03 - Call to Arms by Mitchel Scanlon - (ebook by Undead) Page B

roughly proportioned map of the area had been drawn in charcoal
on the smooth side of a large sheepskin.
    A sergeant called Bohlen stood on the other side of the table, his hand
raised to his mouth to stifle a yawn as they waited for the captain to finish
reading. Dieter gathered Bohlen would normally have been commanding the patrol
that had saved the caravan from the beastmen’s ambush, but he had been called
away to a briefing with Harkner, leaving Gerhardt to lead the patrol in his
place.
    Harkner continued to examine the letter at no great speed. Trying not to
stare, Dieter noticed the captain’s lips moving almost imperceptibly, his mouth
shaping the words as he read. Finally, the captain finished.
    “Schau didn’t write this letter,” he stated flatly. “The man I knew couldn’t
read. Even if someone taught him his letters in the years since, he wouldn’t
write so elegantly. This was written by an educated man.”
    “The village priest wrote it on his behalf. But it was Helmut who asked him
to do it. And he had Father Gottlieb read it back to him when he was finished,
so he’d know the priest had written the things he wanted.”
    “Hmm, if this letter is to be believed, you have the makings of a fine
soldier,” the captain said, his eyes burning into Dieter’s face as though
looking for a reason to doubt it. “Of course, Schau and the priest know you.
They could be gilding the lily, making you sound better than you are.”
    Folding the letter, he handed it back to Dieter.
    “What about before you got here? You can’t have come straight from your
village to this encampment. You must have gone to the barracks in Hergig first.
Did you meet our recruiter, Sergeant Rippner?”
    “I did.”
    “He wouldn’t have let you go without testing your swordsmanship. He made you
fight with wasters, yes—wooden broadswords? Usually, he makes the young bloods
fight two or three bouts with him, making sure he gives them a good few bruises.
Well? What did he say to you afterwards?”
    “I…” Dieter paused momentarily in discomfort. “He said I was a waste of spit
and whichever father sired me had no doubt long ago learned to regret it. He
said, at best, my swordmanship was passable.”
    “Passable, eh? Coming from ‘the Ripper’ that’s high praise. Most would-be
recruits are lucky if he gives them anything more than a kick in the jewels for
their trouble. You must know one end of a sword from another, then?”
    “Hoist said he gave a good account of himself when the beastmen attacked,”
Gerhardt offered. “A bit cocky and flash, perhaps. But nothing that can’t be
drilled out of him.”
    “I see,” the captain nodded. He glanced over his shoulder. “What about you,
Bohlen? What do you say?”
    “We are short-handed anyway,” the sergeant shrugged. “If he turns out
to be no good, we can always put him at the head of the line, let the orcs solve
the problem for us.”
    “A vote of confidence all round, then?”
    Turning away, Harkner walked over to a large travelling chest and opened it.
Fishing inside, he brought out a parchment, a quill and a bottle of ink and took
them over to the table.
    “All right, do you know how to write or should I make your letters for you?”
he said, setting the items down.
    “I know how to make my name,” Dieter told him. “Father Gottlieb taught me.”
    “Good.” The captain spread out the parchment, dipping the quill in the ink.
“Sign your name here. The rest of it is already made out.”
    Dieter recognised the crest of the Count of Hochland at the head of the
paper, but the rest of the parchment was a mystery to him. He scratched his name
at the place where the captain’s finger pointed, the quill quivering in his hand
as he performed the unfamiliar task.
    “Good enough,” Harkner said, inspecting Dieter’s handiwork. Putting the
parchment carefully to one side to avoid smudging the wet ink, he pulled a
drawstring purse from inside his