Elassa raised her staff. A flash of blue light burst out from it and cleared out another dozen of the shells falling on her forces. Another bombing run came, she couldn’t turn to try downing one of Kassandora’s planes this time, defending her forces required that attention. Kassandora’s main supply base was over the horizon now, the tallest of its towers peaking over. All wooden, with thick canopies that obscured view. Iniri’s work. And Anassa’s too, as a red bubble of a shield started to form around it.
Iliyal once again walked through Golden Lake Forest Camp. That was the translated name for it, the native Lubskan amalgamation for a name was a horrendous sounding: ‘Obuz Lesny Zlotego Jeziora.’ It was a small series of wooden buildings hidden within an old forest, with a pier venturing into the pristine lake. Flies and mosquitos were buzzing about, a few men tried swatting them down. The trees were beginning to show signs of autumn, with the forest changing into a colourful piece of art, all browns and reds and oranges and yellows.
Iliyal inspected his troops, it was the first time without Lubskan riot police, without Jozef, without Wissel, without anyone around him to keep order. A drone pair of drones were hovering in the air, and the police had made a cordon around the entire area to keep the prisoners in, Iliyal had tried to get rid of them entirely, but this was as far as Jozef could be pushed.
“Gentlemen.” He shouted as he walked in his black uniform. It fit for the mood, the long coat fell to his calves and his ancient sword hung underneath it on the belt. On the other side was a holstered pistol. Some fifty miles north of Golden Lake lay the Epan Paladin Headquarters, and below it was Arascus’ Divine Armoury. Iliyal made a final marching step, stopped and turned to the hundred men in a loose attempt at a formation. They self-segregated themselves, the Doschians on the left and the Lubskans on the left. All hard men, although tough prisons would do that to anyone, everyone was muscled in some fashion, from lean wolves to ferocious bears. No one was taller than Iliyal, nor did anyone have the pointed ears of an elf, but a good quarter were bigger than him in mass. “You have come here.”
Iliyal took a breath as his words trailed off. He had managed this sort of man before, and supportive language was one way to lose your leadership position with them. “LINE!” He shouted. The men assembled into a line, slowly at first, but they got to it. Iliyal stood there, hands behind his back as he stared them down. He looked around at them, and then picked out the largest man who was close to him.
Tall and muscled, but with bruises and scars over his arms. He wore a tight black t-shirt, as Iliyal had requested for the men to be supplied with, and black shorts. With a square face and a jaw that looked as if he chewed on stones for enjoyment, and a set of beady eyes too sharp to be unintelligent. “You.” Iliyal gave him a nod. “Step forwards.”
The man, rather smartly, did take a step out of the rank. “Name?” Iliyal said as he made a show of looking the man up and down. He was wider than the elf, but a head shorter.
“Feliks Adamowski.” The man replied.
“What are you in for?” Iliyal asked. Feliks made a grin that revealed his teeth.
“Long list.” The prisoner replied. Iliyal knew the man would try to be smart, it was obvious from the way he was standing at ease, a slight lean in posture, his arms resting carelessly by his sides. Iliyal took a step towards him. Another, a third. Until they were as face to face as the height difference would allow.
“I asked what you were in for.” The man had already lost, but he could salvage a beating if he answered now.
Feliks, rather predictably, did not answer. “I said already, long list.” He replied, unfazed and bored. Iliyal moved almost silently, his shin caught the man’s calf, his palm pressed onto his chest, and Feliks slammed into the ground. Iliyal took a step way as Feliks groaned and moved onto the next.
“You. Name.” This time was a scrawnier fellow, still lean and muscled, but not so full of himself. The sort that would bend after seeing sudden violence.
“Adam Holobek.” The man replied quickly, Feliks made another groan from the ground.
“Charges?” Iliyal asked.
“Murder four times, arson.” Adam said. “Twenty-one of minor robbery, eight of grand. All armed.” Iliyal nodded and patted Adam’s shoulder.
“Very good.” He said and moved onto the next. Another large man, with close cut blonde hair that almost made him look bald. A stomach almost fat, but it was obvious from the way he stood that it was mostly muscle underneath that. This one was in for five murder charges and two assaults. And the next. Iliyal took his time, letting Feliks stand up. He cut the questions short and returned to the middle of the line of men. “Gentlemen. Look at me.” He spread his arms out to either side. “I will not bore you with a speech. Any man who feels I am unable to lead, who thinks he can best me, who has any ideas of running can step forwards. Look around, there are no police officers here.”
Feliks rubbed the back of his head, met Iliyal’s eyes and remained in position. Iliyal saw fear in them, that was good, the rest of the men may have only seen him through the hulk of a man to the ground, but Feliks would have heard the utter silence of Iliyal’s movements and the ease with which he moved. Iliyal looked down the line. A few men stepped out. A few of the large ones, and a few of the skinny ones. “Come here!” He shouted. And they did.
This was another basic rule of getting people adjusted to following orders. All of these men had seen prison, and there wasn’t a tougher place than that on Arda in Pantheon Peace. Iliyal chuckled to himself, maybe being one of Anassa’s sorcerers was a worse deal actually. They would be used to hierarchy, it was simply a case of getting them used to the fact they now stood at the bottom of the hierarchy. “Line up!” The seven men made a line and Iliyal smiled. Even though they said they doubted his leadership, they still followed the order. It was as simple as that. “Why am I incapable of leading?” Iliyal asked.
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The men shared looks, but they weren’t the types to hold back an answer. “You look soft.” One of the muscled men replied. The rest nodded.
“Very well.” Iliyal said. “Then test me.”
The men looked at themselves, then at Iliyal. One of them spoke up. “We’re not stupid here, we’re not going to get anything from beating you into the ground.” He shrugged. “Frankly, who are you anyway?” Iliyal smiled and made a note of the person who spoke in his head, a lean fellow with a scar running down his arm. Bald, although most of them were.
Iliyal pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from his coat. He quickly wrote down a few words on it: This man is pardoned, official orders. At the end ‘I.Tre.’ served as a signature. He waved it in front of the men. “One at a time or all at once, I do not care how.” Iliyal said and took a few steps back from them. The men looked at each other, one motioned for them to move forwards. The line expanded and curled around Iliyal. That was another good sign, these sorts of examinations served to test how competent they were at fighting in the first place.
One man lunged forwards, his fist ready to slam into Iliyal head. Too slow, the elf had not survived the Great War to get touched by something that measly, he leaned into the blow, his face not even brushing against the man’s arm as his elbow slammed into the man’s chest, low down, just where the ribs started to part.
In one swing, Iliyal drove all the air out of the fellow, he collapsed in a wheeze and Iliyal took a step away. The next swing was already coming. Iliyal ducked, in a real fight, he would have gone for the groin, but this was to drive in his skill over them, not to serve as a humiliation. His leg swept the man off his feet, his elbow sped up the fellow’s fall towards the ground. Another one down. Five left.
Two came at the same time. One from the left, one from the right. Iliyal took a step towards one, grabbed his arm and spun on one leg. The two were hurled to the ground and rolled in the dirt. One of the larger, muscled prisoners stepped forwards. He lunged and roared in some attempt to grapple and shock through terror. Iliyal merely took a step to the side, let the man pass him by, and the slammed his boot into the back of the huge man’s knee. He collapsed with a shout of pain.
Two men left. Iliyal turned towards them. They weren’t looking so confident anymore. Iliyal merely smiled. “You stepped forwards.” He said. “You cannot back out now, can you?”
Maybe if they were alone, or if the crowd wasn’t fellow prisoners, they would have ran. But not under the gaze of men like that, you didn’t show weakness or fear in front of crowds like this. There was strength in victory, there was honour in defeat. The only thing retreat brought was shame. For them, and for Iliyal, they could not step back, because Iliyal would not let them. “Come at me.” Iliyal said. “Or I will come at you.”
The men hurled themselves forwards, frantic and fast and operating on instinct. Iliyal let them throw a few punches simply to inspect what they were capable of. It was all street-fight moves, everything going for the chest or the head. Classic survivalist fighting style, in the past, lone warriors would fight in the same way, simply hurling attack after attack in an effort to overwhelm the other’s defences.
A more careful style of combat would have to be drilled, but Iliyal did not mind it. The hardest part of training was teaching men to abandon morality and fight to kill rather than simply fight. Everyone here would already have that part completed if these seven were anything to go by. Iliyal decided to end it, he grabbed a punch and threw the man down. A kick to the side made sure the man wouldn’t be standing back up. The last one was thrown over the shoulder on top of the first man. “There we go Gentlemen.” Iliyal said. “Return to the rank.”
All Iliyal got was a series of moans in return as the group of seven rolled in pain on the ground. Iliyal sighed and gave one of them a kick. “Orders are to be followed, get up and get back into formation.” And another kick, lighter this time. He didn’t want to immobilize them or break ribs, but a little discipline was required. “UP!” Iliyal shouted, his voice echoed against the tree line. The men managed to stand and return back to the group. Iliyal smiled to himself and took a deep breath.
“Well done Gentlemen, that was a good show.” He made a show of throwing his coat back so everyone could see he had a sword on him, enough of them would catch the fact he didn’t even move to grab it during the brawl. “But now, let me explain the situation to you.”
Iliyal took a breath. “I am Iliyal Tremali.” He let the name hang in the air. “Who knows about me?” A good two thirds of the men raised their arms and Iliyal smiled. “General of Arascus’ Eighth Legion during the Great War, General in the Kirinyaan War now. Welcome to the Army Gentlemen!” He shouted, he got a few chuckles out of it.
“You have been selected.” Iliyal chose his words carefully, these men weren’t going to be returning to jail, but they were native Epans. Lubskan and Doschian both, once the conflict in Kirinyaa ended, it would be good to have men who would be able to infiltrate and not have affiliations to any Divine Orders. “To serve in a new unit.” Iliyal pulled out a little passport, dark red, with the insignia being a white blade. “You have a choice now.” Iliyal let them all see the passport.
“You may either refuse my offer, and return back to wherever you were dragged out of.” Iliyal raised the passport into the air. “Or you will join under new identities, your past crimes will not be investigated, your names are not important, you will become new men.”
He threw the passport to the man closest to him, and started walking along the line. “That’s merely demonstration copy, it’s not the real thing.” Iliyal stopped and turned back around. “I will treat you as dogs, I will kick you into the ground, I will make sure that every ounce of the weakness you are now plagued with is killed. If you are strong enough, you will stand with me, if you are not...” He stopped at the centre of the line again and turned back to the men. He got their attention, every pair of eyes was looking at him with interest. That was how you got men who believed in themselves to believe in you. “Any man who wishes to return to the prison can step forwards now. This is the one and only chance.”
Iliyal looked at the line of people, he saw a few smiles. “Anyone who does not will be subject to Goddess Kassandora’s military law, you do not have the death penalty in your nations, but I do. I will not treat you like your police treats you, you will receive beatings, you will not have courts or appeals, I am not an elected representative you can recall, I am a man appointed by Kassandora to lead. I answer to her directly, no one else. You will answer to me directly, no one else. That is one privilege this job does offer. I do my work very well, but if I deem you incapable, you will not stay to slow down the rest of the group.” He looked at them, some smiles dropped, some rose. “Our first order of business will be to attack a White Pantheon stronghold.” Iliyal shouted. “Any man who thinks he is not capable of this, or who will not put their life on the line, or who thinks they are too weak, to do it, step forwards now.”
No one did.
Iliyal let his smile grow. This was the sort of thing he liked to see. “Well then, Gentlemen, welcome to the Tremali Brigade.”
The smiles that had grown on the men, those smiles that said they thought they were getting a free ticket out of prison, disappeared within the first ten minutes.