Shouting and hollering greeted the two Squad Leaders as they opened the door to the barracks. A cloud of bocco smoke drifted out the door and Marak inhaled the scent deeply. Bocco was fairly expensive in the Situ region, so most of the men only smoked occasionally and only when they were off duty. All heads turned towards the door as they entered and the shouting stopped. As soon as the door closed the clamor resumed and most of the men smiled or waved at the Squad Leaders. Tagoro was the only other Squad Leader who adopted Marak’s fashion of dealing with his men. In other barracks, the men would have quietly resumed talking and avoided the gaze of their Squad Leader, but the men in this barrack were allowed to behave as they wished inside the building. They were also willing to die for their Squad Leader.
Marak treated his men with respect and they returned that respect many times over. He also did not believe in ending a soldier’s training when the man was certified as having gained the necessary level of competence. Marak always chose the man best at a particular skill to continue training the rest of his squad and his men were eager to continue learning. Marak was also open to styles and techniques that were unconventional and scoffed at by the rest of the Army. As a result, Tagoro and Marak usually led their men away from the compound for training, further isolating the two squads from the rest of the troops. The only officer who seemed inclined to appreciate this was Lord Marshal Grefon, the highest officer in the Situ Army. Because of the successes these two squads had obtained, the Lord Marshal had been using them to guard caravans which carried expensive shipments. The caravans usually went to the nearest city, but on occasion they went as far as the capital city and these trips presented more opportunities to learn different styles of fighting and obtain unconventional weapons.
Merchants in the large cities often told tales of far away places and strange battles which most experienced fighting men laughed at. Marak, instead, listened intently, trying to pick out the fact from fiction. Some of these merchants even carried samples of the foreign weapons and Marak squandered his pay on obtaining samples of these weapons. Some turned out to be useless or worthless for the type of fighting in Khadora, but others, like the Omunga Star, turned out to be deadly weapons when used by an experienced hand.
Marak and Tagoro marched through the barrack and into their communal room. Each grabbed a chair and Marak quickly peeled off his clan wristbands and removed his boots. He untied his green scarf and opened the tie strings of his shirt. He chuckled as he peered at Tagoro and his friend threw him a questioning glance.
“What’s so funny?” Tagoro asked.
“You,” laughed Marak. “Actually, both of us. After six years in this Army, I still find these uniforms more a costume than a uniform. Light yellow pants and shirts with green boots and scarves. I hope if we ever have to fight in the forest, it will be in Autumn. The wide embroidered belt and headbands are okay, but I would love to toss the wristbands away forever. I can’t stand the way they pull at my shirt when I overextend my thrust. I wonder who designed these uniforms, anyway?”
“The uniforms are the same throughout the country,” remarked Tagoro. “Only the clan colors and clan symbol are different. Why can’t you ever accept things the way they are?”
“Maybe,” speculated Marak, “Khadorans accept too much, just because that is the way things have always been. I don’t like uniforms which hinder my movements and I certainly don’t like wearing one that makes me feel like I glow in the dark.”
“Battles are never fought in the dark,” laughed Tagoro, “and if your enemy is close enough to see the lituk tree on your belt or headband, he should be dead already. You worry about the strangest things. Let’s have a game of Pimic. Maybe today will be the day I whip your yellow pants off you.”
“Not today,” Marak said, shaking his head. “I need to find a way to talk with my mother. I can not continue seeing her treated the way she is. It is not right and I will not stand for it any longer.”
“That line of thinking will only bring you and her more hardships,” worried Tagoro. “How is it that your mother is a slave? You have never talked about it and if you are going to die soon because of your foolish notions, I would like to know.”
“I don’t plan on dying any time soon,” declared Marak. Pulling his headband off, Marak looked quizzically at his friend. “It is not really a secret,” he commented. “I just don’t like dwelling on it. Lord Ridak caught my mother in a lie and forced her into slavery.”
“But why would your mother ever lie?” questioned Tagoro.
“She lied to save my father’s life,” stated Marak. “She lived on one of Lord Ridak’s smaller estates. She did not have the estate Lord’s permission to marry when she bore me, but the Lord did not press the matter. My father was not from the estate and used to visit every week or so. Everyone on the estate knew it, but nobody said anything. Under Lord Ridak’s law, my father could be killed because the marriage was not sanctioned, but my mother’s service was good and the Lord was a kindly man, so nothing was said.”
“Something must have been said or she would not be a slave,” prompted Tagoro.
“When I was six,” Marak sighed, “Lord Ridak paid an unannounced visit to the estate. During his tour he noticed my mother and I and took an interest in her. He inquired where her husband was and she panicked. Lord Ridak had a reputation for invoking cruel justice even where it accomplished nothing, so she told him my father had died. Unfortunately, his interest was more than just passing and he posed the same question to the estate Lord, who told the truth. Lord Ridak immediately claimed her as a slave.”
“Did he kill your father, too?” asked Tagoro.
“No,” answered Marak. “He waited for the next scheduled visit of my father, but my father must have been warned off because he did not show. Instead, Lord Ridak had the estate Lord executed for not enforcing his law and returned here with my mother and me.”
The room lapsed into silence and eventually Marak rose and went to his own room.
Chapter 2
Meeting
Squad Leader Tagoro left the orchard where he thought he might find Squad Leader Marak and headed for the practice site that both squads used. Tagoro was excited with the news he had overheard and couldn’t wait to find his friend. He ran down the path towards the small bridge that crossed the Lituk Creek and hurried to the other side. It was a typical early spring day and the sweet aroma of lituk blossoms filled the air and the cold mountain water flowed swiftly down the creek. Once across the creek, Tagoro turned and sprinted through a small glade of sevemor trees, kicking sevemor cones as he ran. He slowed as he reached the clearing and saw Marak practicing his swordplay.
Marak’s saber lay on the ground alongside his sheath and helmet. In its place, Marak was practicing with a large two-edged sword he purchased from a merchant while guarding a caravan. Marak stepped through the paces of battling with an unseen opponent and Tagoro knew better than to interrupt. Instead, Tagoro quietly sat with his back to a sevemor tree and watched Marak practice. Marak gave a nod of recognition to Tagoro without missing a stroke of his battle as he slashed his sword back and forth, taking advantage of the double edges. Tagoro smiled as he watched. As many times as he had watched Marak practice, his friend always managed to invent new methods of destroying his unseen opponents.