Gutter Rats: Origins Chapter 2

The nearest army recruiting office was in a neighborhood of the city of Qarath that was still rough, but with not nearly as many rotting piles of trash and far fewer dead bodies in the mornings. Day laborers, carpenters, stonemasons, leatherworkers, drovers and the like filled the streets. At this time of day, most were heading to work. A few were dragging themselves home from a night shift.

The office occupied a small store front in a nondescript, brick building several stories tall. There was a soldier outside, standing at attention. He wore studded leather armor and had a short sword hanging from his hip. In one hand was gripped a spear, the butt set firmly in the ground.

Rome greeted the soldier, who cut his eyes to him but didn’t move, then led the way inside. The heavy wooden door closed behind them with a boom, waking the white-haired sergeant who was sitting behind the desk, his head on his arms. The man had thick, burly arms, a close-shaved head, bad tattoos and bloodshot eyes.

“What’s with all the damned racket!” he barked out. “Ain’t you got the sense the gods gave a gopher? Get out and let a man sleep.”

Rome strode up to the desk, unperturbed by the outburst. “We are here to sign up. I am sorry for the door. It won’t happen again.”

The sergeant’s expression changed completely, from anger to a sort of cunning, Quyloc thought. He licked his lips slowly, his eyes slitting down a little.

“Recruits, is it? Well, that’s a whole ‘nother bag of brass.” He attempted a smile he clearly didn’t have much practice with. “It’s a pleasure to have you in my office.”

Quyloc guessed the man got some bonus for every new body he signed up. Nothing else could account for his sudden change of heart.

Rome grinned at him. “The pleasure is ours, sir. Where do we sign?”

The sergeant blinked. “You’re an enthusiastic one, aren’t you? Let me get the papers.” He rummaged around in his desk and produced a sheaf of official-looking parchments. He plucked two out and laid them out on the desk. “Sign here at the bottom.”

Rome didn’t even bother to glance at the document, just took the proffered quill and made an X where indicated. Not that he could read anyway.

Quyloc looked at his document, wishing he knew how to read. He’d taught himself his letters, and he knew a few simple words from signs around the city, but that was about it. It didn’t really matter what the document said anyway. Rome had signed. That meant he was signing.

Carefully, with deliberate strokes, Quyloc wrote his name. At least how he thought it was spelled.

The sergeant raised a patchy eyebrow. “Signs his own name. Ain’t we fancy?”

“That’s Quyloc for you,” Rome said. “Always learning something new. I wouldn’t be surprised if he started reading one day.”

He and the sergeant laughed, the idea of a gutter rat learning to read equally ridiculous to both of them. For some reason, that made Quyloc angry. With an effort, he kept his expression from showing anything.

The sergeant pulled out a scroll and unrolled it. It looked to be lists of numbers with titles at the tops of the lists. He peered at it, pulling the lamp closer for better light.

He pointed to Rome. “You’re in Badger Company.” He pointed at Quyloc. “You’re in Eagle Company.”

Quyloc shot a look at Rome, his heart falling.

Rome was shaking his head. “That won’t do at all.”

The sergeant looked up. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that we need to be in the same company. The same squad. Where we go, we go together. It’s always been that way.”

The sergeant sat back and hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Nope. Both those companies are low on men. You go where I send you.”

“Then we’ll go find another recruitment office,” Rome said genially.

Now the sergeant shook his head. “Too late. You already signed.”

Rome looked down at the documents. “Parchment is fragile stuff. Documents get destroyed all the time.”

The sergeant looked from Rome to the papers and back. Quyloc could see him taking in Rome’s size. Though not yet fully grown, Rome was already a big man, with broad shoulders and plenty of muscle. The sergeant, in contrast, was fat and old.

“Are you threatening me?” the sergeant asked. He sounded reluctant to say the words, more like he was required to say them than that he was angry.

Rome smiled broadly. “Of course not! We’re brothers-in-arms. I’m only pointing out that you really want the bonus you’ll make off of us and there’s no point in brothers standing around arguing about something as foolish as this. Who cares where you put us? Do you? But I do. This man is a brother to me. He’s only here because of me. I can’t abandon him now.”

By the time he finished, the sergeant was nodding, glad he had an easy way out. “Nobody checks these things anyway. I can see your brother needs you.” He made two marks in the same column. “I put you in Eagle Company. I served under Captain Lepold. He’s a good man. He’ll see you get trained up right, not like that idiot Eprim.”

Soon, the two of them were back on the street and heading for the barracks, each bearing a stamped identification card certifying them as soldiers of Qarath.

Rome held his up and examined it. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“It looked like he would make it hard.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Rome said with his usual aplomb. “I could see he was a sensible man.”

“I can’t believe that worked out.” But then, Quyloc often felt that way. Rome seemed to get away with things that no one else could.

“It always does in the end.”

That was a sentiment Quyloc definitely didn’t agree with. He was much more inclined to believe that things were always bound to turn out bad in the end. The question was simply how long it took.

 

The soldier at the gates of the barracks barely glanced at their id cards. “Fresh meat!” he called over his shoulder to several other soldiers leaning against the wall nearby. He gave the cards back. “Report to the officer on duty in the duty office.” He pointed into the interior vaguely. “Welcome to the king’s army, men.” He said the last with a wicked gleam in his eye.

They strode through the gates. The place was larger than Quyloc expected. A high wall of crumbling brick with a walkway on top surrounded the base. Two of the four corners had towers with soldiers manning them. Inside the wall were several long, narrow buildings, probably the sleeping quarters for the soldiers. In the center was a large, blocky building flanked by two smaller ones, no windows in any of them. Another building housed a smithy, from which came the banging of hammers. There was a stable with a few draft horses in it. A practice yard where a score of sweating men did halberd training under the watchful eye of a sergeant.

The last building was a simple block with an iron-bound door and two soldiers on guard outside it. Quyloc guessed that was the armory. Weapons in Qarath were tightly controlled by the king, who feared a general uprising, with good reason. Any citizen caught with a sword, a spear, or any other weapon of war, was immediately arrested and often executed. King Arminal Rix was not a popular man.

The duty office was in one of the smaller buildings beside the main one. The corporal behind the desk took their cards and opened a large, leather-bound journal on his desk. He copied some information down, slammed the book and handed their cards back along with two stamped forms. “Cards are to be kept on you at all times.” He didn’t look at them as he spoke but had his eyes fixed on the wall over their shoulders. “You’ve been assigned to Bronze Squad under Sergeant Tairus. You bunk in building number one. Go to the quartermaster to get your kit.”

The quartermaster was in the small building on the other side of the main one. They went inside and found themselves in a small vestibule. Through an iron-barred window, they could see a soldier seated at a desk with a ledger in front of him, tiny spectacles perched on his nose. The man was thin and dark-skinned. His tunic bore the king’s coat of arms, a raven on a red background. The insignia pinned to his chest marked him as a lieutenant.

They waited for a few moments, but the quartermaster ignored them. Finally, Rome rapped on the bars. There was no glass in the window.

“We need our kit.”

The quartermaster didn’t look up. “You have the forms?”

“Right here.” They put them on the counter.

More time passed. Rome spoke again. “About that kit…”

The quartermaster removed his spectacles slowly and turned toward them. “You in a rush? You have somewhere you’re just dying to be?”

Rome nodded enthusiastically. “I want to get out to the practice yard.” He loosened his shoulders. “I feel like fighting.”

The quartermaster stared at him for a time, his expression showing nothing. He stared at Quyloc and seemed to see something there. A quizzical expression crossed his face.

He got up and made his way to the counter. He placed the spectacles on his nose and read the forms carefully. When he was done, he said, “Step back.”

“What?”

“Step back so I can get a good look at you. Or do you want me to guess about your boot size? Right now, I’m thinking you’re both a small. Extra small.”

Both of them stepped back. The quartermaster looked them over with an appraising eye and nodded. He passed through a door in the back wall of his office. He came back carrying two stacks, which he placed on the counter.

“One tunic. One pair of trousers. One belt. One studded leather armor. One pair of boots. One blanket. Sign here.” He shoved the forms back to them and handed Rome a quill through the bars.

“No weapons?” Rome asked jokingly. “I was hoping for—”

“Weapons are kept in the armory.” The quartermaster’s expression never changed. “Sign the form.”

Rome drew his X and handed the quill to Quyloc. The quartermaster’s eyebrow lifted when Quyloc wrote his name.

“Can you read?”

Quyloc gave him back the quill. “Not yet. But I will.”

The man inclined his head slightly. “Good.”

“What was that all about?” Rome asked after they were outside.

Quyloc shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he needs an aide.”

“Are you really going to learn to read?”

Quyloc hesitated. He’d longed to know how to read for as long as he could remember. He was certain there was a whole other world locked up in written words, one far beyond his own. But he’d never admitted it aloud before today. The secret was out now.

“Yes. I am.”

Rome nodded. “Good. One of us should know how.”

They walked into the sleeping quarters assigned to them. The ceiling was low. Cots lined each side, a small trunk at the foot of each cot. There was no one else in there.

Rome nodded approvingly. “This is nice. Look at these beds. I never slept in a bed before.” He dropped his kit on a cot that was unoccupied. Quyloc dropped his on the one next to Rome’s.

The door opened. Four soldiers came in and strode up to them.

“There’s our fresh meat,” one of them said with a cruel grin. He was the biggest, with hairy arms and a nose that had been badly broken and not set properly.

Rome and Quyloc exchanged a look. Words weren’t necessary. They each knew what was coming and what each of them would do.

Broken Nose pointed at Quyloc. “Give me your boots.”

Quyloc didn’t hesitate. The words were barely out of the man’s mouth before Quyloc was moving. He lunged forward and punched Broken Nose square in the throat.

As Broken Nose bent forward, choking, Quyloc leapt on him, raining blows on his head furiously, knowing he had to do as much damage as he could before the bigger man recovered and fought back.

At nearly the same moment, Rome bellowed and threw himself at the other three.

The sheer suddenness of the attack surprised their opponents. For a few moments, they had the upper hand. Broken Nose went to one knee, blood pouring from his face, still fighting to take a breath as Quyloc punched and kicked him.

Rome knocked all three of his foes down. On the floor, he smashed one man in the face with a big fist, knocking him back as he tried to rise. He elbowed another in the nose, breaking it. He got to his feet and kicked the third in the ribs.

But these men were seasoned soldiers and fully grown. Rome and Quyloc were younger, and they were outnumbered two to one. Their advantage quickly faded. They still dealt out damage, but they began to take it as well.

One of the three Rome had knocked down came to his feet and tackled Quyloc, giving Broken Nose a chance to get back up. The other two rushed Rome, driving him back against the wall between two cots.

Quyloc fought off his new attacker and jumped to his feet. He was holding a short metal bar he’d somehow ripped off one off the cots, though he had no real memory of doing so. He clipped the man who’d tackled him just above the ear while he was still rising. The man dropped with a thud.

But Broken Nose was back in the fight, smashing Quyloc with a right cross that knocked his head back and left him momentarily stunned. Broken Nose waded in, landing two body shots that knocked the wind out of Quyloc, and punching him in the face again.

Rome and the other two were a snarling, writhing mass of flying fists and feet. As strong as Rome was, he wasn’t able to throw them both off. One managed to grapple him, while the other started landing blows.

Then a new voice shouted, “Save it for the practice field!”

Quyloc sagged and nearly fell as Broken Nose let him go and stood to attention. The two on Rome also let go and came to attention.

The newcomer jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Get out of here.” His eyes went to the man on the floor. “Take him with you.” The three men saluted and left hastily, dragging their unconscious companion.

He turned to Rome and Quyloc and looked them up and down. Both of them were bleeding. Quyloc was having trouble seeing out of one eye. Rome had a long cut on his cheek.

“Just couldn’t wait, could you?”

Quyloc wanted to tell him that it wasn’t their fault, but he’d learned long ago that no one listened to a gutter rat, so he said nothing.

Rome grinned and wiped some blood from his face. “They were just saying hi, and welcome to the army.”

The man scowled. He was short, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in width. He had a square, blocky head and thick fingers. “I’m sure they were. I’m Sergeant Tairus. You’re both in my squad. Try not to get killed before I have a chance to see if you can be halfway decent soldiers. Wipe off the worst of the blood, change your clothes, and report to the practice field.”

He left, grumbling about idiots and the personal cost of dealing with them.

Rome looked at Quyloc. The big man had a pleased look on his face. “That was great, don’t you think? It’s been a while since we had a good knock down.”

Quyloc touched the growing lump under his eye. He was not great, not by any means, but he said nothing. Rome got this way when he fought. Rome loved fighting. He’d never understand how much Quyloc hated fighting. Fighting was something Quyloc did only because he had no choice. As soon as the men entered, he’d known what was coming. He’d faced bullies his entire life. The only thing that you could do with a bully was show no fear and hit them first.

 

Sergeant Tairus had the squad sparring with blunted practice swords. He called a halt when Rome and Quyloc walked up.

“Stop!” he barked. The soldiers broke off and turned to him. “Men, these are your new squad mates.”

None of the soldiers said anything, only stared at the two of them. Quyloc was liking this less and less. He wondered how long he’d signed up for, and if Rome would have gotten the army thing out of his system by the time that date rolled around.

Tairus pointed to one of the racks standing up against the wall. “Go get some practice swords. Quick time. We don’t have any more time to stand around and wait for you.”

When they returned with their swords, Tairus was assigning men to spar with each other. “Telin, you match off with the big one. Glane, you’re on the other. Begin.”

Glane raised his sword and started for Quyloc, who backed up to give himself some room to maneuver. He’d never in his life so much as held a sword. He had no real idea how to use one. From the way Glane—a slender man in his late twenties, with straight black hair—held his, it was clear he did know how to use it.

What Quyloc did know was how to fight with any weapon that fell into his hand. A broken chair leg. A brick. He’d once even hit a man in the head with a dead cat.

He also knew how to move. Slighter than most everyone while growing up, he’d learned that speed and movement were his best weapons. That, and his mind, of course.

When Glane charged him, sword flying, Quyloc ducked and spun to the side. Glane’s attack missed completely. Quyloc’s counter also missed.

Glane spun around. He had a little smile on his face. “It’s like that, is it?”

Quyloc didn’t reply. He was trying to get a feel for the weapon. It felt far too cumbersome and slow in his hand.

Glane came in more cautiously this time. He feinted. Quyloc tried, clumsily, to block it, and left himself open. Glane’s real attack thumped painfully off Quyloc’s ribs.

Glane grinned. “You weren’t expecting that, were you?” He began to circle Quyloc.

As this was happening, even though Quyloc was focused on Glane, he was always aware of Rome’s whereabouts and what he was doing. Rome would be doing the same. They’d always had an almost preternatural awareness of the other during a fight.

Rome was bellowing, as he often did while fighting. Telin was the superior swordsman, and he got in a few good licks before Rome decided to give up sparring and just bull rush him. Telin caught him again on the way in, but then Rome had him in a clinch. Telin wasn’t a small man, but Rome outweighed him by a good amount, and he easily drove the smaller man backwards and to the ground.

Glane attacked again. Quyloc managed to parry with the clumsy weapon, but he couldn’t get it around in time for the follow up attack and took a painful rap on the wrist that almost made him drop his sword. The other man pressed forward, striking Quyloc twice more.

Giving up on the clumsy weapon, Quyloc dropped to the ground, avoiding the next swing, and swept Glane’s feet out from under him. Then, he jumped on him, swinging his sword like a club right at Glane’s head.

Glane rolled and avoided the blow, coming to his feet with an alarmed expression on his face. “Ease off! This is sparring. We’re not trying to kill each other here.”

Quyloc blinked, realizing that he’d been trying to do exactly that. In the slums, fighting was brutal. The sole aim was to eliminate one’s opponent as quickly as possible. Best if said opponent was never a threat again.

Quyloc nodded and set himself for the next attack.

Tairus called a halt. The soldiers turned to face him. Quyloc saw Rome get to his feet and extend a hand to help Telin to his feet. Telin had a look of shock on his face. He regarded Rome as one would a bull that had just charged him.

Tairus ordered them to line up. He walked to Rome and Quyloc standing at the end of the line. “You two can fight, I can see that much. A little rough around the edges, but we’ll get that sorted for you.” He gave them a nod of approval. “Welcome to Eagle Company. This is Bronze Squad, your new family.” He grinned. “We fight just as much as a real family. Maybe more. Now that I know you can fight, what are your names?”

They told him. He walked back to where he could face the whole squad. “Your sword skills still stink.” It was clear he meant all of them. “Most of you are still too quick to abandon what little you do know and turn to brawling like our two new friends here.” His expression grew stern. “Brawling gets you killed in a battle. Technique and discipline are what keep you alive.”

He looked at Rome and Quyloc. “That’s where I come in. I want to keep you alive. Not because I like you, but because it makes me look bad when you die.”

Rome chuckled at this.

Tairus squinted at him. “You find that funny, soldier?”

Rome shrugged. “A little.”

Tairus shook his head. “Back to the basics. Defensive stance.” The men raised their swords, feet spread wide, one foot forward of the other. Tairus took a moment to make sure Rome and Quyloc had their feet set right before continuing.

“Balance is everything. You must be able to move equally in any direction. Once you get off balance, your opponent, who wants to kill you, is going to try. And there won’t be much you can do. No matter what is going on, set your feet. All your power, all your movement, come from your feet.”

He started them on some drills. Thrust, parry, advance, retreat. He spent some time then showing the two newcomers how to properly grip their swords, how to thrust without overbalancing.

They broke for the midday meal, an unappetizing thin stew with almost no meat to be found in it. Afterwards, it was more drills. Mostly with the practice swords, but also with halberds and spears. Quyloc liked the spear right away. He liked the reach it gave him. He didn’t have to get too close to his foe. And it was so light and quick in his hands.

They also spent time learning to march and fight in formation.

“By yourself, you’re just one ant, easily stepped on by the enemy,” Tairus lectured them. “But you stay tight and in formation, fight together, and you’re an unstoppable force.”

They marched, wheeled, parried and thrust until the sun was near the horizon. By then Quyloc was truly tired. His practice sword felt like a block of stone. His legs were leaden. It was a relief to hear the order to return the sword to the rack and head to the water barrel to rinse off.

But Rome pulled him aside. “I want to work on this some more. Stay with me.”

Quyloc wanted to refuse. It would feel so good to lie down. Instead, he nodded. “Swords? Or something else?”

Rome thought. “Something else, I think. We might as well learn how to fight with everything.”

Rome headed for a rack of practice weapons they hadn’t used yet. Quyloc picked up a mace and quickly discarded it. Too heavy, too slow. He turned to see Rome grinning ear to ear.

“Look what I found.” He was holding a double-bladed battleaxe. “I think this is the weapon for me.” He swung it a few times, his face lighting up like a child’s with a new toy. “Yeah, that feels good.”

Quyloc picked up a battleaxe and immediately hated it. “It’s too slow.”

“But feel the power. I won’t need to hit him more than once.”

Quyloc shrugged. That was Rome.

They went back to the practice field and sparred until the mess bell rang. While they were putting the weapons away, Quyloc noticed Tairus watching them from a distance.

They got in line. The server was an old soldier with a wooden leg and a runny nose, which Quyloc was pretty sure he saw drip into the food more than once.

Glane waved them over to the table where he and the rest of the squad were sitting. “Come sit with us!” He pushed against the soldier next to him. “Move over.”

The soldier was the leader of those who’d attacked them in the sleeping quarters. He growled. “I ain’t moving for them.”

“Geez, Dravit. Why are you always so grumpy?” Glane asked.

“Why are you always so cursed cheerful? I hate you.”

“And I hate you too. Now move over.”

Grudgingly, Dravit shifted slightly.

“What do you think of the army so far?” Kerv, another soldier from their squad, asked. He was in his mid-twenties and had yellow hair.

Rome dug into his food. With his mouth full, he said, “It’s great. We’re going to like it here.”

Kerv gave him a skeptical look. “What?”

Rome kept shoveling food in. “Fighting. Food. A real roof overhead. What’s not to like?”

“The food for one thing,” Kerv said. He sniffed his food. “Every time I think the food here can’t get worse, it does. That takes real artistry. Our cook is a genius.”

Rome laughed and started telling a story about a time when they tried to cook a dead cat that turned out to still be alive. Quyloc paid no attention. He was surreptitiously scanning the others at theirs and surrounding tables, listening in on their conversations as much as he could.

Most of their squad mates seemed accepting of them, or at least indifferent. Rome and Quyloc had proven they could fight and that they wouldn’t back down. That was how you bought respect in the world.

Rome was further breaking down barriers by being Rome. He was laughing and joking around right away.

But there were others who were decidedly hostile. Chief among them was Dravit. He was openly glaring at Quyloc. Flanking him were the other three who’d been with him. Two were brothers, Malk and Lethar. The last one, the one Quyloc knocked out, was Kazim. He looked like he was still having trouble focusing.

They were the ones Quyloc knew he needed to keep an eye on. He and Rome had bloodied their noses. He was certain they would try something again soon, when Tairus wasn’t around to stop them. He needed to be ready. He needed a plan. Could he lay his hands on a knife? What about that iron bar he’d used on Kazim? He’d put it under his kit before heading out to the practice yard. Maybe it was still there.

 

Rome and Quyloc were among the last to leave the mess hall. Not because they were slow eaters, but because Rome had to talk to everybody. He even spent some time talking with the old soldier who served the food. By the time he walked away, the old man was smiling and waving goodbye. There was nothing Quyloc could do but wait.

It was dark by then, the only light coming from the lanterns scattered across the grounds. Quyloc wasn’t the least bit surprised when they rounded the corner of the mess hall and found Dravit and his goons waiting for them. All of them were carrying wooden staves from the practice yard.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Rome greeted them. “How’s the throat, Dravit? Still a bit sore? Have you tried icing it?”

The last words were still coming out of his mouth when Rome charged, bellowing like a mad bull. Quyloc was right behind him, in his fist one of the heavy mugs that he’d swiped from the mess hall just for this purpose.

The suddenness of their attack caught the men off guard. With their numbers and weapons, they no doubt expected the two to either run or try to talk their way out of it.

Dravit swung his stave, but Rome was already too close, and the blow glanced off his back with no real force behind it. Rome caught Dravit in the stomach with a solid punch that bent him over.

It just so happened that Kazim was closest to Quyloc. He was still trying to figure out what was going on when Quyloc clubbed him with the mug. The mug shattered, and Kazim dropped for the second time that day, his eyes rolling back in his head.

Malk struck Rome across the shoulders with his stave, hard enough to crack the wood. Rome spun on him, a broad grin on his face.

“You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Malk jabbed at him with the broken stave, but Rome slapped it away and closed with him. If Malk had been inclined to ask, Quyloc could have told him never to let Rome get his hands on him. The big man was strong, and he knew how to use his weight for leverage.

Rome grabbed Malk, twisted and used a hip throw to put him on his back.

Rome stood over him. “Don’t get up. I’m warning you.”

Meanwhile, Quyloc was still fighting with Lethar. Lethar had some skill with the stave and was raining blows on Quyloc, keeping him back.

Dravit was back in action. He hit Rome down low with the stave, sweeping his feet out from under him, and then charged in, bringing the stave whistling down in an overhand swing.

But Rome was surprisingly nimble for a big man. He’d already rolled away by the time the stave came down. From the ground, he kicked Dravit’s knee from the side. Not hard enough to break it, but there was a popping sound. Dravit dropped with a cry of pain.

Quyloc found his opening and darted forward, the remains of the mug still clutched in his hand. He slashed the man across the face, narrowly missing his eye. Lethar dropped his stave and clutched his face.

“My eye!”

Quyloc took advantage and hit him in the solar plexus, dropping him on the spot.

The two men stood there, catching their breath.

“You okay, Quyloc?”

“Some bumps here and there. You?”

“I’ll have a couple of bruises. We did better that time. The training is already paying off.”

Sergeant Tairus came walking up. He looked at the men on the ground. “I see you flipped it on them this time.”

“We knew they were going to jump us,” Rome said. “We were ready.”

Tairus prodded Kazim with his foot. He wasn’t moving at all. “You boys fight dirty.”

Quyloc spoke. “We fight to win.”

Tairus pulled out a tobacco plug and bit a chunk off. “From the way you fight, I’d say you grew up on the street. Gutter rats. But you don’t look like rats. You’re fed better than them. How is that? I’ve been pondering it, and I haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Yeah, we grew up on the streets,” Rome said. “We learned to work together and built a good crew. The best. We did all right.”

“Hmm. I’d say so.” Dravit was dragging himself to his feet, holding his knee. Tairus walked over to him. “You gonna let this go, Dravit?”

“That bastard busted my knee.”

“After you and your friends jumped him. I ask you again. Are you going to let this go? Or do I have to write you up and turn this over to the captain? You know how strict he is about not touching the weapons outside of drill.”

Dravit hesitated at the mention of the captain. Quyloc had heard two men at another table speaking of Captain Lepold. From their tone, they feared and respected the Captain.

Dravit mumbled something.

Tairus cocked his head to the side. “What was that?”

“I said we’ll back off.”

“Good. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Now pack up Kazim and get him over to the infirmary. He already wasn’t right in the head. Maybe he’ll be better now, but I doubt it. Might want to get that cut looked at, Lethar. You don’t want it to go sour on you. It’s not much of a face to look at, but it’s the only one you got.”

The men left, dragging their fallen comrade, arguing amongst themselves. Tairus turned back to Rome and Quyloc.

“How about you? Ready to let this go?”

Rome turned his hands palm up. “I already forgot all about it.”

“Good. I don’t want you wiping out my squad. It looks bad for me. I want to make sergeant major someday.”

He left. Rome went to Quyloc and threw his arm around his shoulders. Quyloc winced. He really hated being touched, and the shoulder clapping was bad enough.

“Welcome to the army, Quyloc. Isn’t it great?”

“Great?” But Rome wasn’t listening.

“They’re actually going to pay us to fight. Can you believe that? And we’ve been doing it for free all this time.”

“Yay,” Quyloc said softly, knowing Rome wasn’t listening.

“And to put the pork in the pie, we also get to use real weapons.”

That part did appeal to Quyloc some.

“They feed us too. Don’t forget about that.”

“Yes, the army is great. What a life.” Quyloc knew Rome wouldn’t even notice the sarcasm in his voice. Rome seemed immune to sarcasm. “Can we go to our quarters now? I could sleep for a week.”

“Beds too!” Rome exclaimed as they headed for the barracks. “And my blanket doesn’t even have fleas! You said it. What a life.”

Click for next chapter.