I had this idea for a short story. I started it about an hour before the Wednesday night game I play in. This is a first draft with minimal editing for the most grievous typos. I’m curious what you think of it.
The youth, slim of build and lean, not yet muscled from long marchings with pack and armor looked to the grizzled veteran. Young Jaran idolized the aged veteran, survivor of many battles, who bore a white scar over his sightless left eye.
Hurry lads, grab your packs and cinch them well before the call to march ends!
How far today, Goram? came the call in unison from the youthful members of the company.
Goram shook his head and spat. Blast you children barely weaned from your mothers’ tits! Didn’t they teach you anything before they sent you? The drummer beat five times before starting the call to march. The call to march tells us that the tune is the tune of 10,000 steps. We’ll here that tune played all through five times before we rest for the night, or make ready for a fight.
Jaran was amazed at the ease with which Goram had all the answers ready for a new soldiers first march to the field of battle.
Soon, Goram was checking the packs and how well they were packed and cinched to each soldier. Chiding a few for awkward or loose placement and sending them to the back of the column to quickly fix their packs and not be a hazard to their fellows marching behind them.
Jaran was well versed in packing and his only challenge had been to learn the best way for a soldier to order their packs. His father was a carter and taught him all the knots and ways to tighten them. He needed no knife to make efficient use of a long rope or cord. Goram was quick to notice this and set him to teaching the others. I’ve only seen sailors tie such knots til now, Goram had said to him. Jaran lived far from the sea, the only ships were those plying the rivers.
Goram was their leader, of this company, third of the four in their battalion, which was last of the 4 in their regiment, the fifth of the kingdom. Each regiment had a long and storied history.
Those of the fifth regiment wielded spears. Each bore two shorter spears for throwing, and one long heavy spear for their tight formations to bristle towards other units. They could also spread out and wield their heavy spears like long slicing knives with their long broad pointed blades. This was an old style of fighting that was mostly ceremonial in the movements. Modern war meant packing tight, and only Goram Oneeye had ever seen it used in battle when he was a new warrior like Jaran.
Goram had even marched to the tune of 100,000 steps to reach that battle. He didn’t speak of it, but others whispered it out of his hearing. Goram was the last survivor of the fifth regiment that day, half blinded by a long gash his face hanging from his skull. Faint from loss of blood and the exertion of survival. A cavalry charge had broken the unit, but they rallied with the ancient fighting style, spreading out to withstand the horse born warriors when they wheeled about. Many were out of step with their movements that day and the cavalry cut them down, but Goram and the 25 were well practiced and cut down many from their horses.
No one dared hum or whistle the popular tune, let alone sing “Goram and the 25” for fear of what Goram would do to them. It was said he bore the scalps of many fools who dared even think that tune lining his pouch to hide the sound of his coins. Jaran often imagined what Goram would do. It was a popular tune in many villages and taverns. It told the tale of Goram and 25 who stood with him who fought with all their might against the heavy horse of Zamrithel, the kingdom of which the people of Barnitok were once again at war.
It was only the endurance of Goram who slew 20 horse riders himself that broke the back of the pride of the enemy, the Red Riders all cloaked in flowing red cloaks and red plumed helms. Goram was raised up by the king’s bodyguard who had entered the desperate fray at a near run battle. Then the High Physician tended to Goram who pled for his fallen friends to be the first to receive care.
At least, that was the legend told by the songs and poetry of the minstrels, and repeated by those stumbling home from many taverns. Jaran wanted to ask the old veteran just how true the tales were, but he feared yet honored the memory of the fallen companions of Goram. At least some of it was true, he bore the scar over his left eye, and wore the golden chain that even knights would salute.
Goram just endured these interruptions to his day, “All in a days work for a faithful soldier of the king” he’d say in a tone somehow both mocking and reverential.
Most others in the company steered clear of Goram, afraid he might kill them with a look from his blind eye. It was said among soldiers in other companies that if he looked at you with only his left eye that he could see your soul and if it please him, he could pluck it from your body and you’d drop dead. The more superstitious believed this, or acted like they did. Jaran knew better. He’d heard too many such stories from his father and in the taverns when his father would pay for a meal when what mother packed ran out.
Jaran wanted to know Goram better, but wasn’t sure how to do it. All he knew was that if he paid attention and listened, Goram had much to teach him about war, life, and even love. Goram could spout oaths with the best of them, but could also speak like a poet. Mostly, he only had practical advice about properly tying one’s boots to avoid blisters and packing ones pack to avoid cramps. If one didn’t march with the gear packed just so, they’d end up dead if a fight was at the end of the march.
Goram’s voice brought him back to focus on the preparations for march. Shouting out orders and cursing the fools who still had problems with their packs, he got the company into two columns abreast. “Alright now, lads. The march of 10,000 steps begins … now!” as he stepped forth to begin the march.
“Only 5 cycles of the tune today. Keep sharp for enemy scouts and ambushes. We should be making camp once the fifth cycle is done, unless I’m greatly mistaken. Damn you, Cartlog! Why didn’t you make water before you put on your pack! Double time and get back in line!” He muttered just loud enough for Jaran and those nearby to hear, “I’m too old for this shit. Just one more battle the captain said…” But the self conversation trailed off as he barked orders at another fool who didn’t make water before the march started. You’d think they’d learn, Jaran mused.