Duty Calls: The Reluctant War God Book 1 (5 page)

He looked at us prisoners and nodded, said a few words to the sergeant and went back into his tent.

One by one, each prisoner, starting at the end of the line, was separated from the chained group and led into the tent. Most who left, exited the tent as free men, free at least to fight and die as conscripts. They bowed, and thanked the captain tearfully.

But some men had to be dragged away by others, leaving a trail of blood. These, they threw onto a pile of dry brush.

Good idea, that. Make sure to burn the corpses. No sense in leaving any extra rotting ammunition for the catapults to fling into the city later. Although, the sad truth was there would be plenty more when the time came.

The other prisoners were getting nervous. Even Olo had paled considerably and his smile had become strained since he spotted the pile of corpses. Being immortal, all I worried about was the pain involved. They might slit my throat, tear out my heart, whatever. I wouldn’t die, but it hurt like a mother. Sometimes, the healing hurt worse than the original wound.

Still, my pain was a choice—perhaps a stupid one. I could, at any moment reach into the ether and withdraw that which was my right to carry—the Bright Sword of War and the Armor of Brilliance. While wearing these arcane magical items I was immune to pain, incredibly strong, and impossible to harm by mortal means. Unfortunately, I also became an egotistical asshole like the rest of my family. Absolute power corrupts, blah, blah, blah. The longer I stayed away from exercising my powers as war god, the more human I became. Also, the more adamant I became about staying away from the family business once and for all.

I suppose a sense or perspective grew within me the longer I lived a “mortal” life, or as close as possible for a god. The others didn’t understand and I’d given up trying to make them. They were incapable of seeing what I saw while not blinded by the light of absolute power.

My turn eventually came. I walked to the end of the long chain, dragging my manacle until it came free at the end.

“Good luck, Carl,” said Olo.

I answered him with a nod. “Yeah, you too.”

The sergeant and the guard with the bad teeth, took me by the arms and walked me into the tent.

“Here’s the one, sir,” the sergeant said. “He’s a troublemaker. He began fighting with my men when we questioned him.”

I didn’t bother to contradict him. Captain Rosten sat behind a portable desk covered with maps and parchments. He was signing something, which he handed to a waiting courier. He glanced casually at me. “He gave you quite a fight, then?”

“Well… er… he was no problem for us, of course. We know how to handle them see,” the sergeant answered.

Rosten nodded, and then looked me in the face. “What is your name?”

“I am Carl of Landersall. I am a traveling entertainer. I came here to escape the Jegu and I had hoped to use my talents to help morale during the siege.”

“And have a safe haven from the Jegu?”

“That, of course, would be a fringe benefit.”

Rosten grinned. “What do you do?”

“I sing, play the lyre, when I have one,” with that, I gave a significant look at the sergeant. “I juggle, tumble. I write poetry and am conversant in philosophy and the sciences.”

“Quite a repertoire. Show me something,” Rosten sat back and crossed his arms.

Great, a cold audience, but I knew Rosten for the type of man he was.

I began an
a cappella
rendition of “My Bonny Lass” and sang it just long enough for his eyes to begin to glaze a bit, then made my move.

I swept my arms wide as if to emphasize a dramatic bit of inane doggerel then grabbed daggers off the belt of the sergeant and my other guard, Mr. Blackteeth, then kicked up my heel and the manacle magically sprang off my foot and into the air in front of me.

Before the men could move to subdue me, I began to juggle the three items, moving, weaving the steel forcefully enough so it could be deadly for them to intervene. Rosten, amused, raised a finger for them to hold back.

I began the nastiest bar song I could think of “Black Sally’s Bum”. I finished by launching one of the daggers into the center of the main tent pole, tossing the hoop of the manacle to land neatly around it, then finished by burying the last dagger within a half inch of the first, neatly in the center of the manacle’s ring. I then took a bow and figured I had even odds of being hired or getting stabbed in the spine.

Rosten laughed loudly and clapped his hands. My vertebrae were safe for the moment.

I stood. “Thank you, Captain.”

“Carl, we will certainly need much in the way of diversion in the coming days. But, I have little choice but to levy you into the army. Every man must lend a hand. However, I think your service would be more valuable as an entertainer than warrior and I intend to use you as such. “

“Just like Elvis in G.I. Blues.”

“Excuse me?”

“A minstrel of legend, sir. I would be honored.”

“Don’t think this is an appointment to the court. I will expect you to sweat and bleed all day and then play for the troops and myself at night. Also, can you play the pipes?” He pointed to the corner. A set of bagpipes lay there.

I walked over and picked them up. I wet the mouthpiece a bit and inflated the bladder. Then I rattled off a fiery reel.

Rosten stopped me with a wince. I didn’t think he was much of a bagpipe fan. “That’s fine. They’re more for the battlefield. Do you have any problems playing for the men while they fight? It will somewhat limit your ability to engage in the battle yourself.”

“I’ve no problems with that. However, I do have one question for you. I am curious about something.”

“Yes?”

“Those men who didn’t do so well in this interview? Were they spies?”

“No. I doubt the Jegu actually have any spies. I don’t think they need them. The men who didn’t leave this tent were those who refused to fight. The kingdom is in peril. We can’t afford to allow cowardice to infect the ranks.”

I nodded. “But can you think of no reason a man might refuse to take up arms and yet not be a coward?”

“Carl, in our situation a man who doesn’t fight is either a coward or suicidal. In the case of the former, one coward infects a squad like gangrene. It has to be cut out before it destroys all around it. In case of the latter, I simply helped them along.”

I nodded. He was pragmatic if a bit bloody. It would be hard to argue with him, and since I didn’t want a sword stuck in me I decided not to try.

“Thank you captain. I understand. Now, is there any way possible I could have my lyre returned to me?” I’ll need it if you want me to entertain. Unless you want me to play the pipes all the time.” I gestured menacingly with them as if I intended to blare out another rocking tune.

“Of course. Sergeant Toger, give the man his lyre.”

The sergeant sputtered. “But, I don’t know—”

I reached behind the guard with the rotten teeth and retrieved the lyre from out of sight. “Thank you. I see you’ve taken good care of it. These are truly men to be proud of, Captain.”

With that, they led me out of the tent. I followed and bit my tongue as Toger berated the bad-toothed guard. Perhaps there would be a bit of payback for his method of waking me up.

“So Hendel, you had it all along,” Toger griped at the guard. “Well, I’ll remember this you dog. It will be equipment cleaning duty for you all next week,” Toger grumbled.

“But, I didn’t.”

“Don’t even start, you lying cur.”

CHAPTER SIX

The camp was much like any other. The regulars were housed in tents according to their companies and function and we “volunteers” made do on the ground with bedrolls.

At first we didn’t get issued any weapons more menacing than a spade. We were comprised of farmers, old men, young boys, the sick, the criminal, the stupid and the unlucky. They put us to work on digging latrines, creating earthwork barriers, and excavating pits. We also cut down trees to provide both fuel for the city and to prevent them from being used as a resource by the enemy for siege engines. We did whatever they could think of to put us to work. doing To tell the truth, they needed workers as much if not more than warriors at this point to prepare the defenses. As we worked I could talk to the conscripts and learn more about Jegu warriors and their strange new god. I listened to the rumors and testimonials and tried to gather a consensus of truth from the wild stories.

From what I could discover, the Jegu had appeared about six months prior. The God’s first followers were a band of insane warrior priests who had come from the mountains in the northern badlands. They told stories of how the god had appeared from the heavens and had fallen down to the mountaintop and revealed himself to a small barbarian tribe. These became his chosen people. They prophesied Jegu would destroy the old gods and create a new world for his followers. The typical snow job. Lots of emphasis on us versus them. Plenty of sin and the degradation of moral values and a need to retake the world from the infidels who threatened to plunge the world into evil.

They took to raiding the villages to collect supplies and gain converts to build their “righteous” army. This new army was not of a foreign nation, but was entirely comprised of religious zealots who had joined the new god’s cause.

It sounded familiar. I had raised an army or two that way myself, but to tell the truth, I had never seen a success rate like Jegu had.

As larger cities were taken, the resources were absorbed and the army became better equipped. Uniforms were made for their elite troops, the sign of the “X” which represented their strange god. Soon forges were put to work producing implements of war at an incredible pace. The Jegu were taking over the world in record breaking time.

They had spread from the mountains, to take over the plains and were now crowding the capital. Entire cities had been taken without a fight. The entire population converted to the cause. It smacked of unholy magic.

If battle did occur, the toll was incredible, even accounting for the normal tendency in time of war for atrocities to be exaggerated. It matched the vision shared by Yond.

From what I could tell, no one knew much about the religion itself. Only that they either wanted you as one of the faithful or one of the dead. There were no agnostics allowed.

We were digging a ditch one afternoon and the foreman let us take a short break. A bucket of water was passed around and each of us took a turn dipping a hollowed gourd into the water and getting a long drink. A large man named Dalt, red headed with bushy sideburns who’d come from one of the conquered lands sat down next to me, enjoying the reprieve. I took the chance to ask what I could.

“You’re from Hallon, aren’t you, Dalt?”

He nodded, and finished taking a drink and passing the bucket to the next man. “True enough. Born and raised.”

“I keep hearing stories, but I don’t know who to believe. Why are the Jegu so powerful? What happened in Hallon?”

Dalt got a distant look on his face. “I’ll tell you what happened. They just came in and took over. Them that fought were killed by their own. The Jegu didn’t need to do anything. The locals did their dirty work for them. And to their own people.”

“They just surrendered?”

“I could understand surrendering. But it’s like I said, they took up arms against their own people. If you’d have told me a year ago that most of my friends and relations would turn traitor and kill those they’d known all their lives I’d have said you were crazy.”

“But how were they convinced?”

Dalt shrugged. “They weren’t as far as I could see. It’s like they changed all at once. They woke up one day and began to worship Jegu with insane fervor. My brother and his whole family came after me and mine. I don’t have a doubt if we hadn’t been able to get away they would have killed us all… and been happy to do it. Jegu has some power over them I can’t understand.”

I listened to Dalt’s story and the story of a dozen others and I didn’t understand it either.

On the third day we began our training, such as it was. Most of the new “recruits” were going to be drilled with halberd. Of course, there weren’t enough halberds to go around so they got to practice with the shovels they’d used to dig trenches with Halberd was really was the only practical weapon to teach them. It was a long stick with a pointy thing on the end. You stick pointy side toward enemy and hope they run into it.

They were trying to get at least that much across to them, but at first even that was a challenge. If they could hold fast and face the first brunt of the charge it would at least help the regulars a bit. Although they were trying, I doubted much hope existed of getting anything better out of the green recruits in time for the battle to come.

Sergeant Toger was in charge of training the conscripts. You could tell he relished the job because he looked like he’d taken a bite of a lemon every time he watched us attempt to line up.

“Single-file you maggots! I thought you were farmers. Do you plow your fields so crooked? Get it right!”

He walked up and down the line and looked each of the men in the eye. “Wipe off that grin.” “Stand up straight.” “Suck in your gut, fatty.”