For or Against
Emma had no idea what else to do. In this kingdom, one either worked for the Evil Queen or, if you were foolish, against her.
Already having tried farming (picking & weeding crops by hand-hated it), bar maid (not bad except for the pinchy grabby hands), cleaning (not in vocabulary, it turns out), herding cattle (cows are STUPID ), assistant Black Smith (turns out all you do is make fire and work the bellows-in a word HOT), and stable boy (horses, now horses are cool. Sleeping next to the manure pile-not so much), it was time to try another line of work.
This opportunity came with food and lodging, so-what the hell. No one seemed to care that she was a female, anyone could try to be in the Queen's Army.
The first day was a joke. The twenty or so 'volunteers' were separated into groups of four and sent around to different stations on the training field. The three men Emma was stuck with were pitiful at everything. At the first station, they were told to hunt through a pile of used, broken and bloody gear to find some that fit and then put it on. Seemed a simple thing to do. Emma found a mostly intact padded leather tunic (someone lost an arm) which she put on under some chain mail, two leather arm bracers (mismatched), two leather greaves (also mismatched) and leather pauldrons (someone lost the other arm). When she was finished dressing the men were still half-heartedly pawing at the pile, which did not impress the gruff soldier who "helped" them find gear by yelling at them. Once all four were ready, they were told to "Run to the next station at the other end of the field". One of the men did not wait to hear all of the instructions and took off like a shot arrow. The remaining three were told to run a lap first before reporting to the station.
Running second nature for Emma, who was often late and therefore had to run, so despite the weight of leather and mail, she set off at a good, steady clip. The two men apparently decided to race each other and were soon far ahead. Unconcerned, Emma continued on. Halfway around the lap, Emma passed one man who stopped to vomit. Three quarters around and Emma was steadily gaining on the other. Not altering her pace, Emma continued on. Finishing the lap, Emma passed the second man who tried to keep up with her. He did, for a bit, then began losing ground.
Emma arrived at the second station sweaty but ready for whatever task awaited. The man who did not wait was standing holding five wooden beams, or rather, trying to stand, as they were not stacked evenly. He wobbled around quite a bit. The solider here just stood, waiting and watching, so Emma did the same.
Eventually, the other two men arrived, both red faced and out of breath. The idiot who didn't listen to instructions was told to drop all but one of the timbers and to go run his lap. The look of horror on his face was priceless, but Emma knew not to laugh aloud. The other two idiots did not. They got to pick up a timber and go run as well. Once the men were off, the soldier told Emma to pick a wooden sword gesturing to the makeshift wall where they were displayed. Emma knew not to pick the longest one. Her time at the Black Smith taught her that longer meant heavier as arms grew tired. Choosing a medium sized one, Emma stood relaxed but ready.
The soldier screamed a battle cry and attacked. Emma had watched the soldiers from time to time, mostly when in-between jobs, and when frustrated with the general unluckiness of her life, would attack trees with a sorta sword shaped stick. Granted, this soldier moved a lot more than a tree and was certainly louder, but it became apparent that he was probing for weakness not for a quick kill. They sparred for some time before Emma managed to trip the soldier, landing him on his back, his breath knocked from his lungs. Not wanting to press her advantage, Emma stepped back, waiting for the soldier to rise. This was a mistake. As soon as the soldier did regain his footing the tempo of the sparring increased dramatically. Emma wondered if it was because she was a woman or whether this was the regular routine when a particularly heavy blow rebounded off the pauldron and stuck Emma on the side of her jaw. Knowing she was bleeding Emma mentally shrugged it off and kept her eyes on her foe. The blood flow should have stopped the sparring but the soldier continued, looking for an opening. Emma parried and remembered the two timbers left on the ground. Moving around to position the soldier, Emma attacked. His quick retreat tangled his feet with the timbers and down he went again. This time Emma took the 'killing' blow. An outraged cry followed, the soldier's face contorted as jumped up, drawing a dagger. It was then that Emma realized they were no longer alone at the station. A man dressed in all black drew his sword, the tip at the soldier's throat drawing a bead of blood.
"You were beaten fairly, twice. Drop the dagger or pay the penalty for your cowardice." The commanding tone held no room for negotiation.
The dagger was dropped, but it was obvious by the sneer that the soldier was not contrite.
The man in black did not sheath his sword nor move it from the soldier's neck. "Your rank and privileges are hereby revoked. Pick up the two timbers and run three laps. That should give you plenty of time to re-think your actions. Upon completion, you will report to your superior."
"Yes, Captain." The soldier ground out through clenched teeth then turned to pick up the timbers. A horseman, similarly clad all in black, urged his mount into a trot to follow the soldier.
Only when both had moved off did the man sheath his sword. Bending over and picking up the dagger, he held it by the point offering the handle to Emma. "You have earned ownership of this dagger."
Emma had barely touched the handle when the man in black abruptly turned, walking quickly away. "Thank you, Captain."
Emma was admiring her new dagger when several soldiers approached, surrounding her. Apprehensive, Emma readied the wooden sword. Without a word, one reached into a leather pouch, pulling a cloth out slowly "May I?" and miming cleaning the wound. It was only then that Emma acknowledged the pain, both from her shoulder and the flayed skin along her jaw. Turning her head to assess the damage to the gear, Emma was surprised at the amount of blood coating her left shoulder and chest. With a nod, she turned her head as far to the right as she could so the soldier could clean away the blood and check the wound. Another soldier gently took the wooden sword from Emma's hand, returning it and the one left on the ground to the display. A third provided a cup of water for Emma to drink, while another leaned over the shoulder of the soldier cleaning the wound. His eyes widened before he turned and jogged away.
Emma just stood there, dumbstruck. This could hardly be the norm for an injury to a 'volunteer'. These men were treating her with something akin to awe, which was decidedly odd. Wounds to soldiers were a routine risk.
The wide eyed soldier returned with yet another person in tow. This new one, in flowing black and red hooded robes, took one look at Emma's wound and then took her hand. Shocked into hand holding with this stranger, Emma realized this was a healer. The current flowing from this person's hand into hers went up her left arm, shoulder and to her neck. Minutes or hours later, the healer squeezed Emma's hand, released their hold and walked away.
Rolling her neck, rotating her shoulder Emma felt good, or better, than new. This cannot be the standard for 'volunteers'. No way would any King or Queen bestow such care on a lowly peasant.
One soldier motioned for Emma to go to the next station.
Nodding, Emma walked towards the station, hoping it would be the last of the day.
During the walk, Emma briefly wondered what had happened to the three idiots she had been grouped with, then decided that she had enough on her plate to worry/wonder about without adding more.
The next station turned out to be horses. Emma smiled to herself hoping it would be as easy as running.
Arriving at the station, Emma was greeted with a smile from the soldier waiting. Yet another odd happening. Nodding her head in acknowledgement, Emma waited for instructions.
"You will saddle a horse for me."
Okay, easy enough. Passing the table of bridles, blankets, and saddles, Emma approached the horses tethered to stakes in the ground, they seemed docile enough, eyeing the new comer. Since she wasn't told which horse to saddle, Emma began murmuring gently to the first horse, offering her hand for smelling and patting the muzzle. Getting a nicker, Emma began running her hands up to the forelock, scratching ears, over to the withers then down to the front leg to check the hoof. Repeating for all four hoofs. Checking the flanks. Deeming the horse to be healthy, Emma turns to walk back to the table to pick a bridle.
"Okay, you know about horses. You may go to the farthest end" the soldier pointing now "and have some lunch."
Nodding her thanks, Emma walks off.