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Three men and one young woman sat in silence, staring up at him.
Strings sighed, and pointed to the nondescript soldier sitting to Koryk’s left. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
A bewildered look, then, ‘My real name, Sergeant, or the one the drill sergeant in Malaz City gave me?’
By the man’s accent and his pale, stolid features, Strings knew him as being from Li Heng. That being the case, his real name was probably a mouthful: nine, ten or even fifteen names all strung together. ‘Your new one, soldier.’
‘Tarr.’
Koryk spoke up. ‘If you’d seen him on the training ground, you’d understand. Once he’s planted his feet behind that shield of his, you could hit him with a battering ram and he won’t budge.’
Strings studied Tarr’s placid, pallid eyes. ‘All right. You’re now Corporal Tarr-’
The woman, who’d been chewing on a straw, suddenly choked.
Coughing, spitting out pieces of the straw, she glared up at Strings with disbelief. ‘What? Him? He never says nothing, never does nothing unless he’s told, never-’
‘Glad to hear all that,’ Strings cut in laconically. ‘The perfect corporal, especially that bit about not talking.’
The woman’s expression tightened, then unveiled a small sneer as she looked away in feigned disinterest.
‘And what is your name, soldier?’ Strings asked her.
‘My real name-’
‘I don’t care what you used to be called. None of you. Most of us get new ones and that’s just the way it is.’
‘I didn’t,’ Koryk growled.
Ignoring him, Strings continued, ‘Your name, lass?’
Sour contempt at the word lass .
‘Drill sergeant named her Smiles,’ Koryk said.
‘Smiles?’
‘Aye. She never does.’
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Three men and one young woman sat in silence, staring up at him.
Strings sighed, and pointed to the nondescript soldier sitting to Koryk’s left. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
A bewildered look, then, ‘My real name, Sergeant, or the one the drill sergeant in Malaz City gave me?’
By the man’s accent and his pale, stolid features, Strings knew him as being from Li Heng. That being the case, his real name was probably a mouthful: nine, ten or even fifteen names all strung together. ‘Your new one, soldier.’
‘Tarr.’
Koryk spoke up. ‘If you’d seen him on the training ground, you’d understand. Once he’s planted his feet behind that shield of his, you could hit him with a battering ram and he won’t budge.’
Strings studied Tarr’s placid, pallid eyes. ‘All right. You’re now Corporal Tarr-’
The woman, who’d been chewing on a straw, suddenly choked.
Coughing, spitting out pieces of the straw, she glared up at Strings with disbelief. ‘What? Him? He never says nothing, never does nothing unless he’s told, never-’
‘Glad to hear all that,’ Strings cut in laconically. ‘The perfect corporal, especially that bit about not talking.’
The woman’s expression tightened, then unveiled a small sneer as she looked away in feigned disinterest.
‘And what is your name, soldier?’ Strings asked her.
‘My real name-’
‘I don’t care what you used to be called. None of you. Most of us get new ones and that’s just the way it is.’
‘I didn’t,’ Koryk growled.
Ignoring him, Strings continued, ‘Your name, lass?’
Sour contempt at the word lass .
‘Drill sergeant named her Smiles,’ Koryk said.
‘Smiles?’
‘Aye. She never does.’
Eyes narrowing, Strings swung to the last soldier, a rather plain young man wearing leathers but no weapon. ‘And yours?’
‘Bottle.’
‘Who was your drill sergeant?’ he demanded to the four recruits.
Koryk leaned back as he replied, ‘Braven Tooth-’
‘Braven Tooth! That bastard’s still alive?’
‘It was hard to tell at times,’ Smiles muttered.
‘Until his temper snapped,’ Koryk added. ‘Just ask Corporal Tarr there. Braven Tooth spent near two bells pounding on him with a mace. Couldn’t get past the shield.’
Strings glared at his new corporal. ‘Where’d you learn that skill?’
The man shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Don’t like getting hit.’
‘Well, do you ever counter-attack?’
Tarr frowned. ‘Sure. When they’re tired.’
Strings was silent for a long moment. Braven Tooth-he was dumbfounded. The bastard was grizzled back when… when the whole naming thing began. It had been Braven who’d started it. Braven who’d named most of the Bridgeburners. Whiskeyjack. Trotts, Mallet, Hedge, Blend, Picker, Toes… Fiddler himself had avoided a new name through his basic training; it had been Whiskeyjack who’d named him, on that first ride through Raraku. He shook his head, glanced sidelong at Tarr. ‘You should be a heavy infantryman, Corporal, with a talent like that. The marines are supposed to be fast, nimble-avoiding the toe-to-toe whenever possible or, if there’s no choice, making it quick.’
‘I’m good with a crossbow,’ Tarr said, shrugging.
‘And a fast loader,’ Koryk added. ‘It was that that made Braven decide to make him a marine.’
Smiles spoke. ‘So who named Braven Tooth, Sergeant?’
I did, after the bastard left one of his in my shoulder the night of the brawl. The brawl we all later denied happening. Gods, so many years ago, now … ‘I have no idea,’ he said. He shifted his attention back to the man named Bottle. ‘Where’s your sword, soldier?’
‘I don’t use one.’
‘Well, what do you use?’
The man shrugged. ‘This and that.’
‘Well, Bottle, someday I’d like to hear how you got through basic training without picking up a weapon-no, not now. Not tomorrow either, not even next week. For now, tell me what I should be using you for.’
‘Scouting. Quiet work.’
‘As in sneaking up behind someone. What do you do then? Tap him on the shoulder? Never mind.’ This man smells like a mage to me, only he doesn’t want to advertise it. Fine, be that way, we’ll twist it out of you sooner or later .
