Day one. Starting his life over for the third time. Maybe this time was the charm, as it was said.
Torjus "Pretty Boy" Barmen followed his former sergeant from the regular Connlaothian army down the street. He led his horse, Sledge, by the reins, only just purchased last week. He wore the heavy plate and chain armor befitting his soon-to-be rank of Corporal, newly purchased as well. A longsword sheathed on his belt, a round shield on his back, a traveler's pack loaded with his clothes and other minor personal items slung over his shoulder—he carried everything he owned.
"You ever seen this place before, Pretty Boy?" asked the sergeant.
"No, sergeant."
The sergeant chuckled. Stroked his beard. "You're in for a treat then."
"Why's that?"
"Shit, son. Regular army scrapes by these days. You've seen it. Grand Duke don't give a shit what kind of barracks grunts are sleeping in as long as they're combat ready." The sergeant glanced around. "Don't tell anybody I said that."
"Didn't hear a thing, sergeant."
"Good, good." The sergeant pointed down the street, past the few citizens going about their business. "See that?"
Torjus tracked the sergeant's finger, looking down to the end of the street. In the distance, a tall stone watchtower could be seen, the green and black banners hanging from its front and sides.
The sergeant cleared his throat. "You know, I tried out for the Hand once. Fancied myself a cavalryman. Didn't make the cut—just too old at the time to keep up. Ha, like I'm any younger now. But it was good to see that some nobles actually give a damn about the men who keep this country safe and free."
Torjus nodded. He knew exactly what the sergeant was talking about. He still remembered the Skirmish at Twin Streams in the valley. Remembered it like was yesterday. His unit abandoned by their upper command when the odds appeared overwhelming. Their officers fleeing like scared dogs, the foot soldiers held their ground. Only a handful made it out, Torjus and the sergeant among the survivors. Torjus' faith in the military was shaken and reaffirmed at the same time: he had grown more wary of the officers above him, but even more dedicated to the men who would stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him on the field of battle.
They drew closer to the watchtower. Torjus could see the high, wrought-iron fence extending from either side of the watchtower, each terminating at two other low stone buildings. Other wrought-iron fences extended from those buildings to the corner buildings. The entire compound was enclosed by them. Fortified. Secure.
"Just keep your head on straight, Pretty Boy," the sergeant advised. "Remember, you're the FNG. They don't know you here, so don't try to impress anybody or act like some kind of badass just because you've got a few battle scars. They've got theirs too, and I guarantee they won't give a shit about yours. Maintain your military bearing, follow your orders. Remember: be in the right place, at the right time, in the right uniform, with the right attitude."
"You got it, sergeant. I won't let you down."
The sergeant chuckled. "Me? Shit, you don't have to worry about me anymore." The sergeant opened up the rolled parchment in his hand. Gave it a quick read. Whistled. "Hmm...ain't that something. You're supposed to report directly to Major Hakon Kilandre today. The commander of Ansgar's Hand herself. Lucky you, Pretty Boy. You get to meet an Adhara today."
Torjus' eyes narrowed in slight confusion. "A what?"
"An Adhara. Like a Mordecai, but more powerful. It's incredibly rare, and only happens in women."
"Oh. I see."
"Still, being an Adhara doesn't make anybody a leader. Major Kilandre got to that rank because she earned that rank, Adharaism or no Adharaism. Normally I'd say that I'd come back and kick your ass myself if I heard you were being disrespectful to a superior officer, but I'm betting she could handle the job just fine all by herself. Got that?"
Torjus smiled, briefly recalling the Skirmish. "Sounds like my kind of officer."
The sergeant laughed again. "You say that now. Might be singing a different tune if you fuck up and you find yourself on the ground with her plated boots crunching that pretty face of yours. Alright, anyway, you need to report to the Major so she can officially waive the eight-years-experience requirement, sign you into the unit, and assume responsibility for your summary execution should you break the terms of your sentence. Yadda yadda, court and legal bullshit. You know how it is. More than I do, at any rate."
Now they stood before the watchtower, and it was a massive structure up close. Wide enough to allow for several mounted cavalrymen to pass through side-by-side, and tall enough to provide a good view of the inside courtyard and the surrounding cityscape of Reajh. The iron gate was lifted, and two Corporals on guard duty stood on either side of the portcullis.
The sergeant handed the parchment to Torjus. He took it awkwardly with the hand that held his traveler's pack, pinning the paper to his palm with a few fingers. Sledge shook his mane and blew some air from his nostrils.
"Alright, Pretty Boy," the sergeant clapped Torjus on the shoulder, "time to start from scratch."
"Thank you. For everything, sergeant. It's been an honor to serve with you."
The sergeant smiled. His eyes trailed away for a small moment. "Don't get yourself killed, Torjus. Ansgar guide you."
And with that, the sergeant started back down the street.
Torjus approached the two Corporals guarding the gate. Moved toward the one on the left, opting to talk to him out of the two. Said, "I need to report to Major Kilandre."
The Corporal grinned. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down there, princess. You must be lost. If you're auditioning to be Grand Duke Allarick's new wife, the palace is that way."
The other Corporal laughed without opening his mouth. A nasally, snorting sound, barely contained.
Torjus stood his ground. Eyes centering on the Corporal's rather large, hooked nose. "How do you reckon? You smell that royal dick from here?"
The other Corporal's laughter broke out from behind pursed lips.
The big-nosed Corporal held a hand mockingly over his heart. "Ow, gotta go there, huh? Alright, alright. You fucking wound me, new blood." He cleared his throat. "You'll find the Major in the Headquarters. Big ass castle-like building in the center of the courtyard. You're a moron if you miss it, because you literally can't. Stables are inside and to the left. Southwest quadrant of the courtyard. Better hustle and get that steed stabled, new blood. The Major'll have you on grass-cutting detail for a month straight, day and night, if your steed isn't properly stabled."
"Thanks," Torjus said as he passed through the portcullis and into the massive courtyard.
And Torjus stopped only a few steps from the watchtower gate.
Awe. That was the only word for it.
He slowly scanned the courtyard of the Ansgar's Hand compound, the huge open space around the aforementioned fortress-like Headquarters building. Green grass, well-trimmed and maintained by servants and soldiers who had wound up on that detail, seemed to shine in the bright morning sun. Mounted cavalrymen, alone, in pairs, or even in groups, rode their various mounts across the grounds. A sweat-soaked platoon of men, led by a female Mordecai Lieutenant, ran by in formation and repeated the running cadences bellowed by her. Another large formation of men were practicing drill and ceremony far off to Torjus' right, snapping their bodies with precision to the commands called out by the lead man in front of them. The sounds of martial practice were coming from the far side of the Headquarters building, unseen from where Torjus stood.
This far beyond the mostly ratty conditions of his old unit.
So Torjus stood there, holding Sledge's reins in his hand, gawking at the impressive scenery surrounding him.
Awestruck indeed.
