“Woodrow?”
“Yes, sir.” A short, lean, black haired, junior officer,wearing sandy-colored uniform stepped forward and stood at attention beside him.
“Assist in the proper formation.”
“Yes, sir.”
Woodrow walked through the disorderly rows, pushing the men into their spots with the hilt of his hefty sword.
Meanwhile, the commanding officer crouched beside the wounded man.
“Take your spot, private.”
“Commander, sir. I can’t stand up, sir.”
“What happened, private?”
“I fell, sir.”
The elder officer grabbed his knee and squeezed. The sound of cracking bone filled the air and the soldier cried out.
“What’s the matter? Is this too much for a delicate little girl like you? Warriors aren’t afraid of a little pain.” The commander leaned over him. “Stop embarrassing me,” he hissed into his ear.
“Yes, sir.”
“You. Take your comrade to the healers.” The officer stared at one of the soldiers.
“Yes, sir!”
When the rows of men had been straightened, the commander waited for his assistant to return to his spot and proceeded.
“My name is Commander Roth and this is LieutenantWoodrow. We are going to turn you into a combat ready unit, worthy to defend the queen.”
I scowled, watching the two figures move through the lines of soldiers. Becoming a part of the regime for real was not something I had planned on doing.
After the hours of running and strength training were over, we all walked back to the guards’ quarters too tired to talk, or even acknowledge each other. If the officers planned to rebuild the units and put a stop to the bullying, that was a good way to do it. But, it really went against what worked for me. I did not care about the exertion, growing up the way I did, taught me how to deal with physical discomfort and pain. But being constantly watched was irritating and prohibited me from doing what I wanted.
I shoved past a group of soldiers as I headed to the washroom. The long, stone paved space was moist and wet. It was clear that no one in the palace cared about the soldiers’ comfort enough to give them any respect or privacy. No wonder the units acted out the way they did. Not planning to stay long in the moldy, stale smelling space, I quickly pulled my leathers off and splashed myself from a bucket of cold water. Then I grabbed a thin sliver of almost rancid soap and ran it over my hair.
“What are you crying here about? Want to go home to your mommy?” someone said in a fake, whiny voice.
I turned to see a young man, barely old enough to grow a mustache, with wavy, auburn hair, facing an older soldier.
The kid was avoiding looking at the man who spoke to him. That was a sign of weakness that should never be shown, not if you want to survive. The bully, reassured by the smirks and sniggers from his friends, stepped closer.
That pissed me off. I clenched my teeth, rinsing the soap off my hair. While I dried myself with a towel, I watched the man lean into the younger soldier and grab the back of his neck.
“You look like a girl. Show me what else you can do like a girl.”
Slowly, I folded my wet towel and tossed it over my shoulder. Then I moved to the corner where the man was forcing the kid’s hand to touch his pants.
“Too ugly to get a real woman?” I said, loud and clear.
All sounds in the room ceased. People extended their necks trying to see what would happen next.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
“You heard me.”
