Chief Watcher Grimbriar silently waved the metal smith off his horse. Torrance Greenlake dismounted and led his horse off the road, tying him to the post outside the Watcher cottage.
"Greenlake, is it?”, the Chief asked, mockery on the edges of his words, and fists propped on his hips. Torry approached the front steps and looked up at Grimbriar posed on the cottage stoop. The Chief stood with chest out, his authority worn as a challenge, and when he saw puzzlement on Torry’s face, he pressed his advantage. “You really think you’re going to fight with that?”, Grimbriar snorted, casting a sneer at the metal smith hammer hung from Torry’s belt. Torry looked down at the hammer, then at the other Watcher’s coming around from the sparring field behind the cottage, each carrying proper weapons. Of the three, Torry knew two, but as he offered a smile in greeting, they looked away, and all of them stopped, falling silent.
Torry offered Grimbriar an apologetic shrug. “My uncle served with a hammer and shield for...”.
“Twelve years”, Grimbriar interrupted with a coarse tone, and he sauntered down the steps to stand in Torry’s face. The other Watchers froze in place, and the Chief grinned as he saw them cowed by the confrontation. “Yes, we all know about your uncle. Another metal pounder thinking all he needed was brawn and a lump of steel on the end of a stick.” Grimbriar paused, his face close. Torry could feel the breath of the Chief’s unkind words, but held his tongue even as he could feel his ears reddening. “Are you going to be as thick skulled, boyo?” Grimbriar pressed, daring Torry’s growing ire.
“Probably at first,” Torry answered, forcing the words out evenly, keeping his half-lidded eyes on Grimbriar’s. “But then, that’s the way of things, when one steps up to learn. Are you a good enough trainer to make me as good as Garrison Greenlake?” The question quietly reminded the Chief that he was speaking to a member of one of the most prominent local families. Torry held his ground as the Chief growled, “Family names won’t keep warriors alive in a fight, boyo, so don’t be waving yours at me.” Raising his voice for the others to hear, Grimbriar continued, “Training, eh? Let’s see how good you can be at standing to attention.” Immediately the other three Watchers snapped into straight, stiff postures, and Torry attempted to mimic them.
The Chief started to slowly circle Torry, examining him as if he were buying a horse. “You seem fit enough. Must be all that rich farmer feed. So far, you seem to know how to hold your tongue well enough before your betters.” He paused behind Torry, watching him closely after those last words. The metal smith stiffened at the word “betters”, but otherwise he did not alter his stance. Grimbriar waited out the pregnant moment, before continuing to circle. “Thick neck, shoulders, chest...matches the skull to be sure.” He completed his walk around Torry and again stood before him, their faces close. “The mayor says I’m to make you a sergeant”, The Chief said loudly, for all to hear. At the first sound of a muttering reaction from the witnessing Watchers, Grimbriar snapped his head around to them with a severe look, and again they went straight and silent. As he turned back to Torry, he saw confusion in the metal smith's eyes.
“Didn’t know that, boyo? Well, that’s what happens when the rich ones step up, as you say. They get treated special. You think that makes you natural leader, Greenlake boyo? You think just because of your name you know how to lead men when guts and gore are flying about?”
Torry’s mouth moved wordlessly as he tried to take in the unexpected privilege intended for him, and to deny the accusations in the Chief’s questions. All he could do was shake his head. “No?”, Grimbriar said, his mockery thick and inviting. He paused, eyes locked on the metal smith's, and again he allowed the moment to swell. “Well, then, boyo, maybe you have enough brains under that thick skull to learn what a good trainer can teach you. We’ll see.”
Grimbriar turned to the other three Watchers. “You lot! Get your bows and mount up. Archery practice on the hoof. Maybe today you can actually hit a target.” Turning back to Torry he said, “You come with me, boyo.” The Chief climbed the stairs and entered the stone cottage, Torry following.
The metal smith closed the door behind them and scanned the cottage interior. All of the windows were small and barred, making forced entry through them difficult but providing adequate space for archers to shoot out in defense. Framing the wall around the cottage entrance, racks of various weapons, shields, bows, and quivers hung at the ready. The main room was sparsely furnished. A rough rectangular table pointed at the back of the cottage, with the head of the table closest the wall. The single chair at the table’s head was the only one with arms. The other four chairs were divided along the lengths of the table. Flanking the head chair and against the wall were a pair of small bookcases storing, ledgers, scrolls, cylindrical leather cases, candles, and quills propped up in a squat inkpot. The right wall framed a fireplace, cold at the moment, accompanied by hearth tools and a small rick of wood. The stone slab mantle was unadorned. A ladder, fastened to the back corner, led up to a trap door in the rough plank ceiling, presumably to troop quarters. Snug against the left wall, a cot held a rough pillow and a pair of blankets, neatly folded at the foot. Above the cot, a few pegs sprouted from the wall beneath a shelf. Among them were hung or stored all the meager personal items the Chief owned. If Grimbriar were not from humble means, Torry silently mused, he was certainly of them now. Perhaps that was the source of the Chief’s disdain?
Grimbriar tapped the table edge opposite the head. “Stand here”, he said without looking at Torry. The Chief continued to the other end of the table where he scraped the head chair out far enough to sit. Torry stood more or less at attention, not sure if that was appropriate. Grimbriar pulled one of the scroll cases off a bookshelf, extracted its scroll, and flattened it on the table. “Repeat after me”, the Chief said, not looking up, and proceeded to indifferently read the Watcher Oath in parts, pausing periodically for Torry to echo the words.
“I, Torrance Greenlake, do solemnly swear to serve the Bree Town Watch faithfully and to discharge my duties in accordance with Bree Town law and the orders of those elected or appointed above me. I will defend the Town against all enemies, vowing to place my own life between its citizens and danger. I will offer protection to all Bree-land citizens and will defend them when I can or guide them to safety when I cannot. I will never abandon my duties or those whom I serve.”
Grimbriar looked up at Torry for a few moments with deriding eyes, then said “Sign it, boot”. Torry came around to the head of the table as the Chief retrieved the inkpot and a quill from the bookshelf and set them on the table. Torry read and signed the parchment, Grimbriar reviewed and countersigned then blew the ink dry. “You’re mine now, boot. This will be where you’ll train, and I’ll be giving you your orders.” After rolling up the parchment, Grimbriar enclosed it again in its leather tube and handed it to Torry. “Your first order, boot, is to take this to Town Hall to be filed. Don’t get distracted, lost, or waylaid or I’ll be on you like burning oil. Unless your good chum the Mayor has something for you to do, report back immediately. We have to start getting you properly trained, if that’s possible.”
