Brothers

As the war against the argons grinds on, more and more young amani who were employed in support positions are being asked to commit to active military service. As the great foundry labors to turn out weapons and armor for a growing force, hastily-assembled training yards are not an uncommon sight in the shadow of the amani capital city of Kaiator. Neither are scenes like the one played out below between a new recruit and his veteran instructor.

When I saw the light of Balder's Eye glinting off the battle-scarred centurion's iron tusks, I was pretty sure my first day as a lancer might also be my last. He shook his head as I approached. "The last time I saw you, Nariiz," he drawled, "your face did not bear the tattoos of an eldest son."

"The last time you saw me, Furad, I had not lost three older brothers to the argons." I returned his cool stare with what I hoped was the proper degree of indifference-our childhood acquaintance couldn't be called a friendship, and now Kaia's idea of a divine joke was to make him my lance instructor.If I hadn't already sworn my oath to protect and defend...

"You've been working in the foundry since you abandoned your schooling," Furad remarked, looking me over. "Was fighting for your country an unattractive option for you?"

"I did my duty to Kaiator, Furad. And I thought three soldiers in one family was enough. It seems I was wrong. At any rate, I'm strong enough."

Furad snorted his derision. "A lancer is more than a brute with a long stick."He pointed out a rack of practice weapons. "Even you should be able to understand that. Pick up a lance and shield, follow me, and try to keep up." As he limped away, I saw that his right leg had been replaced with wood and steel.

I must have demolished a dozen straw targets before Furad would let me do more than strike forward, over and over and over again, stopping now and again to set my shield in front of me and hold against imaginary attacks. "Straw doesn't fight back, rookie!" he'd shout in my ear as I thrust the lance forward again and again. "Just imagine that's an argon at the end of your lance, and you have about two heartbeats left to live! Stand fast!" My shield, he assured me, would absorb much of the force of my imaginary target's assaults. It was my job to raise it between lance thrusts, in hope of intercepting teeth, claws, or bolts of magical energy.

"Catch your breath," Furad said after what seemed like forever, handing me a waterskin. "You did well enough. Those thrust and stand skills are the backbone of a lancer'sproficiency. Practice them every day until they send you to the front. After that, you'll get plenty of practice without trying."

My education continued. The shield, Furad informed me, was not only a sturdy defense, but a mighty weapon in its own right. Wielded properly, it could stagger a foe, weakening his defenses against your next attack while doing its own damage on the spot. I practiced the moves he taught me, but had my doubts about the ability of the battered practice shield to either attack or defend. "Don't fret, Nariiz," Furad assured me, "you'll have a real one before the day's out. And a real target that fights back, too." He thumped his steel-bound wooden leg, and his smile, when he looked back up at me, was not at all reassuring.

As the hours wore on, I was grateful for the long foundry shifts that had hardened my muscles and boosted my endurance over the years. When my older brothers marched off to the war, I'd stayed home with my parents, who were no longer well. I was too young to follow my brothers to the argon front, but not too young to leave school and become my parents' only support for the last years of their lives. Now Mother and Father were gone, too. I was the last of us, and if the argons wanted me, I was going to make them work for the pleasure of having me.

"All right," Furad told me finally." You can poke a bale of straw convincingly-let's see what you can do against something with teeth."

The training masters kept a menagerie of beasts for new recruits to fight. Some of them were rookie-eating machines, but the one Furad picked out for my first real challenge was an aging ghilliedhu with three blind eyes.

"Hit him!"Furad shouted as the ghillie came plodding from its pen, turning its great head to favor its remaining eyes.

I knew better than to tell Furad that the ghilliedhu had never done anything to me, but I hesitated just the same. The hulking tree-spirit took the initiative and knocked me aside with a huge wooden fist. I got up and hit it then, kept on hitting it, and finally made it mad. It turned an angry shade of red, stepped back and smacked me with the other fist, sending me onto my backside. Furad finished it off with a pounding lance charge before it could smash me flat.

"Did you see that he changed color, Nariiz? And the way he turned aside and pulled his fist back before he hit you?"

I pulled myself to my feet, head pounding. "He did what?"

"Every monster has 'tells,' Furad explained with a sigh at my lack of perception. "Things they do just before a certain kind of attack. Learn those, and you'll have time to get that shield up in front of you. That way you might not die until you get to the real war." He wiped dark ghillie sap from his lance with a tattered cloth. "Report back after roll call tomorrow, and I'll teach you to read tells. And how to charge, and how to rise from a knockdown, scattering enemies like kindling wood. And much else." He barked a laugh at my expression. "Don't worry, Nariiz-I'll leave killing you to a far harsher enemy." He took a seat on the low stone wall that surrounded the training yard and began unbuckling his armor.

I put down my weapons and rubbed one aching shoulder. "Why have you always hated me, Furad?"

"It wasn't just you," he said after a moment's silence."I hated your brothers, too."

"I don't understand. What did we do to you?"

Furad sighed and looked off into the distance. "You had each other. You did everything together. With my family wiped out by the argons, I was being raised by the Benevolent Daughters of Kaia. The Daughters were kind, but they were not my family. Watching your family, I felt the searing of envy."

"Do you envy me three corpses never sent home for their family to grieve over?"

"No, Nariiz. I don't envy you that, any more than you could ever envy me the loss of my kin. Or anything else." He rapped with his knuckles on the unfeeling leg.

"Then perhaps we are equals at last."

Furad snorted. "I'll call you my equal when you can charge into a pack of orcans, screaming a lancer's challenge, and leave their bodies smoking behind you." He stood up and gathered up his armor. With a curt nod, he strode off toward the barracks.

"Fair enough," I called after him."I'll try to stay alive long enough to be called your equal."

Furad turned his head as he walked away. "And when you can stand up to your foes and shelter your comrades," he said over his shoulder as he walked away,"I'll be proud to call you my brother."