IX

It had turned into a bloody festival, Adrian had ordered that every man present be there, not that he had needed to, everybody had turned out to see what was going on between Commander Koplin and the new Commander. Even the rain which was coming down in sheets at the moment did not deter the crowds of onlookers. Adrian glanced over at Isi, she was dancing a little dance, her cavalry boots splashing in the shallow lake that had become the ground for as far as the eye could see her head thrown back and up towards the sky and her arms moving in intricate patterns as her feet splashed out a rhythm, she chanted the words to her rain prayer as she danced.

Adrian always found this ritual in particular fascinating, her movements were fluid like water flowing downstream, and the haunting melody she sang was catchy enough that he knew it would be stuck in his head for many days to come. Turning he looked at Commander Koplin, who was kneeling in a puddle, covered only by the cavalry pants he wore and his boots. His shirt and jacket had been confiscated, as there was no point in damaging the man’s clothing. He had his arms bound to a flogging cross and he rested his head against the smooth wood and openly wept. The first blow had yet to be even given and he wept, the tears going unseen in the downpour of water from above.

“Commander Koplin,” Adrian spoke up, his voice carrying over the low rumble of rain. “You are hereby sentenced to lashing for the dereliction of duty regarding your task at Fort Nolheim.”

“Baseless accusations!” he shouted, twisting to see Adrian, he could only get a glimpse of Adrian from out of the corner of his eye. Adrian walked slowly in a circle like a predator stalking its prey until he came to the other side and the man could look at him without twisting and contorting at some odd angle.

“It is not up for debate and I am not here to hear your excuses, the order has been given, and it shall be followed through,” Adrian declared.

“You can't do this! I am of noble blood!”

“All blood is the same to the army, we are all noble and we are all base, war cares not for either.” he glanced at Torin and nodded, catching his eye on Isi who still danced the rain’s prayer where he had left her. Torin nodded and waved his Finger to advance a step forward, the four-clawed slash sliding through the muddy water as he dragged it into place.

“Bu-”

“Begin!” Adrian barked and locked eyes with the man who tensed when the sound of the lash whistled through the air, his eyes screwing shut. A scream left the man’s lips before the lash ever caressed his back and quickly turned into a moan of pain as he felt its touch. The metal-tipped lash that was used for punishments like this didn't actually rip the flesh on the first blow, it simply tenderized it. In fact most of the time it would only score the skin if the lashes were particularly savage and even then it typically required somewhere like six or seven consecutive strikes. This was a good thing as it meant that the minor offenses that required five lashes would not impede a soldier’s duty for too long after he had received them.

“ONE!” Torin called out his loud voice booming out across the silent clearing.

“Please I be-” his words were cut off as the lash whistled through the air again, the words in his mouth twisting into a cry of pain.

“TWO!”

“I'll-I'll do anyth-”

“THREE!”

His eyes were wild, with fevered movements spurred on by pain and fear he attempted to twist out of the restraints that bound him to the last pole, attempting to escape through brute strength alone. But the restraints were secure and he was going nowhere.

“FOUR!” Koplin’s back arched as he writhed attempting to twist his body out of the way of the lashes.

“FIVE!” Koplin’s head slammed into the pole as his feet slipped out from under him and he fell limp sagging against his restraints. Torin went to raise the lash again but Adrian held out his palm and stopped his hand. Slowly Adian walked forward and kneeled in front of the man. With careful fingers, he opened the man’s eyelids, seeing only the whites and knowing the man to be unconscious. Sighing he reached into his pocket and withdrew the small tin of reagents, making sure to keep the box of powders out of the rain and under the protection of his tricorn hat. Carefully he stuck his damp fingers in the box of Ilutrin and the powdered Nitre, his fingers came away covered in the powders, one white the other a yellowish ochre color and he shut the waterproof flaps and looked at the man.

Standing back up he held one hand over the other, shielding the reagents from the rain and he focused. Blue light swirled and he felt a cooling burn on the tips of his fingers as the reagents were consumed to fuel his spell he opened his hand and the blue light swirled around his fingers a ball of white and blue energy between his two hands he pulled them apart fighting the Magic's attempt to pull his hands together. The light died, leaving his hands open, simply held in the air like he was posing. He looked at his hands, feeling the spell inside of him, feeling it ready to be unleashed, and smiled.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

To cast a spell a mage needed three things, the first was to know the ritual to cast, what reagents were required, and what movements were needed. The second was to precast, essentially like loading a musket, each step of the casting ritual needed to be followed exactly, or the caster risked a backlash where the energy of the spell was fed back into the caster themselves, this was wildly known to be a particularly unpleasant experience, like every vein of your body was on fire… The third and arguably the most important was to focus the spell. A spell once precast remained on demand for a short time, if it was not used in that time then it was wasted, the time varied from caster to caster, but no matter how good someone was at casting they too would lose the spell if it was not used quickly enough.

He pointed at the commander, his hands flashing white for the briefest of seconds and a white light engulfing the man as well. He screamed, his eyes flashing open as the electric shock caused his muscles to spasm. Adrian had not used that many reagents on the man, just a few, nothing more than enough energy to wake the man and cause a few of his muscles to twitch. He once again kneeled down in front of the man. “Pass out again and I will wake you again,” Adrian growled. Koplin’s eyes were wide with terror. “Besides, what good is a punishment if the punished can escape to the peaceful realms of unconsciousness?” he asked the man softly. “Hand! Begin again!”

“Sir!” Torin Barked; Adrian stayed there, at eye level, locking his eyes with Koplin’s eyes as the lash whistled through the air for the sixth time…

***

He watched as they dragged Koplin away to be tended to by the medic, the rain had washed away the majority of the blood, whisking away the constant trickles of red and diluting them into pink puddles that spread out from the lashing post. The rain had not stopped, simply slowed and Adrian glanced over at his side to see Isi ringing her hair out, her head to the side seemingly not caring one way or another about the entire affair. He glanced at the pole and remembered his own time spent there, remembered his refusal to cry out, his bloody fingers from gripping the wood of the pole too roughly. He hated it, hated everything about that cross and he was pretty sure Isi felt the same way.

Four hundred men, well, just shy of four hundred, and only one hand to help him take control of it all. Though in Torin’s defense, he seemed to be a good Hand, the men seemed well enough turned out even if their commander had been… well what he had been. Well, enough was not going to be enough for Adrian this time, however. This was his army, a second attempt at command after the disastrous failure of the first one. And he would be damned if this command was going to fail. He looked them all over, they stood straight, either out of pride or fear of their new commander, he had no idea, and at the moment it didn't matter. Their gear was worn and old but looked like it had been taken care of. A picture of what had happened here under Koplin’s command was starting to form in his head. The men looked like the cast-offs of several units, and while Torin had been able to keep them in a reasonable approximation of order he lacked the support of his superior. As such, while each individual soldier looked well enough Adrian doubted they had any real sense of cohesion. Adrian had no doubt that if Torin had been in command the fort would have been much better off, but a hand had no right or ability to order men the way a commander would, to do so would be to undermine the authority of the Commander himself.

“Alright, men!” he shouted but there was really no need, every eye was already on him and he looked over the lot of them, seeing some hopeful, others angry and still others not caring. The latter made up the majority of the men. “My name is Adrian Von-Tori,” he shouted, there was a murmur of voices as they heard and no doubt recognized his last name. Adrianus had not been a general of the army for quite some time, but he was remembered even all these years later. “You may call me Sir or Sir Adrian, or refer to me by my rank, is that clear?”

“Yessir!” Torin shouted, followed by his men, the sounds of “Yessir” and “Sir” were clear and loud if not in unison.

“This is the Helheim army, any who are found out of line or refusing to do so will be subject to disciplinary actions,” he growled. A small murmur went through the crowd of gathered men, clearly thinking of the last disciplinary actions they had just witnessed. “Follow orders and you will be rewarded,” he said. “We have a lot of work to do, by the end of it this fort will be in perfect repair and you all will be the most disciplined and deadly force I can make you, are we clear?”

“”Yes Sir!”” This time it was much better, there were still a few stragglers but Adrian was pleased nonetheless.

“Get a good night’s rest,” he called out. “We will start on the morrow. Dismissed!” Slowly the men started dispersing, small knots of men standing in place to discuss things. “Hand!” he snapped, Torin was at his side in a heartbeat.

“Sir?”

“I expect the men to be ready for muster in the morning, I will be doing a proper inspection, should any contraband be on their persons or in their possessions at that time-” he glanced over at the scouring pole and then back to Torin.

“I'll see to it sir, be good to break out the mercy fire and dispose of anything untoward, Sir,” he said, making a strange sort of head movement halfway between a nod and a shake.

“You do that,” Adrian nodded and watched the man walk away, with a gesture several of the standing men came to his side. These must be Torin’s fingers, a finger was not an official rank like that of hand, but they were linemen that Torin had selected from the ranks in order to help him in his duties. A finger might not receive any rank for their extra duties but they did receive compensation in other ways, it was a necessity of the real world and a smart commander would often overlook the small items that seemed to go missing when a finger had done well. He glanced over at Isi who was soaking wet. He had offered her a parasol but she had refused it, simply wishing to stand under the rain. She smiled at him, making damned sure she avoided looking at the whipping pole, it had to be much more humiliating for a woman to be lashed to that pole than for a man, as she had to have her chest bare and have no way of covering herself. He often wondered how she had come by those scars, as he had made damn sure she had not gotten any while at the camp, but he had never asked, and she had never told.

Some things were better left untouched…