Tom (II)

"Sixteen...uh...seventeen...eighteen..." he carried on through his pushups as he had done the last two weeks. His bed was little more than straw and a clothe for duvet, but it was at least a bed. Some of his fellows of more privileged upbringing were much more hesitant about this arrangement than Tom.
"Twenty-nine...thirty...thirty one..." it went on and on.
The training here was beyond gruelling. He had fifty pushups to do every time he got up each morning, and fifty before he went to bed. All of the others did too though, so he at least had that small comfort. He was rejected from those who would be trained as pikemen and knights, for he was too young and too slim in frame for that. He needed to find some other way to be useful. He-
"Tom!"
Tom turned around. He knew the voice instantly. "Onrique! What are you doing here so early?" Onrique was one of the first boys he had met when taken to the training camp, one of the only ones to understand where Tom had come from. He was an older lad, perhaps sixteen, but he was already bald and with the first stubble on his jaw. He was sticky in frame, though whether fat, muscle or both was hard to say for Tom. He was no physician.
"Get up, scrawny." He put out his hand for Tom to grab. His arms were strong for his age, though he only had three fingers. Two had been taken for being found with a jewel stolen from the King's Pocket in Hydric, the greatest island in the kingdom and almost independent from Elinor with the exception of taxes. The duke did not like having his goods taken, so the boy had a choice between being hung, drawn and quartered and being sent to the Gates, while losing a couple of fingers so that all would know he was a thief. He pulled Tom up and he was up on his two feet. "You've grown sturdier since I last saw you, Tom!" He said with his big, almost reptilian grin. "Those training sessions and Egg for breakfast each day sure are helping you. You'll be like me at this rate!"
"Of course, On." Tom rolled his eyes. Tom knee he wasn't the best for physical sports. When he fought in the courtyard, he kept getting pushed aside even when he tried his hardest. Granted, some of those he trained alongside were grown men, some of whom had volunteered to be patrolling the Gates. Not criminals like him and Onrique. "Well, it's time for us to go to the Forts, friend." He said. He wasn't sure if it was relief or nerves that he felt when saying that. Maybe it was both.
As Tom walked out of the chambers, he and Onrique went through the stone corridor, lit by torches, toward the dining hall. The foods they served here weren't the tastiest, but a mush of different meat and vegetables, with some mushroom in for some variation. It was supposed to be the gruel that made the knights as tough as they were to wear that thick armour and carry those lances. The guards of the forts were no knights though, and nor were those here. He looked to the other door and saw the two guards had merely an iron helmet and some chainmail on, with a sword in case one of the conscripts tried anything dangerous.
The two boys sat down at the table third from the exit. Onry sighed. "Everyday it's the same pigshit without exception. At least back home we could have lamb and potato when possible, and it was all separate! Not like this!" He slammed his spoon on the table. Several of the others looked at them.
"Don't draw attention, friend. You know that's not a good idea." Indeed he was proven right.
A couple of grown men, likely in their twenties came over. One was weasel-ish with a long thin mustache and the other had a fatter face than his already broad body would suggest, yet had a tiny almost pig-like nose. The first said-"ooooh. One of the young-uns can't finish his supper? Oh, shall we serve his highness something more appetising?" The bigger man dumped a dead rat on top of Onrique's food. "Something to remind you of your friend, perhaps?" The two men burst out laughing. The guards did nothing but watch. Some guards you are, Tom thought. He turned to those giggling older men, clutching his fork hard. Those arrogant pieces of-
"You see why I hate being here, friend?" Onrique put out a hand to pull Tom's fork-hand down. "You really don't want to do that." The boy's grey, misshapen eye's seemed at odds with his face, almost as if they didn't belong there. "Why don't we catch some fresh air once we finish?" He picked up the rat and threw it off. "I think I can make it without breakfast." Tin shook his head and sighed.
After finishing their breakfast, the two boys went out into the outer courtyard, where the men were training. Veterans were coming around today to tell the recruits and conscripts how to use their weapons properly, and it seemed they were more urgent than before today. Only one of the guards here was ever friendly to Tom, the one with the odd coloured eyes, Harelde, who seemed busy training some young men how to fight with swords in the sty. Is he like that with everyone? Or just me?
"I've heard they need as many men on the border as they can nowadays." Onrique started. "Yellow Olyvor told me the Jazyart clans are uniting again for the first time in two hundred years! He told me they want to assault the forts. If they got past, then Evergnon would be ruined forever!"
"Don't listen to Olyvor, Onry. That puss-faced dimwit took longer to master the broom-training than the two of us and Broken Beale combined!" Tom tutted. "The forts have stood for centuries against those horse-heads. Can you actually imagine the people who barely know how to use catapults to take down a Castle, never mind Caldhayre?" Even boys who grew up on the streets of villages had heard of Caldhayre, the largest and most fortified of all the border-castles guarding the kingdom from the nomads to the north. Perhaps he would see it or one of the others when he went north? "My point is, even if the Jazyart unite again and assault the castles, we'll just crush them like we always do!"
"We?" Onrique seemed curious, though Tom didn't like his tone too much. His thick red eyebrows were clearly furrowed, and Tom knew that wasn't the best sign. "You seem eager to identify with these...people, don't you?" He put up his mutilated hand again. "You're lucky they didn't take anything off you, scrawny boy." Tom grimaced.
"You know I don't mean it like that!" They stopped just ahead of the wooden paddock. It was a sunny day today and he squinted to see his friend's face. "I mean you and I will be trained soldiers soon, and we'll make sure those bastards never get a single foot on Evergno soil. You and me! They'll love us back home!" The last bit was only partly a lie. The common people would appreciate the guard sure, but Tom and Onrique would be just two among thousands.
"I sure hope you're right." Onry sighed, appearing sad. "I miss my ma and pa back home. Even if they were going to make me marry that ugly Sella girl! Maybe one day I'll see them again once all this is over. They'll see how big and strong I've become!" He seemed genuine when he said this. Tom hardly remembered what his parents looked like anymore, but he knew that feeling of longing nevertheless.
"Indeed they will." He put a hand in his friend's shoulder. "I wish I could have that chance too, but the gods have different plans for us it seems." He took his hand off and back to his pocket. He knew that they were expected to train.
"What do we have here?" Another young one, this one just eleven years old came up to them, smirking. "Two lovebirds, eh? You know the relief chambers are usually free around this time, don't you? Hahaha!" Tom recognised him now, it was that obnoxious idiot Leiwin Corgydin, whose lordly parents had sent him here in hopes of disciplining him. So far it didn't seem to be working.
"Piss off, you little tattle-tail." Onrique got at him. "Would you like me to write to your parents about you? I've heard your ma has eyes for the younger men. Maybe I should pay her a visit once we're out." That's out of line, Tom thought.
"Shut up!" Leiwin grunted and Onry. He went over to Tom, possibly to try and talk some sense into his friend. Tom opened his mouth to tell him, but then-
"Uuuuggghhh!" That little turd had punched Tom in the balls! Onrique went over to help, but Tom heard a laugh in his voice as he was helped to his feet.
"I can't wait till he's old enough to train." His friend said. "I'm going to enjoy knocking some sense into that devious little lordling!" Tom laughed and nodded. I certainly would love to join you there.
Once Tom composed himself, he brushed himself down and eyed up the training weapons. "Well, I think its about time we started training with the different weapons for today!" Onrique nodded as the two of them went for the draw.
Before he could pick up a wooden sword however, the trumpet for Camp Hylliot sounded twice. An important guest had arrived!
The guards started to shout. The nearest, whom Tom had hardly noticed, was the loudest. "In formation!" Tom nodded at his friend and they went into their respective queues, based off role. Tom was to be a crossbowman, while Onrique a pikeman. All the different groups, regardless of age, were soon in line.
Out of the opening gates came knights riding upon armoured horses, painted similarly to their shields. They wore proper armour, not just chainmail, but also a steel breastplate, resembling the bronze ones used by the ancient Empire, but harder. They also had shields with different sigils on, one a swan, another two spears crossed, and another an orange flame. Behind them came something even more impressive, though.
This knight had a proper helm, shaped like a frog's head of all things, as the similar on his shield was a frog on a lily, upon an orange pool. He carried a great brown lance aimed directly ahead, and on his belt was an ornately sculpted arming sword, the hilt resembling a crab's claw. What he was riding however was what caught Tom's attention. A murk! An actual, real murk! In the flesh! He couldn't help but wheeze in excitement as he saw this lord's mount.
The beast dwarfed even the largest draught horse in length and height, having withers well over two metres above the ground. It's fur was finer on the legs and courser on the neck and body, as long as a man's hand, and red like Sandstone, while its armour was painted orange like it's rider's shield. The murk's four legs were thicker than a horse's with four padded toes on the feet, but still light enough to give the animal an elegance to it. The neck had a slight curve to it, and on top of that curve was a strange head, in some senses not that different to one of the griffs, though it had no visible ears sticking out, and the beak at the front was short and grooved. It's size though was surprising. Despite being at least three times as big as the largest horse present here, the head wasn't that much longer, though it was much deeper. The murk possessed a sloping but lean tail slithering behind it like a snake, and there were of course the two arms between the legs and neck that showed it was a scythebeast, and unlike most others, it's single claw actually was shaped like a sickle! The soldier next to Tom leaned in and whispered.
"You see those claws, boy?" Tom nodded, in awe of it. "They don't lie when they say a murk could behead a man with a single swing of each claw. I saw it myself once! From his own beast!" It seemed the guard knew who these men were. As the head knight put up a hand, the rest of his crew riding horses stopped. He started to get off his.
A herald came forward with a patch of paper. Here we go, Tom thought. He looked over to Onrique, who seemed concerned if impatient.
The herald was hardly likely to be older than Tom, just a more privileged boy. Like Tom, he was slender, but he had almost no muscle on him. A flower boy, it seems.
"
I...I am present to announce the-the arrival of his highly esteemed Thaddeus T-To-t-Toluisanne, Baron of Hemoludee and the Great Orange Frog." The boy clearly wasn't the most prepared for the job, Tom thought as this 'Thaddeus' came toward the announcer. "His baron-ship has come from his seat of Grenwat with permission from Elinor itself to inspire hope, to encou-" The knight shut him off with a hand on the shoulder, shoving him aside. He took off his visored helm to reveal the face of a veteran. He was an older man, his hair grey and his skin wrinkling, with several scars here and there. Yet he retained a power to him that few others did- he must have been a handsome man in his youth, for he was tall, with a square chin, and was clean shaven except for a long white moustache that went down to his collar bone. He put his helm to his side, with the young herald picking it up and bringing it back to the murk.
"Well, well, well." The old baron started in a husky tone, with more than a dash of pompousness to it. "These are the young men and boys who've been chosen to guard the kingdom from the savage Jazyart? I must say they've changed since my last visit!" He grinned, showing pearly white teeth that Tom had scarcely seen before. They were as white as the summer clouds! Tom saw Harelde belly-laugh at this. Perhaps some joke that only they knew, as the other guards either giggled or looked awkwardly around. "I know some of you are thieves and snitches who joined here to avoid losing a hand, some of you are here to make sure your parents don't have too many sons roaming around, and some of you just want to kill some horseheads, don't you?" He heard some cheers from the audience here.
Thaddeus cleared his throat. "Whatever your reason for being here, you are all going to be serving on the great forts, and not just any fort either. Many of you will serve on Caldhayre itself, our toughest fortress. Once your training is completed, you will be something the Jazyart will truly fear! Your spears will gut the enemy as they charge at you, your horses will plough through theirs, your arrows will strike true, and if they have any murks or catapults among them, your scorpions shall tear through them!" He put up a fist to his chest. "This, I vow by the Green God himself!" Tom heard many cheers from among the more devout. Indeed, the 'green god' Hesyrix was the frog-god on the sigil of Thaddeus' shield, who the people would pray to when they needed their crops to have a good harvest, or for the rains to come during a drought. Tom didn't know if this act of piety was genuine or just a mummer's show for the devout, but it definitely could work around him.
Tom heard one of the guards snicker "I'm sure he will," to one of the others who smirked. Tom couldn't help but agree. This Thaddeus Toluisanne seemed like a pompous mushroom who talked a great game about the future of the soldiers, even if many wouldn't see the second year in service. Tom has already spoken to Harelde, who had served on the forts for years before hand. You needed to be a tough man to survive long up there, even with the fort there to retreat to. He would need to speak with him more if he was going to be in the biggest of all the forts.
The Baron and his escorts, presumably his vassal lords, went around inspecting each of the lines now.
Please not the crossbowmen, not the crossbowmen, Tom thought inside, even if he tried not to look scared. He's seen what happened to boys who looked scared in front of the guards, never mind a nobleman! He put on his brace face as the the knights came forward.
It was Baron Thaddeus who came to inspect his line! Damn it. He eyed up each and every member of those trained to be crossbowmen top to bottom, while each tried to stay as still and respectful as possible. After nineteen other boys and men, his eyes came on tom, and they appeared to squint as they looked on him. Tom didn't understand what was-
A shout was heard.
Tom turned and saw one of the men, a scraggly and savage one, had lashed out at one of the knights and tried to lunge at him, only to be thrown at the dirt. He shouted many curses and obscenities that even Tom thought were too much, along with a vitriolic rant. "It was you who put me here, you sly bastard! I should have cut you down when I had the chance!" The knight slapped him down with his glove with enough force to knock out a couple of teeth. Clearly there was some history between them, though Tom didn't think he wanted to know.
The knight stood up straight and turned to the near camp guards. "Bring him to the gallows. He's clearly not fit to guard the Kingdom if he can hardly guard his own heart." Tom was only more curious now as to what history was behind the two. He turned around and saw that the Baron had gone to talk to the knight who had been assaulted, ignoring his murk, which clearly was bucking at the noise of the commotion, and doubly so when the offender was dragged away by the guards.
Now it was Harelde who was at his side. "It's never as easy to be a knight as the songs make it out to be. I'm glad I never took that position myself. You're encouraged to have more than one wife for one! I imagine some men would daydream about such fantasies, but it's not the life for me." He smiled. "That and all the training, fighting and constant risk of death of course." Tom laughed at that. He sure has kind eyes, Tom thought. I wonder if I remind him of a child he once had? A son, a nephew, a cousin perhaps? He wouldn't know.
"Harelde." Tom whispered. "How long have you served exactly?"
Harelde crouched down to talk face-to-face. The other guards raised their brow, but ignored it. "I've only been serving on the Forts for six years now, truth to be told. Before that, I was a city-guard, then I rode alongside the Laughing Dogs in the east for a while, until I saw that my young nephew had been killed by a Jazyart archer because he hadn't been trained properly against them! I vowed that I would never let such woeful training befall those who serve here again. And here I am!" Harelde only seemed to be in his mid-thirties, maybe late at the most, so Tom had no doubt he had seen many things during his travels in the east and throughout the isles. It sure sounded a lot more interesting than guard duty.
"Sorry to ask, sir," Tom wanted to be polite. "But what was your nephew's name?"
Tom noticed a slight discomfort, a slight sadness in Harelde's eyes. "His name was Timutei, and he was about your age when he started his service. He only served for ten months though, before a Jazyart arrow went through his eye. My little sister couldn't live without her boy and threw herself into the sea. I still write to my brother in law in the capital from time to time, but it isn't the same." This story saddened Tom, and now it made sense why Harelde always kept a special eye out for him. Onry had been worried that he was one of those guards who had a dangerous eye for young boys, but it seemed that he was alright. "I hope that-" he turned forward and ceased the conversation. Tom turned to see what was happening.
The Baron came to the front again, and getting on the steps of his murk, which had calmed down by now, he started to speak again.
"Aside from some...disturbances, I must praise the performance of this batch of recruits, good sirs." He fastened himself onto his great mount more. "Get yourselves ready, lads, for tomorrow you're moving to Caldhayre!" This took Tom by surprise. He hadn't expected to go to the forts till at least next week if not later, but apparently the Baron was impressed by what he had saw, or at least that's what Tom hoped. Maybe he just wants to see us killed off sooner, which was always the thought at the back of his head.
"Good day to you all, and I hope to see you there!" The Baron shot a quick kick and his murk mount rode out of the gates, followed by the other knights. The guards quickly started ordering everyone out of their normal positions, advising everyone to go back to their normal positions and whatever they were doing previously. It was now harder to navigate due to the chaos of the meeting earlier. Tom finally got the chance to talk to Onrique again near the wooden swords where they were before.
"Well," his big friend started. "What did you think of all that?" He seemed genuine this time.
"I think this Baron is a pompous prick if you ask me." Tom rolled his eyes with a little smirk.
Onry let out a laugh. "I dare you to say that to his face! I'd be ever so curious to the reaction." He picked up one of the wooden swords.
"I prefer to keep my head thank you, very much." Tom shot back at him. "Unlike that crazy old man back there. Do you know what was up with him?"
Onrique shook his head. "I know his name was Darrol the Twitch for one. I don't have a choice really because he was on the same ship from Hydric as me. I've heard whispers that he used to be the nephew of a local lord before he lost it all. Something about a bet on a game of dice?"
Tom grimaced. "The rich sure love their games." He now picked up his. "Now what about ours?" He ran ahead of the larger but slower Onrique into the training pen. It was muddy here, but he knew that the terrain in the field would be similar on many days anyway, so this was useful experience at least. Onry came charging at him, sword in hand. Tom dodged the initial overhead strike without too much difficulty. Being scrawny wasn't so bad when you were trying to avoid being hit. He returned the favour with a poke in Onry's side.
"Ow!" Onrique hissed. "You said to only be light with training!"
Tom apologised. "Sorry, got a bit carried away there, friend." He braced himself.
Onrique readied himself too. "Alright then, it's my turn to defend and yours to attack!" He put his legs further apart to ready Tom's upcoming onslaught.
"Tom stood in suspense for what felt like an hour in his head, as he looked for weak-spots in Onrique's form. The leg? No, fool, the side again, clearly he isn't good at defending that! No, I've already done that and he'll anticipate that! It felt impossible to decide how to take advantage. He got closer and saw a gap on Onry's shoulder that his hands weren't in line for. He made his move.
"Yaah!" he thrust his wooden sword there.
Only for Onrique to cast it out of his hand with a sharp scratch. Tom felt a scar was already developing, but before he could curse, Onrique shoved him aside into the mud.
"Who's rough now, eh?" It was true that Onry was a much bigger and tougher young man than Tom could dream to be. He had focussed too much on every possible weak-spot that Onry had there instead of simply finding one and exploiting it. "You overthink, friend. Trust me, when you're in a fight, you have to just take the best chance you've got!"
Tom got up now, his back and the back of his neck caked in mud, much to his frustration. He only had one outfit change a week, which was very frustrating for young men in the warm summer. "But how exactly do I work out which is the best path?" He now finished getting up.
"Just work it out faster than a snail!" Onry passed his sword to the other hand. "More?"
Tom looked up. "More."
The two sparred for another thirty minutes before it was time for them to switch partners. But throughout that, and the rest of the day, particularly as he packed his few possessions in the evening, there was a sinking feeling in Tom's mind. Today is my last day of even slight freedom, he thought. From tomorrow onward, I'll be guarding the largest fort in the kingdom!