The sudden stop of the wagon jerked Edus awake, squinting at the rays of light. It was at the crack of dawn, the larger sun just rising before the smaller. The captain was already standing out from the wagon, handing his scroll over to his superior. The fat man was still snoring, the beggars searching through the contents of his backpack that lay over his paunch belly. Their eyes lit up upon uncovering paper wrapped smoked meat. The fat man snorted himself awake, and upon discovering the pair scrounging for food yelled, “Get back!” Fumbling for the beggars who nimbly escaped his grasp and exited the cart. The others woke up drowsily from his cry.

“Up you get lads,” the captain stood beside the cart, hands to his sides. “You’re to first meet with the quartermaster.”

He set about his quick pace, the rest staggering to keep up. The stone road led to the Oxenfort. It was a small town in itself that dwarfed Edus’ village. Whereas the village was scattered in a loose circle, this town was made up of squared wooden buildings two stories high built neatly in lines leading to the barracks. It looked like a small part of the Hearth City, its town cordoned off by an encircling stone wall roughly twenty feet high.

A similar gate of roken wood doors and a portcullis stood open. The area surrounding was grassland and more rolling hills that sunk from view. Soldiers wearing the same long leather surcoats marched in groups double file, four at each line. The captain pointed at the soldiers. “You see, you copy. Now form up!”

The group shuffled to two lines of four, Grizwald and Edus in front, the beggars at the back gnawing on the stolen smoked meat. They made their way to the barracks which had a smaller wall twelve feet high with only one gate. Sentries patrolled the ramparts and parapets of the two walls. Edus noticed they wore dull steel armor plates over where the steel lined holes were located on their leather jackets, completed by visorless helmets with T shaped openings. Every soldier regardless of his garb wielded a one handed sword sheathed to its scabbard. The sentries held polearms, one side a spike that curved to an axe opposite with a spear point above. It seemed only the guards at their posts were currently present outside.

Everyone else must still be sleeping. Edus was a mind to join them. He was uncertain where to turn in the captain’s stead and followed his steps closely. They reached a warehouse connected to the side of the barracks. The captain let himself in, the rest following suit.

Inside was cold, damp, and dark, not dissimilar to Edus’ cellar. The difference was the space. Shelf upon towering shelves of clothing and the leather coats lay folded stacked upon one another. There was enough to easily clothe several hundred men. Wood ladders lined the shelves. There were also scroll cases, leather strappings, armor sets, shields and weapons of various shapes and sizes along with a wealth of other supplies.

A lone man dozed on a chair beside the entrance, head lolled down, feet resting up on a table. The captain clapped his hands together in a thunderous smack, causing the sleeping man to pop his eyes open and flounder in his chair. The captain held onto the chair to keep him from falling.

“These boys are as good as naked. We’re in need of uniform.”

The quartermaster cracked his neck. He was an older man that time had not been gentle to, his balding white hair and wizened face eclipsed by the long scar that cut through from his forehead diagonally down to his mouth, warping one side to a permanent scowl. He rummaged through the supplies and pointed to Edus, tossing a folded stack of clothes on the table, followed by a pair of black boots squared at its heels.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” the captain said impatiently. “Strip and change. You won’t be needing those scraps any longer.”

Edus looked at his worn boots. His mother had made them for him when he had outgrown his old ones to the point that his toes peeked out from the front causing him constant discomfort. He remembered she gave them to him on his sixteenth birthday, stating, “A man needs boots to rely on. With a pair of good boots a man can tread across the whole world.”

The old man threw their clothes out in a wooden crate to the side, remnants of their past lives not forgotten. Edus admired the new clothes he wore, grey wool simply cut absent of any finery. They were comfortable, if not a little loose. The old quarter master beckoned the fat man forward.

"You won't be needing that where you're going."

The fat man's brows furrowed, refusing to move.

"I beg your pardon! I in fact will be needing this-" he trailed off upon the captain's hand on his shoulder, staring with a menacing grin.

He jutted his head in the quartermaster's direction.

"He's right. Do as the old man says."

He laid his backpack on the table before pocketing a small golden round case. The quartermaster ruffled through the pack and his eyes lit up upon discovering the food. "Haven't had one of these in a while," taking a crunching bite from a crisp yellowed apple.

"This-this is preposterous! I will be speaking to your superior of stolen property!" The fat man stammered, flabbergasted. The captain smirked.

"You're soldiers of the Empire now, you are her property. Everything you carry is her property, so on and so forth."

The fat man raised his head in a final act of defiance, "Be that as it may this uniform is much too tight."

He was right, Edus could see the blatant curve of his belly tight against the grey garments. The old man smiled, or what his mouth allowed him to.

"You'll lose that belly of yours in two calendars, fat man. As for you lot you'll soon grow into it. Maybe you can eat the fat man and gain some meat in those bones." The old man cackled at his morbid joke.

"My name is Fredric, of the Von Cleef line! How dare you insult me in this manner!"

"Are you a mage?" The captain tilted his head mockingly at Fredric. "No? Then your bloodline means shit all here. Now armor up, we have work to do."

***

The field stretched to flat grassland onwards, stray blades of grass waving in the soft breeze, not yet flattened by the marching soldiers. It turned out that the armor plates were secured to the leather jackets with leather strappings and smaller steel rings. Edus and the others (including the captain) all wore a backpack twice as large as Fredric's. He noticed the captain wore a different helmet topped by a flanged metal end that fanned out as curving sun’s pointed rays from its front to back.

Though Edus had spent his life in years of labor and toil he was already breathing hard from carrying the additional weight of all his armor and equipment. Sven, Saul and the high born looked similarly weary. Fredric sat down as soon as they reached the field, gasping for air. The beggars though looking like skeletons in their armor stood stoic in their certain suffering.

Other squads were now seen marching, this time in loose formations. Four shieldbearers spread out in front, one pikeman at opposite ends behind with two musketeers in between. The shield bearers marched in unison, feet shoulder width apart; one step forward, their rear foot balanced back. Each man from behind used the shieldbearers as cover, crouching down beneath their shoulder level.

"Before we begin take a good look at yourselves. Those around you are now your brothers. For better," he pulled Fredric up by his collar plate with one arm, "Or for worse. Say your names."

Edus, Sven and Saul stated their names. Fredric wheezed his title out. The high born said, "My name is Mikaal."

The pallid gangly beggar with matted black hair uttered, "Edgard."

The bronze skinned Umbran boy, "Corro."

The captain pointed at the sky before he lowered his hand slowly to tap on his breastplate. "Grizwald."

Of course that's his name, Edus thought. The man was a human bear. The captain stood in front of them, feet spread shoulder width apart, his hands clasped behind him.

"You need to know your names because of communication. Communication will save your lives. One wrong step out of position, you die from a sylvan arrow. Too slow to change formation, you get clubbed by an Orrk, or better still, mauled to death by their bear. Have you ever seen an Orrk? Picture one and a half of me and that's the smaller ones. Reckon you can take on a Sylvan? They’re twice as fast as the fastest man in Orr."

He looked at each of them, brow furrowed.

“And that’s just the Natives. The beasts that roam the forests make the Orrkin look like dwarves. But there is one silver fecking lining. And that is our numbers. With a coordinated squad, an Orrkin rider can be slain by gunshot and cold steel. With a proper shield wall Sylvan archers become useless, answered back by the gunnery line. You will learn these formations, our lives depend on it. Saul, Fredric, Edus with me. Sven to the left. Mikaal take the right flank. Edgard, Corro to the middle. Behind! Now march! Shields up!”

Now Edus understood why each of them carried their unique weapons and equipment. He, Fredric, and Saul held shields over their left arms, swords sheathed to the scabbard at their right side. Sven and Mikaal used their polearms as functioning walking sticks, looming over their heads. They carried the same tower shields that curved inward at their backs. Edgard and Corro had their musket rifles strapped to their shoulder.

Edus’ shield arm grew heavier and heavier, and he noticed on the inner side of his shield was another steel grip to hold onto with his other hand. They marched the length of the field more times than Edus could count, exhaustion wearing them down each by each weighted stride. Around the quarter lap Fredric stumbled and fell, retching on the ground. Grizwald kicked him by his breastplate to the side but still he refused to get up.

“Edus, Saul, pick him up!” Grizwald barked. By the end it was noon, the twin suns at their peak shining down. Edus’ head was damp with sweat, carrying Fredric even with Saul’s aid had exhausted him. The squad collapsed upon finishing their last round. Grizwald raised his head to the sky and closed his eyes taking in the sun, sighing deeply.

“Get up. We’re eating in the mess hall.”

***

Edus eyed his bowl of smoking stew. He ripped off a piece of the freshly baked bread, a flaky golden brown.

“Don’t thank the Mythic, thank yourself for joining the army,” garbled Sven through his bowl, voicing his thoughts. Just before Edus had discovered the meaning of the word washroom and communal. Washroom was a luxury he never had even thought about. Communal meant he had to share it with his seven other squad mates. The others were at a loss of how to use the water pipes until Fredric and Mikaal turned the faucets on their adjacent showers, running cold water. An invention only possible by the dwarves, who used their natural subterranean talents to lay down copper metal piping from the Green Lake all the way to the fort, so Mikaal explained to them.

His father was an engineer for the Army, excluding him from combat duty. Mikaal was to follow in his footsteps, apprenticed to his father. He wished to enlist however despite his say so. When Edus asked him why he answered simply, “I want to see the world. As an engineer you’d be cooped up for the rest of your life in the capital. Maybe one day I’ll be stationed at an outpost in the Orient, or Umbra.”

“You do not want to be in Umbra. Nothing but desert and seething snakes and scorpions that want nothing but to poison you. So I’ve heard.” Corro brought his face to the pouring water, lapping in its simple luxury.

“An Umbran that’s never been to Umbra?” Sven asked.

“He was born here,” Edgard retorted in his defence. Corro shrugged.

“My mother came here for a new life. She did not understand the language, and resorted to whoring. Then came me. I left her when I was four and never looked back.”

They washed up quickly after in tepid silence, drying themselves with the towels (which were scraps of cloth) provided.

When Edus saw Grizwald join them in the communal showers he was even bulkier than he looked wearing his armor, slabs of muscle that brought Saul to shame. Whereas Saul was akin to a bear Grizwald was chiseled from stone albeit covered in shaggy body hair. What was peculiar were the glyph tattoos inscribed in indigo ink upon his knotted forearms.

Grizwald did not join them in the mess hall, clapping his hand on the backs of other captains who ate separate from their squads. The captains all wore squared navy blue shoulder patches on their grey uniforms indicating their rank. The long tables were just enough to each fit one squad, or all seven of them. Edus, Sven and Saul sat to one side. The mess hall was no different from a lively tavern, crammed and dark smelling of mixed sweat and beer, even with the garrison’s bard singing in vain to his lute amidst the loud chatter.

“What do those glyphs say on Grizwald’s forearms?” Edus asked Mikaal.

“Names.”

“Names of who?”

“Probably his past squad,” Sven answered for him. “I counted seven on each arm.”

“He went through two squads?”

“Last man standing,” Mikaal muttered. Edus ate his food, mulling over the newfound information. He did not even know the captain cared at all for his fellow squad mates.

“His first squad must have been his true brothers. His second less so. He couldn’t give two shits about us.” Sven said, motioning with the last piece of his bread.

“You’ll never know until you’re a tattoo on his arse,” Saul remarked.

“Hear, hear.” Edus raised a mock toast with his wooden tankard, taking a swill of the weak beer. Water may have flowed from the pipes but did not make it any safer to drink.

Edgard giggled before covering his mouth, eyes flitting about as if he was guilty of something dastardly.

“You’re drunk,” Sven said in disbelief. “From this bilge water?”

Edgard and Corro grinned. Fredric sat nursing his tankard, too sick to eat beyond his ration of bread.

“So… when do you reckon we leave?” Corro asked, his dark eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“When Grizwald calls us,” Saul said.

Sven sponged the last of his stew with the remaining piece of his bread.

“There’s feck all to do anyways,” he said, licking the grease off his fingers.

About an hour later Grizwald stood from his seat and strode to their table.

“Get up. Time for combat training. Since you’re new we won’t be wearing armor. Need to know what it feels like.” Grizwald walked jovially on.

***

Edus felt the wind knocked out from his lungs, wheezing to the sharp jab at his gut from the wooden sword. Grizwald was remarkably fast for a man of his size and knew when Edus would attack. Saul took advantage of his distraction and barreled past, charging to tackle Grizwald who met him head on, feet sliding back an inch, and tossed Saul aside as if he were a haystack. Edus rose, determined to at least lay one blow on the man.

He is after all just a man, isn’t he?

“Saul get up.” Saul moved gingerly up with a helping hand from Edus. The others were cheering outside the sparring grounds, the two biggest squad mates against the captain.

I don’t even think the entire squad could take the bastard, Edus smiled at the thought.

“Remember the move?”

Saul nodded.

“Three, two, one.” The two dashed forward, Grizwald standing there rubbing his mustache with a finger. Saul charged to tackle as before while Edus stepped off his shoulder, leaping into the air kicking his other leg back for balance, his sword ready to stab Grizwald’s chest. Only Grizwald pushed Saul’s head forcefully down to the ground and parried his strike. Edus landed and stumbled, off balance. Oh, fe-

Grizwald simply sweeped Edus with one foot, his sword pointed down at his throat.

“Good,” the captain nodded in approval. “Combined assault. Sven and Fredric, you’re against Edgard and Corro.”

Sven smirked.

“I must have two stones on those two.”

His smirk disappeared however soon after they began sparring. Edgard and Corro moved as two coiling snakes, ducking and weaving while stinging Sven and Fedric with their training swords. They moved with purpose, circling round them like dogs waiting to strike.

“Almost looks like they’re pickpocketing them clean,” Saul observed. Fredric attempted to bull rush Corro who sidestepped smartly out and whacked him on the arse. In the end the past beggars had not received a single blow.

“That’s enough for today. Tomorrow we’ll begin again, this time with armor on.”

Sven groaned, nursing his welts and bruises. “Yes, please.”

“You’re free for the rest of today. Supper is served by the horn. Our lodgings number is five.”

Grizwald turned and strode off to the barracks. Edus and the others decided to explore their quarters, which was quite spacious indeed. There were four bunk beds, the lone bunk Sven called out. The captain had his own quarters on the upper floor. Otherwise there were no furnishings or ornamentation, save for a small table to the corner with two chairs. A window positioned to the side of the suns let light through.

"Mythic's grace, what are we supposed to do for the rest of the day?" Sven voiced all of their concerns.

Mikaal produced a deck of cards stashed in his pocket. Though Edus did not read glyphs, he had understood the game along with Sven and Saul, often playing their father's faded deck. He recognized the inked figures of the King, the Queen, the Steward, the Soldier, the Mage, and the Jester.

"Do you know how to play with glyphs?" Mikaal asked, already knowing the answer. The youths shook their heads. Mikaal patiently explained to them the numbers from one to nine. Edus took a liking to Mikaal. He was not arrogant in his knowledge of which easily surpassed the others and took his time to speak his mind. Edus noticed Fredric did not join them, laying on his bed with his golden round case flipped open. Inside lay a small sharply detailed etching of a woman and a smaller face. Edus averted his gaze, guilty of one's own business.

Some have left their past lives freely, while others cling hopefully to its memory, Edus thought. He did not know when it would end, but Edus knew when hard times were ahead, and this day was not one of them.