Chapter Twelve: Conscription
Avis
Smoke was rising from the southeast horizon. Earlier in the day, large groups of people had congregated on the walls, watching in horror as the smoke rose higher and higher into the sky. Soon, one did not have to be on the walls to be able to see it. Whispers were rising in the city, whispers and murmurings of what was going on in the southeast. No one knew for sure, though; the Qarat was not allowing anyone to leave the city in that direction.
The Qarat had then quickly cleared all civilians off of the walls, claiming there was nothing to see, that they had the situation under control.
Like hell they did.
"What was that smoke?" Avis couldn't help but ask as Farrah hurried him through the streets of southern Ullek.
"The fishing villages and port towns on the coast," Farrah replied. "The invaders are burning them…and the villagers who lived there are no doubt being slaughtered as we speak."
Avis opened his mouth to form an oh, but no words came out. There was nothing to say, really.
"We need to get back to the shop," Farrah continued. "Decades ago, when I first got the place, I built a secret passage into the city's sewers. It won't be pleasant, but it's our only viable way of getting out of here, what with the gates all locked down."
"Why the rush, then?" Avis asked next. "It'll be a while before anything can get to the city from the coast."
"Because-"
"You there! Halt!" a deep voice called out from behind, cutting Farrah off.
"That's why," Farrah sighed, swearing under his breath.
Farrah and Avis turned around to see no less than six Qaratai—five guards and one captain whose head and face was obscured by a full helm, complete with a visor—making their way through the crowds on the street. They formed a circle around Avis and Farrah, their hands on their scimitars.
"What do you want?" Farrah asked the soldiers, though he already knew what the answer would be.
"By order of the city governor, we have the right to conscript civilians for the defense of Ullek," one of the Qaratai announced. "This boy is a criminal, and we are taking him for summary conscription. He will regain his honor through service to the Empire."
"He is only ten years old!" Farrah protested. "The minimum age for emergency conscription is thirteen."
The Qarat captain took a step forward. "Does this boy have any legal documents in the Archives?"
Farrah hesitated, unable to answer.
Avis's back stiffened as the captain spoke. He knew that voice.
"I thought not," the captain chuckled. "Officially, this boy does not exist, which means he is not a legal citizen of the Menaphite Empire or the city of Ullek, and therefore is not subject to legal age restrictions. Now, old man, if you will excuse me…"
Avis moved like a lightning bolt, surprising everyone. The moment he heard the Qaratai captain speak, he had started concentrating, tapping into his inner energy, preparing to flee.
Avis lashed out at the nearest guard, moving his hand in a chopping motion. A blast of concentrated air plowed right into the guard, hurling him halfway across the street.
"Avinius, no!" Farrah shouted, but Avis could not hear him. The boy was too focused on getting away from these guards.
The rest of the guards lunged, but Avis was already backpedaling. He took a deep breath and jumped, executing a full spin in the air. As he came about and faced the lunging guards, he released his breath and kicked out with his left foot. The air seemed to coalesce and compress for a split-second before exploding outward in a wave from Avis's mouth and feet.
The wave of wind slammed into the guards, knocking them off their feet and sending them sprawling.
Avis turned on his heel and started to sprint away down the street for all he was worth, but he suddenly felt a sharp pain at the back of his head. Next thing he knew, he was falling forward, the cobblestones rushing up to meet him. The boy was unconscious before he hit the ground.
Ai-Jhabour calmly wound his meteor hammer back up. It was a simple weapon, one he used only when chasing people down. It was a long length of thin, versatile metal wire with two small—but dense—steel balls attached to the ends. In the hands of one who was highly trained in the use of the weapon, the meteor hammer could wreak havoc on anyone it was aimed at.
The Qarat captain was secretly pleased with himself; Avis was one of the fastest individuals he had ever encountered, and he had still managed to drop him with a hit to the head, a shot that was difficult no matter whom you were aiming at.
Ai-Jhabour sighed with mock-sorrow. "I do wish it did not have to happen this way, but some people just don't know when to go easily."
"I know of you," Farrah said quietly. "The great Qarat Captain, merciless keeper of order on the streets…foiled by two children, four years ago."
Ai-Jhabour snarled, absent-mindedly touching the ugly, puckered burn scar around his left eye, given to him years ago by Jafa thrusting a burning torch into his face. "Enough talk. Go back to the sewer you came from, old man. I have no use for you."
"To each his own, Captain," Farrah spat. "You have not seen the last of me. That boy has a destiny that is greater than any of us combined. Trifle with him at your peril."
With that, Farrah swept his robe about himself and strode off down the street. The old man cast a brief, concerned glance over his shoulder, watching as the Qaratai picked Avis up and made their way back down the street, probably headed towards the Qarat compound near the city center.
The old man glanced up to the sky, watching the sun gradually disappear behind a thin veil of clouds. The clouds were growing darker every minute, it looked like. Farrah quickened his pace.
Farrah let out a frustrated sigh. When had his plans ever gone right? And why did it seem so against the nature of the universe for them to work the way he wanted them to? The old man fervently hoped the boy would be okay for the next few days; at least until his friend, sent by Saradomin himself, to collect Avis arrived. Farrah knew he was powerless to stop the Qarat from taking Avis; that was the maddening part.
Farrah looked back down towards the ground. Come on, Jerrod, where are you?
Avis woke up twice. The first time almost didn't count; he only opened his eyelids for a few seconds. In the small amount of time he had been aware, Avis noticed that he was in a cell.
He wasn't alone. There was a tall, tattooed man lying on the other cot in the cell. He was fast asleep, though. Avis tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea overcame him. He was unconscious before his head hit the pillow.
The second time Avis regained consciousness, it was for good. Unfortunately.
With a mumbled groan, the ten-year-old straightened up in his cot, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the prison cell. The back of his head still hurt. Avis recalled that the last thing he had felt before losing consciousness on the streets was a sharp pain in the back of his head.
The boy touched the tender spot with a finger and winced. Even though it was impossible to see through his jet-black hair, Avis had a large bruise on his head. He realized that Jhabour must have nicked him with his meteor hammer.
The boy muttered a few choice oaths under his breath, all of them directed at the Qarat captain who was the source of his miseries.
"You a lil' young to be saying words like that?"
It had been the tattooed man who had spoken. He was on the ground near the jail bars, doing push-ups. His sinewy muscles rippled as they felt the burn of the exercise.
"What?" Avis asked, surprised at the sudden comment.
"I'm just sayin'… those are some pretty nasty words, coming from a kid like you," the tattooed man observed. He stopped doing push-ups and flipped onto his back, beginning a set of crunches. "You got a grudge against someone?"
"Ai-Jhabour," Avis sighed, swinging his legs over the edge of the cot. "One of the district captains."
"Oh…that bastard…" the tattooed man chuckled quietly. "Yeah, he's an arrogant shite, all right. I've run into him a few times in the past."
"Same here," Avis joined in the tattooed man's quiet laughter. "A friend of mine and I…he's been after us for years."
The tattooed man stopped exercising for a moment, casting a curious glance at the boy with whom he was sharing a cell. "Why is that?"
"That scar on his face?" Avis gestured around his eye, "Yeah…me and my friend were the ones who kind of… gave it to him."
"That would do it," the tattooed man agreed. "That's a story I'd like to hear, sometime. Name's Nasser, by the way," the man extended a hand.
Avis tentatively accepted the hand and shook it. "I'm Avis," he said.
The tattooed man, Nasser, ceased his exercises, resting his elbows on his knees. "I was going to ask why the guards popped you in here, of all places, but if you're the one who burned old Jhabour…"
"Why? What is this place?" Avis asked. For the first time, the boy noticed that he wasn't in a jail. This place was…different. Similar to a jail, and yet different.
"You're in one of the underground Qarat penitentiaries," Nasser replied, sounding somewhat surprised that Avis had no idea where he was. "You're a part of the 15th Penal Battalion, now. You didn't know?"
"This is a penal battalion?" Avis nearly exploded.
Penal battalions were an old part of the Qarat military forces. When the need arose, the military commanders would create fighting units out of criminals. These units were usually sent right into the thick of things. Although they were officially recognized military units, penal battalions were much more accurately described as 'cannon fodder'.
And now Avis was part of one.
"That a problem?" Nasser asked.
"A small one, yeah."
"You worthless maggots are in the service of the Qarat, now!" the sergeant-at-arms bawled at the lot of us.
There were two hundred prisoners or so, all of them lined up in a tight rectangular formation in one of the courtyards of the army compound in Ullek. The whole place was filled with the sounds of war; the clinking of weapons and armor being distributed, tweaked, repaired, the blacksmith's hammer echoing through the walls, the never-ending thunder of heavy footsteps. The sun reflected off of the white stone which the courtyard and all of the adjoining buildings were made out of, making it doubly bright outside.
The prisoners were a small part of a much larger machine.
"You all have only one life!" the sergeant-at-arms continued. "You are here right now because all of you have taken great lengths to screw that one life up! We could leave you to rot in the jail cells whilst our enemies close in around us! We could leave you to rot whilst your brothers shed their blood to defend you! But we have not! No, we have instead chosen to give you all another chance!"
The sergeant-at-arms paused to take a breath and drew his sword, leveling it at the prisoner nearest to him. "You there. State your name."
"F-Farouk, s-s-sir…" the thief stammered.
"And what is your crime, Farouk?"
"Stealing from the Plaza markets, sir."
"Do you believe you deserve redemption, Farouk?"
"Uh…" Farouk stuttuered again, trying to judge what the best answer would be. "No…no, sir."
"That is good, for you are right," the sergeant-at-arms agreed with the thief before beheading him. It was so quick; none of the prisoners were expecting it. The soldier simply sliced his sword through the air in a single, swift motion, and suddenly Farouk's body was crumpling to the ground, minus its head. The white flagstones were stained red with blood-spatter.
The other prisoners murmured and shifted uncomfortably, now wary of the sergeant-at-arms and his sword.
"The now-deceased thief was right; none of you deserve redemption!" the Qaratai shouted. "However, General Hassani, commander of the defense force of Ullek, has seen fit to grant it to each of you! You will accompany our brothers into battle, and you shall gain redemption through your service to the Empire! If you survive the battle for this city, then you shall gain your freedom. If you do not… then you shall also be free, though in a different way."
More murmuring circulated through the men of the penal battalion. Freedom sounded like a pretty good prize…
"You have been called upon to serve, and serve you will. However, cowardice will not be tolerated, in any way, shape, or form. If any of you harbor any ambitions of escape, if anyone tries to shirk their service, if anyone even thinks of spitting on the gift that General Hassani has bestowed upon you…well…look at him," the sergeant-at-arms nudged Farouk's headless body with his foot. "Die well," the Qaratai saluted the prisoners with his sword before walking off.
There was an armory somewhere nearby. Avis and the rest of the prisoners were all given crude weapons; swords, spears, and axes. The boy was given a small dagger, but that was it. None of the prisoners got any armor.
"What the heck am I supposed to do with this?" Avis grumbled to Nasser, waving the dagger around like a toy.
The tattooed man sheathed the wicked-looking scimitar he had been issued. "You can use it to cut your toenails, if they grow too big," he laughed.
"Thanks…" the pale-skinned boy muttered, slipping the knife into the back of his shorts.
The penal battalion was accompanied by a contingent of archers. If anyone tried to run away, the archers would shoot them full of bolts before they could run a yard.
Avis found himself next to Nasser. He instinctively kept close to the burly tattooed man; Nasser looked like he could hold his own in a fight. Avis was not looking forward to any kind of battle; he was not a fighter. Sure, he could outwit the guards in the market, but that was evasion and flight, both of which would get him killed on the battlefield, if not by the monsters, then by the archers overseeing them. Avis was certain the higher-ups had measures in place to make sure any men running away from battle were intercepted with and dealt with appropriately.
No one had any idea what they were going to be facing, either. No messages were coming from the coast villages; only smoke. Something had happened down there, something bad, but no one knew what.
The penal battalion was herded under guard through the streets of Ullek all the way from the Qarat compound to one of the southern gates, where the sentries manning the walls allowed them to pass.
This was the first time Avis had ever been outside of the city's walls since he had been a newborn, when Farrah had found him in the crash site of a falling star. Assuming Farrah's story had been true, that is.
There wasn't much outside of the walls. Ullek was not surrounded by pure desert; it was located in the far southeast of the Menaphite Desert, right near the coast of the Great Southern Ocean. There was still plenty of sand, but there was also a lot more vegetation than one would find in any other place in the desert. There was even a small forest north of the city.
Other Qarat units were already stationed outside of Ullek; their headquarters had been established, and the soldiers were hard at work building trenches and other defenses.
The penal battalions, however, would not be joining them. They had another task.
The sergeant-at-arms who had given the prisoners their 'inspiring' speech returned, taking command of the contingent of prisoners. He introduced them to their temporary commanding officer; an aging, white-haired man by the name of Mahmoud.
Mahmoud allowed the sergeant to continue briefing the penal battalion after the quick introduction. The sergeant was quick and direct; the penal battalions were going to charge headfirst into the coastal cities and attack any hostile forces there. It was a crazy mission; one that everyone knew was doomed to fail. However, the real objective of that mission was to buy the Qarat time to shore up the defenses around Ullek, something they would not be able to do with the constant pressure of attack hanging over them.
The penal battalion, again, was acting as the Qarat's cannon fodder.
The sergeant-at-arms had promised freedom to any survivors of the penal battalions, but it was clear that there would not be many he would have to follow through with. Many of the men who had passed through the gates would not come back through them.
Avis found himself cursing Ai-Jhabour once again. He hoped with every fiber of his being that the Qarat captain would die painfully. He probably wouldn't live to see it happen, though; a ten-year-old was not destined to last long on a battlefield. But Avis sure as hell was going to try.
The boy grabbed his tiny dagger and pulled it back out, holding it loosely in one hand.
This is crazy… the boy thought to himself. How was he going to survive a battle with nothing more than a puny knife? He looked down and gave the dagger a long, hard glare. "I feel like I'm going to break this damn thing…"