Strategy. Tactics. Battle. War.

Well… pretend.

It wasn’t true war without the most important part.

Mighty logistics.

The true god of war.

War was hell.

All their old soldier teachers had said so. Even the old soldiers they brought in over the years to share their experiences had said so. It didn’t matter their species. All agreed that war against another sapient was worse than anything else.

Al took their word for it. Although, he decided that he would need to experience it for himself to set his thought one way or the other.

Practice war made his heart race and his breathing hard to master even when it was nothing like the real thing.

Today, they learned in the most basic form.

Two opposing sides.

Melee weapons only.

No spell staves and sticks slinging bright spells across the grassy field. No massive balls of elemental fury arcing overhead from kilometers away. No summoned monsters or bonded creatures lending their strength. No flying machines, like the ornithopter and its buzzing wings, swooping out of the clouds to rain destruction. No mighty eidolons of opposing Gods shaking the earth and breaking the sky while they dueled in the midst of it all.

No.

Practice was nothing like the real thing.

“Dorion is coming for you,” Kallis’ voice crackled through the phonogems in his helmet. “Refuse the flank. Adrastrea will pivot to hit him on his. You will swing your company behind her in case they decide to charge her flank.”

The teachers had set up a little light gem jamming, but their countermeasures were working and he received her without issue.

“Understood.”

Tellingly, she didn’t direct him to use his Skills like she did a few of others.

That told him that she trusted his judgment.

He relayed Kallis’ orders to his sergeant, who in turn barked at the ten men and women under his command.

Practice war meant practice troop numbers.

Ten men and women was a squad in the real world.

Indeed, the real soldiers pretending to be bitter enemies were also from the 12th Company of the city’s garrison.

Al regarded their faces.

Lots of grins and laughter as they banged practice swords on their shields while launching crude shouts across the way.

Odd that they looked forward to hurting their fellow soldiers.

Perhaps, it was because the weapons were blunted.

They faced no true danger beyond a rung bell, broken bones and bruises. And with many healers standing all around the perimeter of the battlefield even the worse injury wouldn’t last beyond the afternoon.

“Orga switch with Telegoras,” he directed his heavy line-breaker to rightmost spot on his line.

The massive Torruk obeyed without question or hesitation.

Surprising, history class implied that the species had a tendency to lose themselves in battle and always sought to be at the thickest of the fighting.

He had been prepared to explain that, as the slowest, she needed to be at the point of the pivot so as to keep their formation intact.

Unless she had a speed Skill?

Al made a mental mark against himself. He should’ve used their prep time to learn his company’s pertinent Skills. Belatedly, he realized that was likely the purpose his teachers gave them a quarter hour with their companies. Instead, he had wasted it by making frivolous talk as social interaction required.

“Good call, cub,” Orga grunted as she took her position.

The Torruk’s tree brown-skinned face split into a wide grin beneath her helmet to reveal gold-capped tusks.

“Do you have a speed Skill?”

Better late than never.

“Only going forward.”

“Thank you for your candor.”

“Permission to get a few whacks in while the rest of the softlings pivot around?”

“Granted.”

The opposing force marched across the field at a leisurely pace.

Seven lines of ten men and women just like his side.

“Like an easy stroll across the plain without fire, eh?” Orga grunted.

“Yes. Ranged fire would change the entire equation. They would suffer loses and be forced to move faster, leaving them fatigued for the final charge and the melee,” he regarded Dorion at the front and center of the opposing line.

A tactical mistake.

Leaders needed to keep themselves alive so as to give orders.

Which was why he stood behind his line.

“He’s not breaking formation,” Sergeant Battos said.

The opposing force reached the fifty meter mark to contact.

Dorion gave no sign of charging ahead.

Al almost requested an order from Kallis, then he remembered that she likely trusted him to make an autonomous decision.

He debated and decided in an instant.

Kallis’ plan needed Dorion to charge ahead of the others.

“Sergeant, taunting Skills when they are in range.”

Those were permitted. Anything that made a strike deadlier or defense more impenetrable were forbidden.

“Understood!” Sergeant Battos barked the order.

The soldiers responded to each other with equal parts glee and vulgarity.

“Suck my sausage, Lysandras!”

“Hey, Myron… your husband couldn’t get enough of mine last night!”

“Your mother!”

One even sheathed his sword to lift his chiton and flash his natural dagger before letting fly with a rather impressive stream that shined in the sunlight.

Perhaps, after the practice battle, he’d ask the soldier why he had done that.

“Adras damn it! Back in line, Damophon!” Sergeant Battos snarled at a soldier that had taken the taunt.

Several of Dorion’s soldiers broke ranks and charged, but they only got a few strides before counter Skills were activated to slow and reel them back into formation.

Al could see the angry words spilling out of Dorion.

He had one Skill from his tactician class.

“Induce Charge,” he pointed.

“That’ll do it! Brace for impact, you worms!” Sergeant Battos hustled behind the line to stand close to Al.

Dorion’s line closed the meters quickly.

Al’s eyes darted to the rest of the enemy formation.

They maintained their pace.

At ten meters Sergeant Battos gave the order to fall back.

Competent sergeants were one of the most important things to running a company.

It seemed that the lessons they had learned in class proved true in real life.

Al realized that he would’ve waited too long to give the order had the sergeant not taken initiative.

He thought that he should’ve said something as the leader, but the sergeant knew what to do.

Dorion’s company saw and smelled blood like sharks in the sea.

They had failed to mark Adrastrea’s company pivoting.

Her line hit Dorion’s flank.

Soldiers laughed as they bludgeoned their fellow soldiers with blunted steel. Red paint on the edges marked wounds and soon every single soldier under Dorion, including himself, lay on the grass, dead or captured.

Al’s company hadn’t even finished their pivot to take Adrastrea’s place.

“Charge!” Kallis roared.

Orga bellowed a Torrukian war chant.

He felt it deep in his gut.

A thrill for the bloodshed to come.

Except, they weren’t really supposed to draw blood.

That truth calmed him.

Less so most of the other soldiers.

He remained behind his line as they slammed into their opposite number.

Shields came together with the sound of tri-horns slamming their bony shield crests together during rutting season.

Blades clanged.

Shouts of pain and joy joined the din.

Birds perched in nearby trees decided to be elsewhere.

Al found himself without much to do.

Sergeant Battos remained at his side while exhorting the men and women.

Orga stabbed her blade into the ground to pick up an enemy soldier by his collar like a mother cat does her kitten.

“You still owe me coin, Ismene. Gonna pay up?”

“You cheated!” Ismene slashed, but Orga took it on her shield.

“Then let your perfidy send you to Tartarus.”

“Wait, what? This is just practice!” Ismene wriggled desperately.

“Practice Tartarus,” Orga clarified before hurling the much smaller soldier away.

A second soldier darted in the opening.

Al had seen him moving, so was in position to land a cut on the man’s sword arm.

He was careful to strike lightly.

This was practice.

Even with healers it was prudent to avoid unnecessary damage.

The soldier cursed and dropped his sword, allowing his arm to fall limply at his side.

Al relaxed his guard and stepped back only for the soldier to slam a shield in his face.

Fortunately, he had the reflexes and muscle memory to fall back and turn his head.

A rung bell was preferable to a rung bell and a busted nose.

Perhaps, those that argued against the merits of an open-faced helmet had their points.

Sergeant Battos cut the enemy soldier down.

“Eyes up and ears open, young one.”

“Understood. Thank you, sergeant.”

“Orga! This isn’t a game!”

The Torruk nodded, picked up her sword and commenced beating down the enemy.

Some would say that stepping into a battle was like traveling through time. If such a thing existed beyond the realm of thought exercises and idle conjecture.

Battle could feel like an eternity, yet when it ended the soldier would realize that a bare handful of minutes had passed.

The inverse could also be true.

Battle could be a blur of violence and fear, yet one would find that the sun was low on the eastern horizon at the end when it had been at its zenith at the beginning.

The only thing Al was certain of was that he wasn’t certain of anything.

It had been like that with every practice battle over the past several years.

They all had ended the same way.

Sitting in a tent were the teachers picked apart every mistake in excruciating detail.

He didn’t quite understand why most of the other students grumbled about this part.

Wasn’t learning the purpose of this all?

If mistakes weren’t pointed out then how would one rectify them in the future?

The lead instructor for the military portion of their schooling paced back and forth on four stout legs.

It had taken Al a few days to stop staring when they had been introduced to Ginnifer Mountainstomper on that first day.

She came from a world of strange beings and even stranger names.

Her people bore a slight resemblance to the Centaurus that originated on Othrys, Second World of Its Name. Her four legs underneath her people’s version of a chiton were covered in tough, gray-colored hide that resembled armored plates in certain spots. The hide continued part way up her human-like torso. It thinned to more closely resemble Al’s dark brown skin at the chest, shoulders and arms. Except her skin was closer to true black. Her head and face didn’t look out of place amongst Al, the students and other teachers. They were just larger in keeping with the proportions of her body. She kept her black hair cut short to make it easier to wear a helm.

Teacher Ginni, as she demanded to be called, was amiable at most times.

In this tent and in this moment wasn’t one of them.

One of the foremost generals in Adras’ military loomed over one student in particular.

“Candidate Dorion, what was your mistake?” General Ginni rumbled like a rockfall.

Eyes darted to Al for an instant.

“I made several,” Dorion sat tall and stiff in his camp chair.

“Good. Start at the beginning.”

“I shouldn’t have requested to be placed opposite Alcaestus.”

Odd.

Why would Dorion request such a thing?

Positions along the battle line came with their own advantages and disadvantages.

Those in the middle tended to require less maneuvering, though that also meant there weren’t many options if things turned against you.

Being on either wing gave greater freedom, however one traded the security of having support on both flanks.

Indeed, Dorion’s company had found themselves unsupported due to Kallis’ tactic.

Al settled on personal enmity being what had driven Dorion’s decision.

He recalled that it had only been a few weeks since he had triumphed over Dorion in the wrestling pit to take the top spot in the current cycle.

Still, it was odd that Dorion held on to that.

Dorion had beaten him inside the striking ring a week further back to top the class and he had already relegated it to his memories, just like the wrestling.

“I didn’t adequately query my men and women on their applicable Skills before the practice battle. My sergeant possessed an anti-taunt Skill, which I should’ve ordered her to engage.”

“Continue,” their teacher rumbled.

“I placed myself at the front. Had I been behind my line the efficacy of the enemy taunts may have not affected me as strongly. In that case I may have been able to counter Alcaestus’ Skill with one of my own.”

“And you would’ve saved yourself a knock on the head.”

The side of Dorion’s head was distorted by a lumpy bruise.

They had healers, but the students hadn’t been healed all the way back to normal.

Their teachers thought it would be beneficial for the lesson to sink in over the next week as their injuries healed the natural way.

“Needless to say,” Ginni continued, “this was just practice. Had this been real, Dorion would be dead as would most of you on the losing side. Why not surrender when the battle was lost?”

A rhetorical question the students knew not to answer.

“Not all battles end in complete annihilation. Taking prisoners for ransom is how these things tend to be when our pantheon wars with itself. Of course there are occasions were war becomes truly bloody, when there is no quarter from either side.”

“How will we know the difference?”

“For most of you… just follow your orders. For those that might rise to the highest levels of command… then you’ll be a party to the decision. Do not worry. You’ll learn.”

That didn’t really answer Kallis’ question.

“Now, who wants to be next on the inquisitor’s stand?”

Predictably, no one raised their hands.

“Hmm,” Ginni mused, “Alcaestus.”

He didn’t need to think too hard.

“There were several moments that I didn’t treat this exercise as a true battle,” he listed them as one reads out the ingredients to a simple dinner.

Time passed quickly.

The hot summer gave way to cool autumn as the leaves changed color before withering and falling to the ground to die.

Winter was cold to Al.

The heat of his original home hadn’t prepared him.

Here he was almost seven years later and he still needed a thick coat and long trousers, whereas those like Dorion remained clothed in the standard chiton. The only concession to the cold air were longer sleeves rather than bare arms.

Al’s breath came out in a white puff.

“What?” Dorion scowled up at him.

“The stick isn’t anchored deep enough. When the snare captures the foot the animal will drag the whole thing away when it bolts.”

Dorion shoved the stick deeper.

“There. Good enough?”

“It is.”

“Instead of standing over my shoulder why don’t you finish setting your snares.”

“I have already finished.”

“Of course you have,” Dorion muttered. “How are you so good at this stuff?”

“Theron trained me in the hunter’s craft.”

“I know that!” Dorion snapped.

“Then why did you— rhetorical question,” he nodded. “You weren’t seeking an answer.”

“And why do you call the honored one by his given name? Even I have to address the eidolons properly! Even my father does and he’s lord of many cities back home! Bah, curse this pointless contraption!” Dorion threw the thin wire down and stomped on it for good measure.

“Theron requested I refer to him as such. I have always addressed the other eidolons in the prescribed manner. As for the snare. It’s a critical aspect of woodcraft. Eidolons often work alone far from cities and easy access to sustenance.”

Dorion took a deep breathe. “All technically correct, as always. However, eidolons can go months between meals sustained only by the divine blood that flows through them. Furthermore, an eidolon can easily run down and snap the neck of practically all edible beasts one might conceivably find in the wilderness. Lastly,” he stomped over to a nearby bush and plucked a shriveled berry, “though this is almost out of its season,” he popped it into his mouth and grimaced as he chewed, “it is perfectly edible.”

“Eating only fruit will lead to incontinence, which will lead to dehydration, which will lead to death.”

“There are mushrooms,” Dorion pointed to a fallen log, “and other sundry vegetables. Hives contain honey. What about a nice, fat, juicy grub? Perfectly edible if you can bear the wriggling, the goo and the crunchy bits.”

“Those aren’t without risks. We’re familiar with the flora of this region. However, we may be sent to a different region or a different world entirely. One where all that we have learned her may not apply in part.”

“Well, then it is good that we’ve been taught how to identify and test for such things. As for your second and valid concern. I’d say, then we do as our lessons taught. We educate ourselves with the local knowledge base before we start anything.”

Al blinked at Dorion. He had nothing else to say so he remained silent.

“You know, people say you’re missing something up here,” Dorian tapped his temple. “Well, whatever, I’m pretty sure that someone missing something wouldn’t be in the top five. I think you’re just a little strange. Probably because you’re an orphan. Not having someone to raise you will mess anyone up. Actually, it’s a credit to yourself that you’re running neck to neck with your betters,” he laughed as he bent over to dig the snare out of the soft soil. “You better keep it up. I want you at your best the whole way to the finish. Victory will taste all the sweeter knowing that you tried your best.”

“I have given my best effort since the beginning. I don’t see a reason to change that.”

“See?” Dorion laughed.

Al didn’t.

“You’ve got no highs and no lows. There’s barely a difference in the way you look when you think no one is watching. Succeed or fail, you look the same. The only times I’ve caught you otherwise I’m pretty sure you had to remember to smile or frown or whatever. You’re almost like one of the clockwork men cleaning up our mess.”

Dorion was wrong, but Al saw no need to correct him.

Automatons didn’t feel.

He did.

It was just that what he felt stayed inside unless he remembered to display it.

Dorion’s words were a good reminder and notice that he could do better to act as was expected of him.

Well, that’s what he was at a school for, after all.

To learn.