When it was Lee's turn, he handed the recruiter the letter. The man examined it for a moment, then sighed.
“More sell-swords,” he muttered. “Do you have any military experience?”
“No, sir,” Lee replied. “But my nephew and I are both good with a blade. We're from-”
“I don't care where you're from.” He glanced up, then shook his head. “I'm sure you are both eager to join up, so we'll make this quick.”
The man took their names, (the false ones, naturally), and wrote down what skills they listed. After he finished, he had them sign a large parchment and instructed them to wait with the others. After the rest joined them, they huddled together trying to fight off the cold. For hours they just sat there as dozens of men came to join. By late afternoon their numbers had swelled to nearly one-hundred. No offer of food or drink had been made, so Lee and Jacob shared what little they had with Fennio and the rest of Darius' former guards, who had clearly not thought to bring anything for themselves.
An hour before sundown, the recruiter stood and announced that anyone else who wished to join must return tomorrow. The two guards picked up the table and followed the man into the gatehouse. The sun was nearly gone, and the air began to turn even colder. It wasn't long before the new recruits became restless, and disgruntled whispers could be heard.
“Enough of this bloody nonsense,” yelled a stocky, dark-haired fellow, clad in thick, leather mail. “I did not come here to freeze and starve.” He strode off south.
There was a whistle and a thud, as an arrow pierced the back of the man’s neck. He fell to his knees, grasping desperately at the arrow, then crumpled to the ground, gurgling his last breaths.
“In case you were wondering, you are not permitted to leave.” A tall, lean man stepped from the gatehouse. He was wearing a shining metal breast plate with the broken scales of Angraaletched in gold across it. His blond hair was cropped close, and even in the fading light his chiseled features and square jaw were evident. He was as broad as Lee in the shoulders and carried himself with supreme confidence. A thick, heavy broadsword hung from his belt and in his hands a short, curved bow. He dropped the bow to the ground and walked toward the men. “I am Captain Faris Lanmore. From the moment you signed your name, you were in the service of the Reborn King of Angraal. And as you can see, we do not tolerate desertion.”
He strolled casually in front of the men. When he reached Lee he paused. “You have a hard look about you.” His eyes went to Jacob for a moment. “Is this your son?”
“No, sir,” replied Lee. “He is my nephew.”
Captain Lanmore nodded rubbing his chin. “Then that would make you….Barath. Yes, that’s the name you gave. I noticed you and your nephew as you approached. You claim to be a mere sell-sword, here to do some soldiering?”
“Yes, sir.” Lee tensed.
He pointed to Lee's sword. “That’s quite a weapon for a sell-sword. Let me see it.”
Lee unsheathed his weapon and handed it to the captain.
“Well-balanced,” Lanmore remarked approvingly. “Superbly crafted. A true master’s sword.” He looked up at Lee and smiled. “Is that what you are? A sword master perhaps? By the way you walk I doubt you're a mere sell-sword. I've been a soldier too long not to notice that.” He handed Lee back his sword.
Lee returned his sword to his scabbard and squared his shoulders.
“And you know when to be silent as well,” remarked Lanmore. “Good. Very good. Well, whatever you run from, you need not fear it here. The Reborn King will give you a new life. Would you like that?”
“Yes, sir,” Lee replied.
“I thought as much.” He turned his attention to the rest of the men. “That goes for everyone. Whoever you were before, whatever wrongs you have committed, they are, as of this moment, forgiven. The Reborn King grants you pardon. Together, we shall forge a new world in his name. We shall sweep aside the liars and oppressors.” His sword sang as he pulled it from his scabbard and stepped back. “But be warned. If one of you seeks to betray us, or fails in his duty, you will find the king’s justice to be harsh and final.” He turned to the gatehouse and whistled.
Ten men burst forth carrying sacks of food and blankets, and distributed them among the recruits. Soon fires were lit, and the scent of cooked meat permeated the air. Lee and Jacob gathered with Fennio and ate in silence.
“What do you think?” asked Fennio. “Sounds all a bit crazy to me. Not to mention that Captain Lanmore fellow shooting that poor chap.”
“If he hadn't, we'd still be sitting hungry and cold,” said Lee. “The point was to make an impression.”
“Exactly,” said a voice, just behind Lee. It was Lanmore.
Lee and the others leaped to their feet, and stood at attention.
“Come with me, Barath,” ordered Lanmore.
Captain Lanmore led Lee through the gatehouse door and into the fortress. The flagstone path led to the inner yard. A few soldiers were here and there, patrolling the area. The keep at the far end was a single story structure, with a gray slate roof. Barracks were built just below the curtain walls on either side, large enough to house two-hundred men each.
Halfway to the keep, Captain Lanmore halted and turned. “I've brought you here to see if my judgment has failed me.”
A large man, broader and taller than Lee, clad in black fur, leather boots, and carrying a long, two-handed sword, stalked out of the barracks and made his way beside Lanmore. His head was shaved and scarred, and his dark eyes fixed on Lee.
“This is Lars,” said Lanmore. “By far our strongest warrior, and one of the few we have here native to Angraal. I want you to kill him…if you can.”
Without a word, Lee drew his sword and prepared for Lars to charge. He didn't have to wait long. The hulking Northman sprang forward with surprising agility and speed, but Lee easily moved aside and brought his blade across the man’s left arm, laying it open. The Northman roared with fury and swung his sword in a wide arc, but again, Lee stepped away. This time he sliced open his right thigh. Lars reached down, clutching the wound. Lee brought the hilt of his sword square between his opponent’s eyes. Lars staggered, and Lee struck him again, this time sending him to his back.
“Why are you toying with him?” asked Captain Lanmore. “Has he offended you?”
Lars struggled to rise, sword still in hand, but Lee brought his boot down hard. The great blade fell free and Lee kicked it away.
“Your order stands?” asked Lee, the tip of his sword and Lars' throat.
Lanmore said nothing. Lee nodded with understanding and rammed his blade through Lars' exposed neck, burying it in the flagstone below. The Northman gurgled, clutching at the wound. After a minute he moved no more. Lee cleaned his sword on his opponent’s furs.
“I'm glad I didn't test your skills with my own blade,” Lanmore remarked, with a hint of amusement. “You are clearly one of the best trained swordsmen that has come through here in some time. But then you don't hide it as well as you might think. In fact, I think you could have taken Lars the moment he came at you. Why didn't you?”
“I may have been able to kill him more quickly,” said Lee. “But, I've learned to never underestimate an opponent. His first strike may have been a deception. As it was, he moved with great speed for one of his size. I saw no need to risk it.”
“Wise,” said Lanmore, smiling. He reached in his belt and pulled out a small red ribbon. He handed it to Lee. “You shall lead the recruits on the journey north. Do a good job and there may be more rewarding positions awaiting you.” He spun on his heels and walked toward the keep.
Lee cursed under his breath and walked to the gatehouse. Four men were already collecting the body of Lars. When he reached Jacob, he pulled him away from earshot. His face gave away his feelings.