The Soldier's Tale Read Online Free PDF Page A

said Romilius, and then he
shook his head.
    “What?” I said.
    “Nothing, sir,” said Romilius.
    “Lad,” I said, “you saved my life. No,
don’t be modest. The wyvern would have bit off my head if you
hadn’t acted, and that’s that. If you don’t screw up, Sir Primus
will probably make you a Tessario by the end of the year. So that
means you can ask me questions.” I waved a hand at Mallister. “In
private, anyway. The Magistrius and I drink together, but in front
of the men I always defer to him, and he always defers to Sir
Primus. In front of the men, you’d damned well better hop when I
say jump. In private, though…well, we can be frank with each
other.”
    “If you say so, sir,” said Romilius, taking
a deep breath. “Is it true what they say about you?”
    I shared an amused look with Mallister. “I
can imagine what the men say about their Optio. Probably said the
same things myself when I was your age.” I expected him to say
something about the drinking or my foul temper.
    “That you became a man-at-arms to avenge
your wife and child,” said Romilius, “who were slain by the
Mhorites?”
    For a moment I was so surprised that I
couldn’t think of anything to say. I looked at Mallister, and he
seemed just as taken aback. Romilius shrank back a little, fearful
that I would explode.
    Then Mallister and I burst out
laughing.
    “No, no,” I said, once I got myself under
control, “no, it’s not like that. My wife died of plague, not the
Mhorites.” How she would have laughed at the thought. It made me
sound like some grim avenging champion from the old days, like a
Swordbearer going on a quest to rescue his lady love from an
urdmordar or an orcish warlock or something like that.
    “Oh,” said Romilius. “I’m sorry, sir.”
    I snorted. “Wasn’t your fault. Wasn’t
anyone’s fault.” I had tried to save her. I had galloped to Castra
Durius to fetch a Magistrius, killing my horse in the process.
Mallister had come with me, and we had ridden for the village in
haste. We had arrived a day too late. The fever had claimed both
her and my baby daughter. “I would have saved her, if I could. But
I couldn’t. I…”
    We stood in silence for a moment. I poured
myself another cup and drained it in one swallow, my head buzzing.
It didn’t help my headache.
    “So what do they really say?” I said at
last.
    “They said the Mhorites slew your family,”
said Romilius, “and that you joined the Dux’s service to avenge
them.”
    “No,” I said. “I’d been in the Dux’s
service for three years before I even met Judith.”
    “Why did you join the Dux’s service, sir?”
said Romilius.
    I shrugged. “My father was a tavern keeper,
and I hated scrubbing the vomit off the floor when the guests drank
too much. So I took service with the Dux…and then I wound up
scrubbing the barracks floor.”
    Romilius burst out laughing, looked
embarrassed, and fell silent.
    “What brought you here?” I said.
    Romilius shrugged. “The monks at St.
Matthew raised me. I thought I would join their order, and then a
group of dvargir attacked one of the nearby villages. I realized I
could not spend my life behind monastery walls when I could fight,
not in good conscience. So I asked the abbot to write a letter to
the Dux…and here I am.”
    “Noble,” I said.
    “Also,” said Romilius. “I didn’t want to
become a monk because…uh…"
    Mallister smiled. “A life of celibacy did
not appeal?”
    “I think he’s trying to say he wants a
tumble with a pretty girl,” I said.
    Romilius turned even redder. “Uh…if you’re
not waging vengeance upon the Mhorites, why do you stay, sir?”
    I considered that. “Because it is my duty.
I took the Dux's oath. I will not betray it.”
    Mallister nodded. “A good answer.”
    I lifted my cup. “To duty, then.”
    We toasted and drank. Romilius coughed
quite a bit, but managed to get all of his drink down. The young
man had many virtues, but holding his