A Soldier's Life - 6 - The Long Road

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 frame. “If you don’t want to be bleeding from a hundred chafe marks, stand still!” he warned me repeatedly.

“Don’t you just have premade armor?” I asked while he measured my naked 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. Well, in your case, as a conscript, the second best. The armor is made of auroch hide and soaked in a boiling resin. I then fit it to your likeness here.” He tapped 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 legionnaire armor. Besides the rivets, the helm was the only other metal part of the armor. Our trainers told us that the resin-treated hide was just as hard as metal. The resin also had a red pigment in it with dyed the leather a bloody crimson. I guessed the red was for the intimidation factor.

I decided to try on all the regalia. Our undergarment was called a subligaculum. It was a sheet that was tied around the waist, and then the flap was folded up and tucked. It supported the intended package well. The dark red padded tunic was next, and I felt like I was in a dress and ready for a dance wearing it.

Heavy woolen socks, followed by black leather boots, covered my feet. The regular army only had sandals and no socks as it was cheaper to equip them that way. I had heavy linen pants that did not need to be worn if the weather was too hot, but the pants helped with the chafing of the buckle-on 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 if needed. 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, and the importance of protecting them.

The chest piece had overlapping pieces of the red leather resin plates. It looked incredibly badass and would have been great if I were 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 torso 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 and I ignored them.

The pungent odor of leather and beeswax filled my nose. It was also not uncomfortable, and I would have to thank the armorer for his care. I spent time adjusting the leather strips in the helmet padding 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 dangerous creatures of fantasy and myth.

A day later, the Centurion 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 items in dimensional spaces do not age, you will carry various alchemical potions for the mage commander. 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 company had everyone wield specific weapons, so they looked uniform and could function in unit formations. Castile apparently wanted each individual to be as effective as possible, so she allowed her men to choose. The rest of the news was not good. Mage Castile typically replenished two to three legionnaires every few months—too high a fatality rate in my mind.

When my orders came, I was to make the speed to the western border to connect with Castile’s company. I would be traveling with part of a regular army detachment headed to a fort located there, and would be the only legionnaire in the group for the march.

Two days later, I was marching with 124 young men down a dusty road. I wore my new armor; soon, the polished leather was covered in dust, and my sweat and body odor supplanted the new armor smell. The army unit's captain walked beside me, and we talked for most of the first day. He told me we had roughly a week of marching before we reached our destination. He also openly shared what he knew, considering me an equal.

“The western Boutan front is the border of our kingdom and orc lands, with the troll swamp lands sandwiched between us. It is not the trolls that require constant subduing, though; there are also marsh goblins and troglodytes. The trolls breed slowly, while the other two races breed prolifically, and surging populations have attack our border forts every few months,” Captain Luca informed me.

 “Why don’t we eradicate the source?” I asked. They had mages, certainly they could hunt them to extinction.

The young captain shrugged. “The land is mostly swamps, making it useless to humans. It also serves as a natural barrier to the Boutan orcs. Also, there are many underground marsh settlements. Eliminating them would be dangerous, and we would without a doubt miss some, and they would breed back to a nuisance again, given time anyway.”

Every night, we made camp, and I set up alone. My legionnaire kit included a small personal tarp tent, a cook set, rations, and a bedroll. All the gear, along with what was in the backpack, weighed about fifty pounds. This didn’t include the weight of the armor and weapons I carried. Walking in the new armor and shoulder the pack gave me new pains and chafing marks in places I’d rather not discuss. Even with the armorer’s promises, the armor eventually found spots where the fit was not perfect.

We always camped outside of small towns at the end of a day’s march. It would have been easier to move my entire pack into my dimensional space, but I thought it best not to advertise the size of my space, even if I would never see these men again.

I was able to eat from the soldier’s meal cart and conserve my hard rations. Because of this, after setting up my tent on the first night, I moved the ten pounds of rations into my dimensional space, lightening my pack nicely for tomorrow’s thirty-mile march. The food was not too bad: some kind of sweet cabbage, potatoes, and celery. There was minimal seasoning, but it was still filling. None of the young soldiers, most without a hint of facial hair, seemed inclined to talk with me, even at meals.

I was up and packed at first light every day, well before the soldiers. Even though they weren’t carrying backpacks, they were in a much rougher shape than me. Complaints flew freely when the officers were out of earshot. I just kept to myself, not wanting to bother making friends I would never see again.

On the second day, the captain again chose to walk with me. I attempted to engage him in conversation by asking about his background. Captain Luca was the third son of a career military officer whose father managed a garrison in a major city. At barely twenty years old, he was new to command. “I am assigned to oversee the night guard at a smaller border fort, which is a simple task to build my service. After a year, I will be recalled and probably promoted to serve under my father.” He smiled affably at the admitted nepotism.

I asked Luca what he thought was a difficult assignment, if guarding the border from trolls and troglodytes wasn’t. He told me about the active war fronts. “There are ongoing skirmishes with the Bartiradians, naval disputes with the Caliphate, and in the south where the Empire borders the Dragon Spine Mountains, creatures from the Endless Dark frequently surface.”

Not seeing any women marching in the ranks of the army, I inquired whether women were permitted in the army, such as the Legion. His reply was considered. “It has been attempted when numbers are low, but it always failed in the end and causes more discord. The Legion maintains better discipline and is more effective at self-policing, so there are over a hundred female legionnaires to my knowledge.” He said nothing more on the topic.

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 honed my two spears and short sword with a stone. 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 spell form; my displacement affinity was at 61. The problem was that Damian had told me teleportation magic took a lot of aether to use, and my aether pool was among my worst attributes.

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 with ten years of experience, having practiced as soon as he could hold a toy spear, but I was still able to hold my own.

When we switched to blades, his sword skills far outclassed mine. 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 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 quickened as the destination came into view. The end meant rest for the men. The central fort was massive, with forty-foot-high stone walls. Building stone walls in a swamp demonstrated a significant expense in constructing this fortification. The large bailey was filled with two-story buildings that housed civilian businesses. On the road, Captain Luca had described the lower part of the fort as having enough variety to keep a thousand soldiers entertained and their loose coin flowing.

Captain Luca 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 unless there is a troll uprising, 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 an inn. The businesses were busy 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 embossed in faded relief on the door. When I entered, a middle-aged woman was behind a long bar, dressed in commoner clothes. A few tables filled the room, and only one table had two men in worn, faded Legion leather armor that matched my own. One man with graying hair pointed at me. “Are you the new porter?” he asked gruffly.

I nodded, as that described me pretty well. The man stood up, knocking his chair to the floor with a loud thud. He finished his tankard in a long pull and slammed it down. “About time. Mage 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.”

A little bit in shock at the informality, I remained silent. The older man looked at me, evaluating. He finally said, “Name is Firth. Elaina can bring you back to the storage room. Resupply your pack and take anything else you want. Mage Castile is not someone to be kept waiting, so be quick about it.”

I didn't tell them I didn't know how to ride a horse. I figured I could figure it out as I went—I had been on a trail ride or two as a kid. The woman gestured for me to follow her to the back room. She unlocked a heavy door, and then left me. I went inside and saw two rows of deep shelves stocked with everything a soldier might need. I turned around, confirming she was gone. Could I just take whatever I wanted? Would I be charged for the items like my armor? Was there a registration process? I slowly closed the door and started walking through the aisles. One aisle had just preserved foodstuffs, and the other had clothing, gear, and weapons in a somewhat organized fashion.

I did not have much time, and I was told to resupply. That seemed like an open-ended order...

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