The Starspear Chronicles
Valley of Tribulations
Written by Dane Theodore
Copyright 2012 Dane Theodore
All Rights Reserved
Smashwords Edition
For Mom
“I want 50 leaps, Private Starspear! You’ll learn to thrust your blade properly, one way or the other!”
Krum Starspear came from a long line of warriors. His father, grandfather, and great-grandfather all served in the Royal Tail Corps, and made achieved significant rank in their life as career soldiers. It was something Krum admired, but never wanted for himself.
He began leaping as high and hard as he could, and hoped the physical exertion would take his mind off of Maeva Moonthorn. Why did I join? Why didn’t I just tell my father I didn’t want to serve?
He pictured what his father’s face would have looked like if he broke the news to him that the Royal Tail Corps wasn’t where he wanted to find fulfillment in his life. The look of anger and sadness on a mouse as tough and weathered as his father would be a terrible sight indeed. He almost couldn’t picture it at all.
He was huffing and puffing, barely getting enough oxygen to think, and his legs felt like hot pudding. There were still 30 leaps left.
“Hold your shield and your pretty sword high when you leap, private! Higher!” Sergeant Oldclaw bellowed. Oldclaw was the toughest drill instructor ever to lead a formation in the Valley of Tribulations, where every soldier trained to be a member of the Corps. Lean and sinewy, with small sharp eyes that saw every detail, and a keen sense of how to make any trainee’s life a living hell, Oldclaw was not well liked among the privates. He was, however, well respected.
Krum raised his shield and sword as high as he could as he continued to leap, making his arms feel like the same sort of hot pudding his legs did. The pretty sword Oldclaw spoke of was The Sword of the Mayflower, and had been passed on to Krum by his father upon his enlistment. It was the envy of everyone in his company, and even Oldclaw eyed it like a bird eyes a fat worm. Crafted from a nail taken out of the Mayflower when it landed on the shores of the New World, it had been passed down from father to son in the Starspear bloodline for at least 12 generations.
Krum didn’t even want it. He didn’t feel worthy of it. He didn’t want to be a warrior, and that was reason enough alone for him to feel bad for even wielding it, much less owning it.
He thought of Maeva, and the last night they spent together before he left. They sat together on a patch of heather, reading poetry to each other and basking in the warm breeze as the sun set beyond the clouds. The butcher and cheesemeister had each given him a fare-thee-well gift, mostly on behalf of how well they knew his father. The aged salami coupled with the acorn cheese and the bottle of blueberry wine he took from his uncle’s cellar made for a delicious end-of-evening meal, though not half so delicious as Maeva’s tender lips.
Laying on their backs and gazing at the stars, they held hands and wished the night would never end. I’ll wait as long as it takes, Krum. I’ll wait forever. I’ll wait until those stars fade and the sun goes cold if I have to. I’m yours forever. He kissed her tears away, and felt like his heart was going to explode in his chest from love and sadness. He’d never felt like that before, and he never wanted it to end.
Sergeant Oldclaw’s shrewd voice snapped him back to reality. “I asked for 50 leaps, Starspear. Why did you give me 51? Are you feeling highly motivated? Are you in an overachieving type of mood? Because I can grant your wish and make you overachieve all night!”
“No, sir! I miscounted, sir!” He tried hard to sound like he gave more than a rat’s ass about the situation.
“Miscounted! So then you’re a simpleton and as ugly as the north end of a southbound gopher.”
Some soldiers in the formation chuckled.
Sergeant Oldclaw looked him up and down, searching for something to knitpick at, but Krum knew he would find nothing. He didn’t like soldiering, but keeping his boots shiny and his armor perfect came naturally to him.
Sergeant Oldclaw sneered, then took a few steps back and centered himself in front of the formation. “At ease, privates. Today’s training is over. After this formation you will run to the Slop Hall for 30 minutes. After that, you have 1 hour to shit, shower, and shine boots. Mail call is at evenfall. Lights out at full dark. Tomorrow’s first formation is at first light in full battle rattle. Company, Attention!” Attennn-SHUN! The sound of 60 heels clicking together echoed off the rock face as the soldiers snapped to attention.
“Fall out!”
The square of perfectly placed soldiers broke into chaos as they raced up the carved-out stairs of the red canyon wall to the grassy meadow above. They would have to run a full mile before they reached the Slop Hall. Walking was not allowed as a trainee in the Royal Tail Corps.
Krum watched the setting sun as he ran, and it only reminded him of his final night with Maeva. Until those stars fade and the sun goes cold. He imagined he was running to her, and that put enough pep in his strides to pass all of the other soldiers. He was the fastest runner as it was, but the thought of Maeva pushed him beyond his normal limits.
He could barely eat. He was too anxious for a letter from her. After the meager meal of oat porridge and stale black bread, he ran to the barracks. He showered and polished not only his boots, but another private’s as well. He charged 10 farthings a boot. Steep, but apparently worth the price, as several trainees could attest to. The boots were made of dull steel, but one could almost see his reflection in them when Krum was through with them.
Private Northgale came and sat next to him on his bunk. He was the only other mouse Krum got along with in the entire company. Northgale was always chipper, and didn’t ever seem to mind any of the rigors and humiliation they endured as new recruits. Clever as he was, he wasn’t a great soldier by any means, and Krum liked him even more for that.
“Hey there, chap. You look like you got the blues.” Northgale said.
“Eh, just waitin’ for mail call.”
“I got somethin’ might cheer ya up. You’re depression’s startin’ to rub off on me. Have a go at this.” Northgale pulled out a small bottle of amber liquid and a wedge of cheese from his pocket.
“You been pilfering the pantry again? How do you do it?”
Northgale winked. “The hand is quicker than the eye. These uptight halfwits wouldn’t know trickery if it slapped ‘em in the nose.” Krum suspected Northgale made his profession as a thief before he enlisted, but didn’t want to say anything. He was always getting things that were considered contraband. One time he snuck out at night and came back with a chessboard made of onyx and alabaster, with all the pieces to boot. He was clever at hiding them too, because there’d been several inspections and he was never caught with anything.
“Let me see the cheese.” Krum said.
“If you please, if you please,” Northgale rhymed as he handed it to him.
Krum brought it to his nose and inhaled. Acorn cheese. “No thanks, mate. I’ll take the spirits, though.”
Northgale raised his eyebrows. “No cheese? It’s good stuff—I nicked it from the officer’s lounge.”
“I’m sure it is, but I don’t got the stomach for it right now.”After exchanging the cheese for the bottle, he uncorked it and took a big swallow. Aged whiskey. He shook his head in disbelief. Whiskey that good was hard to come by, even as a civilian. Officers had it easy, that was for sure.
Northgale nibbled on the cheese and talked with a full mouth. “So what’s up? Wanna play some chess?”
Krum shrugged. “Maybe later, yeah? Mail call’s in a minute.”
Northgale nodded his head understandingly. “Of course, mate. Well, come on over when ya fancy a game.” Northgale stood and walked toward his cot.