Valebright: The arcane batalion

Chapter 5

The afternoon sun hung low over Ironspine Pass as Aries followed the scarred scout through the bustling camp. Tents stretched in uneven rows across the valley floor, their canvas patched and faded from years of wind and rain. The air smelled of woodsmoke, sweat, and damp earth. Everywhere she looked, people trained with grim purpose: some swung wooden practice swords against straw dummies, others wrestled in muddy rings, while archers loosed arrows at distant targets with varying success.

No one paid her much attention. She was just another dusty traveler in plain clothes—one more face among the desperate and the determined.

The scout led her toward a large open pavilion at the center of the camp. Inside, a long table stood covered with neatly arranged ledgers and scattered maps. A burly man with a thick black beard and a commander’s insignia on his leather jerkin looked up as they entered. Commander Hawthorn carried himself with the rigid authority of someone who expected orders to be followed without question.

“New volunteer, Commander,” the scout announced. “Found her with Captain Lira’s caravan. Says she’s here to fight.”

Hawthorn set down his quill with precise movement and studied Aries with sharp, assessing eyes. He saw a slim, travel-worn girl of perhaps fifteen or sixteen—plain short sword at her hip, boots caked in road dust, posture straight despite obvious exhaustion.

“Name?” he asked gruffly, wasting no time.

Aries swallowed. She had prepared for this on the long walk north. “Astra,” she said, borrowing the old word for star her mother once used in bedtime stories. “Just Astra.”

Hawthorn grunted. “Age?”

“Sixteen,” she lied, lifting her chin with quiet defiance.

He didn’t press. “Can you swing that blade without cutting off your own foot?”

“Yes,” Aries replied, eyes steady and determined. “I can.”

A faint, approving twitch pulled at the corner of the commander’s mouth. “We’ll see. Everyone swears the oath before they touch real steel or eat League rations. Simple and clear: you fight for the north. You obey orders. You do not desert. Break it and we hang you from the nearest tree. No exceptions. Understand?”

“I understand,” she said firmly.

Hawthorn pushed a worn leather-bound book toward her and handed her a quill. “Sign or make your mark. Then repeat after me.”

Aries dipped the quill and wrote “Astra” in careful, simple letters. Her hand trembled slightly despite her iron grip on the pen. This is what I wanted, she told herself. This is why I crossed mountains and rivers. Yet doubt gnawed at her—regret mixed with fierce resolve. She cleared her throat and repeated the oath, her voice steadying as she went:

“I swear to stand with the Northern Defense League against the Asterian Empire. My blade, my blood, and my life belong to the defense of these lands until victory or death. I will not flee. I will not betray. So I swear.”

Her heart hammered against her ribs.

Hawthorn nodded once, satisfied. “Welcome to the League, Astra. You’re assigned to the recruits’ company under Sergeant Gray. He turns green recruits into soldiers—or breaks them trying. Report to the east training field at first light tomorrow. Until then, find a spare tent and rest. You look like you’ve marched through hell already.”

A young orderly led her through the camp to a cluster of smaller tents for new arrivals. One canvas shelter stood empty near the edge. Inside lay a thin bedroll, a coarse wool blanket, and a wooden bucket. It was cramped, damp, and smelled of mildew, but it was hers.

Aries dropped her satchel and sat heavily on the bedroll. For the first time since leaving Valebright, the full weight of her choice pressed down on her. No servants. No warm meals. No Caelan’s teasing grin across the dinner table. Just cold mountain air and the distant clash of steel. She pulled Caelan’s silver whistle from beneath her tunic, turning it over in her fingers. The metal felt grounding. She tucked it away again and lay back, staring at the canvas roof.

That evening she joined the other recruits around a communal fire for a thin stew of barley and beans. Tomas spotted her and waved her over with his usual boundless energy.

“Astra! Over here!” he called, scooting aside to make room. “Survived the oath, I see. How’s it feel to officially belong to the meat grinder?”

Aries sat beside him, managing a tired but genuine half-smile. “Feels real now.”

Tomas grinned, already launching into rapid conversation. “Real? Try terrifying. I was just telling Harold here that if the Asterians break through, we’ll be the first poor bastards they test their spears on. What do you think, Astra—better to die heroically on day one or live long enough to actually learn which end of the sword does the killing?”

A stocky farmer’s son named Harold chuckled.

Miera, the sharp-eyed girl who had fled a cruel stepfather, leaned forward with a bold, confident grin, spoon paused halfway to her mouth. She was the type who dove headfirst into action, loved a good scrap, and thrived on immediate challenges. “Heroically? Please. I say we make the empire bleed first and worry about dying later,” she declared, eyes flashing with excitement. “Back home I used to scrap with my stepbrothers every chance I got. Broke one’s nose once. Felt good. This?” She gestured around the camp with her spoon. “This is going to be even better. Real steel, real fights. I can’t wait to smash some Asterian skulls.”

Tomas laughed. “And here I thought I was the reckless one.”

Miera smirked and elbowed Aries lightly. “What about you, Astra? You walked all this way with that little sword. You got fire in you or are you just here to look pretty while the rest of us do the smashing?”

Aries met her gaze steadily. “I’m here to fight. I’ve practiced. I’ll get better—fast.”

Miera’s grin widened, clearly liking the answer. “Good. Because tomorrow I’m pairing with you in training if I can. I want to see what you’ve really got. No holding back, yeah? Let’s make Sergeant Gray regret calling us greens.”

Harold shook his head with a low chuckle. “You two are going to get yourselves killed.”

“Better than sitting around waiting to die,” Miera shot back with a wink. “Life’s too short not to charge straight at it.”

“I came from a small village near the southern hills,” Aries added simply when asked about her past, keeping her story close to the truth without revealing anything important. When someone inquired about her sword, she shrugged. “Trained alone in the woods. Figured it was better than waiting to be taught.”

No one pressed. Everyone here carried their own ghosts.

Later, back in her tent, Aries lay awake listening to the camp sounds—low conversations, horses snorting, occasional bursts of laughter or argument. The silver whistle rested beside her pillow. She wondered if her mother was still crying, if her father had sent riders searching every road, if Caelan was angry with her. The ache in her chest was sharp, but she pushed it down with practiced calm. I chose this. Now I make it count.

At dawn the next morning, a harsh voice bellowed across the recruits’ area.

“On your feet, you sorry lot! Training begins now!”

Sergeant Gray was a short, barrel-chested man with a voice like grinding stones. He marched the nearly forty new recruits to the east training field, where wooden racks held practice weapons.

Aries stood in line, heart pounding but mind focused. The recruits ranged from wide-eyed boys no older than fourteen to weathered men in their thirties. A few women stood among them, looking as nervous or determined as she felt.

Gray paced like a wolf. “Most of you will be dead within a month if the Asterians break through. My job is to make sure some of you aren’t. Pair up. Grab a practice blade. Show me you won’t kill your partner by accident.”

Aries chose a blunted short sword—slightly heavier than her own—and was paired with Miera.

“Don’t go easy on me, Astra,” Miera said, bouncing lightly on her feet with eager energy. “Give me everything you’ve got. I want to feel it!”

“I won’t,” Aries replied, adjusting her stance with quiet concentration. Her palms were sweaty, but she focused on balance, footwork, and the feel of the blade.

The morning became a blur of clashes, corrections, and bruises. Gray moved among them, barking precise orders: “Elbows in! Footwork, not just arms! Guard up or you’re dead!”

Aries’s arms burned, but she adapted quickly, analyzing each mistake and adjusting. Miera was quick, aggressive, and clearly enjoying every exchange. They traded awkward blows until Gray stopped them.

“Better than some, worse than others,” he grunted at Aries. “You’ve held a sword before. Work on your balance—you fight like you’re afraid of your own shadow. Fix it.”

She nodded, jaw set, and threw herself back into the drill.

By midday her muscles screamed and a fresh bruise bloomed on her left forearm. Yet beneath the exhaustion, a spark of satisfaction grew. She was learning.

During a short water break, Tomas wandered over, wiping sweat from his brow.

“You’re holding your own, Astra,” he said with a grin. “Better than I expected for someone who walked in with nothing but road dust and attitude. Got any secret techniques you’re hiding?”

Aries managed a tired smile, wiping her face. “No secrets. Just practice and stubbornness.”

As the afternoon session dragged on, a horn sounded from the ridge. Heads turned. A group of riders appeared—one carrying a bloodied banner.

Commander Hawthorn strode out to meet them, posture straight and commanding. Words were exchanged in low, urgent tones before he turned to address the nearby recruits, voice carrying with clear authority.

“Asterian skirmishers sighted less than two days’ ride east,” he announced. “Small force for now, testing the passes. But they’re probing. More will come. We will be ready. Train harder. Obey your sergeants. The north does not fall on my watch.”

A ripple of tension swept through the camp.

Sergeant Gray spat on the ground. “You heard the commander. The storm is coming sooner than we thought. So stop swinging like drunk farmers and train like your lives depend on it—because they do.”

Aries gripped her practice sword tighter. The faint hum inside her chest answered the sergeant’s words with a single, deeper pulse.

She was no longer the sheltered daughter of Valebright Keep.

She was Astra now—a recruit among hundreds, learning as fast as her body and mind would allow.

But as the thunder of distant war drums seemed to echo in her blood, Aries wondered how long she could keep the storm inside her silent when the empire finally came.