The sound of metal crashing against metal shook Ezra from his sleep, and he bolted upright. He panicked, fearing an attack or something. Was that possible? Was it the guards coming to take revenge on Georg, even though he was so confident? Shouts filled the air, but as consciousness and reason prevailed for Ezra, he recognized a command.
“Time to get up! You have five minutes to report outside of the mess hall!”
The voice continued to repeat the command time and time again, but he quickly tuned it out as he rolled out of his warm bed and began shivering. Fortunately, his inner world had been recovered enough that he could draw a faint sliver of aura into himself to keep from shivering as he pulled his uniform coat back on before changing his socks. The quartermaster had provided good, new socks, and three pairs of them! Ezra’d quickly determined for one of the pairs to be sleeping socks, socks that he wouldn’t allow to get sweaty, and as he put on the clean socks, he smiled as he then laced up his boots.
On every side, he saw the other recruits doing the same as he did, and Ezra allowed himself a smile. After all, he was about to begin training as a soldier!
Once dressed, he jogged out of his bunkroom and towards the mess hall, where dozens of soldiers were already out and waiting in formation. Leah’d already left while the brothers weren’t far behind him.
“Here, Ezra,” Petr’s voice called out as Ezra looked for where to report to. His new allies weren’t wearing their armor today, instead only wearing their uniforms and standing with their hands behind their backs.
“This’s called parade rest,” Petr quickly explained. “You stand like this for now. Listen to what they say.”
There wasn’t time for any more explanations before a voice raised high and cut through the near silence in the clearing. As he spoke, Ezra saw that it was a man wearing a uniform with an insignia on the left breast. He was older, maybe 40 Ezra guessed, but his voice was strong as he shouted.
“Training time! We’ve got some greenies in here with us today, give ‘em a warm welcome.” Ezra expected something in response to that, but the man who spoke didn’t wait more than a half of a second before he continued, “We’re marching in two weeks. The most important thing to do is get in shape! Sergeants, I leave them to you!”
The man with the decorated uniform turned on his heel at that and walked into the mess hall without another word. A handful of other men along with one woman jogged out in front of the assembled soldiers.
“Five laps!” they called out and then led the way. Ezra quickly found himself wrapped up in jogging forward, though the pace grew to the point of being uncomfortable and nearly a run within just a couple dozen steps. Ezra felt his eyes widen in fear as he realized what was about to happen, but there was nothing he could do but to follow the rest of the soldiers as they began their run. When he saw how long the lap was, he had to fight to keep from groaning. It was, he estimated, about half of a kilometer around, and they were doing that five times? As a warmup?
The first lap was difficult, but he pushed himself to keep up with the rest of those at the head of the pack.
The second lap he was forced to fall behind, though he continued jogging without walking.
The third lap he barely kept his feet moving.
The fourth lap he puked.
The fifth lap, he finished with as strong of a jog as he could manage and ahead of most of the others that he picked out as recruits. Leah’d beaten him by about half a lap, since she hadn’t had to stop at all, though she looked exhausted as well.
“Here,” Petr offered as Ezra struggled past the finish. Ezra didn’t look at the waterskin as he took it, but he gratefully drank a mouthful. Swishing it around his mouth, he washed out the worst of the taste of bile and spat it out. Then, looking at Petr in confirmation that it was okay, he took another swig and actually swallowed it this time.
Passing the waterskin back, Ezra asked, “Should I… go get my own?”
“Not right now,” Amy answered, her hands above her head as she caught her breath. “There will be one or two more exercises before we break out into squads and at that point, you can ask the Lieutenant. He’ll probably tell you yes.”
Ezra nodded his thanks and tried to stand in the same stance that Amy was. It hurt his lungs to stretch like that, but he forced himself to do it even so. Then, pulling as much of the ambient aura into himself as he could manage, he tried to recover. Only three or four minutes passed before the sergeants shouted out again, “In position!”
He had no idea of what to expect from this, so Ezra looked around and saw Petr and Amy standing straight. As soon as he was in the same position, the sergeants shouted, “Down!”
Every one of the recruits quickly learned this exercise, and going into a pushup position, down to the ground, back up, and to a jump, was painfully difficult. Even as he tried to keep up while using aura, Ezra couldn’t, and he came to a better understanding of why Jormun had pushed him so hard to continue improving his fitness. He wasn’t anywhere near the fitness of these other soldiers, even if he might have a better understanding of aura and how to use it than they did.
After the jumping pushup squats, how many Ezra didn’t know, the sergeants berated the recruits for their slowness, weakness, and stupidity. If he hadn’t been so exhausted, Ezra might have been angry, but instead, he just stood with his hands behind his back in the parade rest that he was told to stand in as he fought to catch his breath.
“Dismissed to your squads!” the sergeants shouted, and Ezra didn’t think he’d ever been so happy to hear someone yell at him. He nearly fell to his arse in the mud, but barely managed to keep himself up as Georg walked forward.
“All you new recruits, except Boyd, Cord, Ezra, and Leah,” the Lieutenant commanded, “gather together under the command of Sergeant Oscar. Elites, with me.”
Ezra stumbled forward, his legs like jelly as he tried to do what Georg said. Each step was a struggle, and though his legs shook, he almost couldn’t feel them.
“You four,” Georg said, gesturing at the new recruits. None looked to be in better shape than Ezra himself, though Leah’d outrun him. “You watch us for now. We’re going through the steps of a shield wall, and it’ll be your job to step into the wall at any notice. If you can’t keep up, you’ll be with the rest of the regulars.”
Georg didn’t say anything more, though Ezra felt a pang of fear or discomfort at the idea of being kicked out of this group that he’d never actually practiced with. Yes, it was stupid, and he realized it, but he wanted to be an elite, to be considered one of them. As such, he tried to understand what the practice was, though it seemed simple enough. All four of the soldiers, Georg included, held their square shields together and walked forward in lockstep, settling themselves after every step while holding their spears between their shields.
As he watched, Ezra got the distinct impression that they weren’t actually practicing this movement, but were demonstrating it for his and the other new recruits’ benefit. It wasn’t long before he knew that was true, as he, Leah, Boyd, and Cord were called forward to stand between a veteran each on the line.
There, where he’d hoped to receive instruction and encouragement, Ezra found instruction, yes, but no encouragement. Every misstep he made was greeted with insults and shouts, and even when he thought he’d walked forward perfectly and done just what the others were, he was torn down in front of everyone else. He didn’t even remember to ask to get his waterskin until the sun had risen, and when he asked, Georg laughed.
“It’s too late now, kid. You did good for the first workout of the day. The goal is to tear you all down, though, so we can build you up as soldiers. Get your breakfast, then your waterskin, and we’ll move on to the next part of the day.”
Ezra’s eyes widened, but he didn’t complain, especially as Jormun laughed behind him. He settled his jaws and went to breakfast. After all, the rest of the day would be much the same, wouldn’t it?
***
“How do you hold a fucking stick wrong? It’s a stick!” Boyd groaned from where he lay on his cot in the bunkroom.
“Hell if I know,” Ezra agreed. “I can hit someone with it just as good from one position as the next.”
“If I get called a twig holding a twig again, I’m going to stab someone,” Leah said, offering more words than she had all day.
Cord made some noises that Ezra thought were probably in support of everyone else’s words, but he wasn’t sure.
The rest of the day had become progressively more difficult, with the time after breakfast being much the same as the final practices that they’d done with Georg and the rest, but with every soldier under the Count’s command. Apparently, they were a century, but Georg said not technically? Ezra’d asked why, and the only response that he got was, “Footwork, kid.”
Three hours were spent practicing footwork, how to step forward, how to march in time, how to retreat as a group, how to execute a charge with the shield wall, how to charge and set up the shield wall after, how to fight against a fighting retreat, and more. There wasn’t a single moment that there was any real fighting in this second block of exercising for the day. The closest to fighting they got was running with spears in hand.
When they broke for lunch and were given a full hour and a half to eat, everyone had eaten as fast as they could manage before retreating to their bunks and snatching what rest they could before the clanging of metal yanked them from their rest once again. At that point, Ezra had stopped trying to hide his anger and had gone immediately to where he was called, though his glower could have curdled milk.
The third section was the most painful. Now, on top of drilling footwork, they were also being drilled on how to hold the shield and strike with the spear as they did it. Ezra thought it would be easy, but he was as wrong as could be. In groups of twenty, they were made to hold their spears and shields out, as if they were striking. Then, they couldn’t move as instructors walked through the group and insulted every mistake and merely grunted at successes. For hours. From midday to dinner, every one of the soldiers’ every move was nitpicked, evaluated, and hated. Again, Ezra thanked the Watcher that he was so tired, because if the Stone had granted him strength, then he would have lashed out long before dinner.
After dinner, there were a few more drills and another five lap run, and they were done for the day as the dark of night settled over Villy, and the recruits all lay in bed complaining together.
With a force of effort, Ezra drew aura into his inner world, but unconsciousness claimed him before he could make any real progress.
And then, when it felt like he’d barely closed his eyes, the clanging of metal woke him again.