The light was behind him, distant and invisible. He had his back to it, marching into the dark void of the unknown. But at least he was not alone. Safety in numbers was a worthy lesson of that first night on the march. The fearlessness Daemas instilled with words has turned into a heavy stone in his mind as it cooled and now he was done. Its heft grinded his synapses, made them flare in pain over and over again making each step a self-loathing, torturous effort. He fell back in the marching line twice and both times a club would pat his back.

- Third time I’ll give no quarter. March boy!

And so he did. Safe in numbers. At least that.

They were finally allowed to rest at dawn, when the main force glimpsed the vanguard at the top of a nearby hill. A runner was sent over to order a halt and respite and Daemas princely announced he was proud of the distance they covered in a single night.

Before dropping where he was standing, Atef sought water. Many others had the same idea, and quickly the boy realized that the queue formed in front of the provision caravan was seeking to quench the same need. Smarter among the troops used the down time back in camp to secure their own skins full of the precious liquid. While marching Atef could only enviously spot in the moonlight a head leaning back and the crystalline, perfect fluid deluging their rapacious throats. They would choke on it, gurgle, cough from all that sweet, blessed water. Atef would be too afraid to ask for some, expecting a curse or a fist to the face for his daring insolence. And that’s what exactly happened to Vorod. By Atef’s count, he should be at least four to five teeth short by now, but he will have to find the right moment to check.

- Hey, hey don’t do that you mongrel!

- Drown the bastard!

- Get his face out of the barrel, he’ll sully the water!

- Let me have him!

A man was tossed by the side of the four barrels opened and set for the thirsty to drink. His hair and beard were dripping the precious liquid as four men were stomping and kicking him on a patch of flowers, squashed under the weight of the violence. As the soldiery was running to bash the undisciplined recruits, Atef and a few others who didn’t join in the cheering approached the barrels and finally felt the gracious touch of water on their lips. It flowed down Atef’s throat with holiness worthy of the bringer of life. The ladle given to him was empty in a heartbeat and he asked for more. The eyes that met his request understood. They saw the exhaustion and hidden pain and he was served another. And then a third before the next in line objected. As he was scurrying away hunched and grateful for this small act of kindness, Atef wiped excess water from his lips and removed the layer of dust around his eyes. The wetness gave them strength for a few more blinks and he looked for suitable place to drop into slumber. Like beasts of burden or animals travelling in packs, the men chose to rest their weary bodies in the grove nestled between the hill that the vanguard took and the one the main force just circumvented. Around each tree at least four men would set their backs and quickly doze off before their leaders would get the idea to apply them to any task. Bunched together and usually comprising a mix of older and younger men, they looked like small families, destitute and caught in some great calamity that gave them a moment of respite before the onset of the next storm. Cheap spears and sharpened sticks were tossed aside like valueless tokens representing the folly of the undertaking. Sweet was the sleep in still friendly territory. On the other hand, some of the most daring went a bit deeper into the thicket looking for the land’s bounty, testing the border of the camp established by sentries. Judging by the first layer of trees dotted with occasional fruit tree, if you ventured deep enough there could be groups of plums or apricots or cherries intermixed with the beeches and ashes and oaks. A delightful, invigorating reward worthy of a couple of lashes if caught too far away from where you’re supposed to be. Atef however, wandered like a sleepwalker, barely seeing through the opaque slits that his eyes have become. He chose to drop next to five boys who looked like they were a set of brothers born one after the other. Atef could’ve been their youngest if there wasn’t for a rapscallion whose defining trait was a constant frown, even when he slept. The eldest, eternally wary, opened one eye as Atef lay among them. It whirled all around, examining him head to toe and then it closed. Atef was accepted.

*

The horn blared as if it was right next to his ear.

- Troops, rise! Fall in! Rise you louts, rise or feel the stomp of my boot! Fall in!

Menacing voices of the soldiery filtered through Atef’s painfully waking conscious like a howl of hulking demons and he jumped ready to run, flee, hide in a hole in the ground. A soldier grabbed him by his ragged tunic and heaved him two steps away pointing to where he should head. He was promptly followed by the boys he was sleeping next to. Atef looked up in the sky and saw that Baor was already slipping towards the edge of the horizon; the day was mostly spent. He took a position in the fifth line, far from Daemas’ vengeful glare which he glanced while streaming in with the others displaying no order or discipline. The lord huffed, his face reddened and a couple of times he even shouted at those who dared to stare. Vorod was in the last group that came to attention, and the poor sod was clutching his jaw anew, freshly punished for who knows what reason.

- Heroes last night, cowardly sons of bitches this morning! That’s what it seems to me I have before me! A leash is what you need, a short one which tugs at your throats and chokes any thought of treachery. And I will put one on you! Oh you will march to war fearing me more than any piece of shite that those dogs from Untar sent over to die on our land! Do you hear me!? Do you hear me you worthless peasants, meat for the grinder, cushion for the arrows! Do you hear me! You will obey and you will fear!

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

- What are lord is trying to convey in his passionate conviction… - suddenly announced Julian in an even, measured tone while four other knights stepped forth and formed a circle around Daemas trying to get him to calm down – is that treachery befell us last night. Vermin of the worst kind among you has shown its true colors. We are missing sixteen recruits. Most from the vanguard!

- And a leash for you bastards will solve that. Oh but not just that…

- What our lord means is that we will split the fighting force in groups and assign a more experienced soldier to each of them.

- Don’t sugarcoat it for the damn mongrels! The punishment for even thinking about deserting is death! Do you hear me! Death you worthless shite! Death in the worst possible way! I will stop the whole column and punish in the most cruel way each of you who tries to run away!

- The warning has been issued! – concluded briskly Julian trying to cut this obscene disgrace as much as possible.

- And one more thing! No food until next camp! Today you march on empty stomach! Just dare, oh Suns, just dare…

Julian turned his back to the troops and grabbed Daemas’ threatening hand, piercing him with his vexed eyes. He would not have anymore of this, no matter that the pecking order gave him no right to challenge his lord’s righteous fury. Daemas finally realized he went too far.

- Dismissed! We march in an hour! – Daemas commanded with iron weight to each of his words.

The recruits buckled into a mess when the soldiers surrounded them to do the requisitioning into combat groups. They felt like a trapped, besieged group of bandits who are moments away from punishment for their transgressions. Anew shouting and threatening. Anew movement and bashing. Despite the callous methods, groups started to form, and instinctively Atef moved towards the center of this human vortex, trying to avoid being commissioned altogether.

- Boy, come over here! – sternly came out of the soldier’s mouth as their eyes met.

There was no way to play dumb, deaf, or blind. He saw him, he ordered, and he held a club. Heavy one!

- Yes boss – Atef said under voice as he approached and noticed that three of the five boys he slept next to and Vorod were already paired with the soldier. Two more unknown recruits were also with them, one tall but incredibly thin and other average in every regard, so much so that he looked more like a ghost among them, an item to be used and discarded without remembering of having it. Atef never even caught his name, however the most important was that of their leader anyways.

- Ok now! That makes it big enough. Won’t get any eyes pointed our way. Now let’s step away a bit men, we have some getting know to do. So, names? Mine is Gunther.

- Samir – said the first boy, youngest, persistently frowned.

- Dartan – announced a brutish looking youth of some sixteen years, aware of his strength which sprouted suddenly and wildly less than a year ago.

- Rolf – announced the third one, notable only by his bulky, strong legs.

Atef couldn’t hear the name of the average one as he stood on the opposite side of the small circle they formed, closest to another group which had a particularly loud leader. Maybe the only viable approach the officer of that group knew was to intimidate through the sheer power of his commanding voice. Atef hoped that theirs won’t shout, he never liked shouting.

- Hugo – announced the tall, thin one.

- Atef – came almost shyly out.

- Vorod – minced the man holding his jaw whilst observing Atef with renewed hate.

- Good, good. You seem like a fine bunch. Especially since you are my bunch, so you will have to be fine. Otherwise we are going to have a problem. And given that you are all green…

Shades of gray ran through Gunther’s hair and the left half of his mustache was fully silver, slowly progressing around his mouth to invade the pristine blackness of his beard. He was fairly oldish, compared even to Vorod who was visibly leaning towards the second half of his life. He stood with left shoulder lower than the other, and he had a scar from a slashing wound on his neck, running from his ear to his collarbone. He wore cheap leather armor with the thinnest of mails over it, and his helmet was rusting at the dent where most likely a flail made its mark ages ago. He was odd, a mismatch of perceived tenure and richness of his equipment. He didn’t even have a sword, but a dagger and a spear, like the rest of the recruits. Atef suddenly snapped from his attempt to understand his commander.

- You will not try to anger me. This set of eyes has seen everything and anything you sorry lot can come up with so in order to make this easy on us, you will obey my orders, follow my lead and hopefully we will get through the leadership of our lord Daemas unscathed. You know what unscathed means recruit?

- Yes – scornfully responded Dartan.

- With more joy and politeness next time recruit! We are at war but we shouldn’t forget our manners. Speaking of proper conduct, these old bones ache but don’t underestimate what the flesh sack around it can still do. I am always on the lookout for trouble and if you don’t cause trouble we will have none. If on the other hand you choose trouble… well Vorod… is that your name recruit? Well he can tell you a thing or two. I’ve seen my dear comrades in arms being especially kind to you.

Gunther’s party exchanged glances trying to infer in each other’s eyes whether the commandeering fool was credible or an old toothless wreck who through scare tactics tries to keep a semblance of control. Atef was among those who believed him, and at the same time felt like he learned a thing or two about leadership. The tough, but fair kind.

Language skill: 60 out of 100 [5d20s] ; +1 to speaking ; current level 17/50 - subpar

- And one more thing. Don’t even dare to desert while under my command. Because I will find you and serve your severed head to Daemas to wash away my shortcomings. Bloodhound, remember that name because I have lived up to it every time. Now pick up whatever weapons and provisions you’ve been issued and come back here straight away. We will soon receive our marching orders.

*

The night march in this company and under this leadership was a new beast to face. Gunther was marching next to the line he commanded silently and indifferently. He looked to Atef as an annoyed professional used to the same old routine of marching, digging and killing with the marching seemingly his least favorite of the three. Atef was the first in line marching next to him, followed by Dartan and Samir while Hugo and Vorod were on the far side of the row. From the curt exchanges with his peers Atef found out that they lived on the same street in Jarat. Dartan was a shoemaker’s apprentice and Samir a stable boy. Both were hated by their bosses, so they were both sent here. That seemed to have been a binding force among all recruits. Brotherhood in unwantedness. An additional shared trait was what felt like a boundless hunger. Their stomachs revolted over and over, calling out for an uprising, for all the most savage ways imaginable to satiate the wrenching emptiness inside them. The marching laid out unspoken curses and plots aimed at Daemas, they sought divine justice in prayer and promised to haunt if death in battle is the ultimate fate. In their boiling anger they called that night the March of the Growling Stomachs. Some others preferred to remember it as the March of a Thousand Curses.