Double Life - Book 1 of the Vaiya Series (39 page)

“Well, there’s time to learn and plenty of
it.” His face cheering up, the man switched the topic. “The
barrack’s master has been anxiously awaiting the arrival of the men
from the isles up north, of which you are the first.” He smiled. “I
was told it’d be another week before you came, but I never believed
it. You northerners don’t loiter around.”

“But, how do you know I’m even from
the--?”

“Come, young man.” The armored man pointed
with his chin towards a large wooden structure. “Save your
questions for the toads. We’d better get you trained fast--the
king’s impatient for the war to start, and he needs experienced
men.”

The swordsman had not even allowed him to
speak, but had automatically assumed that he, who looked as guilty
as a thief running down a road to get back to his burrow, was going
to be joining the war, and that he was from the isles up north.
This was eerily similar to how he was treated by Zenari when he was
readily accepted as Ferinor. Was this culture just naive or plain
foolish?

“The elves think they can divine our
numbers,” began the swordsman, unaware of Jimmy’s inward critique
of his country, “but they underestimate the many southern men who
will soon join our rank.” He smiled sinisterly before adding, “And
they undervalue our alliances.”

The swordsman’s smile gave Jimmy a queasy
feeling. He’d heard mentions of this war earlier on while at the
Chardin Academy, and it had made him mad every time. Why would
anyone want to fight the elves? He’d always imagined them to be
kind, peaceful, and good-natured. Perhaps these weren’t like the
ones from Lord of the Rings, but still--”

“By the trees! You don’t know about the war,
do you?” The soldier’s face looked exactly like his sudden
outburst, both excited and startled. “If you did you’d never side
with the elves; they’re treacherous nature dwellers who’ll do
anything to lock away a human. They hate us, you know.”

Jimmy gasped inwardly. How could the guard so
easily discern his thoughts? He’d have to be more careful about
displaying his emotions. “I’ve heard about the war,” replied Jimmy
cautiously, not letting his disgust over the man’s words show on
his face.

“And do you know how it started?” asked the
guard, eagerness in his voice as if he couldn’t wait to share.

Jimmy just shook his head, which brought out
a rather unexpected outburst.

“I don’t care what you think,” said the
swordsman, his eyes glaring wildly, yet not threateningly. “You’ve
clearly been softened by all the elven propaganda that cycles like
trash through the northern cities.” He swallowed briefly before
continuing. “It’s time to clear away the bramble from your mind.
The elves are not peace lovers, and share a common aversion towards
humans.”

Before Jimmy could even blink, the man went
on:

“About three weeks ago, our Beloved Ralin
Taverak decided to make an alliance with the elves so he sent an
ambassador ship over to Amalon. Before the ship had even made it
halfway, though, a royal elven warship came and sank it, killing
all forty humans on board.” He watched Jimmy’s face grow skeptical
before adding, “Lest you doubt this account, this heinous act was
witnessed by a fleet of deep sea fishing boats. Everyone has the
same story.”

Jimmy’s heart plummeted. What kind of elves
were these? They sounded barbaric, traitorous, hostile--a far cry
from the helpful, innocent elves from Lord of the Rings.

But the swordsman didn’t give him a chance to
finish organizing his thoughts. “Now that we’ve got that settled,”
he began, not sympathizing with Jimmy’s torn heart, “I welcome you
to the ranks of the Sarithian army. I trust your heart will be with
us now.”

As Jimmy stood there, subconsciously swinging
his arm back and forth, the coin sack in his hands made a clinking
sound, attracting the man’s attention.

He crossed his arms and held them in front of
his body. “I don’t mean to intrude, but why are you carrying a sack
of money? You never have to pay for admission.”

“I got kicked out of Master Zenari’s
mansion,” he replied, biting down the hard feelings these words
conjured in his mind, as images of unholy dark elves with bloody
knives and scraggly hair threatened to destroy his old concept of
gentle, healing elves who only fought against that which was
evil.

The man cringed in unexpected sympathy. “That
must have hurt. I’ve never heard him use such brute force before.
What’d you do to enrage him so much?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” he muttered,
annoyed that his American expression didn’t register with the man,
while at the same time wondering why the man so easily believed his
story when in all appearances, he could’ve very well been a robber
who’d simply had a productive day.

“Understandable. I’m sure you wouldn’t want
any rumors to start.” Laughing, he smacked Jimmy hard on the back
with his iron gauntlets, causing him to flinch in pain. “That
wouldn’t help your reputation with the ladies any.”

“No, it sure wouldn’t,” he murmured, his mind
inadvertently drifting back to Shadowcrest Manor.

Likely, the girls had already boxed him up,
putting him in a category of shy guys who were obsessed with
fantasy and stayed up all night playing RPGs, drinking caffeinated
beverages to stay awake. To think that they would have any good
opinion of him after his sudden lame departure would be too much to
hope for. They probably hated him. Not that he’d ever see them
again, though. If he could take a guess, he’d likely be making this
his new home.

As the thought about never seeing his family
or his friends again struck him for the first time, a tear came to
his eye, which, fortunately, the swordsman who led him never
saw.

As they entered the barracks quietly, Jimmy
immediately grew dazzled by all the elegant swords, rapiers,
crossbows, axes, arrows, spears, and other weapons that were
organized neatly on shelves and hooks in the gigantic room, which
branched off into many corridors.

Normally, this sight would have scoured away
all of his despondency, but he wasn’t such a live-by-the-moment
person that he could forget all that had occurred today. He turned
to the swordsman with a faded smile. “So, what do I do now?”

“Talk to Commander Gavar, the barrack’s
master,” the swordsman said. “He’ll show you the path.” He pointed
with his chin to a six-foot tall muscular man in the back of the
large weapons room dressed in iron battle armor detailed with gold
and silver markings with a heavy sword clinging to his side.

Taking the cue, Jimmy left the swordsman’s
side and approached the large man cautiously. It didn’t take long
before the man’s charismatic fern-colored eyes alighted on him.

“King Ralin’s strength to you, Northerner.”
Gavar chuckled, as he folded his arms across his chest, and studied
Jimmy’s clothes and the heavy burlap sack in his right hand.

“And King Ralin’s might to you as well,”
Jimmy replied back enthusiastically, feeling extremely weird for
saying it.

But Gavar just smiled warmly at his words, as
he continued gazing at his clothing. “Let’s get you changed into
your training garb.”

But Jimmy barely heard him. All he could
think about was why the man kept staring at his clothes. Was
something wrong with them? Bowing to the man without even thinking,
he asked, his voice shaky, “Is there a problem, Commander?”

Gavar broke out of his dreaming spell, a
sharp look in his eyes. He laughed. “Even for a northerner, I
didn’t expect your garments to be so strange.”

“Strange?” asked Jimmy, putting his hand up
to his chin, his mouth halfway open. “I’m not the one wearing a
curved purple hat and wrapping black cloth around my neck.”

“Ah.” His face lit up as he tilted his head
upwards toward the ceiling. “That’s what all foreigners say, but
you’ll adjust.” Looking at Jimmy again, the man added with a lively
tone, “Though I must say, you’ve a lot more muscle on you than I
expected from a northerner. Most spend their lives as scribes or
medicinal healers, but you seem to have taken a more vigorous
path.”

Jimmy’s eyes lit up at being thought of as
brawny. Sure, he wasn’t the weakest guy in school by any means, but
he’d never viewed himself as muscular. Feeling puffed up, he
decided to make himself appear even better in the man’s eyes.
“Actually, Commander,” he said humorously, “I consider myself a
scribe too.”

He smiled with determination. When he wasn’t
sword-fighting, practicing archery, or reading his books, he wrote
… a lot. And now appeared to be the perfect time to tell the
commander of this particular talent. Just like in a job interview,
first impressions were the most important, and it seemed best to
lay out some of his better cards on the table right at the
start.

His boasting seemed to pay off. Gavar gave
him a curious look. “What type of writing do you specialize
in?”

“Mostly fantasy novels, though I’m good at
mysteries as well.” Pausing, a proud smile on his face, he decided
to add one more to his repertoire, a genre that he’d never told
anybody he’d liked and that nobody would ever guess he’d be
writing, as it didn’t seem to fit his personality. Yet, all the
same, he had a definite interest in it, and he somehow wasn’t
afraid to share it with this man: “Recently though,” he added
cunningly, “I even started composing a romance one.”

Only the last one caught the man’s attention,
which had wandered. “My friend’s in need of someone to compose
letters to his lady love.”

Heart pounding faster, Jimmy blushed, wishing
he’d stopped with mysteries. Bragging always got him into trouble.
“I couldn’t--”

“I know you have a different script, being
from the north, so you would dictate your words to him.”

“But I’m young--”

“All the better,” said Gavar brazenly, as he
gave Jimmy his best fatherly smile. “The young always seem to have
more open hearts and flowery tongues.”

He had to try again; this situation was
quickly spiraling out of control. “But I don’t know your culture
very well.”

Gavar’s eyebrows lowering, his smile never
fading, he countered with, “I’ve heard women tire of the same trite
expressions.” He paused. “So, have you decided to help then?” His
tone making it sound more like a command than an option.

Jimmy’s face flushed. It took him only a
second to make up his mind--he’d never do it. Since he didn’t want
to lie, though, he answered rather discreetly, “I’ll think about
it, Commander.”

“I’m sure you will,” said Gavar, seeming to
fully believe him. Looking at Jimmy’s large burlap sack and seeming
to infer that Jimmy was a stingy miser, he smiled with a twinkle in
his eyes, adding, “My friend pays quite handsomely.” Returning to
his military posture, he strode towards one of the shorter
corridors. “Let’s get you changed now.”

Fifteen minutes later, after trying on many
types and sizes of clothing, Jimmy eventually fitted himself into a
thin sleeveless sky blue shirt that fit him rather tightly and was
laced together in the middle with feathery strings in five places
from top to bottom, a rough bluish leathery garment that looked
like a kilt from Scotland and came down to his kneecaps, a stiff
white cotton cloth that fit rather firmly over his neck and seemed
to serve no purpose other than to stifle his breathing, and a pair
of firm dark brown goatskin sandals.

Finding the commander in the weapon’s room,
feeling very awkward and uncomfortable in such strange attire,
Jimmy met him with a sheepish stare as he consciously noted that
his tight-fitting shirt seemed ready to tear at the seams in the
middle. “I’m ready now.”

The barrack’s master looked pleased with his
clothing selection and seemed to think nothing of its peculiarity.
“Let’s get you armed now, boy,” he said, warm enthusiasm in his
voice. Motioning with his hand to the weapons on the shelf,
Commander Gavar listed off the names of each one.

Intrigued by all the fascinating weapons,
Jimmy’s eyes somehow fixated on a sharp light-purple steel sword,
the same type that the guards at the gate to the Chardin’s Academy
and the two swordsmen had held. Grabbing it without thinking, he
said, “I’ll take this one, Commander Gavar.” A valiant warrior’s
glint in his eye, which seemed to please the man, he felt the
smooth edges of the sword.

“Excellent choice, soldier. You’ve a keen
eye; that dwarven sword’s been forged from pure vasyl gemstone.” He
paused, admiration in his eyes, then got back on track, pulling a
crooked charcoal writing-like utensil and a small new-looking
leathery book from somewhere in his resplendent velvet cloak,
looking ready to scribble down something on it. “Before we begin
the training, though, for the purpose of knowing all the
enlistments, I need your name.”

This formality didn’t frighten him at all.
“It’s Jimmy Ivans, sir,” he said, nearly feverish with excitement,
spelling out his name for the man, while holding the sword tightly
in his hands and imagining all the strokes he could employ with it.
The fact that the dwarves had forged it made it all the better; it
was so cool. He felt like he was in the Hobbit ready to fight
against the goblins.

“Jimmy Ivans,” mused the man, as if he were
trying to solve a murder mystery, scribbling his name down in the
book. “That sounds like a name from a forgotten legend.” He smiled
at him, quickly shoving his book and writing utensil into his
cloak. “It’s never rung in my ears before.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”
He chuckled in a lighthearted manner.

The commander looked at Jimmy as if he’d said
something truly profound and then nodded his head. “Yes, yes there
is.” Pausing, he recollected his thoughts, sweeping his right hand
out in front of him. “Follow me to the armory, my boy.”