Belly of the Beast Warren Thomas (e novels for free .txt) 📖

wrong,” the elf said. “We are about to be inducted into the Royal Army, whether we care to join or not.”

            The Tyrian shrugged. “I came to Kestsax to fight. Why should I care who pays me?”

             Tane didn’t hear the rest of their argument. His head was spinning. The Royal Army! Just his rotten luck. He’d probably spend the next two years following the army, working on a portable forge night and day. Sleeping in wet blankets. Eating cold, stale rations. No reputation of fine workmanship to earn for the future. And lousy pay, to heap insult upon injury.

            Leaning against the wall, he slid down to sit and think on his predicament. There had to be a way to escape his fate. There just had to be! He still had his purse, with a healthy sum of crowns copper, eagles, and half-eagles by any standard. But with a war going on, it might not be possible to bribe his way out of military service. And he might try to bribe the wrong man, and get himself thrown in jail.

            “Better safe than sorry,” he said, bitterly quoting his mother’s oft-repeated advice.

            It was full night before two men arrived, escorted by a dozen soldiers with naked steel in hand. One looked to be an elderly magistrate in black robes, while the other was clearly an army officer.

            “On your feet, scum!” a sergeant barked, crashing the flat of his sword against the door. “Captain Kenelm and Lord Folant have got a few words for you, hear? Now you listen polite like, and me and the boys want have to whump you.” Then turning to the captain, “All yours, sir.”

            “Thank you, Sergeant Haley,” Captain Kenelm said quite civilly, but then his dark eyes turned cold. “You men and women have been chosen to join my company of auxiliary light foot. After the induction ceremony, you will be taken to Fox Company’s barracks and assigned bunks. First thing in the morning you will start your training.”

            “What if we don’t want to join?” the elf asked.

            The captain smiled tightly and turned to Lord Folant. The magistrate gave the elf an intent look of disapproval, and then opened a large leather-bound book a soldier handed him.

            “Your token number, please,” Lord Folant said. The magistrate seemed pleasant enough, giving Tane renewed hope.

            “Fifty-six dash three.”

            “And your name,” Lord Folant said.

            “Quinn, Lord Magistrate,” the elf said.

            “Very good. Well, then,” Lord Folant said, clearing his throat. “I hereby place you, Quinn, under arrest for carrying an illegal weapon, resisting arrest and, uh...insulting an army officer, and the whole Royal Army.”

            Lord Folant glanced up, his blue eyes boring menacingly into the stunned elf, and slammed the book closed.

            “Furthermore, as the king has declared a state of emergency, I am empowered to exercise my full authority as I see fit. And I find you guilty of all counts.”

            “The sentence, my lord?” Captain Kenelm said.

            “Death,” the magistrate said, handing the book back to the soldier. “Captain, please have the prisoner hanged immediately.”

            “My pleasure, my lord,” Captain Kenelm said, signaling to a pair of soldiers to seize the elf.

            “Wait! I didn’t say I refused to join!” Quinn said, backing away from the advancing soldiers. “I just wanted to know my options. That’s all.”

            “Should’ve said something sooner,” Lord Folant said. He gave the elf a haughty sneer. “Once a verdict is handed down, it’s written in stone.”

            “Of course, in a national emergency, the army can accept condemned men into its ranks,” Captain Kenelm said. “And if such a man completes his service honorably, then he is pardoned and set free. Does that sound acceptable, Quinn?”

            “Very,” he said, grimacing. “And I pray to serve your king, who is now my king, to the best of my abilities.”

            “Excellent,” the captain said, smiling broadly. “Now, shall we get on with the swearing in ceremony?”

            Tane, too stunned by the events, and afraid for his own life if he tried to escape the army, did as told. He swore to serve King Borric and Kestsax, to obey the officers placed over him, and to fight to the death if need be to keep his oath. Tane joined the Royal Army.

            Within minutes they were hustled from the tower and rushed through the night-shrouded streets of Kestsax. They were taken to a large wooden barracks pressed up against the city walls. Sullen men and women in simple undyed tunics and blue trousers loitered before the barracks. They were met by a lieutenant and six sergeants.

            The lieutenant was a freckle-faced, red-headed nobleman who looked even younger than Tane. But his voice held all the authority that long practice and good breeding instilled. The sergeants, on the other hand, looked to be some of the most unsavory men and women Tane had ever laid eyes upon. All were Lelts, with the blue Tribal tattoos of half a dozen different tribes. One woman was missing her entire left hand, while another sergeant was missing most of his front teeth and his right eye. Another was missing an ear, and all bore scars on arms and faces.

            Just looking at them told Tane he didn’t want any part of army life.

            When the lieutenant started dividing the new “recruits” up between his sergeants, Tane found his backbone and spoke up. He was almost as surprised by the sound of his voice as the army regulars, but continued on nonetheless.

            “Sir. Lieutenant Artair. Please, a word,” Tane said. The look the officer and sergeants gave him made Tane hesitate. “No one asked me earlier, and I think it might be important.”

            “Speak, recruit,” Lieutenant Artair said, though frowning. “You’re among friends here.”

            The way the sergeants were looking at him made Tane doubt that. But this was his only chance to escape life as a foot soldier. And escape certain death impaled upon the wrong end of a spear or sword.

            “Sir,