should be embarrassed at harboring a friendship with such an odd
man, but sitting in the presence of the trio who had allowed him escape from
the prison of Tattersfield, he felt a deeper relaxation than he thought he
would this night.

“Tell me what you have been up to recently,” requested
Maddock after Chatham petered out.

“Oh, training and the like.”

Dietrik chimed in, “Modest fellow, aren’t you?”  He
turned to the table at large.  “I won’t say we’re leaving the other D Class
recruits in the dust, but it’s obvious who’s been training seriously and who
hasn’t.”

“That sounds promising.”

“He’s still ruffled because we came from the last
mandatory meeting.  It was the sandy desert this time.”

Marik sulked low in his seat.  He did not want to talk
about it.

“Are you troubled, Marik?”

“He has an aversion to the mages.  He never enjoys
their T-R spell work on the training fields.”

“Who would?” Marik spat.

“I have encountered others with this issue before. 
Please tell me the details.”

Dietrik happily obliged while Marik ignored the
conversation as best he could.  He called to the server, another older boy. 
Shortly after entering the town he had noticed no servers in any tavern were
women.  Probably this was the smart decision on the part of the tavern owners,
disallowing their daughters serve in a town filled with mercenaries looking for
fun during the long, cold nights.

When the food arrived, he concentrated on slopping up
stew with bread chunks and ignored Dietrik’s contented gabbling.

“It does not sound serious, Marik,” Maddock directed
at him in an effort to cheer.  “I know many who greatly distrust mages and
their workings.  Some even suffer from sickness if they become involved with
them.”

“I don’t get sick,” Marik snapped.  “I just feel uncomfortable
under my skin.  I hate being near them and their unnatural witchcraft!”