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Chapter 8 - Boot Camp

8th Day of Aegis

117 I.E.

After his two month stay in solitary confinement, Bartholomew was shipped off to the military training grounds east of Olaraa, called Hell's Crucible. It was a large field used solely for exercises and drills that prepared their soldiers for the battles they were expected to fight in. The ursar was escorted by three soldiers. Two of them were from the regular military, while the last was a dwarfwoman from the Mage Corps., just in case he got out of line and needed to be subdued.

His arms and legs were shackled together and he was forced to ride in the back of the wagon. The mage sat across from him, near the front, and her eyes burned red from beneath the shade of her cowl. Her face was obscured for most of the trip outside the city. She never took her eyes off the ursar, the haunting red glow following his every subtle movement. Bart did his best to not let her stares get the better of him.

The ride was uncomfortable for Bart. He wasn't given a cushioned seat, and he could barely adjust to get more comfortable with how his body was shackled. He sat on the floor of the wagon, and his spine felt every bump and rut in the ground as they trudged along at an even pace. The horses that drew the carriage seemed content to trot leisurely, ensuring they dragged the experience out as long as possible.

Bart wasn't stupid. He knew this was part of his punishment. As if the two months all by himself with no one to talk to but the odd hallucination he saw as he rationed his last gift from Naf wasn't bad enough. He glared back at his wardens when they looked at him, making it known that he was not cowed by their attempts to punish him for what he felt had been the right thing to do.

If the trial and his experiences afterwards had taught him anything, it was that life was completely willing and capable of demolishing everything a person held dear if they didn't fight to maintain it. Giving the Stoutmantle family a dose of their own medicine had pleased Bart on more levels than he knew he had, and it was the only time he had truly felt free.

The training grounds could be seen well before they arrived on the other side of a vast open plain in the middle of a shallow valley. The large, stone archway that acted as the only entrance into the facility cut a hole into a wall of stone that circled the entire compound. Bart couldn't see much more than that as they approached Hell's Crucible. The dwarves built all their fortifications to account for the fact that most enemies they faced on the battlefield were much larger than they were, and as such, they were significantly bigger than most other dwarven buildings.

As they passed through the gate, the soldiers watching the road saluted the wagonmen and motioned for them to go inside, directly towards the offices. From there, Bart could see the squat buildings around him, and he cringed.

Living in the Stoutmantle household had been rough as he grew larger, but it had been manageable. Their home had been larger than most. This place would not be so kind to him. The administration offices, the most lavish of the buildings he saw, were decorated with the gold and grey banners of the republic. The cloth spilled out of every window in a glittering spray of metallic colors. A set of ornate stairs lead up to the door, and pillars held up an overhang above the steps.

To the left by about several hundred feet were a series of what Bart could only describe as dog houses, for that's how big they looked to him at a distance. He saw dwarves milling about in military fatigues, and could tell that the wooden planked buildings were likely the barracks. The doors looked small, and judging by his own large frame, he wondered if he would even be able to fit through them.

The smells of the site assaulted him. He could smell the stables, but he couldn't see them. He surmised that they must be behind the administrative offices, holding the ranking officers mounts. There was also the sulfurous smell of the forges, which even now were being stoked as they crafted, refined, and repaired the weapons that the soldiers in training used to practice their skills.

The yard in the middle was a massive grassland. The ground was well worn, suggesting that troops marched on it daily. Bart turned and looked around, spying a shooting range near the gates. A row of awnings separated by wooden planks allowed for people to stand under while practicing. It looked to be placed a couple hundred yards away.

As their wagon neared the offices, a well-dressed dwarf stepped outside. While he wore fatigues similar to the other soldiers working around the base, he also had a gilded cloak and mantle, as well as three stars pinned to the lapels of his shirt. Despite having no knowledge of the military, Bart could tell that those pins meant this dwarf was high up the chain of command.

"Well now, is this the upstart ursar everyone's been talking about?" the dwarf asked as the carriage pulled up to a stop. "Kind of doughy. Not much to look at, either."

Bart growled at the remark. "I dare you to come up here and say that to my face." No one was going to talk down to him, no matter who they were. Though Bart had no weapons, he knew that he could beat the soldier in a fight if it came down to it.

The officer laughed heartily at him. "This one's going to be a handful, I can tell. Alright, get him off there and get going. Your job is done."

"Move it," the mage said, her voice laced with contempt and no small amount of power.

Bart's shackles fell away and he rubbed his sore wrists. It was tempting to make a run for it, and he tried to gauge the distance between him and the gates.

"Hey, if you even think about it, our archers in the towers will take you down before you even set foot outside the compound, understood?" The dwarf's voice had grown more stern, more commanding. The ursar found himself compelled to listen, though he couldn't explain why.

As the wagon rolled away, leaving Bart and the general alone, the dwarf cleared his throat. "Now, I realize you have issues with authority. Ain't no problem of mine, so if you think you're doing it to light a fire under me arse, yer mistaken. You may think I'd have to deal with that sorta thing, but my drill sergeants are capable of dealing with folks like you. Ideally, I'd like to think you got a decent sized brain in that big skull of yours, so how's about we cut the crap and get down to business, hmm?"

"Fine," Bart said. It was hard for Bart to keep the hostility out of his voice when he spoke. All his life he had been ordered around by those higher up than him in some unspecified food chain. It wasn't any different here, and the ursar didn't plan to act any differently either. Just because this dwarf had a uniform and a couple stars attached to it didn't make him any less protected from his wrath.

"We'll get your attitude straightened out as well. And trust me, if you think I'm rough, you haven't seen the rest of our military," the dwarf said. "You act like that, and you're liable to have your skull caved in for insubordination. I'd recommend straightening yerself out now before that happens."

"Understood," Bart said. In his mind, he was thinking how he'd never allow himself to submit to anyone else. He was his own person. He wanted to profess his thoughts to the general's face, but he ended up coming to the conclusion that such a hill was not worth dying on.

"Now then, I'm General Harkness Flintforge, and I'm in charge of Hell's Crucible. What's your name, convict?"

"Why do you care?" Bart snapped.

"Humor me."

"Bartholomew," the ursar replied with a huff.

"Good. With that settled, let's introduce you to your drill sergeant, Bart." General Flintforge led him away across the field, keeping himself a few paces behind the ursar.

Bart could hear the sound of Harkness' hand tightening on the leather grip of his sword. It was obvious that he didn't trust him. Chances were good that should he try anything, Harkness would drive the blade into a vital area before he could do anything. The difference between this dwarf and the countless others that had fallen before Bart's claws was that this one was well trained with his weapon, and that had earned him a spot high in the chain of command. Bart came to the sudden realization that his earlier boasts about being able to take Harkness on in a fight were proving to be false.

At the other end of the field was a platoon of dwarves moving through a routine of marching, led by a muscular dwarfwoman who shouted orders at them as they huffed and panted along. Her hair was cropped short, and she wore fatigues with a single star on the chest pocket. Bart couldn't help but think that she could've been easily mistaken for a man. The group had to be about thirty strong, and as Bart looked around, he could see several other platoons working and training throughout the Crucible.

With the Gnoll War over and the military desperate to recoup its losses, they were trying to expedite people's training, but there was only so much they could cut out. Training new recruits took time, which Olaraa didn't have. Bart wondered if he'd be given the chance to sortie and crack some skulls if he was sent to the front lines.

Why would I want to go there in the first place? he thought. Soldiers go to the front to die, not become heroes.

As he and Harkness got closer, the dwarf woman called for a halt and ordered a salute as General Flintforge stepped up to her. He eyed the platoon carefully, as if admiring the troops.

"Very good work, Thora," Harkness said as he clapped her on the shoulder. "I can see the latest batch of troops will be fine one's indeed."

"Sir! It's only thanks to yer leadership sir!"

Bart scoffed audibly at her response. What an ass-kisser.

Neither dwarf called him out on his behavioural slip, and continued their conversation as if he weren't there. Thora seemed to watch Bart more closely, however.

"This is your new recruit. He's the convict that Olaraa sent us," Harkenss explained with a slight gesture towards the ursar.

"Ugh, another one? What's this fool in for?"

"Attempted murder, according to the report."

Thora nodded. "Well, at least he isn't some Gods-cursed rapist like the last one. We don't need any more of those freaks making our soldiers nervous." She looked Bart up and down, then pointed to the soldiers. "He'll do. Get in line, newbie."

"Wait, I have to take orders from a woman!?" Bart said with a snarl. "Ain't gonna happen."

Instead of yelling or acting offended, Thora just smiled. "Your lessons start now, newbie. You're going to learn fast that such disrespect won't be tolerated here." She gave a shrill whistle and all her troops fell in line, standing at attention. "You seem to have a lot of energy in you. And you're cocky, too. So clearly, you think you're better than all of us, am I wrong? Let's see if you have the skill to live up to those qualities." She turned to her troops. "First one to take him down gets double rations tonight! Oh, and one final thing, ursar: If I see those claws of yours, I'll cut your hands off personally."

"What!?" Bart was taken by surprise as he was attacked by one of the dwarves as all the others rushed to join the fray. A swift right hook to his skull snapped him out of his confusion, and he began to let his rage surface from deep within his soul. Now claws allowed? I'll crush all their skulls with my bare paws then!

The first soldier Bart turned on received a sweeping haymaker that dropped him on the spot. When Bart swung back to right himself, he hit another soldier in the face and felt a splash of blood as his nose was shattered.

The scent of blood hit Bart full force and he grinned. It was just like the brawl with Garen and his friends. Why would he ever need Naf again? The stench of fear, the aroma of blood in the air, and the screams of his victims tantalized his senses. As he took out one opponent after another, a beastial roar escaped his muzzle and he watched the terrified expressions on their faces.

Something struck him in the shin, and again in the stomach. Bart barely felt it, but he did see the dwarf who tried to hurt him. The ursar backhanded him with a mighty swipe of his massive paw. The tiny being crumpled to the ground as he rolled across the ground.

"You call these soldiers? They're nothing more than paper dolls!" Bart taunted as he hefted another by the collar of his shirt and tossed him away.

Bart was a thrashing mess of blood, sweat, and fur as he tore through the other trainees. With every opponent he knocked aside, he grew more smug and more bold. Every blow they landed on him was dulled by his blood rage. After two months of confinement, they would understand what it meant to trifle with an ursar.

In less than five minutes, Bart stood alone atop a hill of his groaning, defeated opponents. Blood ran down his body and countless bruises now lay hidden beneath his sweat matted fur.

"Is that all?" he roared. "Is that all you low have? This is what you get for thinking that you could contain me!"

Quick footsteps sounded behind Bart. He tried to spin around but a sharp pain radiated from his spine as someone attacked him. His body arched in response, but he could still move, albeit slowly.

"Who did that?" Bart bellowed.

Thora stood there, crouching low with her hands out in front of her. "You're pretty good against a bunch of trainees. But how well can you face off against me?"

With another powerful roar, Bart charged at her. As soon as he was within her reach though, she sprung. Her hand gripped his wrist, and though her hand didn't reach the whole way around, it didn't need to. She smacked his other arm away, then ducked under him as she seemingly threw him aside like he weighed nothing.

With a startled yelp, Bart struck the ground face first. He spat out a mouthful of grass and dirt.

How the hell did she do that? He wiped his muzzle clear of blood and tried a second time, and then a third. No matter what he tried differently, he couldn't seem to best her. She threw his weight around like it was nothing.

On his fourth failed attempt, Bart screamed out a curse in primal rage as he landed on the ground. Pain shot up his back, radiating from his stub of a tail as he landed.

Those few trainees who were still conscious laughed at his expense. Bart's face burned with embarrassment, and he was grateful that his fur hid his reddening skin.

"You're fortunate that my soldiers are still in basic training. Otherwise their knowledge of dwarven brawling would have had you beat before you could strike down your first victim." Thora walked away from him, then added, "Not bad for a woman, huh?"

General Flintforge was having a good laugh over the spectacle. "I feel bad for our men and woman, but that was quite the show." He turned to Bart. "Fall in line, newbie. You've got training to do."

Bart panted and tried to catch his breath. They thought he was weak. It was obvious in the way they looked at him. It rekindled his rage, and he sprang to his feet before the thought even entered his mind. His vision became blurred, and all he could see was the smug backside of Harkness as he walked away.

With a roar, Bart ran at the general with his claws fully extended. He was determined to prove that no one ordered him around anymore, and he'd do it by removing the fool dwarf's head!

Harkness dipped to the side and tripped Bart, causing the ursar to go barreling past him. A flash of steel caught his eyes as the dwarf drew his blade, and it was pointed at his right eye. The tip was fractions of an inch away from rendering him blind, and Bart's heart stopped. He felt a chill run up his spine as he stared at the thin piece of metal.

His ears flicked as they picked up the sound of a bowstring releasing an arrow. It happened twice in succession. Seconds later, Bart had an arrow in each hand, pinning him to the ground. He let out a howl of pain.

"Do you really want to dance with me, ursar?" Harkness said coldly. His jovial attitude had faded in an instant, and his eyes held only contempt. "You should be grateful that I choose to spare your life. My archers could've easily hit your skull from where they are. They hit your hands easy enough. Do you want to test your luck with me?"

Bart said nothing and stared defiantly at the general.

"Perhaps you haven't learned your lesson yet. My authority here is absolute, and I won't tolerate such insubordinate behaviour from a criminal!" He snapped his fingers, and like clockwork, two more arrows appeared, pinning Bart's legs just above the ankles.

"Perhaps a night out here will do you some good, ursar." Harkness sheathed his blade. "Some cool air might make you a bit more reasonable. Don't worry about the arrows though. I see you eyeing them. I'll make sure the healer pulls them out slowly so we can reuse them."

Harkness and the rest of the soldiers left. Bart gave a rattling sigh and laid back on the ground. The breeze carried with it the faint smell of rain, and he knew that he was in for an interesting night.

Bart started to wonder if he'd ever be free. At least now he wouldn't have to spend a night in those barracks.