The Dead Story: Chapter 3 (Patreon)

Chapter 3

“You are all here under the blessing of our good King Alard! You’ve chosen to pick up a weapon and defend Randir from all who would oppose her, internal or external, living or Shadow! To that end I am instructor Norwood. You may address me as Sergeant, Sergeant Norwood, or instructor Norwood. Company C, D, and E belong to me. Company A and B will be under the loving care of Sergeant Miller. You three companies will be learning the joy of wielding a sword. I don’t care what you’ve used in the past. I don’t give a flying shit if you want to use two swords, shield, spear, bow, anything really. I don’t care. So stow it, take it home to your mother and let her fix it for you. Today you all will only do one thing. Learn how to wear a sword, hold it, how it feels, and start building your hands. Everyone into the armory and collect a weapon. Don’t get attached to it, it’ll have more hands on it than your thrice damned sisters.”

Ridley walked over to the training lists and waited quietly for company E to follow orders. Company C and D had already gone through this introduction and moved to the next stations earlier in the day.

“You really should rethink your training. They’ll learn nothing except how to kill someone in an alleyway.” Oiled and waxed, the voice belonged to only one man, one man who Ridley already very much wished meet in said alleyway. Violently.

“Fuck off and die Miller before I help you along. I’d hate for the recruits to think I didn’t respect a colleague.” Ridley gave the man only a glance before walking to the other side of the training area to stand near Saxan. Adder Miller was a pompous fuckwit who was close to being removed of his life in his sleep. A reeking tower of shit reaching 5’6 he was the son of some noble. Most assuredly his position was granted for his glorious fencing prowess and of course some string pulling from his illustrious father. An expectation that everyone else to be peasants with pitchforks had put him as the enemy of the camp from the very start. As far as Ridley was concerned companies A and B were royally fucked and more than likely would be the first to die.

“Oh? Did our dear friend Miller scare you off already?” Saxan walked over to Ridley while speaking, putting some distance between himself and a sea of grunting recruits as they counted out push-ups. 

“I will cut out his tongue and bury him upside down in the woods.”

Saxan only grunted to that and made his way back over to his recruits. Ridley had begun to learn Saxan was not always one to trade words. Often he would end a conversation the moment it started edging towards the unlawful or unvirtuous. Indeed, he found his new friend was not just a poster boy for the army, but religion and moral goodness as well. Saxan pointed due north while Pratt pointed, well, randomly he supposed. He didn’t point exactly due north himself either but he certainly was not as chaotic as Pratt.

Company E began falling in while Ridley contemplated his new friend. The recruits loosely divided themselves into the two platoons and milled about. Sections and squads had yet to be identified as many were assumed to drop out entirely or wash out. It’s why they always over filled battalions apparently.

“Half of you on one side of the list, the other half on the other. Do not draw your weapon, please space your feet shoulder length apart and wait for commands.” Recruits rushed about to get on one side of the lists or the other. The list divided the pair to prevent them from doing any harm to each other. There was always the over enthusiastic to account for. Roughhewn beams also stood between each pair that came up to about the height of an average man.

“Now, I’m not expecting you to fight each other, in fact I will personally end any man who so much as looks at their partner cross eyed. What I’m expecting is for you to acquaint yourself with standing across from another soldier as they swing at the striking posts. You will then return a strike to the same post. Consider this orientation. Everyone please draw your weapons.”

“These aren’t weapons…it’s a stick.” There was always one. One who had heard far too many bed time stories or read too many books.

“To clarify. No one who takes the sword seriously, trains with live steel. It’s not the sign of masters. It’s not the sign of control. It’s not whatever the fuck you think it is. It’s just plain stupid. It only takes a single slip to end a man’s career, their livelihood, or their life. Stow the fairy tale crap for children.”

“What does he know, I bet I could dance around him while he just grunted at my shadows. I could train better than this. I was taught in the art of fencing.”

“Right! Someone just volunteered. I can be directed to whoever just supplied that comment or I can just punish every single one of you, every day, until I get someone to tell me. Or you could own up to what you said and step up.”

A young man stepped out of the lists and moved over to Ridley. Everyone watched clearly not knowing what to expect. Many were unsure of their places after having joined mostly due to the fact that there was no social standing. The military made no concessions for anyone who joined at the enlistment level. Man, woman, noble, peasant, all were welcome. And equal.

“Fantastic. We are not learning the art of fencing. We are learning the art of killing people. I’ll make this quick as we need to make sure everyone gets their training in. Miss, give me your sword there.” Ridley held out his hand to a female recruit who was standing a few paces away. She smiled shyly and handed over the sword to him. Frowning at her for a moment he looked back to upstart and raised his sword. “Teach me o’fine dancer.”

The fop made an immediate slash without hesitation and then stopped in mid swing to thrust high at Ridley’s throat while quick stepping to the left. Ridley batted away the attack and then smashed the cross guard of his weapon into the recruit’s arm. With a grisly pop the arm bent at an improbable angle. Both sword and man went to the ground screaming. While he had not intended to break the arm at least it was done and there was no crying over it. Ridley handed the young lady back the sword. 

“Please strike with full force. We’re going to try to build up the calluses on your hand so you don’t end up turning your hands into raw meat later. Please remember your earlier lesson with Sergeant Gaines about the proper way to hold a sword.” Ridley picked up the training sword and pushed it through his baldric and then pulled the wailing man child to his feet. “What’s your name shit for brains?”

“Recruit P-p-p-parker.” No one spoke and then they all began striking the posts as one as Ridley led the way to the medics. Pushing the door open to the building he pulled the crying sniveling mess across the threshold and dumped him into a bed. Without waiting for the medics or doctors he grabbed the broken arm and wrenched it into place, setting the bone clearly.

With a squeak and a choked off intake of breath the Parker feinted and collapsed into the bed. Ridley shrugged and turned around staring into the shocked face of a young and very dazzling woman.

“What have you done?! Did you just set his arm without a word or warning? Who are you? Why is his arm broken? Who is he? What did you do?” Her voice was certainly angry but even that couldn’t hide the melodic quality of it.

“I’m Ridley Norwood. Sergeant Norwood. We had a training mishap. Company E, recruit Parker, it’s their first day. I set it because it seemed like a good idea at the time. He was already in pain and if anything it would be worse to let it remain the way it was.” As he explained she had already shoved him aside and began prodding at the patient’s arm. She was put together by an artist’s hand because if her face had been lovely her figure was downright exquisite and proportioned for someone who had no business in the military.

“Well, it’s a clean setting. For what it’s worth. You can leave Sergeant Norwood. You’re not needed here.” She flashed a dangerous set of green eyes at him and he obediently left, closing the door quietly behind himself. 

He had been around beautiful women before but he never learned how to talk to one. Talk to any woman for that matter. She was definitely the most attractive he had ever met but she was clearly irritated with his him. Not to mention every alarm he had inside of him was ringing as if it were the new year and part of the city was on fire. It felt like every nerve in his body had been suddenly strung tight and then snapped. Ridley trusted his “core” with most of its intuitions, his friendship with Pratt and Saxan were clear indicators of that. This was something different though. It wasn’t danger and it certainly wasn’t friendship. It was worth serious thought. 

Running his hand through his hair he marched back to his company. Suddenly it felt like the pit was a lot safer in comparison to the real world. Putting himself right back where he left he looked across his recruits. “Alright. Switch hands and start working with the other. Life doesn’t guarantee you’ll always get to use the hand you prefer. You might end up suddenly breaking your arm when your mouth makes a promise you can’t keep.” With a bark of laughter Ridley circled the lists and kept the recruits working