Steel And Flame (Book 1) (49 page)

Marik gripped his head in his hands.  Pain throbbed
through his temples.  He shook in denial.

“It’s not the end of the world.”

“Isn’t it?” snapped Marik harshly.

“Not at all.  In the first place, the Kings
always
have a use and a place for a person with magical ability.  It’s one of the
highest paying ranks in the band.”

“I don’t care about coin.”

“Then learn about scrying spells,” Torrance spread his
hands.  “If you become an expert scryer, you’ll become one of the band’s most
important members.  Additionally, if you’re good at it, you can use those same
spells to find your father.”  A sharp glance from Marik prompted him to add,
“Janus told me about it.”

“If he’s still alive,” muttered Marik.  He desperately
needed to avoid this, even if it meant relying on the arguments his friends had
used against him.

“There are as many scrying spells to determine the
past as there are to determine the present.  Or so Tollaf tells me.  One way or
another, you could find your answer.”

Torrance could see that Marik remained unconvinced. 
He apparently changed the topic, asking, “You’ve made a home here in the band,
haven’t you?”

“Of a sort,” Marik replied warily.

“Many of the men do.  It can be quite like a large,
extended family, in a peculiar fashion.  It was for me at any rate when I
fought my way up.  Now I am at the top, working to keep everything running
smooth.  I’ll tell you, as the top dog in this kennel, that the band is doing
well most seasons, though we can always use extra mages.”

Marik declined to offer a comment, waiting for the
other shoe to drop.

“You know a lot about the band, having been here for a
year now.  You know what a wonderful place it can be for men like us.”  He
paused, expecting a response from Marik, who only nodded.  “You know how we
encourage the men to keep themselves fit, to exercise and train so they can
maintain the reputation we’ve worked so hard for in this kingdom.  Anyone
letting their skills, whatever they may be, lie fallow gets booted through the
front gates.  The mages are not tested the same way as the rest, but they can
be if Tollaf decided to.”  Torrance paused a moment to let his words take
root.  “I would very much hate to have to kick out a band member after they had
made a home here.”

It felt like he had been punched in the stomach.  He
considered pointing out the similarities between the commander’s argument and
the ruder forms of blackmail.  Instead he held his tongue.

“I’m a nice person by nature Marik, and I do not enjoy
expelling people from the band.  But I love the Kings, and I will do what’s
needed to make them as strong as I can.  I would consider it a personal favor
if you’d agree to start training under Tollaf at the Tower.”

“Sir.”  Marik said this softly, unsure himself if it
was meek agreement or a final attempt at protest.

“Tollaf won’t be ready to begin for awhile, and you’re
in no condition to start at the moment.  You still have time to think it over,
but remember what I said.  Can we proceed on the assumption you’ll be training
as a mage?”

Though he had not reached a final determination, Marik
nodded.

“Fine.  Then the first order of business is your
reading lessons.  Whether you begin the other training or not, it’s a valuable
skill, and Tollaf says you’ll need it for his tasks.  Yoseph will come over
later and begin teaching you.”

The commander departed, leaving Marik still spinning
from the drastic changes his world had undergone.

*        *        *        *        *

“What’s all that racket?” Marik asked Yoseph when his
letters tutor arrived for the day.  Sounds from a distant crowd had drifted
through the open window since yesterday afternoon, the volume steadily
increasing the whole while.

“It is the gathering of the new applicants.”  No mater
the topic or the urgency, Yoseph’s face always bore the same expression of weary
contemplation.  He perpetually delivered his words in a steady monotone.  “The
crowd has been gathering outside the walls for several days.”

A year already passed,
Marik thought. 
And no progress made on my
original reason for joining in the first place.
  This recalled Commander
Torrance’s words to mind.  He scowled inwardly.

“Did you practice with the papers I left you last
night?”

“Oh, yes.  They were thrilling.  I couldn’t put them
down.  I
thirsted
to see what might be on the next page.”

“Good, then we shall review them.”

The man was oblivious to sarcasm.

“I believe this first was your list of skills from
your own application last year.  Your familiarity with the subject should have
helped you decipher the words, along with the rules of letters we have been
discussing.”

Marik sighed.  Time, yet again, for an entire
afternoon wasted squinting at ink squiggles and being lectured by the Demon of
Eternal Boredom.  He could hardly wait to escape this room.

*        *        *        *        *

When he swung his feet over the bedside, Marik knocked
the little table over and sent the light weights he had worked with for the
last eightday crashing across the room.  The head chirurgeon sighed while
Delmer chased after them.

When he’d first stood an eightday ago, he would have
collapsed had Delmer been unprepared for it.  The journeyman chirurgeon had
placed his hands under Marik’s arms to steady him while he tested his weight
and found his legs as shaky as a newborn colt’s.  Delmer had caught his charge
when he fell, then hauled him back to the bed.  The purpose of the exercise had
been to demonstrate the need to use the weights so his muscles could be worked
back into proper condition.  After roughly six eightdays lying on his back, his
legs needed to relearn how to support his body.

Marik worked with the weights when unaccompanied by
friends, or non-friends like Yoseph, the amazing walking, talking tree stump. 
Strengthening his muscles; a concept he knew and could support wholeheartedly,
unlike the vast effort required to recognize the difference between a B and a
D, or why Cs and Ks looked different but sound the same.  What was the point in
having different letters that did the same job?  Or having letters that
couldn’t decide what job they wanted to do?  A C should stick to sounding like
‘
ka
’ and stop trying to invade the S’s territory.  The CHs, TCHs and
SCHs were enough to start a fight over.

Presumably, this was why Yoseph had been assigned to
teach letters to a mercenary.  Nothing ruffled his feathers.

The time had come to walk.  Each time he’d stood since
the first, he felt a little stronger.  Walking to the head chirurgeon’s office
and back would be a good exercise.  It would help him determine how much longer
he’d be stuck in the chirurgeons’ wing.

Cautiously, he took his first steps.  Marik’s balance
skewed but he soon corrected it, feeling close to normal.  It pleased him that
his gait had not been reduced to a shuffle.  His steps might be slow and
deliberate, yet they moved him at a steady pace.

He saw his destination when he entered the hall, an
open door at the corridor’s end.  The two chirurgeons walked on either side,
ready to support him if his strength failed.  Marik had no need of them.  His
determination urged him onward.

By the time he reached the door he admitted this
expedition had been harder work than he’d hoped.  Marik panted and his steps
slowed, but he entered the office without assistance.  He sank into the waiting
chair.  A short rest would restore him enough for the trip back.

The head chirurgeon claimed his personal seat behind
his desk.  At great length he explained every ministration they had given him
since his arrival in their wing.  What did Marik care?  He recovered, and that
was all that mattered.

Long words later, the head chirurgeon opened a drawer
to withdraw a lady’s hand mirror.  Its silvered glass gave Marik an
impressively sharp reflection to study.  They had decided to leave the bandages
off today to allow his skin fresh air.

Not so bad as all that
.  He knew he owed this to the two priests his unit
mates had searched hard for.  His skin had toughened to a leather-like
quality.  The effect was uniform rather than restricted to one small patch and
therefore less noticeable than it might have been.  Hair sprouted in short
stubble where it grew back.  That would change, including the shadows that
would eventually grow into eyebrows.

His lips were the same color as the rest of his face
now, which made him look slightly strange.  On the whole though, he judged
himself to have emerged from the ordeal intact.  If anything, he seemed older,
an experienced man.  Which he was after two separate contracts.  He looked
seasoned.  The last blisters were in remission, and continued applications of
salve would see him through.  Minor scars left by the blisters would fade over
time.  In a year, he might be hard pressed to find them.

Marik felt better about life while he returned to his
room.  His friends had told him he did not look nearly as bad as after the
initial encounter, except they were, after all, his friends.  Now that he had
seen for himself, tomorrow seemed less dark.  He made a firm promise to find
the priests who had worked hard to help him if he ever again rode so far north,
and make a large donation to whatever faith they served.

When he crawled into his bed, the head chirurgeon
estimated two days before he could be released.

*        *        *        *        *

Wrapped in bandages from head to foot, Marik walked
from the chirurgeons’ wing with Dietrik and Hayden.  He believed himself strong
enough to make the trip to the barracks on his own, except Delmer had insisted
his friends escort him.  Marik bid the journeyman farewell until such time as
he required further care.  Without regret, he turned his back on the
chirurgeon’s wing.  It was a building he would never feel eager to revisit.

They walked across the command building’s backside in
the cool air and midmorning sun.  Marik heard crowd noises coming from the
other side.

“The new recruits are being assigned right now, aren’t
they?”

“Indeed,” replied Dietrik.  “I was watching the mockup
battles on the north slope yesterday from the wall.  It’s a real shame you
weren’t in any condition to join me.”

“That exciting?”

“Some of it was interesting.  You might have been most
interested in one battle I saw.”

“Why’s that?”

“That big monster friend of Beld’s made another go at
entering the fold.”

“What, that huge one we knocked down the slope? 
What…uh, Dellen, wasn’t it?”

“I believe so.  Beld and his little crew went out to
shout their encouragement from the top.”

“Huh.  I’ve been hoping an enemy would do me a favor
and he wouldn’t return from the summer’s fighting.”

“No such luck there, I’m afraid.”

“Did his friend make it in this time?”

Dietrik grinned wickedly.  “No, I am happy to report. 
He was so paranoid about being attacked from above he never bothered looking
downhill.  A quick little fellow dashed right past and ran up to his red
boulder.  The officers were not at all impressed.”

“Good.  It couldn’t have happened to a nicer fellow.”

“On the other hand, it put Beld in a foul mood. 
You’re in no condition for a rematch, so we should keep our distance from him.”

A recruit clique led by a guide from the Marching
Grounds passed when they reached the building’s end.  Marik needed to pause for
a moment.  He peered around the corner and could see the group waiting their
turn to be called forward by Janus.

“How many slots were open this year?”

“Two hundred,” Hayden replied.

“That’s all?  The Ninth took heavy damage back at the
dam.”

“That’s the way it usually goes here.  We had a higher
casualty count than the year before but most of the other squads fared better.”

“What’s customary then?” asked Dietrik.

“Between two and two-fifty.  I haven’t seen it any
higher than that.”

“Let’s get going.”

When they walked past the open area to the barracks
buildings Marik noticed only a handful still waiting for assignments.  They
must be near the end of it then.  One final glance back showed them being led
west, rather than east.  The new specialists had received a speech from the
leading officer as a whole rather than by individual squad.

After one final rest, the friends reached the Ninth’s
barracks.

“Home sweet home,” Hayden remarked when they passed
the threshold.  Marik loved the dining room’s familiar feel and wondered what
Luiez would be making for the afternoon meal.

Inside the doors stood a larger group than had stood
there the previous year.  Nearly a full unit all by themselves, they stood
waiting for whatever would happen to them next.  Across the room, Sergeants
Fraser, Dove, Bindrift and Giles quietly finished a discussion that had kept
the new men waiting.