Sunlight filtered through the mist-laden canopy, catching on moss-green trunks and slick leaves. The wagon lurched along the muddy road, wheels groaning as eight new recruits and two Bloodshield soldiers sat packed shoulder to shoulder, boots knocking, voices loud with nervous laughter.
Styke shifted on the bench and glanced at the recruit beside him. Brown tunic, short, black curly hair, and a leather pouch so swollen it looked ready to burst.
"Where are you from?" Styke asked.
"Capital," the boy said, smiling.
"You're from Wolnwood. Looks like you're the only one from your village"
"Seems like it." Styke laughed.
The boy dug into his pouch, fingers searching blindly.
"So," he said around a mouthful of bread, "which lady you dream of bedding?"
Styke snorted. "Lady Mildrith, no doubt."
Both started chuckling.
A sharp laugh cut through the wagon.
"Have you even grown your balls?"
Styke looked up.
The voice came from a red-haired recruit sitting across from him-broad as an ox, shoulders pressing into the men beside him. His accent was harsh and fast, like gravel scraping stone.
"He spat right in your face" The boy beside Styke looked quitely.
Styke tilted his head slightly, studying the red-haired boy.
"Didn't know barking counted as talking."
A few snickers followed.
The red-haired boy's grin widened. "What's your name, Wolnwood boy?"
"Styke. Son of Taran."
"Sounds Eldorian" said a thin blonde recruit beside the red haired boy.
Styke's jaw tightened.
"It's not"
"It is," the red haired boy continued,
"That's an elf name"
Styke leaned forward. "Funny, you two look more like you understand barking than figure out names."
A sharper laugh this time, The blond boy flushed.
The red-haired one chuckled low.
"I bet your mother was an Eldorian whore."
"I bet your father fucked an elf,"
the thin boy added, breaking into laughter.
"Stop it you guys" The curly haired boy rolled his eyes.
The wagon filled with it-snorts and chuckles.
Styke's hands curled into fists. His chest felt tight. He had never seen his mother. Never even known what she was.
He met the red-haired boy's eyes.
"Say that again," he said quietly, "and I'll cut your cunt throat."
The laughter stuttered.
"He'll cut your throat, he says!" someone mocked.
The red-haired boy leaned forward, elbows on his knees, grin crooked and steady. He didn't blink.
"I bet you can't even lift a fucking sword," he said. "Let alone swing one."
"I can." Styke held his gaze for a while, then looked away.
"You guys stop it i said" The boy beside Styke spoke again, a little louder this time.
Behind them, a Bloodshield soldier barked.
"What are you new cunts yelling for, aye?!!" The Bloodsheild soldier was no doubt their new captain.
Silence fell fast. The wagon rattled on.
The red-haired boy kept staring.
"Afraid of a duel," he muttered, "or never picked up a sword?"
Styke turned his head towards him, his ears turned red.
"I'm not afraid of duels and i can swing a fucking sword!" he murmured.
The red-haired boy chuckled.
"Oh! Good, very good," he chuckled "Duel with me and I'll be glad to cut that chicken throat of yours."
"Let's see who will be begging for mercy"
The wagon master laughed.
"New lads quarrelling like cats really makes the journey feel alive, haha!"
The Bloodshield soldier shot them a warning look.
"Oi! One more fucking useless quarrel and I'll kick you two knaves out of the wagon."
At last, the red-haired boy leaned back. He glanced past Styke, checking the Bloodshield soldier, then murmured,
"The wagon's stopping at Erinton. I'll see you there."
The road narrowed and wildflowers swayed as the wagon climbed through thick green alpine forest, the warm summer wind whispering through the trees.
The wagon lurched to a halt beside a large wooden building at the edge of the mountain village.
"Down, boys!" the wagon master barked.
"Finally!" the red-haired boy shouted, jumping down eagerly.
As Styke got down, the curly haired recruit clapped a hand on his shoulder and smiled.
"Beat him up, yeah?"
"Of course," Styke laughed.
"You've got to be kidding me." The red-haired boy turned toward the skinny blond recruit who had climbed down first.
"He doesn't even have a fucking sword." They both laughed.
"Here. Take mine." The red-haired boy tossed the sword at Styke's feet.
"Not like I need it - you're the throat-cutter here." The skinny recruit was already walking off, shouting to the others.
"Oi! Oi! Who wants to watch a duel?!" The new recruits gathered quickly, forming a loose ring around them.
Styke laughed, loud and confident.
"What do you think you're doing? I'm clearly going to win this duel with this sword."
He remembered the first time he'd lifted Herald's blade—how heavy it had been, how his arms had burned just holding it.
I hope this one isn't too heavy.
He picked it up.
The weight dragged his arms down instantly. His wrists trembled as he tried to lift it properly. How did he even throw this?
"This is going to be easy," Styke said, forcing a laugh.
The red-haired recruit didn't reply.
Styke charged and swung with all his strength, his body swaying as the blade pulled him off balance.
The red-haired boy stepped aside effortlessly.
Before Styke could recover, a shove slammed him into the dirt, tearing the breath from his lungs. He tried to rise, but the recruit dropped onto him, straddling his chest, and punched him hard in his face. Styke raised his arms to defend himself.
"You little cunt—what, you want to cut my throat?" the red-haired boy laughed.
"Do you know who I am?"
He punched Styke again, grinning as he watched him struggle to rise.
"I'm Thorwin Skarnhart. Son of Björn Skarnhart."
Styke lifted his arms once more, but the punches slipped through the gaps, fists smashing into his face. "You can't even lift a damn sword."
"Oi, you filthy motherfucking cunts!" The shout tore through the crowd.
The blows stopped. Styke felt a wave of relief as he recognized the voice.