Dawn came early and Eirik's eyes opened to see the rest of his comrades still sleeping. It didn't matter; he was used to being the first man standing. He sat on the edge of the bed and yawned, idly scratching his balls, before heading to the washroom to find a pot to piss in. Through the open doorway he heard the rustling of bedclothes which was suddenly punctuated by a deep, enduring fart.

Ruefin's up, he thought, adjusting his trousers and returning to the bunk-room. The smell of bodies had been augmented by much passing of wind. Eirik wrinkled his face. My nose is too sensitive for a soldier.

A loud blast from a bugle woke those still sleeping and, after a few minutes of rummaging through armour and weapons, Eirik and his fellows trooped onto the parade ground and formed up for inspection in the early morning light. The commander marched to the front, a parchment in his hand. He faced the troops and scanned the document in front of him.

"Right, listen up," he began. "Unit one, you're staying in town where you'll be assisting the town guard."

A general groan of dissatisfaction came from Eirik's right and he nudged Ruefin, who smirked.

"They lucked out," came the whispered response.

"Unit two, you're going up the coast with Captain Agramm. You'll receive your orders at your destination,"

The ripple from the second unit was more positive. Eirik began to fidget in place, keen to know where he was going.

"Unit three, you're coming with me."

Eirik turned back to Ruefin. "Sounds interesting," he said, his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, you'll get to do some sightseeing along the way,"

Eirik chuckled under his breath, subdued the rising excitement and returned his attention to the commander.

"Alright lads, get fed, get packed, take a shit, and be ready to leave in an hour. Dismissed."

Back at the bunkhouse, Eirik opened his pack, pulled out his cuirass and greaves. The cuirass was plain mild steel and fitted comfortably over his light leather armour. Not the best quality by any means, it had nevertheless taken quite a chunk out of his pay. He inspected the short chain mail sleeves and was relieved to find they were undamaged by their stay in his pack. The greaves were iron and also cheap, but were better than just wearing leather. He rubbed a cursory rag over the dusty armour and tossed it aside.

His weapons belt was a cut above the rest of his gear. The fine leather strip fitted him perfectly and the holsters on either side were polished and supple. Into each holster he slid a battle axe with a shaft as long as his forearm. The fine steel had an unusual blue shine to it and the bearded blades sported an edge like a razor. Eirik ran his fingertips over the markings etched into the shafts, a sad smile on his face.

The axes had been a gift from his father when he'd left home to become a soldier. Eirik remembered the sadness in Leif Wilder's eyes, the sadness of a man losing his son. Since he'd been a child, Eirik had been his father's apprentice in the art of sword-smithing and he knew his father had dreams of seeing him master the art and go on to greater things. Instead, he'd seen his boy grow more fond of training with weapons than forging them, and Eirik had felt his father's disappointment keenly.

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Since then, he spent little time dwelling on the past and his dull hometown of Dalesford. The life of an enlisted soldier took him all over Solendura and he'd revelled in the sights he was seeing and the camaraderie among the men he travelled with. When the realm's allies across the ocean on the northern continent of Fenoria made a call for assistance, Eirik had been elated to find his unit among those chosen for the task. He thirsted for new experiences and adventures beyond his own borders. Perhaps he would find both here.

Eirik's unit was the last to muster and the commander already stood waiting, his foot tapping and a scowl on his face. When the men finally formed up, he drew them into a tighter group and cleared his throat.

"About fucking time. Get your timekeeping sorted out people - we're under the eye of the locals."

A generally submissive mutter passed among the men and the commander gave a curt nod.

"Okay. We're heading for a town just north of the central mountain. Well, they call it a mountain but to us it's just a big fucking hill. There's a man there we need to collect and escort back here, then take with us to the mainland. Simple job on the face of it but we may experience complications."

A hand went up in the front row. The commander acknowledged it.

"Question?"

"Yessir. Who's the guy and what are the complications?"

"Smart question. Our target is an agent of the Order of the Sacred Hand. His reputation suggests that he can handle himself, but apparently his escort weren't up to scratch. The complications involve a change of attitude amongst the Mantea – the native tribespeople. For reasons unknown they’ve become hostile to settlers and have taken to attacking travellers and disrupting trade lines. They're stealthy fuckers and we'll be passing through their territories, so I need you all to stay sharp. Make sure your canteens are full - they are known to poison the wells and waterholes along the route - and keep together. This is not our natural environment so we're at a disadvantage. And to the first-time visitors to this fine land, I recommend covering your head. The sun here is not your friend and it'll burn you to cinders if you let it."

There was a pause as his scanned his troops before slapping his hands together and rubbing his palms.

"Okay, enough talk. Standard marching order, and we'll pass the well if you need to fill your bottles. Let's move."

The people of the small town clearly weren't used to seeing large groups of soldiers and stopped whatever they were doing to watch them pass through. Eirik's eyes couldn't take it all in. He marvelled at white huts and houses with their draperies of reds, oranges and yellows. The people themselves were a revelation. He'd never seen humans with brown skin before and couldn't take his gaze from their glossy hair and dark, watchful eyes.

"Stop staring," Ruefin said, poking him in the ribs, "it's rude."

"I'm not staring," Eirik replied, realising that he had been staring, "I'm just looking. How come their skin is that colour? I've never seen anything like it."

Ruefin gave a sigh that became gentle laughter. "If you go way north to the desert lands, the people are almost black."

"Really? You're taking the piss,"

"Not at all. It's to do with the sun. Dark skin protects them from getting burned."

Eirik squinted up at the sky where the sun was growing stronger. "Are we going to get burned?"

"You're going to if you don't cover your head. And drink water. If you don't, you'll get too hot and we'll all end up carrying you. Plus we'll all piss in your beer at the end of the day."

Eirik laughed and yanked his grubby shirt from his pack. As they marched through town and out of the gate, he tied the fabric over his head in a vague semblance of a headscarf. With a spring in his step, Eirik headed off with his comrades towards whatever adventure this new land had to share.