Marked (19 page)

Fifty Royal Rogdon Lancers lined up by twos, forming a column in front of the stables of the Royal Fortress of Rilentor. They were finalizing their preparations, checking horses and equipment, and waiting for the order from the Sergeant Major to mount and set forth on the long trip ahead of them.

Taking off his gauntlet, Lomar approached his chestnut horse and stroked its muzzle. The beautiful animal, seventeen hands high, docilely shook its head in response to the caress. Lomar passed his hand over its velvety back. They had provided him with this magnificent animal from the royal stables for the expedition. The Royal Guard of Rogdon had at its disposal the finest horses in the kingdom, and this splendid specimen was clearly among the best of the best. Its well-groomed, reddish mane shone with a stunning purity and showed the care with which the royal horsekeepers treated these animals. Rogdon had the best horses on the continent and the most prized were found in the royal stables.

He looked to his right and saw Kendas, his friend and fellow guardsman. Kendas, like Lomar, was a novice and was carefully checking over his equipment before mounting his horse—a gorgeous, dapple-gray stallion that was sixteen hands high and looked quite spirited. His friend had his long, straight blond hair pulled back in a ponytail as he always did before riding, and his pale blue eyes were carefully inspecting the saddle.    

“Nice day for riding,” said Lomar, looking up at brightly shining sun.

“I would say so, friend. A little bit of exercise won’t be bad at all for us. We’ve been practicing formations and combat for several months and, honestly, I welcome the change of pace,” said Kendas.

“I’m really glad we were chosen for this expedition. Nothing better than being able to get out of the city and ride around the wide expanses of land in Tremia, especially to places that are new to me. Nothing like experiencing new environments and cultures,” Lomar cheerfully replied.

“The only thing that worries me is that we’re heading northeast through Half-Moon Pass and, after that when we head east, we might run into trouble in the big forests. That’s hostile territory. The native tribes in that area aren’t the least bit friendly. I’ve heard really chilling stories about what those savages—the Usik—do to the foreigners they capture. Stories you would not believe...”

“You shouldn’t pay any attention to the nonsense the veterans tell you; they’re just pulling your leg. They love to tease new guys like us, so don’t believe even half of what you hear because they’re just having a laugh at your expense. At any rate, I doubt very much the natives will attack us. They usually strike small groups that aren’t well protected who get lost in their forests. They wouldn’t dare attack a column of Royal Rogdon Lancers. Besides, we’ve got nothing to worry about; I’m sure you’ll be able to finish them off without even breaking a sweat... They’ll all take off running, terrified by the lingering smell of that pig farm you brought with you into the regiment from that little town of yours!” mocked Lomar, bursting into guffaws.

Kendas squinted at him. “Very funny, Lomar... really. The truth of the matter is, if they’re as bad at fighting as you are I won’t have to spend much energy elbowing my way to their leader and cutting his throat. Even my poor grandmother would beat you in a fight, armed with nothing more than a saucepan,” he laughed.

“That would be something to see... my defense with a skillet is the fastest ever and I know your grandmother’s technique to a tee.”

They were both laughing again when a thunderous voice roared behind them.

“What a couple of shoddy little soldiers you two are! It still makes no sense to me how you got into the glorious Corps of Royal Lancers! The instructors must have been suffering from temporary insanity that day from prolonged exposure to the sun, or they were as drunk as skunks—one or the other. With soldiers like you, pretty soon all the prestige of this distinguished regiment will be gone—fallen into complete oblivion. Damn my luck! Next thing they’ll be sending me floozies from the docks so I can teach them to ride. Ha, ha, ha! Now that’s what I call a real paradox!” boomed Sergeant Major Mortuc’s voice as he came to stand beside the two rookies.

Lomar and Kendas hung their heads in embarrassment after Mortuc’s outburst.

“Finish getting yourselves ready—we are leaving immediately!” he barked at the entire detachment.

“Yes, Sergeant!” the two rookies replied in unison, standing at attention and saluting, fist to chest.

Mortuc conspicuously shook his head. “These recruits they’re sending me are getting weaker all the time. It’s unbelievable how little blood flows through the veins of young people today. Instead of offspring of an honorable Rogdonian woman they seem more like the bastard children of a Norghanian whore. Or are you the children of a puny Nocean lackey? Of course, with soldiers with such tiny gonads, this kingdom is going straight to hell, headfirst! What am I supposed to do with such gutless soldiers? I can’t believe they sent me guys with no balls! You’re not eunuchs, are you?” He continued ranting and raving so everyone could hear as he walked alongside the entire column until coming to the front of it.

The Sergeant approached his precious Lightning, an impressive albino purebred that was eighteen hands high, with powerful hindquarters and strong legs. Bred for battle. It was well known that the Sergeant loved that formidable creature more than any other living being on the face of the earth. No one dared go near his splendid animal. Only the Stable Master had permission to look after it.

Lomar had never met anyone like Sergeant Mortuc. He was a veritable force of nature, a cyclone in perpetual motion that flattened everything in his path. He never so much as let anyone catch their breath. The Sergeant Major was short in stature but as broad and strong as an ox—which looked especially shocking when he was next to his gigantic mount. Rumor had it that he had chosen the biggest horse in the kingdom to make up for what he lacked in height.

Lomar stifled a smile.
That could be it! It would not surprise me in the least.

And what he lacked in stature he had tenfold in character and personality. He was a unique blend of bitter old man and irascible veteran soldier. Everyone knew and respected him, from the last soldier at the Royal Fortress to the kingdom’s counts and generals. He had spent many years in the service of the King, who gave him special treatment. It was said that Solin thought very highly of the quick-tempered soldier with whom he had fought in many campaigns. The reason why Mortuc had never been promoted beyond sergeant, according to his own explanation, was quite simply that he had refused since the position he already occupied was precisely the position he wanted in the army. He had no interest in becoming a pompous official; he liked being a sergeant and doling out daily thrashings to all those poor soldiers under his command. As he put it, he enjoyed “shaping” and “molding” young recruits during their first years of service and keeping the veterans sharp.

Lomar was experiencing firsthand the brunt of those predilections.

No one knew for certain how old Sergeant Major Mortuc was, but he himself would often say he had spent several lives in the regiment. He had to have been around fifty, though he always talked like he was a hundred and one. On the other hand, Lomar had seen him fight on a few occasions, and he was as quick and agile as the youngest rookies, which greatly surprised him. Furthermore, his physical strength was legendary in the kingdom. He could throw a javelin farther and more accurately than anyone in the regiment. Fighting with a sword or mace he could destroy metal kite shields, breaking the arms of whoever was holding them. He was capable of piercing breastplates with a thrust of his sword, something few men could do. His tremendous physical makeup gave him boundless strength. Combined with his years of training, it made him a formidable adversary.

The regiment’s veterans confirmed that they had witnessed the Sergeant shatter a whole plate of heavy armor—the hardest armor in existence used only by knights and nobility. It had happened during an exhibition tournament when an arrogant count thought his ancestry and expensive armor, forged by the best artisans in Rogdon, could hold up against the grouchy commoner. He had made the grave mistake of insulting Mortuc who, wearing his usual light chain mail, destroyed the Count’s heavy armor with a rapid barrage of blows. The pompous nobleman was laid out flat for several months as a result of that beating.

But the most distinctive peculiarity that characterized this small but mighty man was undoubtedly his interminable haranguing. Each and every member of the regiment had silently “enjoyed” hundreds of “friendly” chats with the Sargent as well as his “corporal lessons,” as he called them—referring to the hard physical training to which he constantly subjected all his men. 

“Sarge is in a good mood today—lucky for us,” said Kendas as he winked and smiled.

“Good thing. At any rate, I prefer his sermons to the stories you tell me about your town and its
extraordinary
inhabitants. I really can’t decide which of the two is the worst form of torture to my ears,” Lomar blurted out, knowing his friend’s humble origins was a topic that could easily get a rise out of him. 

Kendas’ gauntlet flew through the air and hit Lomar. Smiling, he picked it up off the ground and threw it back at his friend who caught it midair.

A booming voice came from the front of the column. “When you are ready, ladies of the night, we will begin our march!”

Instantaneously, all the men finished checking their mounts and equipment and prepared to begin the journey.

“Mouuuuunt UP!”

The fifty Royal Lancers simultaneously mounted their horses, just as they had drilled countless times.

“Move out!” ordered the Sergeant.

The column began to advance across the courtyard of the Royal Fortress toward the grand gates and the drawbridge that led to the crowded avenues of the kingdom’s capital.

After a little more than a day’s march toward the south, the column exited the forests and reached the green plains typical of the kingdom’s westernmost region. To everyone’s surprise and without any apparent reason, Sergeant Mortuc gave the order to stop. Only a small stream winding its way through the flatland from the beech forest to the north broke the tranquility of the setting. Even so, the Sergeant established a perimeter guard, as was customary. He ordered them to set up camp and dispatched three cavalrymen to be on sentry duty.

“Sentinels, be alert!” he roared. “I am sure that, due to your obvious lack of observational skills, a gang of savage Masig from the steppes could rush into our camp screaming their war cries without you even noticing. Before you’d even react they would be dancing on your decapitated dead bodies!” he thundered.

Shaking his head and mumbling under his breath, he walked a few steps away from them, turned around and, looking at his men, said, “Water the horses and get ready to get moving again. We don’t have much time.”

Lomar walked over to Kendas and greeted him with slap on the shoulder. “So, what do you think we’re doing here?”

“No idea. Sergeant Mortuc said we were heading for Half-Moon Pass so we should have been heading northeast, but what’s strange is we’re going in the opposite direction.”

“And why did we stop in this place? There’s nothing here but green pastures for cattle.”

“Yeah, strange. Something tells me this is no typical recon expedition. There’s more going on here than what we know about. He’s keeping something secret,” said Kendas, looking off into the distance.

“Then we’ll have to find out what he’s hiding behind the guise of this expedition. Nothing like a good mystery to pique my interest and sharpen my instincts.”

“Yikes! You and your instincts, that’s all we need. The bloodhound from Rilentor! You couldn’t even follow the trail of a stinking one-legged skunk in a cultivated field. What will become of us with you investigating a mystery?” replied Kendas sarcastically, trying hard to keep a straight face.

“It’s true those of us born in the capital don’t have huge dowries that you peasants raised with pigs and sheep have. Nor are we graced with the skills gained from chasing hens through coops that you all learn so much from,” Lomar shot back.

“I have yet to come up against anyone from the city with the least expertise in any subject matter... that would be useful in real life, I mean. Especially someone like you, who’s had to grow up in some rich neighborhood in the city with silk and all kinds of material comforts... considering since I’ve known you I have yet to see the slightest practical ability in you.”

Lomar had taken off his gauntlets to give his horse a drink, and so tried to punch Kendas in the shoulder. But Kendas moved, and his fist hit the breastplate. Lomar quickly pulled back his fist which was now throbbing in pain. His friend laughed all the way to the tree where he had left his lance, his blue and silver shield, and his helmet.

Actually, even though they had been raised in two very different environments—the countryside and the big city—down deep they were very much alike, and Lomar knew it. They were driven by the same desire to become soldiers and to serve the kingdom. And from a very young age it was what they had always wanted to be—the only thing they had ever wanted to be. Both longed for a career in service to His Majesty, the opportunity to fight and be victorious for their King and for their country. They were looking for the honor and the glory that can only be attained on the battlefield, defeating the enemies of their kingdom. Both were good fighters and exceptional cavalrymen, which was why they had been selected for the Corps of Lancers. Because of their outstanding performance in the regiment they had been promoted to the elite of the army of Rogdon: the Royal Lancers—an honor that many sought but few achieved. The Corps was made up of five thousand soldiers painstakingly chosen for their exceptional physical and mental abilities.