I hesitate before answering. “I don’t want to be a captain,” I reply. “But I do not want to be a soldier either. Yet I fight. I will lead not because I want to, but because I am needed.”
He nods, and then says, “We can take care of it tomorrow; I’ll announce it in a moment. For tonight, celebrate with ale.” He holds up his goblet and I clink mine against his. We drink, and then he looks away to answer something that somebody has yelled at him. After he answers, he stands again and most of the room goes silent.
“I would like to announce,” he begins, “that Kadmus, after much long deliberation, has agreed to become a captain for the armies of Gilgal!” There are cheers and whoops. “The ceremony will take place on the morrow. To Kadmus!”
“To Kadmus!” comes the response. Then the soldiers go back to whatever conversation they were having before.
I look down at my plate. Then I fill it to the edge and feast.
I sleep like a rock that night.
The next day we laze around doing nothing really. All of us are still quite exhausted. I do, however, have the ceremony where Jarl Hralfar proclaims me as a captain.
Genevieve attends, probably mostly out of duty than anything else. The look in her eye tells me she might have something nasty planned.
I wear my new captain’s armor. It’s different in only a couple of ways: it’s heavier, first of all, because it’s thicker and offers better protection. The steel is of better quality, though it has a darker sheen than a soldier’s suit of armor. I wear shoulder pads that make my already broad build look even bigger, and each has a clasp at the bottom by the breastplate where each side of my cape fastens to the armor. The cape is brown and bears the symbol of Gilgal: the roaring head of a bear with a sword crossing its neck. I carry my hammer because my cape covers the sheath.
Thankfully, the ceremony is short.
I kneel in front of Jarl Hralfar, who unsheathes his sword and says, “By the authority of the Lord Jarl, and as the acting military Jarl of Gilgal, I hereby promote you, Kadmus Armstrong, to the rank of captain in the army of his highness Lord Jarl Hralfar, general of the armies of Gilgal.”
Throughout, he rests his sword on each of my shoulder pads one time each, and then withdraws after he says the last word. “Rise, Captain Armstrong,” he says.
I stand and smile darkly at the sound of that. Are you proud, Father? I think. Are you proud?
The cape annoys me, so I drop it as soon as I have the chance.
I’m allowed to keep my shiny new armor with my things, so I go to the bunkroom and try to dump it as soon as I can.
“It’s the day of your promotion!” says Percival. “You’ve got to wear it all day.”
“All day?” I question. “Really?”
“Yes!”
“Only if you agree to wear yours all day.” He agrees immediately, and I honor our agreement, but for the cape, which I fold neatly and put under my bunk, and the helmet. I put on my hammer’s sheath and carry the beastly thing of my own accord.
“What do you say to a drink?” asks James after dinner.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I mean let’s go to a pub and get a drink,” he says. “Celebrate a little. You won us this city, and you’re a captain. Is that reason enough or do I have to come up with more?”
“I like the idea,” says Jericho. “You, Percival?”
“I could go for a drink,” he responds.
“Me as well,” says Nathaniel.
I think for a moment and nod. “Yes. I’d like that.”
We walk down through the Acropolis and onto the bridge that leads towards the front gate. The guards there salute to me as I pass, each saying, “Captain.” I merely nod to them and continue on my way.
We find a pub, entitled The Stone Hearth, not too far from the guardhouse.
After we enter, we sit at an isolated table in the corner. The bartender soon attends us. “What ya need?” he asks. He’s got a full silver beard, but for under his lips and on his chin, where he is clean shaven. He’s missing one of his front teeth. His face is round and kind, and he has laugh lines by his