The next morning Turlon and his companions found themselves standing
outside the door of the Doge's guard captain where the recruiting station
was.  Heading in they were quickly shunted over to a clerk who asked
their business.

Turlon eyed the clerk and responded, "We are the finest swordsmen in all
the land and seek great wealth."

"Yes, of course you do," said the clerk.  "And you wish to enter the
Doge's guard."

"That depends," Turlon began, "are you recruiting generals?"

"That depends, do you have an army?"

Turlon looked at his two friends, "Yes."

The clerk laughed, "Small enough army.  What do you really want?"

Turlon scowled at the man, "You are a pudgy clerk, I wish to speak to a
warrior."  With that utterance, Turlon folded his arms across his chest and
stood defiantly.

The clerk's laughter stopped short.  He pointed at a stone bench.
"You can sit there."

A quick glance toward the indicated bench didn't impress Turlon as he
remained where he stood.  A snort gave ndication that he wasn't even
entertaining the thought.

In turn, the clerk ignored him and returned to his paperwork.

The sentiment was reciprocated.

Time passed and it became obvious that the clerk was prepared to ignore
him until the Taronian equivlane of the cows came home.

Turlon pivoted on his heel and exited the tent, stopping to knock the dust
off his boots in the doorway.  Once outside he spoke to his companions,
"Military, war's greatest enemy."  He fought to hold back the smile, to
think that he would say such a thing amused him and he knew several men who
would shoot him where he stood if they heard that.  "Well, we go alone to
the East to secure our fortunes," he stated as a fact.

The two men looked hesitant, "I think I shall see if I can find a
mercenary company to join," said one.  "Aye," said the other.
"There may be less loot that way, but there is safety in numbers.
Waltiz be with you."  The two turned to go.

Turlon watched them depart and decided to spend a few days looking for an
opportunity to serve as well.  He hated to see the men go, but realized
that it was better to be accountable only to himself, dismissing them would
have been troublesome; as long as it was their own decision things felt
right.

Things were abuzz in the city and two days later, Turlon was able to
find a mercenary captain who was filling out his company.  Turlon
signed on and the next day a few more warriors joined, brining the
muster to twentyfive, which was apparently the magic number.  The
captain went to the palace and returned a few hours later with
orders to join three more companies and head East and join up with the
main body of the army.

Surveying his comrades Turlon quickly sized up who he would prefer fighting
beside.  Some were men who bore the marks of battle, others were thrill
seekers who wouldn't last past their first skirmish, it was the same in
every culture.  He commented to the battle tested man beside him, "The
young one over there will not see the second battle."

The man examined the youngling, "Aye, you are probably right. But who
can tell, we were all that raw once and at least he's not a mudfoot."
Turlon's unit was an elite one of cavalry, the units they had joined were
foot troops.  As with cavalry everywhere that Turlon had been or heard of,
the mounted troops considered the footsoldiers as only one step above
animals.

"What do you know of these savages?" asked Turlon looking off toward the
East.

"They're fierce fighters, but undisciplined.  They like to attack from
ambush, let off a few arrows and then fall back.  They're hard to
corner and fight like devils when you do corner them, but any well-trained
unit should be able to take three times their number in open battle,"
said the man.  "If we don't have some native guides, though, we may
never get them to battle."

"What are they guarding?  As a wanderer, I have never found land so
valuable."

"Their homes.  When you've got almost nothing, it seems more valuable.
All they've got is the woods and the lumber."

"We fight for huts and trees?" said Turlon increduously.

"Ha!  We fight for money," said the old merc.  "The Doge pays for
trees."

"Aye, as long as a fool who desires trees so badly can pay," observed
Turlon.  "Have you fought these savages?"