Duty Calls: The Reluctant War God Book 1 (6 page)

I couldn’t help but laugh at that one. Toger was one to talk, he looked like a pregnant ox. Of course, I knew what was coming as soon as I let out the chuckle. Toger rushed over to my position and got smack dab into my face.

“Is there something funny, Mr. Music man?” His breath was something I can’t properly describe.

“No, sir.” I said, choking back my laughter.

He scowled. “Really? Well, then, I suppose you were just volunteering for a little lesson. Over there, you miserable piece of shit. Stand in that circle. Move it now! Go! Go! Go!” He chased behind me the entire way, screaming in my ear as I ran to the practice circle.

I stood at attention. My battle shovel was held at ready, my eyes were focused front and steady.

He circled me slowly, staring at me with his beady red eyes. “We know how to deal with smart asses in the King’s Army, Mister. I suppose you think you can handle that weapon?”

“Do you mean this shovel?”

Toger cursed and threw down his hat. “That’s a halberd. How many times do I have to tell you idiots? You are soldiers and while you are training those are halberds.”

“Sorry sir, it looks like a shovel.”

“All right, that’s it. Hendel? Hendel! Get over here and get Mr. Fancy Pants Musician a real halberd. He’s too good to be like everybody else, he’s gotta have him a real weapon.”

Hendel rushed over and handed me a wobble-headed halberd that looked like it had last been used about a hundred years ago.

“More to your liking, your worship?” Toger asked, his voice thick with sarcasm.

“The head needs to be tightened to the shaft, but it’s workable.”

“Oh, it is, then. Well, that’s good because I’m gonna show you something.” He turned to the rest of the men. “I’m gonna show all of you something.”

Toger barked at Hendel. “Give me Mr. Music Man’s shovel.”

“I thought you said it’s a halberd.” I know, I know, I was pushing all the buttons, but I was having too fine a time to stop.

Toger turned red as cranberry. He came at me with the shovel at port arms. “Defend yourself.”

He launched a sweeping shot at my midsection with the flat of the shovel head. I was impressed that as angry as he was, he didn’t intend to do me any more damage than possibly busting my spleen.

I leapt back, using the butt of the halberd to block the blow and then I countered with a hooked shot around Toger’s guard and slipped just the barest bit of the tip of the bladed head into his backside.

He screamed like a scalded cat. “Arghh, you bastard!”

Then he lost it completely. He launched blow after blow, every one of them powerful, but too big and too reaching. He was so easy to read I countered every one of them, but I made no further attempt to attack him again. After a few seconds of this, just as I saw Toger was tiring, I backed away and raised my hand.

“Sergeant Toger, please. I don’t want to get hurt. I don’t know how long I can protect myself. I’m sorry about that lucky shot.”

He seemed confused for a moment by my words because he obviously knew I had him outclassed. But he quickly recovered. “No harm done, lad.” He turned to the others. “I hope you all learned something. See, even with a shovel you can do some damage if you have the right training. We do it right in the King’s Army. Now, let’s practice some basic moves.”

I started back to my place in line. Toger gave me a grin before he started us all on practicing simple thrusts and parries. He really wasn’t a bad sort, but he definitely needed to work on his people skills.

It didn’t take me long to demonstrate I had previous experience and was soon I was allowed to practice sword with the regulars. Part of me wanted to stay with the conscripts, but I had learned all I could from them and frankly, I was getting tired of lugging around a shovel, er… halberd.

It had been centuries since I had held a practice sword. Although I had personally developed many fighting techniques, those techniques had since been honed and perfected by other sword masters. I was enjoying learning the newer forms and movements. My muscles had lost much of their skill memory, and it was sweet joy to put them back to use.

I was careful not to look too good. After all, I was a Nancy-boy musician, not a war god. And if the truth be known, at first I did not have to entirely fake my ineptitude. How could I have forgotten so much?

At first the regulars made fun of me and I was the butt of more than a few jokes. Their laughter didn’t last long. Those with an eye knew almost immediately I was someone to be reckoned with. As I practiced, I felt myself developing quickly.

In no time, no one could match me, although I let them win often to hide my abilities. My muscles were growing stronger, swifter, and the lethal potential inherent in my nature was becoming honed like a razor.

It took the mortal way, the honest and hard way. I could have reclaimed all my skill and my power instantly. But with it would come the arrogance of godhood and the power of reckless and wanton destruction. The innocence and purity of sweat and labor was a benediction to me in comparison. And though I tried not to let my skill become suspicious, there were times when I displayed a move the sword master would ask me to repeat and I felt the joy of martial art and a discovery of self that had been so long denied me.

During breaks in training, I played the lyre and mixed just a bit of magic into my songs. Just enough to help them focus and listen to what their trainers were telling them. It was really no more than any entertainer would try to do--just getting them to relax. I wasn’t brainwashing them with religion and hocus pocus for holy war.

I did what I could to help those around me in less magical ways as well. The conscripts were beginning to come to me regularly with questions about techniques and styles. However, I tried to avoid appearing to know too much. I had a role to play. I needed to make sure that “Carl” wasn’t perceived as too much of a leader or I would get saddled with responsibility and be unable to have the freedom I needed.

Some things I could affect on a more subtle level. Our meals, for example, consisted of an almost tasteless gruel. This was not considered bad by most of the conscripts. I gathered that life on the farm had not been good lately and they were just happy to eat. The regulars, however, complained loudly.

I did what I could to make those meals more enjoyable. I played every night at dinner time and blended a bit of magic there as well to make the meals more palatable. It helped, but not much. There are some things even a god can’t fix.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Although the king’s men were stationed beyond the outer city walls, every evening those that had earned the right by rank or by special pass were allowed to enter the city of Tarnon and enjoy what pleasure might be had. They could spend their hard won money to purchase food, beverages or whatever they had need of. I imagined that the gold was mostly spent on drink based on the troopers staggering returns to camp.

Training with the regulars paid off when Captain Rosten awarded me with passes into town as well. I suppose I should have stayed with Olo and the others, but to tell the truth, I was getting cabin fever, and an inn was just what I was longing for.

Captain Rosten favored a place near the main gate called the Black Rose. During the day I trained with the fighting men, but at night, after a few songs to the troops at chow time, I was free to accompany Rosten and entertain at the Inn. Rank does have its privileges.

We had a welcomed week of respite from the panic. For some reason, the Jegu paused after crossing the border in the kingdom. The defenders had no detailed intelligence. Scouts embarked, but none returned. Perhaps the Jegu were building siege engines. Perhaps they were recovering from wounds suffered in previous battles, gaining up strength for the coming fight, but for whatever reason the pause gave the Guldon troops more time to prepare the defense.

As those defenses firmed up, I got to spend more time at the Black Rose and fencing and less digging ditches which suited me just fine. The defenses were about as ready as they could be.

The familiar, boisterous atmosphere of the great room of the Black Rose felt like my natural habitat. A few tankards and a few songs raised anyone’s spirits, but this is where I tended to truly thrive. I also did what I could here and there to assist in bolstering the cheer of the others. I fought the black dread hanging over the troops with lively jigs and dirty ditties.

In the process, I also overheard stories about the Jegu invasion from the conversations of the customers. Many were refugees from neighboring kingdoms. What they said was disturbing.

None knew where Jegu came from. He had no people. His troops were a mishmash of conscripted men and women from the lands he had conquered. They had disparate cultures, random weapons, many even spoke different languages. The one thing they had in common was a fanatical devotion to Jegu’s divinity and holy right to dominate all lands and all peoples.

It seemed Jegu could easily divide the loyalties of lifelong friends and close families. Those who took up his banner would perpetrate any audacity against those people whom they had supposedly loved. Husbands had slain wives. Parents had slain their own children. Those who escaped were dumbfounded as to the power Jegu wielded to create such fanatical zealotry.

I’d seen it before, or at least something damn near like it. My family had led millions to their deaths, shouting in ecstasy as they slew their fellow mortals or praising us with their agonal last breaths. Still, Jegu seemed better at it than we’d ever been.

I played near the hearth where I could keep an eye on the room and they could all get a good look at me as well. One night, I was about halfway through an old moonshiner song when I noticed the Black Rose had hired a new serving girl. She had dark eyes and hair and just a glance of her made me miss the next chord and stammer over the lyrics. I made a joke of it and recovered immediately, but to tell the truth, I was astonished a mortal woman had affected me so greatly.

I’d lived hundreds of lifetimes, and there would be no way to count the number of women I’d known in that time, but only a handful had immediately created such a feeling of attraction within me. I made it my mission to come to know her, and over the next week I did so.

The woman was named Angelina. I ensured she was the girl who brought me my drinks so we could share a word here and there. When we looked at each other, an obvious, undeniable flame of desire burned bright along with more than a bit of mischievous playfulness.

She was smart witted, trim waisted and big breasted and to top if off, she liked musicians—what more could I ask for?

Of course, she was no longer a girl. She was around thirty, an age just starting to be unkind to mortal women who had to work as hard as she did in a world such as this. The lack of medical care, reliable nutrition, and reliance on physical labor made for low life expectancies. The flower of her youth was still on her face, but faded and just beginning to wither, but a light from within her shined more brightly than any young little tart.

She was more than she appeared to be. As we grew to know each to each other our relationship developed quickly, in part fueled by our evident natural attraction to each other and in part certainly due to the air of eminent threat suffusing the city. How long was there to live? Why not take a chance on a romance?

She was rather quiet about herself. She avoided talking about her past. At her age, in this culture, she was an old maid. It was unusual for a woman, especially one as beautiful as Angelina to be unmarried and without children. There was an air of tragedy about her, so out of respect for her privacy I did not pry. If she came to trust me, eventually she might share her story, or not—her prerogative.

I liked her more than I had liked anyone for a long time. And from the way we got along, particularly in bed, I think she also thought well of me. Of course, I might have been flattering myself. Even though I am a god, I am still male and subject to bouts of foolishness when dealing with women, and I would have it no other way.

She brought me one of those drinks and stayed for a few minutes to talk. “Your songs seem wistful tonight,” she said. “Is there something bothering you?”

“Just remembering. People I’ve known, friends and lovers. The past is full of ghosts.”

She nodded. And she did know, I could tell.

“I’ll sing something happy for you, Angelina. If you want.”

“No, sing what you feel. There’ll be time for happy songs later,” She stole a glance toward the table where Captain Rosten sat with his sergeants then looked back at me with a grin. “Will I be seeing you tonight?”

“Perhaps, I have some things to do this evening.”

“Guard duty?”

“Of a sort.”

“I don’t know how you do it. You’re a wily man, but don’t take too many chances, hon.”

“Are you getting tired of me?”

“No, But I don’t want you to get into trouble. I heard they are slitting the throats of soldiers caught outside the camp after curfew. They are calling them deserters.”

“You’re worth the risk.”

“No, I’m not, now promise me you won’t be foolish.”

“I promise,” I said with a grin.