Borderlands- Act 1 Read online

  I am reminded of my personalised relief roster. “Speaking of which, have you seen the new relief roster?”

  “Aye, of course.”

  This is a good opportunity to test the waters. “And what do you think?”

  “It is a bit odd. Suddenly, we are now due to relieve Captain Ganse, as it happens.”

  Obviously, my personalised long list has not been made public in its entirety. Otherwise, Haddar would have surely commented on the length if nothing else. If Haddar has only seen the next couple of postings, it is best to stick to the misdirection and not disclose the longer list just yet. “Which means?”

  There is a short pause as he realises what I am getting at. “Most of the Spawn in that area will have been killed already.”

  “Most? Come on, man, credit where credit is due. You may criticise me for being possessed by ambition, but at least I can see it when others are too. If there is but one officer in the Guard with more ambition, drive and determination than me it is Captain Ganse. How do you think that patrol, small and inexperienced as it is, has managed to climb into fifth place so quickly? There shall be nothing left for us, nothing! We can count ourselves lucky if we spot a lone phratt! Consequently, with nothing left for us to kill, our ranking is bound to suffer. Honestly, the change in the relief roster is what upset me the most. The change to the patrol ranking rules was just the last straw.” I let that thought settle before continuing. “Anyway, it is clear, if we ever hope to get first place in the rankings, we need to be more like Drickter.”

  “More like Captain Drickter? I wouldn’e wish that on anybody.” My raised eyebrows prompt Haddar to continue. “Don’t let yer ambition seduce yeh about Drickter and his men. There’s a lot of bad air up at M’nessa. Yer not the only one who struggles with his arrogance.”

  “And how are you so well informed about the level of morale up at M’nessa?” Actually, I am not at all surprised. After so many years in the service, Haddar has grown more grapevines than the royal vineyards.

  “I bumped into a couple of guys recently. Colleagues from way back. We had a bit of a chat.”

  “And a few drinks no doubt. Another of your legendary all-nighter poker games?”

  He shrugs. “Neh! We broke it up just before dawn watch, they had to head back to M’nessa early. Anyway, the point is, they’re two of Drickter’s sergeants now. They dished a lot of dirt on him.”

  I consider this new information. It seems perfectly plausible. I still take objection to one aspect. “A couple of Drickter’s sergeants, you say?”

  “Aye.”

  “And how many sergeants does he have in total?”

  “Three or four at last count and a couple of lieutenants too, why?”

  “Slowly, we are getting to the heart of our problem.” Haddar’s frown tells me he is not following so I prompt him. “Remind me, how many sergeants do I currently have at my disposal?”

  “Well just the one, me.” I let the moment hang, giving him a chance to catch up. The furrows in his brow darken. “Are you saying I’m not enough for yeh?”

  “You Haddar? You would be more than enough sergeant for the Supreme Creators themselves. That is not my point.”

  “Which is?”

  “Headcount, plain and simple. Here I am, stuck in Afreem, straining my men to the absolute limit, forcing each to deliver above his fair share of trophies, whilst good old Drickter up at M’neesa is swaggering around with ten men for every one of mine and getting first place more or less by default. How are we supposed to compete with that?”

  “Well, firstly, up until they changed the ranking rules, we were competing on level ground. Captain Drickter was still getting more kills per guard than us so, arrogance and low morale regardless, he obviously knows what he’s doing. Secondly, I’ll say it again, yer not supposed to be competing with him anyway. His is a Zdadiek assignment and you’re commanding a Vegsel patrol. He’ll always have a major advantage. You keep on taking yer pig to a horse race and then sulking when it struggles to keep up!”

  “Well said, Haddar, we are Vegsel pigs and so pre-destined to be at the bottom.”

  “Neh, there is no tops’n’bottoms, nor pigs for that matter. Vegsel patrols are small by nature. The whole point is that we need to remain flexible and easily deployed.”

  “But if we were Zdadiek, I could whip his arse!”

  “The other day yeh gave the men that long speech about how they should be proud to be Vegsel. ‘Vegsel are truest to the spirit of the Shield and represent the Guard in its purest form’ I think yeh said.”

  “What I say to the men is not always congruent with the facts. That is how motivation works, you know that as well as anyone. The ranks are sheep. They would happily drink themselves stupid today in celebration of being Vegsel and tomorrow they would merrily do the same in celebration of becoming Zdadiek. All you have to do is buy them the necessary beer.”

  “Din’e be so sure. I think yed be surprised how many good men yeh might lose if yeh were re-assigned to a Zdadiek posting. For one, I really do prefer Vegsel.”

  “In a Zdadiek I would be able to move you up to lieutenant.”

  “I’ve always taken pride in being a good sergeant.”

  “What about colours then? You would not be too proud to turn that down would you?”

  He rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck. “If I deserve colours then they’ve been earned as Vegsel. I wouldn’e need a Zdadiek posting just to be able to accept them.”

  I shrug at his obstinacy. “Well, I am sure I would mourn the loss of such a capable sergeant. Nevertheless, if I were Zdadiek I would be able to find myself more than enough replacements, would I not? In fact, not only recruit them but also retain them. After all, regardless of how much they grumble over their ale, your drinking buddies have not requested re-assignment to a Vegsel patrol have they? Drickter may be a prize ass but he can certainly count on his men. I am sure he revels in having such high levels of loyalty and obedience, agreed?”

  “Are yeh questioning my...” Haddar cuts himself short with a gruff little cough. He glares at me, arms folded across his chest and the muscles in his neck flexing. His stony face is a perfect reflection of the chill curtain that has suddenly descended between us. Rapport has fled, driven away by my icy words. Now only heavily clad formality can brave the frost. I shrug inwardly, perhaps it is better so.

  “Anyway, Sergeant, back to matters at hand. You have seen the relief roster, so I trust preparations are already under way.”

  With my use of his rank he automatically stands to attention, but his voice is edged with reserve. “Sir! We are detailed to relieve Captain Ganse at Watch Post Seven in five days. Senior Reserve Shis has already contacted the QM, standard provisions have been requisitioned. Final kit inspection can be as early as this afternoon. Even accounting for possible additional unplanned requisitions, we can be packed and ready to go by this evening. From here, it’s no more than a four-day ride, three if we push it, we should have plenty of opportunity to get there, if we set off by noon bell on the morrow.”

  I nod. It is difficult to find fault with Haddar’s professionalism. “Good, but if we do need anything beyond Standard then Senior Shis should bring me the requisition chits for countersigning.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And how are our horses looking?”

  “A few of the older ones are getting close to retirement but they’re still up to the job. The farrier has given them all a look over too.”

  “I shall leave the details of the kit inspection itself to you, but I would still like to have a final mounted inspection before it gets dark. Have the men ready on the parade ground at first bell for Even Watch.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Depending on what I see, I may decide to make a short start of it and leave straight away.” Short starts are standard practice. We would barely ride out of sight of Afreem before setting up first camp after it gets dark. It is a good way to test the men’s drill and give a
ll the kit a live trial whilst staying close to the guard house. If something does need fixing or replacing, we will not lose too much of the day sending for it. As common as they are, short starts are never popular with the men. It means losing a final night in the guard house or town. That is where the mounted inspection comes in to play. If the men perform well enough, a CO can choose to forego the short start and reward the men with that all-important last night in quarters. I cannot remember when I last gave my team of high performers a short start, but perhaps that is because I always keep them from complacency with a mounted inspection.

  “Sir.”

  “Very well, if all orders are clear, you may proceed.”

  Haddar beats his fist against his chest. “Shield of the Homelands!”

  I return his salute and turn back to my window. Behind me, the door swings open. “And, Sergeant, make sure you close that door as firmly on the way out as you did on the way in.” The door almost slams shut and I am on my own again.

  Reviewing the facts, it is clear that becoming Zdadiek is key to my ambitions. A permanent posting, as protector of a large town, brings with it the opportunity to recruit more Guards from the civil population. Furthermore, you get sole responsibility for a long stretch of border, much bigger than the patrol areas the Vegsel teams get rotated through. More guards and more border bring more kills.

  Drickter hardly goes on patrol anymore. M’nessa is unusually large for a border town. Set in uncommonly fertile farmlands, up near the Relgin border, it is almost a city with all the attendant wealth and culture. Drickter can recruit so easily that he can break his soldiers up into multiple sub-patrols and teams. His subordinates lead the patrols. He just parades around the squares and avenues of M’nessa revelling in the adoration that comes with his position as protector.

  Thoughts of him never fail to rankle me. Despite all the praise and favours, he has not earned the rapid chain of promotions. Everything he has is thanks to powerful family connections. Perhaps second only to my lineage, the House of Drickter is close to the oldest, wealthiest and most influential families in the Homelands. Even the upper ranks of the Guard are susceptible to their whispered suggestions. Not that Poagonz Drickter does much whispering himself. When we first met in basic training, he was openly boasting about how his family was going to fix his career for him. Though I tried to conceal who I really was, it did not take him long to find out. After that, he singled me out as the preferred target for his bragging and derision. Even to this day, whenever we meet, he relishes the opportunity to twist the knife once more.

  I clench my jaw. Far worse than his bragging is the irony of it all. It would be laughable if it was not so pathetically tragic. Of all the people that Drickter might have derided about his connections, it was me. Me! By all rights, I should be able to snuff him out by summoning the power of my house with a click of my fingers. But I cannot. Drickter joined the guard to make maximum use of his family’s influence. I joined in the vain hope of escaping mine. Clearly, my plan was worse than naïve. As recent events have so clearly demonstrated, my career is as swaddled in whispers as Drickter’s. The only difference is that in my case, instead of building me up, they want to tear me down.

  My heart stings at the thought of my sire. Looking back, he has been there all along, thwarting my plans, stealing my triumphs and beating me down. Not even satisfied with driving me away, he continues to reach out, his invisible political tentacles crushing my spirit and snatching away my victories at every turn. A deep ache swells in my chest. In comparison, Drickter’s teasing is but a pitiful irritation. I try to subdue the pain by concentrating on the view from my window.

  Blinking away the burning tears does not help, my vision only distorts more. The swimming rows of featureless windows frown down, judging me pitiful and unworthy. Despite massaging my aching forehead, the pressure builds in my temples. I push the knuckle of my index finger between my teeth and bite down on the calloused skin. The pain fails to dissipate the crushing injustice.

  I must overcome this!

  Clenching my whole body, I drive the anguish out of me, emptying my lungs with a primal scream. Buckled over, I continue to squeeze long after the sound has faded. I shall conquer. I will not permit anything else. Stars begin to sparkle in my vision. Slowly easing my muscles and breathing again, I straighten up. I shall rise in triumph. It is but a question of how. Meditation and prayer will drive back the shadows and help me focus. I close my eyes to exclude the silent jury of judgemental glazing and force my mind to empty.

  Breathe out

  I am hardly aware that I need to inhale at all. I concentrate on each exhalation, feeling how the air drains out.

  Breathe out

  As my lungs empty, I become lighter, more buoyant. I feel myself rising, floating up out of the cloying darkness of my existence, higher and higher. Up towards the bright light of all creation.

  Breathe out

  Once I reach that bright clarity, its radiant wisdom will shine through me like sunlight through a leaf. I shall know everything I must.

  Breathe out

  The light on my eyelids is like water dappled sunlight. I am weightless, rising effortlessly, ever upwards towards the shimmering waves.

  Breathe out

  The surface is almost within reach. The tug and roll of the waves caress my body.

  Head Count!

  I never break the surface. Like the prow of a galleon, the echo of my own words drives me into the twilit depths. Everything has changed. The miserable skulking minnow is gone. The impact awakes a hunter, a predator, a beast that surges through the darkness devouring all before it. The epiphany snaps my eyes open. I stagger and gasp in a lungful of air. My lips curl.

  I shall play their game, only better! Yes, I shall reclaim the initiative in this battle. If rules are simply there to be changed at will, then why can’t I change them to my own benefit? I grin at my newfound resolution. Headcount! How did I not see it before? Spinning around I scan the floor for a wallet spilt from my desk. Snatching it up, a sharp bark of joy escapes as I check the documents within. How perfect it shall be when I turn their own weapons against them.

  My mind races as I formulate the details of the plan in my head. If it is to work, there is not a moment to lose. I stride out of my office into the corridor beyond. It is quiet, almost expectant, like the whole guard house is anticipating my next move. “RUNNER!”

  At my bellow a signaller explodes from his shadowy waiting post. After sprinting down the passage towards me, he tries to skid to a halt, loses control of his skittering boots, stumbles on an uneven flagstone, somehow manages to avoid toppling into me and scrambles a hasty salute. “Sir!” I look down at him as he stands at attention staring straight ahead but hyperventilating slightly. Barely more than a child, his panicky wide-eyed gaze is levelled at my sternum. He is even shivering slightly from shock and fright.

  It is the same signalman I met in my doorway before. “At ease, identify yourself.”

  “Wim Sir, Zlo Wim.”

  “Zlo Wim?” He simply nods in confirmation of my query. “I see. That is how Guardsmen identify themselves, is it?”

  There is a moment’s pause before his face reddens. “Sir, no, sir. I mean to say, sir. Signalman Wim, sir. Very sorry, sir...” Beneath the stubble of blonde hair, his whole head is turning a livid scarlet.

  I cut him short before he tangles himself up with even more gibbering. “That is quite enough apologising for now, Signalman Wim. I want you to take a message to Sergeant Haddar. Inform him that the mounted inspection at first bell is cancelled. He is to muster the men just as soon but in the training hall instead. Understood?”

  “Yes sir.” Not waiting to be dismissed, he spins on his heels.

  “And Signalman,” he totters to a stop and turns back to me, “turning your back on a superior officer before he has given leave is usually a disciplinary offence.” The blush had been fading slowly, but now it is instantly bleached to an ashen grey. Before he c
an attempt another bungled apology, I carry on. “I will overlook it for now. However, others might not be as tolerant, so bear it in mind in future. Dismissed!” In his haste to escape more shame, he whips round without saluting and speeds off. I watch him turn the corner and then shake my head. Wim needs to sharpen up quickly. He may be young, but he is in the Guard now. I dread to think how a disciplinarian like Haddar is going to react to all the gaffes. Shrugging, I turn and march the other way. It is not my job to nursemaid him and there is plenty to get done before addressing the men.

  I wonder, am I instigating a rebellion or mounting a pre-emptive attack?

  The first bell for Even Watch is striking. Elsewhere in the guard house, the new watch is leaving their quarters and mustering. Relief teams are hurrying to their assigned posts before the second bell rings. The previous watch must be relieved punctually. No-one dares be late.

  Though I can clearly see all the bustle in my mind’s eye, there is no evidence of it down here. My striding boots echo in the deserted corridor. The exercise hall is never the most frequented place in the barracks. During the day, most instructors prefer to train the men outside and few Guards are dedicated enough to train by themselves when off duty. Especially towards evening, it is reliably vacant making it an ideal location for a secluded chat with my men.

  As I swing the door open, sole leather raps smartly on the wooden floor as they come to attention in a single movement. All eyes forward, my guards are lined up in neat rows, a low bench before them. It is a thoughtful touch from Haddar. From this vantage point, I shall be better able to address the patrol.

  I swing the sack from my shoulder and dump it on the floor at the end of the bench. The unmistakable metallic clash of coin pricks the men’s ears. Stepping onto my impromptu podium, I begin my address.