The fight at the salt mines had, if nothing else, consolidated my desire to serve in the Legion.

Certainly, the lives of the miners had been spent to increase the profit margins of one of the

Patrician clans, but their sacrifice was also for the benefit of Tharda as a whole. At least I am

sure that is what was told to their families…

It was all part of the Republics ‘way’, I understood it, even if I did not like it.

Like the rest of the survivors, I duly finished out the remainder of my contracted service,

suffering no more than the hardships accrued by an honest days work. I seem to recall walking

away from the paymasters’ shed with a heavy purse, but a lighter heart, longing to return home

and see my family yet again.

Now, I must admit that thoughts of the battle had still not left me at this time, and even now I

wonder at what I might have done had I a little more skill with the spear and sword. I told my

father so when I next saw him, but he praised my valour and said that there was little I could

have done, save be dragged down by the masses as Thorvald had been.

Even so, I had made up my mind to enlist as soon as I could, even going so far as to ask my

father and, when he refused, Folda, to assist me in signing up for the years intake.

Fathers’ refusal I can understand, but Foldas’ suggestion that I take the time to ‘travel and see

distant places’ seemed a little frivolous to me at the time. Surely he had seen and done more

since joining the Legion, so why would he seek to have me waste time beforehand?

The only reasons I could see for delaying my enrolment were to gain more money to pay for my

muster gear, or to further my training. I must admit here and now that whilst the Gladiatorial pits

possessed a modicum of ‘romantic bravado’, the life of a caravan guard seemed a little too

‘mercenary’ to me. I often wonder what path my life would have taken if I had listened to my

elders’ advice…

Ah well, “such is the stuff of which dreams are made”, yes?

Instead I decided to walk that road taken by underage youths since time immemorial, and

resolved to sign up, and lie through my teeth while doing it.

Using the remains of my hard-earned pay, I slowly accumulated the equipment I knew I would

need to ensure my entry to the Heavy Infantry. Father had long told me the various stories:

How young ‘soldiers’ had turned up after spending their meagre gains on equipment, only to

have it declined for failing to meet the ‘Legion standards’. Many a budding Legionnaire had

found himself dressed in ‘Skirmishers rags’ for such an error, and I had no plans to be one of

them.

I therefore resolved to buy only from the ‘authorised suppliers’, and managed to acquire all save

the necessary armour; unfortunate, but not unexpected…

Four years of indentured service to the Legion is no easy thing to bear, but I had faith in my

abilities and determination. After all, others had shouldered a debt far greater than mine, and

still walked proudly among the ranks of Tharda.

It was at this juncture that I encountered another of the guiding forces in my early life. Well

aware that the Legion recruiters were able to spot a nervous tic from yeoman’s ranges, I had

managed to gather my composure and pass the initial interview without too much trouble. This

did, however, highlight to me the need to make myself appear more… experienced, without

bringing undue scrutiny to my age.

I was lost. I knew I was of slightly more height than others of my age, and though I was

possessed of more muscle than was normal, I was more wiry than solid.

My only chance lay in impressing the interviewer with something unusual, something that could

provide a cover story if needed…suddenly I had it: Letters!

If I could sign my name to the indenture contract, as opposed to some vague scratching, then

mayhaps that would give me some sort of credibility. I could even parley it into a story of being

a ‘poor, underfed acolyte’ or ‘starving scribe from the temples’…Fuelled with a new purpose, I

determined then and there to seek out someone to teach me, little knowing that it was the

Lady’s hand at work.

Returning home that night, I took it upon myself to analyse the available options, and they were

depressingly small. Private tutelage was out of the question, and even the fees at the small

colleges were more than I could afford (even if I had the time to spend…). It would appear

that fate had dictated my path, for once again I had come back to the Temples as my only

option.

This left me in a quandary, as I had minimal knowledge of the Gods and their servants at best…

Peoni was a rural goddess, what need had she of letters? Agrik or Larani?, possible, but War

gods both…Siem? I didn’t even know what Siem represented, let alone where his temples

were…Save-Knor was the obvious choice, if only I could convince them so.

Many an hour did I waste outside their gates, but I should have known that the ‘Lord of

Secrets’ would not allow his mysteries to be penetrated so easily. Here I was worrying about

convincing the priests, yet I was not even able to reach them! Eventually I gave up in disgust,

and decided that if Save-Knor would not have me, maybe Larani or Agrik would!

Who knew so much would ride on the toss of a coin, a decision that would shape my life

determined by chance, or was it?

Nevertheless, I soon found myself standing on the steps marvelling at the Spartan beauty of

Laranis’ temple, ushered in by an elderly man encased in armour of shining steel. He told me

stories of Laranis’ battles against multiple foes (Ivashu and mortal alike), her devotion to the

ideal of chivalry, and the Orders attempts to emulate her.

Never was there a religion more designed to capture a young boy’s heart, nor to call to the

martial spirit that dwelled within the breasts of any that would walk the Legion path.

Many hours did I spend within those hallowed walls, talking with the Warrior Priests, marvelling

at the artefacts, listening to the Word. I was even invited to attend the Soratir and, by that

time, I knew I had found a cause greater than my own.

Unlike Peonis’ peaceful admonitions, The Way of the Lady of Paladins would not interfere with

the sworn duty I had laid upon myself in the name of the Republic, and her example could only

give me strength and guidance in my darkest hours.

Whether it was my new-found faith, or just a tapping into of hidden reserves of maturity, my

actual enrolment was met with a confidence that must have made itself felt. I was able to meet

the recruiter without flinching, his gaze moving on to those unfortunates who attracted his eye,

their shuffles, nervous tics and fidgets just making their situation more untenable.

It was therefore with a silent thanks to Larani that I went home that day, the invitation to return

still buzzing within my head, my thoughts already moving forward to the day when I would

proudly wear the colours of the Gerium Legion.

The enthusiasm was still with me a fortnight later as we strode through the gates of the capital,

the brisk morning air promising a warm day. Our trip from Imrium had gone by quietly, the

almost daily stopovers to pick up recruits taking the sting out of our march. As a matter of fact,

the journey was far easier than I expected and I treated it as almost a holy day, the exertion

required for this being far outstripped by my easiest day in the fields.

Around us the tenements of Coranan reached for the clouds, the sights and smells of the city

surprising even to an ‘urbanite’ like myself. The wonders of city living, however, struck dumb

some of the more ‘yokel’ of my soon to be compatriots, their wonderment written upon their

faces for all to see.

It amazes me to this day how the Legion instructors make such clueless bumbles as those that

stood upon the field that day into the feared Legions of Tharda, especially when they brought

out a sorry looking batch condemned by the courts to military service.

But deep down I knew, those that survived the arduous training would soon stand by my side,

brothers in arms and an extension of the Senate’s will.

Soon, in us, they would see a martial display of Thardas’ determination to defend her citizens’

rights and a force willing to turn aside all those who gazed covetously upon her soil…

Next Story.

Written By: Shane Saunders (a.k.a Lothar of Barkus)