Sarq Part Two

The first war Sarq ever participated in was on behalf of the Duke of Mord. Sarq severed in the army of the Duke for over three years and never saw the Duke, his many wives, or any of his privy counselors. Nor did he see General Antonio. Nor did he ever see any of his extensive cabinet of officers, sub-officers, sub-sub-officers or the men who shined their shoes.

Who he saw was Craw.

Craw was the Sargent of the huddling little group of drafted farm boys and pig skinners that were Sarq's first comrades in arms. Too pathetic a group to even produce a good bully they were so frightened and demoralized that they could barely stand upright when Craw shouted orders at them.

Were this a different sort of story I would tell you how Craw's tough and rugged manner hid a heart of gold and all his yelling and shouting was meant to turn these frightened sheep into the best soldiers they could be. That by making them such soldiers he was granting them a new found sense of self-respect and community they never dreamed of in their previous lives. That he was trying to turn them into the best fighting unit he could in order to keep as many of them alive for as long as possible.

This is not that sort of story.

What secrets Craw kept in his heart I do not know. What I do know was that it was not his job to create soldiers skilled in every art of war. It was his job to create a group of men to fill out the battle rolls and to impress an enemy force by numbers rather than skill. It was his job to create a group of men to be left behind in scattered disarray while the more experienced troops, and most particularly their commanders of noble blood, fled the battlefield when things went awry.

In other words, it was his job to create meat for the grinder.

By the end of the first year, only Craw and Sarq were still alive. Craw lived because he made it a point to be in the back of the formation during every battle. Sarq lived despite always being in the front.

By the end of the second year people had begun to talk of the changes in the third militia. Of how Craw was little more than a figurehead and how things were really run by his strange second in command, a scrawny thing called Sarq. The third militia, for it had no greater name than its number, began to get a reputation for standing its ground, of rarely retreating, and for the marital skill of its troops.

By the end of the third year the third militia had begun to incur the jealous hatred of the other troops, save for the other peasant militias who revered them. The third's mastery in battle was unequaled and even the King's knights on their steel horses could make no greater impact on their foes than they. The third moved and fought as if every man was directed by one guiding mind. They responded instantly to any threat and no force could long stand against them. Instead of the usual problems of desertion that most of the militia companies suffered, the third had to actively turn away those who wished to join it, and not all the applicants were low born either.

And all of these changes were believed to be the work of the one called Sarq.

How things would have turned out in the fourth year, I cannot say, as it was at this time that a Knight, one of the King's own intimates, took it upon himself to rid Mord of the insult of the upstart commander who had worked such witchery upon the low born peasants of the third. So one moonlit night while Sarq was patrolling the perimeter of his camp, alone as was his custom, he was confronted by the knight who was riding a great stallion of the King's own stable. The knight and his steed were armored and Sarq had nothing but a spear of sharpened wood and the simple woodsman's axe he carried for reasons known only to him.

The knight did not bother with challenge or declaration, for such a lowborn as Sarq was not worth the words. He simply charged down on Sarq, his lance gleaming in the moonlight.

Neither horse nor knight was ever seen again.

Nor were Sarq and the rest of the third company seen again in Mord. For the next morning naught was left of the thirds camp save for one lone tent in which a snoring Craw slept off a drunk from the night before. Neither guard nor sentry saw the third leave, nor could any scout or ranger pick up their track. It seemed even their oxen had learned to fly.

The idea that four hundred men had traveled through the great forest of Mord, a dark and forbidding wood that stretched for a hundreds of miles to distant Aigyra, never occurred to anyone. For no one knew the dark and grim paths of that forest, no one save the few foresters and woodcutters that made a perilous living beneath its dark boughs.

But that the journey was made there can be no doubt, for the next tales of Sarq occur in Aigyra. And in these tales he was a commander of mercenaries with a reputation most fell and grim. Unstoppable by any mortal force was the legend of Sarq's company. Each soldier within it was absolutely loyal to Sarq and possessed of a mighty skill in war. For the soldiers of Sarq's company had become knives themselves in emulation of their commander and few could stand against them.

The reputation and size of Sarq's Company grew greatly in the following years as Sarq and his mercenaries roamed the lands far and wide, serving whatever master offered the best pay. Once hired, Sarq was true, for no matter how much gold was offered, Sarq never broke faith with an employer. Nor did he take much interest in campaigns against a weak foe. It was the challenge of battle against a worthy opponent Sarq sought and not empty slaughter.

Sarq had no love for long sieges so he followed a procedure that was brutal but efficient. He would offer the leaders of a settlement or town one chance to surrender. If they did, the population would not be harmed, tribute would be minimal, and the penalties for Sarq's soldiers that violated these strictures were harsh indeed. If they did not, the town would be completely destroyed and the citizens sold to whatever slaver was handy. It did not take long before any township that stood in Sarq's way surrendered without a fight.

Had Sarq been the sort that hungered for power, it is likely he could have easily forged himself a empire out of the wreck of weaker nations. But it was never power that Sarq desired, but war. For it is said that Sarq was a thing of steel made for the fury of the battlefield and not for the seat of any throne. He led his men into conflict after conflict and while the men would die to be quickly replaced by eager volunteers, Sarq never fell, nor seemed to take any great injury.

In case you were wondering how Sarq had made his way in the world by never speaking, allow me to tell you that this childhood trait had ended at the graveside of his father. While never outspoken, Sarq could speak and speak well. He could converse on any subject he had knowledge of and could lie as well as any merchant or trickster who had ever wandered down the road. But words were not natural to him. He was skilled in their use, but it was a skill that had been hard earned. As a right handed man who has taught himself mastery of a sword or quill with his left hand was how the art of speech had come to Sarq. He would always prefer silence to speech.

And so it was that Sarq became a legend in the world, the ageless demon commander who could not be beaten. For over a hundred years Sarq and his ever changing company marched a bloody trail across the lands, taking the price of gold and blood for their services. They were hated by some, feared by many, but respected by all.

And then there came the day when Sarq met the Crooked.

And everything changed.

End of Part Two.

Next: Sarq and the Crooked