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Neil started training that very day.
It began with squad assignment. He met Tom, his squad leader. A young man of about twenty years, sporting short red hair, a runner's physique, and an unusual sense of optimism.
Also in his squad were Rog, a boy far taller and wider than all the others, with a round gut that testified to his sweet tooth; Orin, a dark-haired boy around Neil's age who never stopped complaining about the weather (unless Sergeant Blue was threatening to "adjust his attitude for him"); Davu, a young man with marbled skin in patches of darkest black and palest white; Loa, a woman in her early thirties with a scarred face and suspicious eyes; Tidus, a freckle-faced boy with green hair and a tendency to mock the others whenever none of the officers were near; and Flinchy, a boy whom the others often mocked as a coward. When Neil asked him what his real name was, Flinchy told him that he could no longer remember, he'd forgotten the name his mother gave him long ago.
He followed the other recruits and reported to Sergeant Blue. The commanding officer sported a bushy mustache that rustled whenever he spoke and swiveled any time a recruit said anything to irritate him. His voice was low and gruff, and he strutted back and forth in front of them with his left hand always resting on the pommel of his sword. His hair looked like someone had placed a tiny bowl on the crown of his head and shaved around it.
The Sergeant rasped out, "Listen up, you bunch of mandrake mymmerkins! Today, you will start your training by learning about all the weapons the real soldiers use and how to take care of them. Our people come back from missions every day. Sometimes they clear out bandits, sometimes they guard a small village. Whatever the case, after a hard day's work, they need their rest, and can't be bothered with cleaning bloodied maces or sharpening swords. That's where you useless cox-combs can make yourselves just a little less ineffectual. If you leave a weapon blood soaked, I will rap your knuckles. If you forget to sharpen a sword, I will kick your ass so hard you won't be able to sit for a month. If you break anything you will dig latrines for a week. Is that understood?"
The recruits responded with a collective murmur and a lot of mumbling.
Sergeant Blue screwed up his face into a most furious expression. "When I ask you a question, you say, 'Yes, Sergeant,' and you say it like you mean it! From the diaphragm! Now, let's try that again. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Sergeant," they replied, almost in unison. Flinchy took the longest to respond due to his stutter.
"Better." He nodded. "But it still needs work. We'll get there."
Over the course of the next month, Neil learned about every type of weapon, every kind of armor, and every piece of equipment the soldiers of the Ashen Banner used. Several times a day the Sergeant would scold him for his shoddy work, but would soon thereafter sit down next to him and calmly explain the proper way to do it.
This did not spare him Tidus' merciless mockery as soon as the Sergeant was out of earshot. "It's a miracle a slave boy like you lived so long with such piss poor workmanship!" "What's the matter? Can't do nothing right?" "If I were you, I'd consider a career in begging. You're almost pathetic enough to make it!"
Every time, Neil wanted to punch Tidus in the nose, but he recalled a time when he did that to Lout when they were children after Lout had pushed him. Lout got away with his crimes while Neil was punished because he was the only one who got caught. He imagined the same thing would happen here, and didn't relish the thought of what punishments the leaders of a mercenary company might dole out.
When he wasn't learning how to care for equipment, he was off to marching practice. Bards set the pace of the march with music, and taught the recruits about how different songs meant changes in orders. It was not uncommon for soldiers on the battlefield to mishear their commanding officers, or even not hear them at all, so the music filled the gaps and made sure all knew what was expected of them.
Neil soon learned that there were not just soldiers in the company either. Rather, there were cobblers, tailors, blacksmiths, merchants, bards, courtesans, magicians, and even members of the clergy all working toward making the Ashen Banner function well, both on and off the battlefield. When they weren't going to battle, they sold the craftsmen's goods, and escorted merchant caravans. The company seemed like more of a mobile city than an army.
One day, after Neil had finished sharpening a longsword, Sergeant Blue snatched it from his hand and looked closely at the blade. Neil prepared himself for the usual onslaught of criticisms, but the Sergeant merely said, "Good. Keep it up," and handed the weapon back to him.
After this rare moment of praise, and a few more days of replicating the work that had earned it, he moved on to actual combat training. That night, the three moons passed through the Dob constellation, and he knew it had been two months since he left Master Davaa's home. Two more months that his friends were still stuck in that monster's slavery.
He wished the time could go by faster so he could start earning money for their release, but Tom, his squad leader, reminded him daily, "Training takes so much time because they wanted us to live."
His next bout of training transitioned into practicing with wooden swords, padded spears, and crossbows at the shooting range.
Now and then, the officers would give him a break from weapons training to learn wrestling with his fellow recruits. Very quickly, he learned that in wrestling, skill barely mattered if your opponent was stronger and heavier than you. Given that he was small, being raised on a diet of mostly unleavened bread, he found that what strength he'd earned through manual labor did little for him. This lesson was burned permanently into his mind on the day he tried to wrestle Rog, the biggest boy in the squad, and found his face planted firmly in the bigger fellow's armpit.
After the wrestling match, Rog said to him. "You're a lot tougher than you look, Neil. Most fellows faint at the smell of that." He gave a hissing laugh through his teeth and stuck out his tongue.
When the moons passed through Porahl, he had lessons about how to loot the fallen on a battlefield. It was not, as he would have expected, a free-for-all, but rather something to be done in an orderly fashion. While every soldier could keep whatever money they found on a corpse, the goods and equipment were for the Quartermaster to divide up, with the larger shares going to the officers and the smallest shares to the new recruits.
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Under the Ashen Banner
FantasyA Noblebright Medieval Fantasy with historical details. Neil has been a slave since he was a child, but as he draws near to becoming a man he's offered the chance to join the Ashen Banner Mercenary Company. Fortune, adventure, and glory await him, b...