The Beginnings of a War
Marshall
2002 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
Marshall
2002 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 |