The Dead Story: Chapter 2 (Patreon)

Ridley sighed and stretched his back as he stood up. The trunk was fairly empty but still was not something lightly moved around. Happy with its placement he sat down on his bunk, one of five, in the cabin he would be sharing with his team. After planning countless ways to introduce himself it was all for naught. Being the first to arrive meant he would be the one greeting and giving the tour rather than receiving it. Apparently this wasn’t just a new battalion but an entirely new camp. Most of the staff had not even arrived yet. Even the palisade, cabins, and signage all had the look and smell of being freshly hewn. Paranoia set to a record high Ridley wasn’t really what to think anymore.

After a few minutes of imitating an unthinking and unmoving statue he stood back up with a shake of his head. He could be unproductive later. Unlatching the trunk he unpacked a clean uniform and armaments then went over to the standing mirror to make himself presentable. Changing into the new uniform took only but a minute. If the Commandant was on base it would dictate full dress and accoutrements. Safe than sorry and all that.

Running a hand over the buttons running down the side he straightened his shoulders. The uniform itself was an unremarkable grey, nearly undyed one would say. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for a fighting man. A simple coat, belt, pants, and attachable cloak. Leaving the Armor packed until training began was acceptable since no one would be expected to wear it yet. Strapping the new sheathed dagger to his right hip he picked up his sheathed sword. Buckling and attaching the broadsword into his baldric he took a minute to adjust his bandolier and buckles till the weapon had a comfortable angle. Testing the ease of draw he pulled the blade free with very little discomfort. Sheathing the weapon he looked into the mirror to inspect himself. 

In the mirror was a soldier with a wiry build, fair complexion, and dead eyes. As non-commissioned officers received no cap, he was ready. With a final adjustment to one of the buttons he turned and left.

The camp wasn’t full by any means of the word but it certainly was already very busy. Men and women were coming and going in every direction. Security for the camp was probably a nightmare right now and he had no qualms in admitting he was happy to have no part of it. The general lay out was what you would expect from any military training camp. Cabins for trainees, cabins for support, mess hall, kitchens, armory, training area grounds, manor for the commandant, jail, restroom area.

Walking around for several hours to acquaint himself with the layout found Ridley standing at the western gatehouse as another wagonload came in. An on duty guard eyed him for a moment before turning back to the official who he was in the middle of a conversation with.

Ridley sidled close enough to listen into the conversation while watching the wagons creak by.

“-ing group four and all the gear they brought or need as well as training group five or at least two of them. Their gear is also on the wagons. Other than that it’s mostly flour. Seems like you’re going to have quite a few people here soon.”

Training group five was his own, which meant the training gear for his team and his team itself would be on these wagons. Moving away from the two men he chased after the lead wagon and approached the driver.

“Those are some fine horses’ friend. Would they be your personal team?” A smile and a soft touch worked just as well as his blade.

“That they are. Lovely aren’t they? Brought this lot all the way without a hitch or bitch.” Ridley laughed at that and nodded.

“Would your wagon happen to be carrying for team five? If not, could you tell me which wagon or wagons that is?”

“Hah, you’ll be heading to the rear for those. That was a last minute change.”

Ridley nodded to the man in thanks and walked towards the back of the train, filing the fact that apparently team five was a last minute decision away for later. Nervous thoughts came easily and far too quickly to Ridley and it became harder and harder to fend them off when more of this situation was exposed.

He stopped for a moment to direct the last wagon in the train on where to pull in to and then reached the rear of the wagon. Inside were two men, crates from bed to the top of the wagon walls, and two trunks. Time to strike up a conversation and get that first impression across.

“Good afternoon. I’m Sergeant Norwood. I’m one of the instructors for team five. Drill and combat.”

The two men shared a look and the larger man stepped out of the back of the wagon first followed by the smaller man.

The first man could easily be described as a wall. Dressed in his own uniform he was the poster child for enlistment. Tall, very nearly six foot by Ridley’s estimation, and built like a statue depicting the virtue of strength and stamina. Brown eyes set in a face that was neither attractive nor unfortunate, graced with a thick mane of light brown hair. The handshake he gave Ridley was strong and callused.

“Sergeant Tesh. Physical fitness and etiquette. This bastard here is Sergeant Gaines.” With his left hand he motioned his thumb towards the man behind him as he stepped to the side. The second man stepped forward and offered his hand. If the first man was the soldier incarnate, the second was anything but. Standing a few inches shorter than Ridley and with a build like a scarecrow he did not cut an imposing figure. The brown eyes set below dark brown hair gave him a normal countenance that could be overlooked anywhere. There in his eyes lurked a keen intelligence and self-loathing that couldn’t be faked however.

“Sergeant Bastard, doctrine.” In spite of himself Ridley snorted at that and took the man’s hand in his own. Ridley suddenly wanted to make these two men friends and confidants. Which made it even harder to trust them. Wishing to confide in someone wasn’t a normal reaction Ridley possessed. Releasing the man’s hand Ridley held out his arm to his side.

“If you’ll follow me I can show you where you sleep, where you eat, and where you shit.” Ridley assumed they would follow and took off in the direction of the mess hall as it was the closest.

“This man, I love him. Saxan, do you think he’d have me? I’m not as pretty a man as he is but I’m a faithful man.” Gaines whispered loudly to Tesh, who was apparently given the first name of Saxan. 

“If that’s how he lived his life he could do better than you Pratt. Though if memory serves you’ve left a trail of tears and children have you not?” 

“Pfah, they can’t prove any of them are mine. Not legally any ways mind you.” 

With that Ridley decided that he liked these men and would indeed do his best to befriend them. Putting aside the image he wanted to project he let himself laugh, truly and honestly amused at the whole thing.

“Flattered as I am Pratt, I’m afraid I have to agree with Saxan. I could indeed to better than you, but if it helps I’m not interested to begin with.  Call me Ridley.”

Saxan and Pratt both laughed at that and took up a wedge formation behind Ridley. “Oh I’m wounded Ridley, wounded. I tell you, you’ll come crawling back to me one day and I’ll not have you then. You’ll see.” Pratt made a fist and shook it. “You’ll all see. I’ll burn this world with my name and all shall know me and wish to be me or with me!” 

“You’ll have to forgive him Ridley, I’m afraid he’s brilliant. Brilliant and about as sane as a monkey riding a tiger.” Saxan explained while Pratt laughed maniacally. A few people looked up alarmed as they passed, wondering but saying nothing.

“As long as he’s on our side I suppose.” Ridley smiled with a rueful shake of his head and proceeded with the tour.

An hour after found all three men in team fives trainer cabin. Saxan and Pratt were making small adjustments to their gear and small personal spaces. Ridley was starting to feel the old ache of having people around for too long a time. Palms were getting itchy, hands were sweating, his heart rate started to climb up. Too many years in the general slave quarters were to blame. One slept with an eye on everyone else and the other on the door.

Pratt suddenly broke the silence and smacked one hand into the other. “Alright, will either of you spar with me? That ride was mind numbing, no offense Saxan, and I’m pretty damn sure my spine is still one solid bar.”

Happy to have an excuse Ridley was eager to accept but was also concerned Pratt had seen right through him. Pratt clearly needed close attention as that kind of mind could prove a problem down the road. 

“I’ve not had the luxury of any exercise at all since I was given word of being shipped off here. I’d be delighted to. You gonna join us Saxan?”

The big man frowned as he looked up from his trunk. “I’ll be out shortly. This needs to be ordered correctly.” He made a vague gesture at his personal items. 

With that being said Ridley left the cabin with Pratt in tow. They made their way over to the training areas and to the designated site for team five. “Saxan won’t spar, his style of fighting doesn’t lend itself well to it. He’ll probably come watch but that’s it.”

After a moment of digesting that Ridley just changed the subject instead. “I work with a broadsword more often than not. How about yourself?” Ridley inquired as he opened the shed to the team five training armory. Wooden weapons lined every wall and rested in racks that created aisles. Idly picking through them to find one that suited his own personal tastes he looked up to see Pratt doing the same on the other side.

“I’m sure I’ll hear no end of it but I prefer a long sword in my right and a short in the left. I don’t quite have the arm strength to man a shield and use a bastard sword like that brute Saxan.” Pratt sniffed once and dragged his sleeve over his mouth. “Ah! Perfect.” 

“Whatever works for you friend. I’ll not disparage a man for finding a style that defines him. I’ll skip the shield for now since it wouldn’t exactly be very fun. Me just standing behind a shield and all.” Ridley picked up one of the training blades and gave it a test swing. It was weighted well and the dull wood felt right for the balance and length. With a grunt he placed his service sword in the place of the wooden one. He spared a moment to double check the hammered number and seal on the cross piece and then made his way back outside.

“Ohhhh? Well, I appreciate the sportsmanship. Admittedly it’d be fairly…well…fucking stupid, to be sure.” Pratt was already waiting for him, wind milling his arms slowly back and forth. Ridley did the same and after a few minutes he placed himself in a simple ready stance with his sword tip pointing down. Ridley wasn’t really sure of the intricacies of sparring since he had only been allowed to fight in the pit. When he trained others in the pit, but they slave, recruit, or otherwise, he was forced to train without having a weapon in his own hand. He knew how to spar, what it was, and what was expected, but simply never had.

Across from him Pratt stopped dead and looked just looked at him. Ridley smirked and then focused on the Pratt’s mid-section and arms. Faces and feet lie, center of gravity does not. Pratt took up a similar stance after a moment and they began. It was a gentle thing at first, light swipes and thrusts to feel each other out. Sparring was more about learning, teaching, and the technicalities. Ridley felt his defenses tightening with each pass, his swings and thrusts becoming swifter with increasing accuracy, even as the worries and problems drifted away. Sword fighting truly boiled down to a few concepts. Perception of your adversary, timing, reach, distance, and using leverage.

Pratt was actually fairly talented Ridley conceded to himself after a few minutes of their match passed. His short sword parried cleanly and did a fair job of some creative openings. Ridley began shifting his stance continuously, never remaining still or being passive. As he fell into himself he began to simply let himself move instead of thinking.

Within a few heartbeats Ridley’s footwork sped up and his attack speed came up drastically. Even before Pratt lunged Ridley knew it would be a lunge. Down to the very core of his being. Aiming the edge of his blade for the flat of Pratt’s he was already moving. His sword struck true and batted Pratt’s blade wide. Ridley brought grabbed the end of his own sword and uncoiled like a pouncing hunting cat, his stance expanding rapidly. He used his momentum to add to the force and the leverage he had on his own sword to drive the pommel into Pratt’s chest. The force behind the attack knocked Pratt off balance and had him faltering backwards. 

Ridley brought his blade up in a salute, indicating he felt he had scored a point that would have been fatal. Pratt wasn’t a stupid man and probably knew that the hilt would have been aimed at his throat with the intent of crushing his windpipe. Without even a pause Pratt’s own sword came up and then he suddenly smiled, taking controlled breaths. 

“Impressive Ridley. Very impressive. I truly thought I had you with that last thrust. Truly did.”

“You did have him. He’s faster than you though. Stronger too. His blade was already in motion as the tip of your’s barely started to move. His fighting style is also one that is meant to simply end you. He doesn’t want to play with you, he wants to kill you.” Saxan had said nothing during but had clearly been watching. Ridley had a moment of surprise that he hadn’t noticed the big man. His entire being had been so wrapped up in the mock battle that he simply hadn’t noticed. Retrospectively he realized it had been enjoyable. What was once fighting for his life in the slave pens, the pits, the training circles, had become something enjoyable.

“Damn your eyes and damn his hands then.” Pratt grimaced. “I’ll just have to get faster than won’t I. Care to have a go Saxan?”

“I’ll pass. I’m already well aware of the outcome if I faced Ridley here. As for you, pass as well.  I’m not much of a fencer. Give me a battlefield and a swath of men to hack at and I’ll be fine. Dancing is well and good but I’m just not for it.”

“I’d be delighted to continue Pratt. That was….truly enjoyable.” Ridley paused, clearly hesitating, then settled his inner turmoil with a choice to trust these two. “I must confess to you both, now so you both hear it from me, I was a slave from the pits. I fought and survived at first by simply paying attention and using whatever I had on hand, others, terrain, tactics, whatever I could. In time I was able to observe and learn from other fighters who had more experience and begin imitating them. I survived. I survived and then began to thrive. I’ve killed many. They eventually had me training others. In the end I was training private guards, recruits, relatives of nobility who would be forced into a military station and wanted a silent tutor. They pardoned me, pressed me into service, promoted me, and packed me off to here. I was in the pits for most of my life. I’ve known no other way.” Ridley could feel his heart hammering in his ears. It was a cross roads for him. He wasn’t good with these kind of things and never would be. Killing a man in cold blood wasn’t hard. Lives were cheap and came and went easy. Trusting in others, putting yourself out there for someone to hurt you, that was hard. 

Pratt and Saxan received this little speech in silence. Saxan nodded once and then looked to Pratt. Pratt made a confused face and shrugged. “Alright. Boo hoo-For you. I’ll buy you a damned whore when we get some time. Ready?” He brought up his own sword in readiness and took a proper stance. “Going to whoop you so good you’ll want to know what pit I came from. So fast. Gonna get you. Get you. Fast. Faster. God damned wind like speed.”

“Yeah, have fun with that Ridley. He doesn’t lose often and when he does he’s unberable. I’m going to head back and take a nap I think.” Saxan waved his hand at them in dismissal and walked off.

Ridley felt his heart lurch in his chest and started lauging. He brought up his sword in return. What a day of firsts. “Come along then Sergeant Wind from a Horses ass.”

“Well? How’d he do.” Saxan sat down across from where they sat in the mess hall.

“I beat him. Ha! All shall fear me and mine. Peasants, toads, that little fucking kid before we left who called me weird.” Pratt savagely tore at his bread as he dared anyone to say otherwise.

Saxan gave Pratt a look at that, clearly a conversation was held without words, before he looked back to Ridley for clarification.

“He did. Out of the eleven attempts he did score the last one.” Ridley acknowledged. “I ended up slipping and nearly speared myself on his sword. Ended up catching my chin on his knee and a lovely face full of dirt.” 

“Ah. Yes. The battlefield will betray all given the chance. Good for you Pratt, your ally lady luck, the bitch she can be, has made sure you wouldn’t leave in abject defeat.”

Pratt made a face to that but said nothing around his mouth full of food.

“Just don’t let Pratt challenge you to anything like chess. He has a tendency to win in such theaters and is an unrelenting ass when he does. He won’t even deny it either.” Pratt ignored them both having suddenly decided to start stuffing the rest of his dinner into the half eaten bread roll. “Have you heard word when the recruits will be arriving?”

Ridley shook his head in response. “No. The best I’ve heard is tomorrow evening or the morning of the day after.” Pratt coughed once and sprayed small bits of food across his tray and the table top. Without a word he stood and walked out of the mess hall leaving Ridley staring after him. “Honestly, is he…insane? You said he was brilliant but I thought the other part was just…just having fun.”

“Yes, and he probably is the brightest man I’ve met at the same time. He really doesn’t understand people, at all. If a problem needs to be solved he’ll take the most practical solution and simply do it.  If someone has to die, they’re dead. If a crime must be committed, it’s done. It’s all done without a second thought or backward glance. It makes him appear, well, exactly as you saw. Good man to have as a friend if you can get him there, which you have by the way, but a horrible enemy to ever cross. Brilliant but bat shit crazy.”

“Well, I can’t say I’ve had better friends with my background, hell can’t say I’ve had any at all really, but he’s definitely unique.” Ridley supplied as he moped up what was left in his tray with the heel of his bread.

“He’s a good judge of character. I trust him. Speaking of the pits. You may not want to go around talking about that. Which I’m sure you already know, but it’s worth saying. I doubt everyone would be thrilled to hear whose teaching.”

“I hear you. I don’t plan on mentioning it to anyone else. Did you know there will be no officer training here? For whatever reason it’s being conducted elsewhere back in the capital. They’ll come out as a class of dandies if you ask me but I’m just a pit slave.”

Saxan chortled at that. “Dandies indeed. I didn’t know that and I’m afraid you’re probably quite right. Mention it to Pratt later, he thinks this whole thing smells wrong. Though he could very well be wrong.  He has his paranoid moments.”

“Truthfully Saxan I have my own doubts. Freeing a pit slave, asking it to train an entire battalion of suddenly conscripted and accepted recruits, a battalion without command officers, most of the training teams pulled from lord only knows where, I mean where did you and Pratt come from actually?”

“Down near the mount, patrol camp about thirty miles out from the breaker wall. We were working with Shadowlanders.”

“Uh huh, so you’re telling me, they pulled two experienced men off very hazardous active duty, to train an entire battalion of greenies? It doesn’t add up. Pratt’s right, this all reeks of either political stupidity or something else.”

“You and Pratt are going to be insufferable, I can tell already. Fantastic.” Saxan sighed and put his fingers to his temples and began to rub them. “Don’t look to malice when stupidity will do.”