A week of training later, the camp awoke to the thunder of drums.
The deep, rhythmic boom rolled across the sprawling encampment, echoing from one end of the valley to the other until it seemed the very earth trembled beneath my boots.
Most of the camp woke to the sound.
I had been awake for hours.
Sergeant Harlan had found work for me before sunrise. By the time the first drum sounded, I’d hauled water, unloaded charcoal at Master Helmut’s forge, and carried replacement spear shafts to the quartermaster. Sweat already soaked through my tunic.
Around me, men spilled from their tents.
Veterans dressed with practiced speed, fastening belts and buckling armor as though the drums were nothing more than another morning.
The recruits were another matter.
"What is it?"
"Are we under attack?"
"Where's my helmet?"
Someone tripped over a tent rope while another cursed because he couldn't find a boot.
Sergeant Harlan strode into the middle of the company.
"Enough!"
The single word cut through the confusion.
The murmuring stopped.
"Formation!"
The company snapped into motion.
Within moments, spears were in hand and shields slung over shoulders as the men hurried into ranks.
I took my place where I'd stood every morning for the past week.
Brenn glanced sideways at me.
"You've got a head start on the rest of us."
I looked down at my dirt-stained tunic.
"I've been working since before dawn."
He snorted.
"Aye."
A trumpet answered the drums from somewhere deeper inside the encampment.
Then another.
And another.
The great camp, which only moments before had seemed a sprawling city of tents and smoke, transformed into an army.
Thousands of men poured into ordered formations.
Standards rose above the sea of helmets.
Officers galloped between companies carrying shouted orders.
Somewhere ahead, Captain Caldwell rode to the front of the battalion, his horse picking its way between the ranks.
Sergeant Harlan walked slowly down the line, inspecting every man.
When he reached me, he paused.
His eyes traveled over my shield, spear, helmet, and sword.
Then he gave a single nod.
"Good."
He moved on without another word.
For reasons I couldn't explain...
...that single word made me stand a little straighter.
"Each of you drink until you need to piss!" a corporal from another company bellowed. "This is going to be hard, bloody work!"
The order rippled through the camp as other corporals and sergeants repeated it down their own lines.
"Drink now!"
"Fill your bellies!"
"You'll not get another chance for a while!"
I swallowed.
My mouth was dry from the morning's chores, but I still hesitated.
Water wasn't something you wasted.
Back home, you drank when you were thirsty. No sooner.
A pair of soldiers rolled a half barrel to the front of our company, sloshing water over its rim as they wrestled it into place.
One of the cooks followed behind carrying a stack of wooden mugs.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
"Drink up, lads," he called. "Captain had this boiled just for you."
That got my attention.
Boiled.
I'd never heard of anyone boiling an entire barrel of water just to drink.
The veterans didn't question it. They crowded around in an orderly line, each taking a mug, draining it in a few long swallows before stepping back for another.
Seeing I still wasn't moving, he nudged me with an elbow.
"Go on."
"But... I'm not thirsty."
"You will be."
He jerked his chin toward the barrel.
"By midday you'll either be wishing you'd listened..."
He paused just long enough to let the thought settle.
"...or wishing you'd died before Sergeant Harlan started shouting."
That was enough to convince me.
I stepped forward and accepted a mug.
The water was still warm and tasted faintly of the kettle.
I drained the mug.
"Again," the cook said before I could hand it back.
I blinked.
"I've already had one."
"Aye."
He filled it anyway.
"And you'll have another."
Around me, every veteran seemed to be doing the same.
If they thought it was important...
...I wasn't about to argue.
Soon we were marching. "Do you know who we are going to be fighting?" I asked Brenn.
"No clue," Brenn admitted with a shrug. "The way it usually works is simple enough."
He pointed out across the open fields beyond the camp.
"They line up over there."
His thumb shifted toward our own ranks.
"We line up over here."
"And then?"
He snorted.
"Then somebody gets impatient."
A few nearby veterans chuckled.
"We march toward each other until we meet somewhere in the middle." He made two fists and knocked them together. "That's when the real work starts."
"What happens then?"
"What do you think?" Brenn asked. "Men start stabbing each other."
The matter-of-fact way he said it sent a chill through me.
"No clever plans?"
"Oh, the captains and lords have plenty of clever plans." He grinned. "Us?"
He shrugged again.
"We just try not to get stabbed."
One of the older soldiers overheard and barked a laugh.
"And if you can manage it..."
He hefted his shield onto his shoulder.
"...try to stab the other fellow first."
The veterans laughed.
I was pretty sure they weren't joking.
A knot formed in my stomach.
I didn't want to get hurt.
I definitely didn't want to get stabbed.
Until now, battle had always seemed... distant. Something that happened to soldiers in stories or to the men at the front while I carried supplies.
Now I was beginning to understand.
Sooner or later...
...I'd be standing in that line too.
If I was killed, the army would stop paying my stipend.
No more coin for my brothers and sister.
No more money sent home.
They were counting on me.
I gripped my spear a little tighter.
I wasn't afraid of dying.
Not really.
I was afraid of failing them.
We were maneuvered into position just after sunrise.
Companies shifted left and right as officers rode behind the ranks, shouting orders and pointing with their swords. Standards bobbed above the sea of helmets while drums beat out a steady rhythm that carried across the field.
Our company finally came to a halt.
I glanced ahead.
Two solid lines of infantry stood before us.
"We're in the third line," I murmured.
A small part of me relaxed.
That's good.
There were two whole lines of soldiers between me and the enemy.
"Bloody officers."
The muttered curse came from somewhere to my left.
I looked over.
An older veteran stood staring across the field, his jaw clenched.
I frowned.
I didn't understand.
Brenn noticed where I was looking.
"When the fighting starts..." he said quietly, "you stay with me."
I nodded.
"Why?"
He adjusted the strap on his shield without taking his eyes off the distant enemy.
"They've put us in the third line."
"I thought that was good."
"So did I."
He gave a humorless smile.
"Here's how it'll likely go."
He pointed with the butt of his spear.
"The first line meets the enemy."
A pause.
"They'll give ground."
I stared at him.
"They're supposed to."
"They're not cowards," Brenn continued. "They're buying time."
His spear shifted to the second rank.
"The second line steps in, steadies the front, and tries to stop the push."
"And us?"
His expression hardened.
"If the second line can't hold..."
He tapped the rim of his shield.
"...then we're expected to."
The words settled over me like a lead blanket.
I looked toward the veteran who had cursed the officers.
Now I understood.
Being in the third line didn't mean we were safe.
It meant we were the reserve.
The line that had to hold when everyone else was exhausted.
My eyes widened.
"Oh..."
Brenn finally looked at me.
"So stay close."
"If I move..."
"You move."
"If I stop..."
"You stop."
"If I tell you to run..."
He gave me a hard look.
"...that's the only time you leave my side. Understood?"
I swallowed.
"Yes."
He nodded once.
"Good lad."
Then he turned back toward the enemy.
"Now let's hope the first two lines do their jobs."
Soon we were close enough to hear the enemy.
Thousands of voices carried across the narrowing gap between the two armies.
They shouted to one another, chanting and roaring as they advanced.
I didn't recognize a single word.
It wasn't our language.
I wondered what they were saying.
I didn’t recognize a single word.
Orders, threats, prayers—it didn’t matter.
They were coming to kill us.
I would never know.
Being barely taller than the shield in front of me had one disadvantage.
I couldn't see a thing.
The broad back of the veteran ahead of me blocked everything beyond the first line. Every now and then I'd catch a glimpse of fluttering banners or the tops of helmets, but that was all.
Then the bugles sounded.
One sharp call.
Then another.
The notes echoed across the battlefield.
"Forward!" someone shouted.
The ground began to tremble beneath thousands of marching feet.
The sound grew louder.
Closer.
Closer still.
I tightened my grip until my knuckles ached.
Then...
Thud.
The first ranks met.
The crash of hundreds of shields striking together rolled across the field like distant thunder.
A heartbeat later came the sharp clatter of spear shafts striking wood.
Men shouted.
Others screamed.
Steel rang against steel.
I still couldn't see the battle.
But I could hear it.