The Soldier's Tale (2 page)

I liked him, too. I was the Optio, and I
had to make sure not to show favorites, so I gave him as much work
as the others.

The headaches made that easy.

I didn’t drink at all during the first week
of training, but the damned headaches never went away. Sometimes it
was only a dull throb behind my eyes. Sometimes it felt as if
molten steel had been poured into my head and was sloshing around
the inside of my skull. It was just as well that an Optio was
supposed to be stern with the new recruits, because the headaches
did not help my disposition.

But we finished the first week of training,
and then the next day was a day of rest.

###

I got drunk that night.

I had a ritual. I filled a waterskin with
whiskey, climbed to one of the curtain wall’s watch towers, and sat
and drank, gazing at the dark shapes of the mountains of Kothluusk
to the west. Sometimes I drank alone. Sometimes some of the other
Optios or Tessarios joined me.

Tonight, the Magistrius Mallister joined
me.

He was about fifty, thin and tough, his
sun-darkened skin a contrast against the white robe of a
Magistrius. Sometimes the Magistri put on airs, going on and on
about how they were the masters of magic and the true custodians of
the High King’s realm. Mallister, like me, had come from humble
origins (his father had been a farrier, mine a tavern keeper), and
he did not have the arrogance that marked some of the noble-born
Magistri.

And, by God, that man could hold his drink.
You’d think a little wiry fellow like him would be under the table
after the first cup, but I had never seen him anything more than
slightly tipsy, no matter how much he drank. Maybe the Magistri had
a spell to maintain sobriety.

“Well, Camorak,” said Mallister, holding
out his cup, “how are the new lads?”

I grunted and poured from the waterskin. I
was getting a bit dizzy, but my hands didn’t shake. “We’ll make
soldiers of most of them yet. Couple of them will have to go.” I
shook my head and took a drink. “They’re all so damned young.”

Mallister raised his gray eyebrows. “You’re
only twenty-seven. I’m fifty-two. How do you think I feel?”

“They’re young,” I said. “I’m old. You’re
ancient.”

The Magistrius snorted. “High praise,
indeed! If not for this excellent whiskey, I would take offense.”
He watched the mountains for a moment. “Heard one of the recruits
has a gift for swordplay.”

“Romilius?” I said. “Lad’s a natural. He
might even become a knight someday for valor in the field. Then
I’ll be taking orders from him.” I drained off the rest of my cup,
blinked at it, and then refilled it. “He’s not even uppity about
it.”

“Rare quality in a young man,” said
Mallister.

I shrugged. “Plenty of time for him to go
bad. He’s young yet.”

We sat in silence for a moment.

“What are you going to do tomorrow?” said
Mallister.

“Services at the chapel,” I said. Best to
set a good example for the recruits, but the thought of sitting
through one of the priest’s interminable homilies with a hangover
wasn’t a pleasant one. Not that God cared what happened to me. If
he did, then…

I took a long swallow to drown that
thought.

“Might walk down to the town,” I said.
“Play some cards, throw some dice. I could use a new cloak.
Winter’s coming on in a few months.”

“The blacksmith’s daughter got married,”
said Mallister. “He’s throwing a feast in a pavilion outside the
walls. Half the town will likely attend. You ought to go as well,
Camorak. Might do you some good.”

I snorted. “Doubt that.”

“Most of the unmarried women in the town
will turn up,” said Mallister. “Might be one of them will catch
your eye, or you’ll catch one of theirs…”

“No,” I said at once.

“It is not good for a man to be alone,”
said Mallister.

“Quoting the scriptures at me?” I said. “I
thought you were a Magistrius, not a priest.”

“The words are true regardless of who
speaks them,” said Mallister. He sighed. “I do not think Judith
would have wanted you to be alone the rest of your days.”

“No,” I said. “I am a foul-tempered drunk.
Is there some woman of the town you hate so much that you would
inflict me upon her?”

“You are an Optio in service to Dux Kors,”
said Mallister without reproof, “who has served honorably for
twelve years, who has defended the Dux’s lands from Mhorites and
kobolds and deep orcs. To put it bluntly, you would be the sort of
bachelor a mother would be delighted to introduce to her
daughters.”

“Widower, you mean,” I said, staring into
my cup.

“Yes, of course,” said Mallister. “I
misspoke. Forgive me.”

I shook my head. “I appreciate that you are
trying to do something kind for me, but if you really want to
help…”

“Stop talking?” said Mallister.

“That,” I said, “and you can do something
about these damned headaches.” I’d had a bad one all day, and the
whiskey had done nothing to take the edge off. It felt like a
hangover headache, but I hadn’t been drunk long enough to develop a
proper hangover.

Mallister frowned. “You’re still getting
headaches?”

“Aye,” I said. “I thought drinking was
supposed to kill your liver, not your head.”

“There is no limits to the evil of drink,”
said Mallister, drinking the last of his whiskey. Then he reached
over, put his hand on my shoulder, and cast a spell.

I flinched. Mallister was a friend, and the
magic of the Magistri was nothing like the blood sorcery the
Mhorite orcs wielded in the name of their murderous god, but I
still found magic uncanny and didn’t like it. Of course, the
Magistri had the power to heal wounds through their magic. Uncanny
or not, if I had the choice between having to spend weeks
recovering from a wound or healing from a spell, I would choose the
spell every time.

We soldiers are a practical breed.

Mallister’s hand flared with white light,
and a cold chill swept through me. He frowned for a moment, eyes
half-closed, and then shook his head and withdrew his hand.

“There’s nothing wrong with you as far as I
can tell,” said Mallister.

I snorted. “Nothing?”

“Nothing physical,” said Mallister. “Your
state of mind is another matter. But physically there’s nothing
wrong with you.” He scoffed. “Your liver is even in fine shape.
Won’t be if you keep drinking like this, though.”

“Then why do I have these headaches?” I
said.

“Damned if I know,” said Mallister. “I was
always better with warding spells. If you get cut up I can heal you
well enough, but illness…no, that was never my strength. He
shrugged. “Perhaps we can obtain leave from the Dux to visit
Tarlion. The greatest healers among the Magistri are there.”

I shook my head. “No. I’m not walking all
the way to Tarlion for a headache.”

“Perhaps it would help your headache,” said
Mallister, “if you met some of the women of the town.”

“God and the apostles!” I said, refilling
my cup. Was it the sixth time? The seventh? I really should keep
track of these things. “You’re as bad as Murcius. He keeps offering
to buy me a whore.” I shook my head, which hurt. “It’s just a
headache.”

I supposed I knew what was wrong with me,
but it was something that a Magistrius could not fix.

Or even whiskey.

It couldn’t hurt, though, so I drained my
cup.

###

Over the next few weeks I spent most of my
time training the new lads.

After endless repetition, they started to
get better. Eventually I had them square off against each other in
individual duels, hammering at each other with wooden practice
swords. As ever, some of the recruits did better than others.
Romilius did the best, and the other recruits started to defer to
him. I thought Sir Primus might make him a Tessario after his first
year, if he did well.

After three weeks of training, Sir Primus
came to watch.

“How are they doing, Optio?” said the
knight.

“Well enough, sir,” I said. “Only lost five
of them so far.”

Primus looked startled. “Killed?”

“No, sir,” I said. “Two of them were
troublemakers, so I had to throw them out after beating some
politeness into their heads. Three of them just aren’t suited for
this kind of life, sir. No shame in that.”

“The shame would be in not admitting it,
and causing the death of other men,” said Primus.

“Aye,” I said. “So I let them go, no hard
feelings. The realm needs farmers. Can’t eat swords.”

“No, we cannot,” said Primus with a shake
of his head. “Dux Kors knows it, but not all the other nobles are
so wise. Young Dux Tarrabus and his proud young knights, for one.
But…well, that is not our concern. How are the rest of the recruits
shaping up?”

“They’ll do, sir,” I said. “Eventually.
Still pretty rough, but they’ve potential. Good raw material.
Romilius, in particular…I would keep an eye on him, sir. Lad’s a
natural leader, and already pretty good with a sword. Might make a
Decurion someday.”

“All in good time,” said Primus. “Think
they’re ready for a ride outside the castra?”

I frowned. “Problem, sir?”

“Some of the freeholders to the west of
Castra Durius have been complaining,” said Primus. “Cattle have
been going missing. Sheep, cows, pigs, snatched away in the
night.”

“Cattle thieves?” I said.

“That is one possibility,” said Primus.
“The freeholders are afraid it might be Mhorites.”

“The Mhorites would steal the cattle,” I
said. “They’d also kill the freeholders and leave their headless
bodies as a sacrifice to Mhor.”

“I thought as much,” said Primus. “Of
course, it might be kobolds or deep orcs scouting for targets. Or
an urvaalg or an ursaar, some manner of beast that kills for sport.
Either way, the Dux wants to send men to take a look. But all the
veteran men are patrolling the passes into Kothluusk…”

“Which means us,” I said.

“Aye,” said Primus. “Are they ready?”

“No, sir,” I said. “Not for a serious
fight. But…if we’re just chasing cattle thieves, they can handle
that.”

“New men must become seasoned me at some
point,” said Primus. “Now is as good a time as any. We shall leave
at dawn.”

“I’ll make the preparations, sir,” I said.
“Can I make a suggestion?”

“Of course,” said Primus. “We’ve been in
too many fights for me not to trust your judgment, Optio.”

I felt…well, if not pride, then something.
I respected Sir Primus, and I was glad he respected my judgment.
Even with my tendency towards drink.

“I think we should bring some veterans,” I
said. “If we run into something more dangerous than a few cattle
thieves, we’ll need men who can keep their heads.”

Primus considered for a moment, and then
nodded. “Sound counsel. I shall speak to the Dux.”

###

We left at dawn, thirty men riding west
from the proud towers of Castra Durius. My recruits rode behind Sir
Primus, nervous and careful with the Dux’s horses. Scattered among
them rode a dozen veterans, men I had fought alongside in
skirmishes against the Mhorites and the kobolds. Magistrius
Mallister came with us just in case we encountered an urvaalg or an
ursaar or some other creature of dark magic. The ancient war beasts
of the dark elves were immortal, unless something killed them, but
only magic could wound a creature of dark magic. Normal steel would
not get the job done, though fire might. One urvaalg could tear
through thirty men-at-arms without breaking a sweat. A Swordbearer
and his magical soulblade could dispatch an urvaalg with ease, but
the Dux would not waste a Swordbearer hunting down cattle thieves.
He could spare a Magistrius, though, and so Mallister rode with us,
sitting at ease in his saddle, wearing a long white coat over
leather armor in lieu of his white robe.

I rode up and down the line to keep an eye
on the new men, my head throbbing. I hadn’t had any whiskey in
three days, but still my headache persisted. I wondered if I was
getting sick. Maybe I was about to die of some untraceable and
undetectable disease. Sometimes people died for no discernable
reason – their hearts stopped, or strange tumors consumed their
organs. Maybe such a tumor grew within me now.

The thought of death did not trouble me. I
might be a bitter drunk, but I had never abandoned my duty. When I
stood before the throne of the Dominus Christus and was judged for
my many, many sins, I could at least say that I had never abandoned
my duty. Maybe I would see Judith again. I could see Judith,
and…

I wanted a drink. I had to have a drink.
Else my thoughts would go to a dark place…

Of course, there was no way Sir Primus
would let us bring along strong drink in the field. Hell, I was an
Optio, and if any of the men-at-arms had brought along whiskey, I
would have flogged him myself. So instead I put my energies into
discipline. I made sure every saddle strap was tied tight, every
bowstring was stored properly, that every tabard was crisp and
every hauberk was free of rust. God help the man who was lax!

We rode west into the pine forests and
rocky foothills of western Durandis, the dark mountains of
Kothluusk towering over us. There were farms and fields and
pastures throughout the hills, but this close to the homeland of
the Mhorite orcs the houses were built tall and strong with arrow
slits for windows, and even the shepherds went about armed. I had
fought Mhorite raiders in these hills, along with creatures that
came from the caverns of the Deeps below the hills. Yet the hill
country seemed almost peaceful at the moment, without any trace of
Mhorites or more dangerous things.

For all that, a lot of sheep and pigs had
gone missing. The freeholders let us know about that at great
length.

“Must be a wolf pack,” I said to Mallister
as Sir Primus stood speaking with an aggravated freeholder. “Hungry
wolves out of Kothluusk.”