Moonstone, Magic That Binds (Book 1) (16 page)

“Mistad, stop it!” the training corporal said. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. You think you know how to use that sword, but you don’t.”

“I do, Corporal,” Lotto said. “I’ve been trained in the use of a number of weapons and you can at least let me help you train the other recruits.”

“Bucking for promotion? That won’t work,” the sergeant said from his shelter underneath the extended roof of the barracks. “Corporal?”

“Yes, sergeant.”

“Show Recruit Mistad how fighting is done.”

The corporal leered at Lotto. “Yes, sir!” He pulled out his steel sword and beckoned Lotto to attack him with his wooden one.

Kenyr had taught Lotto how to use a staff to fight a swordsman. Now he’d have to modify that training to fight the corporal. He would have to see how serious the fight would be. That sneer indicated that the man might want to hurt him.

“Sergeant, if I strike the corporal, will that be held against me?”

“I’ll hold it against you if don’t!” He waved them together.

Lotto wiped the water off of his forehead as the corporal attacked. He slapped the side of the corporal’s blade aside. The slash was meant to maim. Lotto had the advantage of his weapon being lighter and he flashed with his wrist and slapped the side of the corporal’s upper sword arm.

The corporal kept slashing at Lotto, but the movements were slow and Lotto easily deflected them. He flicked his wooden sword against the corporal’s ear. The man cupped his ear with his free hand and Lotto wouldn’t give the man a chance during a pause, not while the man was intent on drawing blood. Lotto slammed his wooden weapon down, blunt edge first, on the corporal’s sword wrist sending the man’s weapon into the mud. He then put the point of his sword on the man’s chest so that he ended up on his back in the mud.

Laughter erupted from the recruits that the sergeant quickly stopped. “I’m giving you the rest of the session off. Dismissed.”

The men disbursed towards their own shabby barracks built close to the camp’s latrines. The fight had worn Lotto out and he trudged behind the others.

“I’ll get you.” He heard the threat spoken barely behind his back, but within his hearing. Lotto wondered what misery the corporal could mete out that he hadn’t already.

~

The thin blanket barely kept Lotto warm enough to drop off to sleep. He woke in the middle of the night and turned over. The barracks wouldn’t be called quiet with twenty men snoring, tossing and turning, but Lotto heard the creak of a board. The sound seemed so out of place that it brought him to instant alertness. The darkness seemed to be made out of dark and darker, but he could see the blocky figure approach his bed.

The figure raised its arm and Lotto could see the barest glint of steel as it descended towards him. He raised his hand and felt the knife slide across his arm. He ignored the searing pain and grabbed his assailant’s wrist and turned the blade back towards the attacker and deep into his midsection. A howl brought all of the other recruits out of their sleep. By the time someone lit a lamp, the corporal had died.

“What is this? You should all be in bed!” the sergeant said, barging into the room. His eyes were drawn to the corporal’s body. “Recruit Mistad?”

“He attacked me in the dark. I had to deflect his knife with my arm and we struggled.” Lotto stopped binding the wound on his arm and gazed at the corpse.

He hadn’t wanted to kill the man, but the knife had a life of it’s own and it obviously wanted to drink blood in the night. He shuddered to think that had he been caught asleep, he would be the one dead. He’d never killed a man before and the sight of the still body, devoid of life made him nauseous. He concentrated on his own wound and tried to ignore the body, but his gaze wandered back to the still figure. Despite saving his own life, the useless death of the corporal made him feel dirty.

The sergeant lifted Lotto off of his bed by the hair on his head. “We’ll see the Captain about this.” He nearly dragged Lotto out of the barracks and through the icy mud to the Captain’s quarters.

“What’s the meaning of waking me up in the middle of the night?” the Captain said, standing in pajamas with a blanket wrapped around him.

“Recruit Mistad killed Corporal Marybone, sir”

The Captain, who had only shown his face when Lotto first arrived, looked at Lotto and down at his muddy feet. “He’s getting my quarters dirty,” he said, scowling at the sergeant. The Captain turned to Lotto, his face red with anger. “Why did you kill Marybone, trooper?”

Lotto described the duel, Marybone’s comment and his subsequent nighttime visit.

“I can’t have a murderer among the recruits. You’ll be sent to the mines in the morning.” The Captain looked at sergeant. “Have him clean up the mess in the barracks. Wrap the corporal up in a blanket and put him outside. The cold will preserve the body.”

Lotto returned to his quarters. He sat down and continued to see to his wound as others patted Lotto with surprising sympathy on the shoulder and took care of the corporal’s body.

Joining the army had seemed like the right thing to do, but Lotto now saw his impetuous behavior as a mistake. Now his actions had sent him to work in the mines. No trial, no defense, no opportunity to communicate with Mander. Impatience, that had been his enemy. He should have gone to Mander and joined up properly. Now he just might have ruined his entire life.

His thoughts went back to the Moonstone and Princess Restella. He sensed the link and knew that Restella had returned to Beckondale. Lotto couldn’t help but sigh. That’s where he wanted to be at that very instant. What a mess he’d made of things.

If he had the chance to get back into the army, he’d have to kill again. That’s what soldiers did. That thin thread of duty allowed him to finally fall asleep.

~

Life in the mines became a nameless string of unending days. He rose before daybreak. At least the food seemed adequate, if a bit simple. The mining supervisor actually had a healer take a look at the knife wound and stitched the wound up. He quickly got used to working and returning to the unheated barracks after dark. The muscles in his chest and arms began to harden and he could feel more bulk in his chest and legs.

Contrary to some of the men, Lotto thrived on the food and the exercise. Days stretched into weeks and Lotto sensed that winter had turned into spring. He could have practiced magic to make a fire and stay warm, but it seemed that those who the mining supervisor noticed seemed to get extra shifts. His experience at the training camp showed him that excelling didn’t necessarily lead to advantages but, more often than not, unwanted attention.

One morning he felt the link with Restella strengthen for a moment. Why would that be? Could she be finding him? He felt it again some time later that day. She still resided in Beckondale. He wished he could use the link to communicate with her so Mander could rescue him.

~

Lotto found a vein of silver and reported it to the mine supervisor. The supervisor and the guards clustered around the vein and became excited. Lotto had expected to work on his discovery but they quickly transferred him to another mine a league away.

“You’re new here from the other mine. You must have found something useful,” one of the miners said, putting a full plate of the same shapeless food down on the table. The man was shorter than Lotto but just as fit with streaks of premature gray in his hair. He had obviously singled Lotto out from the other miners and sat next to him to talk.

“Silver. A vein of it.”

The man nodded. “They’ll use their own men to work the ore out. Half of it will go to the king and the rest into their own pockets.”

“I’m Lotto.” He extended his hand to the stranger. The man seemed to know more than the average miner and Lotto knew that knowledge could be a powerful tool.

“The name is Gully Workman. I’m glad to meet you. What you in for?”

“Some weeks ago I was a recruit in the army and the corporal decided that he didn’t want me around. I killed him in self-defense, but evidently that doesn’t count for much, and here I am. I’m afraid I lost count of time.”

Gully laughed. “The only ones they ship out of their ‘training’ camp to the army are the dumb ones who don’t notice their scams. Most end up in the mines like you. So you signed up?”

Lotto felt his face heat up as he realized that he ended up as one of the dumb ones. “A friend of mine died at the hands of Oringians, so I immediately signed up and right after I scrawled my name, they loaded me into a wagon and shipped me and nine others up here.”

“Didn’t even give you a chance to tell anyone, I’ll bet. No family?”

Lotto nodded. ‘Friends, but no relations.”

“They must have thought they had gone to heaven when you said that. It’s very possible that the recruiter received a nice bonus to sign you up. I’d say that two thirds of the recruits at the camp down the road eventually end up in the mines. Like I said, those that they let return to the army are dumber than a rock and only good for front line fodder. You just made it here a bit earlier than your colleagues.”

“I’m stupid, impulsive and made at least two idiotic mistakes,” Lotto said. “I still want to fight in the army, but I’m better trained than the trainers, it seems.”

Gully looked Lotto over and then stood up. “You think you’re good with a sword?  There’s a full moon tonight, let’s test you out. I need some practice, anyway.” He took Lotto outside towards a pile of refuse and pulled out two broken pick handles. “These ought to do. Show me your stuff.”

Lotto smiled and took one of the sticks and bowed as he did in Kenyr’s training room.

“You have trained before.” Gully gave Lotto the barest smile and did the same and they began to spar.  

The man must have been a soldier, for Lotto found himself hard pressed under an initial barrage of strokes. His hand hurt, since the stick had no cross guard and every parry shocked his hand and arm, but Gully’s hand would be hurting too. Lotto found the man’s rhythm and found Gully’s weaknesses and, through them, a way to become the aggressor. He began to push him back and gave better than he got.

“Enough, enough.” Gully said, chest heaving. “I can see why they didn’t want you around. You’re too good and would obviously be marked for officer material. That doesn’t work for those chaps. The last thing they want is for one of their recruits to become an officer and report them. I’d sure like to work out with you, if you don’t mind. I’d like to be able to return to duty with decent reflexes. I can’t teach you anything about swords, but in return for sparring with me, I can tell you how a soldier acts and thinks. If you’re up to it, I’ll teach you more soldiering than you’d ever learn at the Bluerock garrison.”

“What rank were you?”

Gully barked out a mirthless laugh. “Lieutenant of a detachment of scouts. I bedded the wrong woman and the husband, a Captain of the Western Fourth, had me framed for theft and sent me here. I’ve served my time in the mines, but no one seems to care that I’m here and the mining supervisor refuses to let me go.”

“Can’t you escape?”

“Not willing to try, lad. We don’t really get overworked and we are fed well enough. If I escape, they’ll kill me outright, but if war comes, I’ll be out of here in an instant. I have enough friends who know where I am. So what do you say?”

Lotto didn’t know, but he had few options and even if the man plied him with war stories and no usable knowledge, then it might help pass the time. If war had come, and Mander called to the castle, the probability rose that Gully might be released and could get word to Mander. All of the other miners seemed to keep to themselves.

“I’m up to it. I’ve found that mining doesn’t seem to work the same muscles as swordplay.”

“Indeed it doesn’t, lad, unless you know what you’re about.”

“You can call me Lotto.” Now he had committed to a friendship of sorts—perhaps an alliance. It gave him the tiniest bit of comfort, if the man had been honest with him. At this point, Lotto didn’t have much trust in his fellow men.

Gully worked alongside Lotto the next day.

“Here, you want to use the kind of actions that will maintain your fighting shape.” He showed Lotto different ways of using the pick and the other mining tools such as a long iron rod that had a heavy pointed end for cleaning out a seam of ore. It reminded Lotto of a much larger version of his poker back at the bookshop. How he wished he were back, studying, training with Kenyr, chatting with Mander and Lady Anne. He regretted his hasty enlistment with every thought.

As the days progressed, Lotto learned fighting techniques he’d never dreamed of with a tunnel wall as his opponent. Gully’s swordsmanship improved as well as Lotto taught him more advanced aspects to swordsmanship.

Their fighting ground turned to mud as spring rains began to pour. The pair sat away from the others as they ate the filling stew that never varied in taste and texture.

“What’s scouting like?” Lotto said, biting into his small loaf of bread.

“Successful scouts assume a frame of mind. The more you can sense your environment the better you’ll be at figuring out what’s out of place. There are some good scouts out there and that awareness is what sets the great ones apart from the good ones. It’s not just being good at unconventional fighting.”

Lotto liked what Gully said. Sensing the environment. He realized that even at Heron’s Pond he had used similar skills, even in his diministhed state, to survive the relentless taunting in the village and in poking around in the surrounding forest.

“Is there a way we can practice scouting while we’re here?”

Gully rubbed his chin and closed his eyes. “Yes.” He opened them up again. “Look around you and then close your eyes. See if you can feel the lay of the land. Walk into the mines and try and sense the walls around you. Don’t try to feel how close it is, think about the mine itself. It’s a hole in the ground. Concentrate on the hole instead of the walls.”

“I can do that already,” Lotto said, smiling. He closed his eyes and could sense the camp, even feeling where men were when they walked around them.

“Continue to practice that. What if you were in the woods and you looked for signs of the enemy? Could you detect them? What other senses would you use?”