The courtyard between the chantry and the templar's station was littered with straw and stick dummies. Some were knocked to the ground while others were full of protruding arrows. Most looked none the worse for wear, save one that was utterly demolished, transformed to nothing more than a pile of kindling.
The templar recruits were in formation a short distance from the dummies, standing at ease and facing their training officer. He gripped one of the intact dummies and dragged it across the ground as he paced in front of his recruits. An excruciating lull in the courtyard was filled only with the sound of a flock of starlings flying overhead and landing noisily in a nearby tree. At last, the officer stopped, glanced once at his squad, frowned, then flung the dummy into the stone wall next to their formation. Several recruits startled at the officer's sudden action.
The Knight-Lieutenant's voice boomed throughout the courtyard.
"Ox! Front and center!"
Max wished the Lieutenant would call him by his actual name. He wasn't fond of being reminded of his size every time one of his superiors used his newly-acquired nickname. Well, at least he wasn't nicknamed "old man" or the like.
"Yesser!" replied Max, who stepped out of formation, ran behind the other templar recruits and dashed over to the Lieutenant's side. He faced the rest of his squad, standing at attention.
The Knight-Lieutenant paced in front of Max with his hands locked behind his back.
"Recruits," he said, "the man before you is likely twice your age, yet I ask, who outperformed all of you in our latest drill?"
Do not keep them in suspense, Max thought as the Knight-Lieutenant paused in front of a recruit and looked him over from head to toe. With a sniff, he turned around. Max stealthily broke attention and looked at the Lieutenant out of the corner of his eye, just enough to see the scowl on the officer's face.
The Knight-Lieutenant returned to his place in front of the squad, next to Max. He wiped a hand down his face.
"Pathetic! Maker, save us all, but if this is what our citizens have to look forward to for protection from the forbidden arts, then I weep for the future. None of you has met today's goal, except for Ox," he said, putting a hand on Max's shoulder, "and we shouldn't have to rely on people that are already veterans."
Once again, someone assumed Max had fought during the rebellion. He wasn't that old. Max fought back the urge to correct the Lieutenant. Just play along; the day is almost done.
The Knight-Lieutenant raised his voice and pointed at his squad. "I ask again, who outperformed you?"
The recruits muttered replies that included Max's name, his nickname, his origin, "that one," and much to his chagrin, "the old man." He wondered if the Lieutenant noticed. The officer seemed more concerned about continuing his reprimand than listening to replies.
"I can't hear you!"
A single voice among the recruits uttered, "Ox!"
The Lieutenant pointed at the recruit, a young man with black hair and sharp features. Max recognized him as one of the few archers in the squad.
"Yes! Say it again!" shouted the Knight-Lieutenant.
"Ox!" the squad said in unison, their cries carrying above the Chantry's bells, now summoning believers to recite the Chant for the final time that day. The squad began chanting his nickname, some of them pumping their fists in the air while doing so. Max felt both proud to be singled out for his skilled participation in target practice, and embarrassed to be the center of attention during the call to prayer. He would double his time in recitation before bed to make up for being late to Vespers.
The Knight-Lieutenant called the squad to attention, gave them a final warning about the lack of discipline, and dismissed them for the evening. Relieved, Max retrieved his mace and shield from the nearby weapon stand, holstered them, and made quick strides in the direction of the Chantry. He was cut short, however, by the officer. Max grudgingly wandered back to the Knight-Lieutenant.
"I need to speak with you and Castor for a moment," said the officer as he grabbed the black-haired archer by the upper arm as he walked by. The archer looked stunned.
"Ser?" he asked, securing his bow behind his back.
The Lieutenant nodded. "I've been ordered by the Knight-Captain to assemble the most promising recruits to accompany a small team for a special mission."
Castor smirked. "And the 'most promising' include the one with elven blood and the Orlesian grandfather?"
So... Castor was half-blood. Max wondered why he hadn't noticed it in the young recruit before. He gave him a once-over, and sure enough, everything elven about the man became apparent, including his broad forehead, large, jewel-like eyes of green, and slightly pointed ears. Even if those with mixed blood were always human, they could not escape their elven ancestry completely.
"That's ten demerits, Castor!" the officer snapped back. Castor bit his lip. Max almost laughed.
"I hesitate to say he has a point, Ser," said Max, "but..."
The officer sighed. "Yes, yes. On the surface, your pairing looks downright comical, but Maker, if you lot aren't the most hapless recruits I've seen since Cailan took the throne."
Max and Castor looked at each other. Castor shrugged. "Are we that terrible?"
The Lieutenant gestured toward the two recruits. "Not you two. Besides, this mission calls for certain skills that you've both more than mastered." He pointed at Castor. "The Captain needs a ranger. And Ox, well, no one can take blows like you and still remain upright."
Castor raised an eyebrow. "So, you need a tracker and someone to put a shield in front of him, right?"
The Knight-Lieutenant shook his head. "Don't simplify it, Castor. You'll have experienced templars with you. If you want to move up in training, this is your opportunity." He started pacing again. "We've received reports of a band of maleficarum in the Brecilian Forest, apparently using the woods to cover their movements."
Max snorted. "May the Void take them! Is the Veil not thin enough in the forest that we could simply leave them to their own demises?"
Castor nodded in agreement.
"I'll pretend you didn't suggest the templars ignore a known threat," said the Knight-Lieutenant as he stepped closer to Max. "You make it sound like you already know the limitations of mages. You can't color your perception of magic based on your experience alone, no matter how many mages you took out that day."
Max looked at the ground while his face grew hot. He slowly curled his fingers into fists, held his breath for a few seconds, then exhaled and unfurled his hands. He looked up in time to see Castor furrow his brow and glance sideways at Max. He would have some explaining to do later to his soon-to-be partner.
The Knight-Lieutenant went on. "In any case, neither of you are in a position to refuse this mission. Details will be given tomorrow at the station; be there early, before formation. Dismissed." The officer left quickly, leaving the two recruits no time to ask more questions.
Castor shrugged and turned to Max. "Well, partner, looks like we have our first assignment." He walked across the courtyard and began pulling arrows from dummies and returning the best ones to his quiver. Max eventually joined him.
"We could be gone for weeks," Max said, handing Castor another arrow. "Do you have family that should be told of your absence?"
Castor let out a quick laugh. "Ha! I was given to the Chantry when I was eight. I doubt anyone would miss me if I didn't write them for a few weeks. What about you?"
"No, not anyone of importance." He paused in front of the dummy he had pulverized earlier and stared at it. He suddenly felt ashamed of the unbridled anger he had taken out on something that wasn't even real. Images of his family, running and screaming from their burning house, flashed before him. So did the image of Max strangling one of the mages that caused the fire. He rubbed his brow as Castor sidled up to him and looked at the dummy's remains.
"You should have seen your fury from my viewpoint," said Castor. "I thought maybe this stick man had insulted you, wounded your pride. Called Orlais a land of pompous bastards with cheese breath."
Max sighed. "I need to control myself. This is unacceptable."
"On the contrary," Castor said, "the templars think it's quite acceptable. Bloody rage is what they're looking for. That's why you were singled out."
Max frowned and shook his head. As true as that statement may have been, it scared Max. He decided to change the subject. He glanced at Castor. "Where is yours?"
Castor laughed. "Nothing impressive, mind you, but it's that one," he said, pointing at a dummy with a lone arrow sticking out of its stuffed head.
Max nodded his head in approval. "How far away were you?"
"Actually, I was on the other side of the wall. I stacked a few crates, climbed them, aimed and fired. I found it pointless to waste more arrows after the first one landed where it did. I think the Lieutenant was angry that I gave up after that."
"One shot, one kill. Whatever the Knight-Lieutenant thought about it, I am impressed."
Castor smiled then cleared his throat. "We could stay here and continue to pat each other on the backs, or we could join the others inside. What say you, partner?"
"I say prayer before praise. We will talk more later, comrade."
Castor clapped Max's shoulder and the two walked out of the courtyard's gates. Max couldn't wait to enter the Chantry. He had a lot of praying to do.