Chapter 11 #3
They dropped their gear off in the barracks quickly, Iryana only having time to unbuckle and throw her armor on her bed and grab a wool jacket, before she had to follow Vaneshta out.
Her shirt was damp with sweat, and she would have preferred to change and clean off, but she didn’t want to leave the others waiting.
When they entered the hall, Darish immediately headed toward the table of captains sitting near Karvek’s empty dais, while the rest of them grabbed an available table near the center of the room.
She’d noticed that the major was frequently absent, perhaps meeting with the general or other regiments.
The room was usually excessively noisy and crowded, but it was far worse when it was so late.
The air was thick with firelight, sweat, and the nutty smell of porridge.
Great fires roared in the two great hearths on either side of the large windows, sending dancing light and shadows over the room.
Even with the chandelier lit above as well, the room was far from bright.
And those hearths, meant to warm the hall in the dead of winter, left the room stifling.
Iryana hesitated, letting everyone take their seats before she sat down in an empty spot on the bench.
“What a day,” Vabihn grumbled, shooting Iryana an apprehensive look as he plopped down on the bench. It creaked beneath his weight.
Younger initiates that Iryana had seen in the training yard carried bowls of food to everyone at the table as they sat down.
Given the varied schedules of the soldiers and the unpredictable nature of the missions, food was kept ready and available in the main hall most times of the day, but meals or rations could also be picked up directly from the kitchens as needed.
While she would much prefer to have just grabbed something to take back to her room, she needed to blend in with her team as much as possible. Eating with them would help, she hoped.
Eyes followed her, reminding Iryana how out of place she was. An outsider, a novelty. She hated the way it made her feel, constantly having to fight the impulse to squirm beneath their heavy gazes.
A wooden bowl of thick barley porridge with bits of salted pork fat was put in front of her, along with a smaller serving of fermented cabbage soup.
A bowl with a few loaves of dense, dark bread was placed at the center of the table—which the others immediately grabbed for, ripping off large chunks.
Iryana never fancied herself a good cook, but the communal food of the brigade made her homesick. Still, she was hungry enough to claim her own bread and quickly scoop some porridge into her mouth. It wasn’t bad, with the salty bits of pork fat and hints of sweetness from what must have been honey.
A loud crash sounded behind her as two soldiers decided to wrestle in the aisle at the center of the room, one of them being thrown onto the dirty, wooden floor. Her body tensed, but she ignored them, along with the general roar of noise filling the room.
“Weak form,” Vabihn called to the wrestling soldiers, laughing as he shoveled down food.
“Don’t encourage them,” Vaneshta chastised.
As the sharpest edges of her hunger were dulled, Iryana slowed down. She took a few bites of the cabbage soup, frowning at the overwhelming sourness. When she’d had it at home, they balanced the flavors with savory meat broth, but at least it was filling.
Her team chatted, though Iryana struggled to follow the conversations. She was just so overwhelmed, her ears ringing and head spinning.
High, clear tones cut through the desperate joyousness of the hall as a soldier started to play a crude, wood-carved pipe.
Cheers immediately rang out, temporarily blocking out the lively dirge.
Empty benches and tables were shoved to the side, scraping across the floor, as a few of the soldiers started dancing.
Iryana watched, frozen mid-chew as one of the female soldiers dragged a foggy-eyed man, shirt half-off, toward the pipe player.
She pushed the man down so he was sitting on the table, kneeled on the bench between his knees, and whispered something in his ear.
The man began to sing then, his voice loud and mostly on-pitch, and the woman started nuzzling herself against him.
She forced her eyes back to her food.
Her team chatted about this and that, shouting down to other tables and interrupting those that walked past. Iryana didn’t know how to join in. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, trying to come up with something to say or do, when the music immediately cut off, the room quieting.
Iryana turned to find Pyetar stalking across the hall, face eerily blank. Emotionless. All eyes were on him, the air thick with tension.
Her heart sped up with anticipation of whatever was about to happen.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Pyetar growled, leaning over a soldier deep in his cups.
The dark-haired soldier, a relatively young sergeant based on his belt, shrank slightly on the bench. “I’m sorry, Sen,” he squeaked out.
“What happened? Do you know?” Pepha whispered toward Vaneshta, twisted fully around in her seat like Iryana was.
“No idea,” Vaneshta mumbled. “Must have pissed Karvek off, though.”
“Your captain said you were so hungover this morning, you vomited in the middle of your patrol,” Pyetar seethed quietly.
If it wasn’t for how quiet the room remained, no one would have been able to hear. But his words carried easily across the silent room.
“I’m sorry, Sen,” the man repeated, looking like he might throw up right there too.
“You put your whole team at risk. You couldn’t hold your spear up when they had to fight off a pack of dakii. Your captain is injured because of your foolishness.”
Iryana flinched at the violence in Pyetar’s voice.
Eyes growing even wider, the man slid off his bench and collapsed onto the ground, as if bowing at Pyetar’s feet. “Please forgive me, it won’t happen again.”
“No, it won’t.” Pyetar picked up the man’s large, wooden cup, held it over the man’s prostrated form, and slowly dumped out the ale.
It splattered over the man’s head, dripping down his hair and neck.
The soldier started shaking. “If you’re seen touching this stuff again, I will tie you to a tree outside the fort and let the dakii have you. ”
Iryana couldn’t stop herself from staring, disgusted.
Her family was strict, she had no illusions about that.
There was little room for leeway when one mistake could doom the entire post and endanger countless villages further in the settlement.
But being hard didn’t mean being cruel. Pyetar was humiliating that soldier, threatening him with a painful death. It was too far for a hangover.
She looked around, wondering if someone was going to stop Pyetar. If anyone even could.
The man nodded vigorously against the puddle of ale around him as Pyetar loomed over him.
“Good. And in payment for your captain’s broken arm, this should help you remember.” Pyetar reached down and grabbed the man’s arm and wrenched it behind his back.
A sickening pop and a snap was followed by the man’s sharp scream.
Iryana barely stopped her mouth from dropping open. This was why they feared him. Pyetar didn’t just enforce the rules with the settlements, but within the brigade too.
“Oh gods,” Pepha cried quietly.
“I am to be informed if he touches a drink. Is that understood?” Pyetar barked out to the other soldiers around them.
A chorus of “Yes, Sen” seemed to placate him.
As quickly as he had stormed in, Pyetar was gone. His ice blue eyes briefly flicking over her as he flew past their table.
That was how they dealt with fuckups here.
Panic soured Iryana’s throat. Gods, she was so tired of the feeling. It seemed to grow day after day, mounting until eventually she wouldn’t be able to hide it.
Unable to help herself, Iryana mumbled, “A dislocated shoulder and probably some torn ligaments or socket. Could even get some nerve damage from that. Or a fracture. For getting sick on patrol?”
“Of course,” Vaneshta snapped, drawing Iryana’s attention. “Putting your team at risk is one of the worst crimes out here. We have to be able to rely on each other. It’s the only way we can survive.”
It was harsh, but it made a grim sort of sense. The sickening pop of the man’s shoulder still echoed in her head though, the emotionless look on Pyetar’s face stamped into her memory.
“Had it coming.” Vabihn shrugged, and Mezhimar nodded next to him, although his face looked a bit pale.
Iryana forced herself to nod. “I understand, Sena.”
The pressure was palpable and she felt one touch away from unraveling. She couldn’t keep doing this. She needed to find some way to breathe, to reclaim a bit of peace and freedom in her life, or she wasn’t going to make it long.
Vaneshta took another long swig of her drink, cheeks flushed, and Iryana watched her carefully.
An idea occurring to her. Her roommate was nothing if not predictable.
She was always drunk when she came back, falling into a deep enough sleep that Iryana doubted she could wake her from if she tried. And she slept well into the morning.
Vaneshta wouldn’t notice if Iryana slipped out after she fell asleep. Wouldn’t think it strange if she wasn’t in their room when Vaneshta woke. She’d just have to figure out how to get past the guards.