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The cursed recruit

By Symon Pude

Chapter 3 - The general

A deep voice riffled through the air. “Get away from him!”

The kicking stopped. I turned to my side. Through my dull vision, I saw the berserker run towards my tormentors.

My first attacker exclaimed, “He attacked me!”

“And five enlisted cannot deal with one man without killing him?” the massive man asked.

The man staggered for a reply. The berserker stepped closer to the man, who was taking a step back from the towering officer.

The berserker said with a deadly calm, “This will still have consequences. Now scram!”

Without a word, the five disappeared. The shadow of a relieved smile ran over my face.

He crouched down beside me. “Can you stand?”

“I knew you couldn’t resist saving my ass.”

He blew air out of the hole at the side of his lips. I rose up to my hands and knees. Even that took way more effort than it should have. My right hand felt warm. Wet puke hung on my fingers in strings. A deep breath sent a jolt of pain at my left side. I winced, and my arms buckled a bit, letting me feel several bruises forming on them. I pushed against them and my knees took over my weight, pressing the stones below into my skin. The officer extended a hand. I took it with my left, and he pulled me up. My legs held.

He said, “The general wants to see you in his tent. Then we have someone take a look at you.”

“My rucksack, please.” I pointed at the bag on the floor. He carried it for me.

We staggered forward through the field. The army wasn’t just a big, compressed obstacle anymore. Several people were erecting two-man tents. In the centre there was a bigger, round tepee. A big crest of the army was embroidered on its side. The lifesize picture of a sword cut straight down a blue coloured octagon. On each side of the blade, four white dots were arranged in a diamond shape, but a bigger white dot was at the middle of the guard of the weapon. I focused on the crest, which I had never seen in such detail. I almost missed the looks of pity that were thrown at me from every side.

I tripped, my hands too slow to break my fall, but the berserker caught me with one hand.

“Thanks,” I mumbled as we went further to the tepee.

The berserker pushed the curtains to the tent aside. Hot, smoky air washed against my face, and I blinked to adjust. When I opened my eyes again, I froze.

On a seat beyond the bonfire sat the slender souvra that refused to step away from my carriage yesterday. He wore a blue, long sleeved gambeson with plates of armour similar to the berserker’s, though his were trimmed with shiny metal. From first glance it was obvious; he was the general. And I had disrespected him.

My shock turned to anger in an instant. He ordered his lieutenant to go after me, just because I had insulted his ego. Pain flared up at the right side of my chest, and I winced against my will. A gesture that might have been mistaken for a bow. I straightened against the pain, meeting the souvra with an angry glare.

To the army man's left side, there was a boy at the transition to a man. His thin facial points seemed like an exact copy of the general’s. He also had the same red skin on the collar of his officer’s gambeson and unnatural orange eyes. The younger version of the general looked at me with an unmoving stare, like a lizard caught in the open. That would explain the need for the blasting heat in the tent.

The berserker pulled a bench from the side and lowered me down to sit. My legs thanked him.

"I'm going to get the medic," the lieutenant said.

"Yes, please do that, Bron," the general said. All the while, he did not move a muscle.

The large man left, leaving me with the two souvras.

"Who did this to you?" the general asked.

"Can't remember their names," I said. "Wouldn't it have been funny if I had died after you went to the effort of ripping me from my home?"

I grunted and held my side. When I spoke, it felt like a stab from a dull knife.

“No, it wouldn’t have been,” the general said.

“What did you want with me?” I said in pain. “You didn’t call me here to pretend to care about me.”

“Hey,” the younger souvra shouted. “My father is asking the questions.”

“It’s fine, Kaith,” the general said.

I let out a coughy laugh.

The young man snapped his head to me. “What’s so funny?”

“Your name sounds like my old dog puking.”

The young man jumped up, ready to hurt me even more. That was the first big movement I’ve seen him do.

“Kaith,” the general said in a cutting voice. “Go and look if you can help Vito prepare the training ground.”

The young souvra looked at his father, before saying, “Yes, father.”

He put on a thick coat and headed out, throwing a last stare at me.

“Charming boy,” I said when he was gone.

The general pulled out his porcelain pipe, stuffed in tabak and put it in his mouth, all in one snappy movement. “You cut our last conversation short, and there is something that wasn’t solved yet. What is your mother’s race?”

I bared my teeth. “She’s human, not a drop of magical blood. Same as my father and my grandparents. My line is dirt. Is that what you wanted to know?”

The general sucked on his pipe and smoke spilled out when he talked again. “Don’t sell yourself as a cheap plate. Being only of human descent is quite rare nowadays.”

I had not seen how he had lit his pipe. I couldn’t ponder on it, as the curtains of the entry pushed aside and Bron came back with a man in tow. He was quite a bit shorter than me, but his broader shoulders made up for it. I scoffed when I saw the bald head that marked him as a monk. He made a small bow towards the general.

“You can examine the patient here,” the leader said.

“Yes, sir.”

The short medic turned to me, and a small frown appeared on his face.

He came closer. “Take off your surcoat and shirt.”

I smiled sarcastically. “Did Bron ask you to order me to strip?”

The monk’s face contorted in confusion. He turned to the berserker.

“Just ignore him and continue,” Bron growled.

The medic crouched down before me, and reached out.

“I can do that myself.” I said, starting to unbutton my surcoat, every movement shooting out pain. I put my surcoat beside me and tried to push my sweaty shirt over my head. A sting in my left chest caused me to grunt and press my eyes together. When I opened them again, the medic was even closer with a look that I didn’t expect from a member of the church; a look of genuine sympathy. Without words, he moved my hands upwards and helped me out of my shirt. The warmth from the fire lay on my bare skin. Several red spots dotted my whole upper body. The biggest one sat on the right side of my chest.

The medic explained. “I’m going to press on certain parts of your body. Tell me when it hurts.”

I pressed my teeth together. “It hurts now.”

“I didn’t even start.”

He started to feel up my legs, which were mostly unhurt, I only whinced once when he pressed on my left thigh. He moved on to my torso, where I winced every time he touched one of the red spots. The monk had a concentrated expression as he searched over my skin. While he worked, I got a good look at the picture embroidered in red on the chest of his brown tunic; an eagle spread his wings, reaching to both his armpits. In the centre of his body was another octagon, with a red hand in its middle, the crest of the church. I yelped out in pain when the medic pressed on the big wound on my side. He didn’t move on, but probed around even more, his brows furrowed.

Suddenly, his hands started shaking. I winced in pain, but he didn't stop. In the corner of my eye I also saw Bron clattering, like he was holding up something heavy.

“What?” I looked around, but I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The air in the tent seemed hotter than before, but I could have be mistaken. The general had his hand on the sword beside him. In its hilt, there was a crystal that shone in a faint orange light. When I looked closer, it had grown dim. Was it a trick of the light again?

The medic stopped shaking, but seemed just as confused as I was.

“You can continue,” the general said, with a hint of exhaustion in his voice.

“Yes, sir,” the monk said and pressed around the edges of the big wound.

Then he scratched the back of his bald head. “I think some ribs could have cracks. This could become worse if it remains untreated. He needs to take part in a ceremony as soon as possible. There’s a monastery in the next town.”

"Bron, could you prepare a carriage for our patient?" The general said without moving.

"I don't want to go there," I said before the berserker could react. "Just let me go and rest up at home. I can't be of much use to the army right now."

The general waited for a moment before asking the short monk, “What can happen if he doesn't get healed?”

The medic helped me slip back into my shirt. "Blood could get into his lungs, and he could suffocate."

I swallowed hard.

"How likely is that?" the general asked.

“Only time will tell for sure.”

The general sucked on his pipe. "Now that you know what could happen, do you still not want to go there?"

Before I could answer, the curtains at the entry parted again, and two officers stepped in. One was the general’s son, Kaith, but I diverted my attention to the second man. I had thought the new ceremon in Hazelbrook was a pure blooded gargoyle, but it was obvious that the new officer was the real deal. His skin had a deep aquamarine colour that almost blended with his gambeson’s. Three feathers protruded just above his ears on either side, not just down feathers, but long and brilliant blue. On the man's belt hung something that almost looked like a crown made from iron.

The blue man smiled at me with squinted eyes. “Oh no, what happened to you?”

Bron answered, “It was a small squabble between recruits, the responsible persons will be punished accordingly. The general has resolved the matter, Officer Aquarus.”

The blue man’s smile wavered a bit. “One might wonder whether this unnecessary pain could have been avoided, Lieutenant Frostbreaker,” said the blue-skinned officer.

Bron growled.

The new officer turned to the general. “Was it really worth sending your Lieutenant back to fetch a deserter?”

A puff of his pipe was the general’s answer.

“But I digress. I didn’t want to interrupt.” The officer stepped to the edge of the tent, still in my viewpoint.

“We will wait,” the general finally said, directed at the monk by my side. “If his condition gets worse, we will make the decision tomorrow.”

I looked at the slim man. Before, he'd ask for my input, but now, he just decided for me.

“Yes, sir,” the medic said beside me, but I had my eyes fixed on the general.

The monk spoke to me, “The only thing I can do now is urge you to rest as much as possible and not put any further pressure on the injuries.”

I nodded absentmindedly.

The monk wiped sweat from his bald head. “And try to keep your torso high when you’re sleeping. And when you struggle to breathe, put your hands down beside you.”

I nodded again.

The general said, “Kaith, could you escort the recruit and get him a tent.”

After a moment, the young man answered, “Yes, father.”

I pushed myself to my feet. My body complained, but I pushed through. Bron made a move to help me stand, but I gestured that I was fine.

"Wait a second," I said

I made my way over to the general’s seat and offered my right hand. “Thank you for saving me from those thugs.”

With one movement, he locked eyes with me, his strange orange irises filled with doubt.

“Very well.” He took my hand and applied good pressure. “Don’t assume I am going to save you every time.”

He let go.

“Thank you again,” I said, a smile appearing on my lips. “And I will try to stay out of trouble.”

"Please do, you're valuable."

“Let’s get it over with,” the general’s son cut off everything else.

“I need my rucksack,” I said while stumbling to the entrance.

The blue-skinned officer moved to the bag and picked it up with one fluid motion. He held it out to Kaith while squinting and giving me a smile. The young man took my things and slung it over his shoulder with little consideration, before leading me out of the tent.

We stopped at the carriage beside the tepee, where the young souvra climbed on and took out a package like the one I had carried for the man who almost kicked me to death. He pushed it in my hands, pain flaring up in my chest.

I struggled to hold the old tent. “It’s ripped,” I said, looking over it.

He walked on, moving with precision, not a single unnecessary movement. “I’m not going to climb up there again and get you a new one.”

I stumbled after the officer as he led me to the edge of the camp. At first his strides were too fast to follow, but they seemed to be getting slower. On a free space of grass, he dropped my rucksack, and I let my new tent fall beside it. I sat down beside it, causing a cough from my throat. The deep breath afterwards caught a rattle in my chest. My legs felt like after a week of hard labour on the fields.

“No time to sit around, you need to build up your tent, so I can finally go back to the fire.”

“Fuck you, Kaith.”

“It’s ‘sir’ to you.”

“Fuck you, ‘sir’.” The sarcasm dripped from the last word.

He raised his hand for a slap, but reconsidered.

“You there!” he called to the soldiers closest to me. “Put up this tent.”

They saluted and got to work erecting my tent, with no enthusiasm.

“Be ready to go tomorrow at dawn,” Kaith ordered me, before he went off directly to the general’s tent. His movements were now significantly slower than before.

I sat myself to the ground and took a deep breath that caused a rattle in my chest. I observed the other soldiers slowly getting into their own tents in groups of two. I brought my right hand up to my face and the smell of puke filled my nose. I chuckled, but it turned into a coughing fit. When I removed the hand from my mouth, my sleeve was tinged with a red colour.

"That can't be good."

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