Chapter 6: The Long Road
I was sized for my legion armor. The tailor was a bit handsy as he made up a mannequin to match my size. “If you don’t want to be bleeding from a hundred chafe marks, stand still!” he warned me a hundred times.
“Don’t you just have premade armor?” I asked while he checked my chest.
“Inhale as much air as you can,” he ordered. When I did as told, he answered my question, “The regular army gets the lesser gear. Men of the Lion get the best. The armor is made of auroch hide and soaked in a boiled resin. I then fit it to your likeness here.” He taped the mannequin with his measuring stick. “Of course, if you want to sit in for the mannequin, I am more than willing.”
“No, keep measuring,” I grumbled as he checked my inseam for the third time.
Three days later, my armor was delivered. We had practiced in pieces of the armor before, but now I had the complete kit. It reminded me strongly of Roman legion armor. Besides the rivets, the helm was the only other metal on the armor. We learned in our training that the resin-treated hide was just as hard as metal. The resin also had a red pigment in it. I guessed the red was for intimidation.
I decided to try on all the regalia. Our undergarment was closer to a diaper with a drawstring, but it supported the package well. The dark red padded tunic was next, and I felt like I was in a dress and ready for a dance. Heavy woolen socks, followed by black leather boots, covered my feet. The regular army only had sandals and had no socks to boot. I had heavy linen pants that did not need to be worn if the weather was too hot, but the pants helped with the chaffing of the buckle-on knee to shin greaves. The greaves had some padding, but it needed to be replaced regularly.
Around the waist was a heavy belt that held up the skirt. The skirt was composed of soft overlapping leather straps, allowing me to run easily in full kit or ride a horse as well. It also had hardened leather strips to cover the groin, which I was happy about. The buckle-on vambraces only covered the forearm and wrist. In training, our instructors had constantly stressed the vulnerability of the elbow joint and the armpit.
The scale mail chest piece had overlapping pieces of the red leather resin plates. It looked extremely badass and would have been great, if I was not relying on it to save my life. It was actually easier to get on than you would think. I put it on like a shirt and used the cinches to get it comfortably snug. The back was the only solid and inflexible piece on the chest armor.
The kit came with a beeswax and mink oil mixture so it could keep its luster and shine. I wished I had a mirror now that I was fully kitted out. The other members of the barracks just looked on in jealousy. I ignored them.
The strong odor of leather and beeswax filled my nose. It was also uncomfortable, and I would have to thank the armorer. I spent time adjusting the leather strips in the helmet to get a good fit. Truthfully, it felt like I was dressing for cosplay and not about to go out into a world filled with creatures of fantasy and legend.
A day later, the commander pulled me from training. I was unceremoniously promoted into the Legion of the Lion seven weeks ahead of my training class. Damian spent time with me in the morning, reviewing my duties to Mage Castile. “You are to be a porter for potions and the unit funds. Since dimensional spaces do not have time progression, you will carry various potions for the mage’s company. You will still be expected to fight, but only at the mage’s discretion.” He smiled weakly. “There is good news. I hear each man in the company is allowed to use his preferred weapon.”
Most mages in charge of a unit had everyone wield specific weapons, so they looked uniform and could function in unit formations. Castile apparently wanted her unit as effective as possible, so she allowed men their preferred weapon to fight with. The rest of the news was not good. Mage Castile typically replenished two to three legionnaires a month—a high fatality rate in my mind.
My orders came, and I was to make the best speed to the Western Boutan front to connect with Castile’s company. I would be traveling with part of a regular army detachment headed to a fort located there. I would be the only legionnaire in the group.
Two days later, I was marching alongside 124 men down a dusty road. I was wearing my new leather armor; soon, the polished leather was covered in dust, and my sweat and body odor muted the fresh leather smell. The captain of the army unit moved to walk beside me, and we talked for most of the first day. He informed me we had about a week of marching before reaching our destination. He also freely shared what he knew.
“The Western Boutan front is the border of our kingdom and orc lands, with the troll swamp lands sandwiched between us. It isn’t the trolls that required constant subduing, though, it is the marsh goblins and troglodytes. The trolls bred slowly while the other two races bred prolifically, and surging populations have attacked the border every few months,” Captain Lucien lectured me.
I asked, “Why don’t we eradicate the source?”
The young captain shrugged. “The land was mostly swamps, making it useless to humans. It also serves as a barrier to the Boutan orcs. Also, there were so many underground marsh settlements. Eliminating them would be dangerous, and they would miss some, and they would breed back to a nuisance over time anyway.”
Every night, we made camp, and I set up alone. My legionnaire kit had a small personal tarp tent, a cook set, rations, and a bedroll. All the equipment in the backpack weighed over fifty pounds. Walking in the new leather and carrying the backpack had me experiencing new pains and chafe marks in places I didn’t care to discuss. We always camped outside of small towns at the end of a day’s march. I wanted to fill up my dimensional space with my kit, but thought it best not to advertise my ability.
I was able to eat from the soldier’s meal cart and conserve my hard rations. Due to this, after setting up my tent the first night, I moved the ten pounds of rations into my dimensional storage, lightening my pack nicely for tomorrow’s thirty-mile march. The food wasn’t too bad, some type of sweet cabbage with potatoes and celery. There was minimal salt seasoning, but it was still filling. None of the soldiers seemed inclined to talk with me, even at meals.
I was up and packed at first light everyday, well before the soldiers. Even though they were not carrying backpacks, they were in much rougher shape than me. Complaints flew freely when the officers were out of earshot. I just kept to myself, not wanting to put in the effort to make friends I would never see again.
The captain chose to walk with me again on the second day, and I tried to make conversation by asking him about himself. Captain Lucien was the third son of a career army officer; his father commanded a garrison in one of the large cities. He was young, and this was his first command. He was going to command the overnight watch at one of the smaller forts on the border. It was an easy assignment, according to Lucien. After one year, he would be recalled and promoted. I asked Lucien what he considered a hard assignment. He told me about the active war fronts. There were constant skirmishes with the other human, elven, and orc kingdoms. Defending and expanding those borders was a constant sink of soldiers.
I asked him if women were allowed in the army like the Legion. His response was calculated. It had been tried, but always failed eventually. The Legion had more discipline and did a much better job of policing themselves. That was all he said on the subject.
The days on the road started to blur. I spent my nights alone in my tent, oiled my armor with the beeswax mixture from my kit, and sharpened my two spears and short sword. I practiced what Damian had taught me for aether manipulation, wishing I had another spell form to work on. I had enough high affinities to try to manifest a new ability; my displacement affinity was at 61. The problem was Damian had told me teleportation magic took a lot of aether to use, and aether was one thing I did not have.
On the third evening, I started practicing with the spear. I figured it was best not to get too rusty. Captain Lucien came over and practiced with me. He was good from ten years of experience, but I was still able to hold my own. When we switched to blades, his sword skills far outclassed me. Thankfully, the captain was open to teaching me, which I appreciated. The soldiers watched us as we practiced, but if they were not ordered to train, they would just rest from the long day’s march.
After six days and nearly two hundred miles, the sprawling fields and woodlands transformed into dead wood and foul-smelling stagnant pools. We had reached the edge of the Agorian Swamp. We reached a square wooden fort on the morning of the seventh day, but the soldiers I was marching with were going to a larger central fort another ten miles down the road. That was where my orders had also told me to report.
The pace picked up as the destination grew close. The end meant rest to the men. The central fort was massive, with forty-foot-high stone walls. Stone walls in a swamp indicated there had been a lot of expense in building this fortification. It was massive inside as well. The bailey was filled with two-story buildings that were civilian businesses. On the road, Captain Lucien had described the lower part of the fort as having enough variety to keep a thousand soldiers happy and collect their free coin.
Captain Lucien pointed out a smaller stone building near the citadel on the far side of the bailey. “That is your destination, the Legion offices for the fort. Every military fortification has a Legion office, but this region rarely sees members of the Legion, so I am not sure what is inside.”
I walked past the shops slowly before heading up the earthen ramp to the Legion building. I passed two brothels, a general store, three taverns, and one inn. The businesses were active with off-duty soldiers. I had no coin, so I moved to meet my new mage commander.
The symbol of the Legion of the Lion was on the door. When I entered, a middle-aged woman was in commoner clothes behind a long bar. A few tables were in the room, and only one table had two men in worn and faded Legion leather armor. One graying man pointed at me. “Are you the new porter?” He asked gruffly.
I nodded. That described me pretty well. The man stood, knocking his chair to the floor with a thud. He drained his tankard. “About time. Magus Castile left two days ago for Formica, a large mining town nestled south of here in the Ironspine mountains. Wylie will get the horses ready. We will leave shortly.”
Still a little in shock at the informality, I was silent. The older man looked at me, evaluating me. He finally said, “Name is Firth. Elaina can bring you back to the storage room. Resupply your pack and take anything else you want. Castile is not someone to be kept waiting, so be quick about it.”
I did not tell them that I did not know how to ride a horse. I figured I could figure it out on the way—I had gone on a trail ride or two as a kid. The woman motioned me to the back room, unlocked a heavy door, and then left me. I went inside and found two rows of deep shelves stocked with everything a soldier could possibly want. I turned back, and she was gone. Could I just take anything I wanted? Would I be charged for the items like my armor? Was there some type of registry? I slowly closed the door and started walking the aisles. One aisle had just foodstuffs, and the other aisle had clothing, gear, and weapons.
I didn’t have much time, and I was told to resupply. That seemed like an open-ended order…
Chapter 6: The Long Road
I was sized for my legion armor. The tailor was a bit handsy as he made up a mannequin to match my size. “If you don’t want to be bleeding from a hundred chafe marks, stand still!” he warned me a hundred times.
“Don’t you just have premade armor?” I asked while he checked my chest.
“Inhale as much air as you can,” he ordered. When I did as told, he answered my question, “The regular army gets the lesser gear. Men of the Lion get the best. The armor is made of auroch hide and soaked in a boiled resin. I then fit it to your likeness here.” He taped the mannequin with his measuring stick. “Of course, if you want to sit in for the mannequin, I am more than willing.”
“No, keep measuring,” I grumbled as he checked my inseam for the third time.
Three days later, my armor was delivered. We had practiced in pieces of the armor before, but now I had the complete kit. It reminded me strongly of Roman legion armor. Besides the rivets, the helm was the only other metal on the armor. We learned in our training that the resin-treated hide was just as hard as metal. The resin also had a red pigment in it. I guessed the red was for intimidation.
I decided to try on all the regalia. Our undergarment was closer to a diaper with a drawstring, but it supported the package well. The dark red padded tunic was next, and I felt like I was in a dress and ready for a dance. Heavy woolen socks, followed by black leather boots, covered my feet. The regular army only had sandals and had no socks to boot. I had heavy linen pants that did not need to be worn if the weather was too hot, but the pants helped with the chaffing of the buckle-on knee to shin greaves. The greaves had some padding, but it needed to be replaced regularly.
Around the waist was a heavy belt that held up the skirt. The skirt was composed of soft overlapping leather straps, allowing me to run easily in full kit or ride a horse as well. It also had hardened leather strips to cover the groin, which I was happy about. The buckle-on vambraces only covered the forearm and wrist. In training, our instructors had constantly stressed the vulnerability of the elbow joint and the armpit.
The scale mail chest piece had overlapping pieces of the red leather resin plates. It looked extremely badass and would have been great, if I was not relying on it to save my life. It was actually easier to get on than you would think. I put it on like a shirt and used the cinches to get it comfortably snug. The back was the only solid and inflexible piece on the chest armor.
The kit came with a beeswax and mink oil mixture so it could keep its luster and shine. I wished I had a mirror now that I was fully kitted out. The other members of the barracks just looked on in jealousy. I ignored them.
The strong odor of leather and beeswax filled my nose. It was also uncomfortable, and I would have to thank the armorer. I spent time adjusting the leather strips in the helmet to get a good fit. Truthfully, it felt like I was dressing for cosplay and not about to go out into a world filled with creatures of fantasy and legend.
A day later, the commander pulled me from training. I was unceremoniously promoted into the Legion of the Lion seven weeks ahead of my training class. Damian spent time with me in the morning, reviewing my duties to Mage Castile. “You are to be a porter for potions and the unit funds. Since dimensional spaces do not have time progression, you will carry various potions for the mage’s company. You will still be expected to fight, but only at the mage’s discretion.” He smiled weakly. “There is good news. I hear each man in the company is allowed to use his preferred weapon.”
Most mages in charge of a unit had everyone wield specific weapons, so they looked uniform and could function in unit formations. Castile apparently wanted her unit as effective as possible, so she allowed men their preferred weapon to fight with. The rest of the news was not good. Mage Castile typically replenished two to three legionnaires a month—a high fatality rate in my mind.
My orders came, and I was to make the best speed to the Western Boutan front to connect with Castile’s company. I would be traveling with part of a regular army detachment headed to a fort located there. I would be the only legionnaire in the group.
Two days later, I was marching alongside 124 men down a dusty road. I was wearing my new leather armor; soon, the polished leather was covered in dust, and my sweat and body odor muted the fresh leather smell. The captain of the army unit moved to walk beside me, and we talked for most of the first day. He informed me we had about a week of marching before reaching our destination. He also freely shared what he knew.
“The Western Boutan front is the border of our kingdom and orc lands, with the troll swamp lands sandwiched between us. It isn’t the trolls that required constant subduing, though, it is the marsh goblins and troglodytes. The trolls bred slowly while the other two races bred prolifically, and surging populations have attacked the border every few months,” Captain Lucien lectured me.
I asked, “Why don’t we eradicate the source?”
The young captain shrugged. “The land was mostly swamps, making it useless to humans. It also serves as a barrier to the Boutan orcs. Also, there were so many underground marsh settlements. Eliminating them would be dangerous, and they would miss some, and they would breed back to a nuisance over time anyway.”
Every night, we made camp, and I set up alone. My legionnaire kit had a small personal tarp tent, a cook set, rations, and a bedroll. All the equipment in the backpack weighed over fifty pounds. Walking in the new leather and carrying the backpack had me experiencing new pains and chafe marks in places I didn’t care to discuss. We always camped outside of small towns at the end of a day’s march. I wanted to fill up my dimensional space with my kit, but thought it best not to advertise my ability.
I was able to eat from the soldier’s meal cart and conserve my hard rations. Due to this, after setting up my tent the first night, I moved the ten pounds of rations into my dimensional storage, lightening my pack nicely for tomorrow’s thirty-mile march. The food wasn’t too bad, some type of sweet cabbage with potatoes and celery. There was minimal salt seasoning, but it was still filling. None of the soldiers seemed inclined to talk with me, even at meals.
I was up and packed at first light everyday, well before the soldiers. Even though they were not carrying backpacks, they were in much rougher shape than me. Complaints flew freely when the officers were out of earshot. I just kept to myself, not wanting to put in the effort to make friends I would never see again.
The captain chose to walk with me again on the second day, and I tried to make conversation by asking him about himself. Captain Lucien was the third son of a career army officer; his father commanded a garrison in one of the large cities. He was young, and this was his first command. He was going to command the overnight watch at one of the smaller forts on the border. It was an easy assignment, according to Lucien. After one year, he would be recalled and promoted. I asked Lucien what he considered a hard assignment. He told me about the active war fronts. There were constant skirmishes with the other human, elven, and orc kingdoms. Defending and expanding those borders was a constant sink of soldiers.
I asked him if women were allowed in the army like the Legion. His response was calculated. It had been tried, but always failed eventually. The Legion had more discipline and did a much better job of policing themselves. That was all he said on the subject.
The days on the road started to blur. I spent my nights alone in my tent, oiled my armor with the beeswax mixture from my kit, and sharpened my two spears and short sword. I practiced what Damian had taught me for aether manipulation, wishing I had another spell form to work on. I had enough high affinities to try to manifest a new ability; my displacement affinity was at 61. The problem was Damian had told me teleportation magic took a lot of aether to use, and aether was one thing I did not have.
On the third evening, I started practicing with the spear. I figured it was best not to get too rusty. Captain Lucien came over and practiced with me. He was good from ten years of experience, but I was still able to hold my own. When we switched to blades, his sword skills far outclassed me. Thankfully, the captain was open to teaching me, which I appreciated. The soldiers watched us as we practiced, but if they were not ordered to train, they would just rest from the long day’s march.
After six days and nearly two hundred miles, the sprawling fields and woodlands transformed into dead wood and foul-smelling stagnant pools. We had reached the edge of the Agorian Swamp. We reached a square wooden fort on the morning of the seventh day, but the soldiers I was marching with were going to a larger central fort another ten miles down the road. That was where my orders had also told me to report.
The pace picked up as the destination grew close. The end meant rest to the men. The central fort was massive, with forty-foot-high stone walls. Stone walls in a swamp indicated there had been a lot of expense in building this fortification. It was massive inside as well. The bailey was filled with two-story buildings that were civilian businesses. On the road, Captain Lucien had described the lower part of the fort as having enough variety to keep a thousand soldiers happy and collect their free coin.
Captain Lucien pointed out a smaller stone building near the citadel on the far side of the bailey. “That is your destination, the Legion offices for the fort. Every military fortification has a Legion office, but this region rarely sees members of the Legion, so I am not sure what is inside.”
I walked past the shops slowly before heading up the earthen ramp to the Legion building. I passed two brothels, a general store, three taverns, and one inn. The businesses were active with off-duty soldiers. I had no coin, so I moved to meet my new mage commander.
The symbol of the Legion of the Lion was on the door. When I entered, a middle-aged woman was in commoner clothes behind a long bar. A few tables were in the room, and only one table had two men in worn and faded Legion leather armor. One graying man pointed at me. “Are you the new porter?” He asked gruffly.
I nodded. That described me pretty well. The man stood, knocking his chair to the floor with a thud. He drained his tankard. “About time. Magus Castile left two days ago for Formica, a large mining town nestled south of here in the Ironspine mountains. Wylie will get the horses ready. We will leave shortly.”
Still a little in shock at the informality, I was silent. The older man looked at me, evaluating me. He finally said, “Name is Firth. Elaina can bring you back to the storage room. Resupply your pack and take anything else you want. Castile is not someone to be kept waiting, so be quick about it.”
I did not tell them that I did not know how to ride a horse. I figured I could figure it out on the way—I had gone on a trail ride or two as a kid. The woman motioned me to the back room, unlocked a heavy door, and then left me. I went inside and found two rows of deep shelves stocked with everything a soldier could possibly want. I turned back, and she was gone. Could I just take anything I wanted? Would I be charged for the items like my armor? Was there some type of registry? I slowly closed the door and started walking the aisles. One aisle had just foodstuffs, and the other aisle had clothing, gear, and weapons.
I didn’t have much time, and I was told to resupply. That seemed like an open-ended order…
