The Beginnings of a War Marshall2002 short story by
Jonathan Hicks Two years before Episode IV – A New Hope
The Academy loomed before Areed like the physical presence of a Lord of the Sky, towering above him and disappearing into the low mist that hung above the small town nestled against the wall. “’Tis
the winter season over,” said the heavily bearded man on the lead speeder,
the marsh guide, whom he rode alongside whilst others stretched out behind on
other speeders and repulsors wagons. “Fog will blanket t’land until t’sun
shows face.” He chewed heavily on a root and spat out a lump as he spoke. Areed nodded and pulled his heavy cloak tighter
around his shoulders. He took in a deep breath, watched with slight disgust,
as the man wiped congealed food from his chin. The air around him seemed to shimmer as they entered the town at the base of the Academy. Great heating units sent waves of heat into the air as the townspeople went about their daily chores of maintaining and providing for the small army that was permanently stationed here. The Academy stood a hundred yards high, the inside
of it, the side that faced the sea, was sloped to make ascent easier. Stairs
and lifts criss-crossed the wall so that it seemed veined from a distance,
the great man-sized blocks of stone chiselled and shaped so that the wall
appeared completely smooth. In reality, a man could climb up the wall with
little difficulty. The other side of the wall, the side that faced
the sea, that no being had walked since the great construct had been erected
centuries before, was flat and impassable, with no gate or means of ascent. Areed and the marsh guide were the first to enter
Ceress, the town that had arisen at the base of the Academy, and they both
nodded and smiled at the people who warmly greeted them. No building was
higher than two stories, with stone wooden and fabricated dwellings placed in
no particular order about the area. Great towers dominated the skyline as
well as the Academy, stretching high with parapet tops. These were either
part of the Academy or stood alone as signs of the wealth of the person who
lived in the huge buildings at their base. Areed noticed that many of the
buildings had taken on the visage of the wall as if the design of the place
had bled into the architecture. Even the lowliest wooden dwellings were
topped with makeshift and purely ornamental ramparts. Without a word, the marsh guide turned his speeder
and headed off in another direction. Areed watched for a moment and wondered
whether he should follow but when he saw the man climb from his speeder and
enter an inn he realised the guide’s work was done and it was up to him to
find his own way through the city. The small area the line of speeders and wagons had
drifted into was a makeshift square with a huge heater unit at it’s centre,
and one by one the men and women dismounted or climbed from their transports
and looked for any sign of where they should be going next. Some wagons
continued on as the drivers knew their own destination within the town, but
Areed and many others milled about, uncertain of what to do next. The ground was damp and spongy beneath his feet as
Areed dismounted. He adjusted the blaster that hung at his hip, the rest of
his stuff he left on the speeder with the rest of his belongings. As he took
the speeders handles and began to lead it to the inn that the marsh guide had
disappeared into a horn sounded with three sharp blasts and a trio of men
began to walk to the knot of new arrivals that still stood in the square. The lead man, someone of obvious importance with a
uniform shining with medals, approached with great strides and purpose. The
other two men were dressed in plates of metal across their chests and upper
arms that had been placed over one another and interlocked to allow freedom
of movement, and dull grey hats of office sat atop their heads. They carried
long rifles, one topped with a fluttering red banner with the herald of
Ceress and the Academy sewn into it, a great silver hand held up as if to
ward off evil, and walked a respectful distance behind their leader. “New
men!” the leader called out, his voice deep and resonating with authority.
The words were a summons and also a question. “New men for the Academy!” Areed watched with interest as some of the men in
the group, a mix of ages and beings dressed in a variety of clothing, bearing
an assortment of weapons of either great age or little use, stood to
rudimentary attention as the three men came closer. They shuffled and looked
at their feet nervously as the officer scrutinised them. Just to the left of the group Areed saw another
man he had not noticed on the three-day journey across the flat featureless
Gate Marsh, a great stretch of hidden bogs and secreted pools of slow death
that stretched from Ceress to the border. He was young, travel weary and
seemed barely out of childhood, with a smooth face topped by a dark mop of
hair. He rode with three other men who all appeared to be professional
soldiers and was dressed in fine clothes of red and blue cloth, stained by
the time on the road. The three men with him stood around him in a protective
circle, their tall figures bearing no motif. Their helmets were also
featureless, the eye guards down and the nose guards barely covering the
features. “Watch
Men,” came a voice to Areed’s left and he turned to see the marsh guide
standing next to a burning heater unit, a steaming cup of some liquid cupped
in his hands. Areed looked back at the four men who were now
walking towards the man in the medal-strewn shirt. “Watch Men?”
“Bodyguards to someone of importance, probably from another world. The
young lad there is of some importance. I saw you watching.” “I
didn’t realise there was anyone important with the train,” Areed mused. “Ah,
they don’t usually like to make obvious t’fact.” The marsh guide took a long
draught of the steaming cup and then offered it to Areed who declined with a
shake of his head. “What are you here for, lad? You look like you’ve arrived
and don’t know why you came.” With a smile Areed took off his heavy leather
gloves and held his hands out over the heater unit. “Work, mainly. I’m a
weapons engineer, I heard that the credit was good here. I’m hoping to get up
the wall to the Academy. I hear it’s a wonderful thing.” “Oh,
they only allow soldiers and cadets to climb t’wall, lad. Thinking about
signing?”
“Signing?” “For
t’Academy. They hire soldiers at this time of t’year to man t’place and keep
watch.” The marsh guide took another draught and produced a root from an
inside pocket that he took a large bite of. “Most signers’ll only stand
t’summer months, easy credits for watching a fog-bound mass of nothing for no
reason. Probably why t’lad in t’fine clothes has come.” Areed looked back over at the young man who had
gripped the wrist of the shining soldier who returned the grip with great
pumping motions. They were both grinning broadly, which gave the impression
they knew each other. “His
parents have probably sent him here,” the marsh guide continued, “to learn
soldiery and duty. He’s probably t’youngest of t’family and they don’t want
to waste their wealth on proper training. I’ve seen it plenty of times.” “He
appears to know the man in the shiny uniform,” Areed pointed out. “’The
man in t’armour?’” the marsh guide repeated, his guffaw loud and sharp.
“That’s t’Captain of the Basser Cadets, Dansuin. He’s t’most important man
here! There’s been a Dansuin householder on t’Academy since t’thing went up.” Areed ignored the obvious humour the marsh guide
found in the fact that he knew little of the place he had come to and he
watched the Captain and the young man converse for a few moments. He turned
back to say something to the marsh guide but he had gone back into the inn.
He looked back and saw the young man had joined the ranks of the newly
arrived. The Watch Men stood a little back from the main group and appeared
to relax. He looked up at the mist-shrouded Academy and made
a quick decision. If what the marsh guide had said was true then he had no
other way of getting up to the top of the building. He tied his speeder
secure to a post and hurried over to the group of men. Dansuin watched with slight annoyance as Areed
quickly inserted himself into the makeshift ranks of beings, right next to
the young noble who he had been watching. He glared at Areed for a second
from under his heavy brows, stroked his thin beard for a second and then
continued with the speech that had been interrupted. “…to
serve and protect Basser and the Setnin Sector from any and all threats that
come from within and without. The armies of other sectors have not threatened
our sector for centuries, and now people believe such threats exist in
stories to scare their children in their beds of a night.” There was a
smattering of chuckles and murmurs in the group. “But the tradition is
clearly defined. Service for no less than one season, where you will be
trained in duty and drill, whereas you are then free to leave or continue.
Most of you will stay, of that I am certain. “You
will be rewarded for conduct becoming that of a soldier of the Academy, for
duty honoured and actions rendered. You may even find yourself commanding, if
you are so inclined, but the duty of command is hard and demands much so you
must be devoted to your duty. “Now,
those of you who still want to serve Basser, make your way to the Academy
Tower,” he motioned to one of the huge constructs of stone and mortar that
rested directly against the wall. “Those of you who are reconsidering then go
to the inn, the best place to find work.” The Captain of the Basser Cadets waved once and
turned, heading in the direction of the tower he had indicated. The
collection of beings started to disperse, some of them collecting their
belongings and heading to the tower, others standing and talking between themselves
as if still deciding what to do. Areed turned to the young nobleman and held out
his hand. “I’m Areed,” he said with a broad smile. The man looked him up and
down with an expressionless face and barely took his fingers to return the
greeting. “I’m serving here for my mother, not to
make acquaintances,” he said with a small, bitter smile, and then turned and
headed to his three Watch Men. The Academy Tower was, Areed was told by another
man in the group, the oldest building along the wall. It was built as a great
tower to watch for any attacks from the sea as the wall was constructed over
a period of a hundred years and had become a symbol of the wall, a great
building that imposed it’s power over the huge Old Realms. The wall itself
stretched across the pass, one whole league, from the North Breath range to
the Southern Storm mountains. “I’m
Cuhtlal, Salric’s son,” the man introduced himself after excitedly explaining
the presence of the tower. He gripped Areed’s wrist with fervour and smiled
broadly, his teeth shining white in contrast to his travel-dirtied face. His
long black hair was tied back with strands still hanging across his face and
his face was dark with lack of shaving. Areed introduced himself, confused as to why
Cuhtlal had found it necessary to add the information of his lineage. “Good
meet, Areed. And whose son are you?” “I am
the son of …Tournai.” “Ah,”
Cuhtlal smiled, “A Trefnare name. A land of corn and cattle. Tired of
farming, Areed? Came here to find some action?” A new voice joined the conversation. “Ignore
him, friend.” Areed turned and stared into the chest of a huge man who,
whilst not muscular, was tall and broad with a square jaw and a heavy beard.
“He’s from A-desando. They all think they have some bloodline stretching back
to the beginnings of the Setnin Sector.” Cuhtlal pulled a face. “There’s
nothing wrong with being proud of one’s family, Cynan.” “I’d be
proud of being a governor, or a business operator, but you’re a metallurgist,
Cuhtlal.” Cynan laughed loudly, his bass voice making Areed smile in spite of
himself. Surprisingly, Cuhtlal laughed also. “Rich words
coming from a transport pilot!” he cried out with mock indignance. “Ignore
him, Areed, he beats about in space all day and has no sense. All he hears is
the thumping of engines and the beat has driven his pride from his bones.
What is your trade?” Areed shrugged. “I travel much. I was a weapons
engineer, but now I am just a traveller.” Cuhtlal smiled. “Ah, a fine trade, carrying news and
stories to the far reaches of the Setnin Sector. Why did you choose to come
here?”
“Travelling is an honourable way of living but lacks in payment. I
needed something a little more…” “A job
that involves standing atop a wall for a season and earning enough credit to
last you two years,” Cynan interrupted. “A fine choice, even if it’s a little
cold here for my tastes.” The three men began to enter the Academy Tower but
were overtaken by the young noble and his entourage. Areed watched him fly
past with a distasteful expression that Cynan noticed. “I saw you attempting
conversation with him, earlier, back at the grouping,” he said. “I’m
wondering whether he was a little rude.” “Just a
little,” Areed shrugged. “He’s
Regnier, son of a landlord on Zelon. A great family, many sons. He’s either
the youngest and the least important or an embarrassment to his parents.” “He said
he was here for his mother,” Areed mused aloud. “Ah,
probably an illegitimate,” Cuhtlal nodded. “An embarrassment, then.” He
lowered his voice conspiratorially. “It’s said that the wife of a landlord
has an appetite for…” Cynan gently slapped Cuhtlal across the back of
his head.
“Cuhtlal! Talking of others not present is the highest sign of
rudeness!” Cuhtlal shrugged. “They
are landlords of Zelon and their fame and presence makes them targets of such
things, and they should expect it.” Another gentle slap stopped Cuhtlal mid-sentence.
“Cuhtlal! I shall not be as gentle next time!” Areed watched the two men with a small smile and
laughed aloud as Cuhtlal stuck out his tongue and hunched his shoulders at
the tall man. The laugh echoed around the inside of the Academy
Tower as they entered and many faces turned to see what the merriment was
for, causing Areed to blush under the scrutiny. The whole tower was hollow inside, with a great
metal staircase that circled upwards on the inner wall. Great torches and a
single huge heater unit in the centre illuminated the whole place and Areed
watched in fascination as lizardbirds fluttered in groups across the
uppermost reaches of the tower, light coming in through the huge windows and
creating long milky shafts of curling smoke and dust. Statues stood towering
over the men and women, their shoulders and arms hunched up as if supporting
the inner construction of the tower. Their faces had decayed with age. All three men stood and stared, their faces
showing their amazement at the spectacle before them. “You,
there!” They all snapped their attentions to the voice. An
armoured man behind a huge long table waved at them. “Are you signing or have
you just come here to gawk?” Quickly they approached the man, who was standing
at the end of a long table with datapads piled to one side of him. Each
datapad screen was covered in writings of several dialects, most of which
Areed knew, and at the bottom was a seal with the image of the Basser Cadets
pressed into it. The man handed a datapad to each of the men and handed them
a light stylus. “Your
name, and the world you herald from. Then move on.” Each man signed and wrote the name of the system
where they had travelled from, were handed a credit stick and ushered away by
another soldier. They walked down the table and were handed a shirt, a
helmet, a blue and red tabard, a short blaster carbine and an empty kitbag,
all with the symbol of the Basser Cadets painted upon it. They moved away from the table and joined the
other new soldiers who were donning their shirts. Soldiers walked through the
knot of bodies and adjusted shirt straps here, smoothed out wrinkles there.
Some of the newcomers unholstered their blasters and levelled them
experimentally, some nodding at the quality of the weapon they had been
given, others shaking their heads and grimacing at their fellows. Areed was not comfortable with his blaster and he
made several targeting motions with before turning to Cuhtlal and Cynan. “It
feels as if this blaster was made for someone else,” he said. Cynan nodded and shrugged is shoulders so that the
large shirt he had been given would smooth out somewhat as it draped down his
body. “There’s
probably been several others who have used that blaster, Areed. Check the
handle, see if there are any notches.” After careful scrutiny Areed saw that there were
indeed several shallow cuts in the handle of the weapon. “There’s
eight,” he reported. Cuhtlal was having trouble with his shirt and his
voice was muffled within the garment as he said, “Don’t forget to add your
own notch. That blaster has seen some years, at least eight.” “Not counting those who stayed on and went
further with their duties.” Cynan and Areed turned at the voice, Cuhtlal
struggled fiercely until the shirt had finally become loose and dropped
heavily down his body. He looked up, his hair a mess after his ministrations
and looked into the face of Dansuin, the Captain of the Basser Cadets. “Does
the weapon displease you, newcomer?” Dansuin asked in his deep, powerful
voice. It was a voice tinged with granite but had the smoothness of pouring
honey, as if any moment his soft words would cease and he would pounce like a
beast. “Not at
all… Lord…”
“Captain. All the blasters came from the same armoury and swapping
with a fellow will not suffice. Do you have your own weapon?” Areed picked up his own blaster from the floor
where he had placed it and handed it to the Captain. “Made for my own hand,
Captain.” Dansuin regarded the weapon with narrowed eyes and
turned it over in his hands. He looked hard and long at the image of a
swooping creature carved into the hilt and handed it back. “A Chancai Mark. A
fine world indeed.” “My
home, Captain” Areed nodded. “They make the finest weapons in the sector, or
so they like to boast.” Dansuin chuckled softly and then, as if
remembering his position, waved his hand to the door of the tower. “Outside
with you all, now! You’re to be taught your responsibilities and duty.” The three men snapped into action, with Areed
leading the way and out of the door first. Cuhtlal fumbled with his equipment
and Cynan stayed back to help him. “Come
on, man!” Cynan hissed, realising that they were the only two remaining in
the tower. “You’re making us look like fools!” “I’m
wondering about our new friend Areed,” Cuhtlal said as he shouldered his
discarded clothes and followed just behind Cynan. “What of
him?” Cynan said with a small smile. “He’s likeable enough, if a little quiet
and a little too old for a long life in duty to the Academy.” “It was
all that talk about Chancai and the blaster,” Cuhtlal lowered his voice
further as they exited the Academy Tower and moved to where the others were
being assembled. “What
about it?” Cynan looked at his friend with a frown. “So he’s from Zelon. What
do you have against them?”
“Nothing, nothing at all. It’s just that I thought he was from
Trefnare. And a Chancai-marked blaster? A weapon for nobles. Look at him. He
has about as much breeding as you do.” Cynan gently slapped the back of Cuhtlal’s head.
“You have no friends, Cuhtlal. Do you know why?” Cuhtlal shook his head. “Because
you’re suspicious of everything they do.” There was a pause, and Cuhtlal looked up at Cynan.
“I’m not suspicious of you,” he said in a small voice. Cynan frowned and cuffed Cuhtlal once more.
“That’s because I’m your brother,
you dolt.” Areed stood in the large group of beings and tried
with difficulty to keep his attention on the Captain of the Basser Cadets as
he shouted his requirements and expectations of each of the newcomers. His
gaze continually wandered to the mist-shrouded upper reaches of the Academy. Up there was where he had to be. His years had
built to this. He would soon walk atop the battlements. Since he had been
sixteen years of age he had known his destiny and here, in this fog-bound
town settled against the great walls, he would realise his dream. He would
become the greatest soldier the galaxy had ever known. Not a small request. The Beginnings of a War Marshall2002 short story by
Jonathan Hicks Two years before Episode
IV – A New Hope Histories – The beginnings and training
of the legendary War Marshall Areed.
Travelling to the world of Basser, Areed continues to follow the dreams of his
youth, to become a great warrior.
Enlisting in the strict regime of the Basser Cadets, his future
military life is seeded here, as are his traits of untruth and hidden
secrets.
Cast of Characters Areed Captain Bebdulf Dansuin
Cynan
Cuhtlal Regnier |