“Hengstacer’s”, Grimbriar had said plainly after a long pause, watching for any sign of apprehension on Torry’s face. The junior Watcher stood at attention before the Chief Watcher, silently waiting for his next assignment, hoping it would be near a Thornley or Greenlake farm. Although the horse ranch Grimbriar had named was also out in the Bree-lands, it was nearly as far north of his birthplace as the town was south. Still, it was finally a posting that should be more about patrolling on a horse than tending to its shoes, feed, and muck.
The last few weeks had been grueling for Torry. He had been dutifully following the Chief Watchers orders: tend to the Watch mounts stabled around Bree and at the end of each day report for Watcher training. The first part was hard labor, but Torry’s farm upbringing made him no stranger to it, and his many days at the forge gave him the physique to endure long days of it. The second part was more challenging. Often without being allowed a pause for food or water, Chief Watcher Grimbriar took him to task in the training yard, teaching him how to fight on foot with shield and hammer. Grimbriar was merciless, allowing Torry no room for errors. If the junior Watcher made any misstep or undisciplined swing, the Chief Watcher would take advantage and give Torry another bruise, accompanied by an insult or laughter. When Torry had finally learned to stand his ground effectively, Grimbriar set him ahorse to learn mounted combat with the same weapons, and how to be an effective mounted archer. Never did the Chief Watcher offer more than a grumbling admission to Torry’s demonstrations of gained proficiencies. Instead, Grimbriar would treat Torry to another level of difficulty, usually without any warning.
Through it all, Torry knew the Chief Watcher was goading him into striking out in earnest anger or into giving up the Watch, but he would not allow Grimbriar that satisfaction. It had become a contest of wills between the veteran Chief Watcher and the son of a rich landowning family. Neither submitted.
Standing at attention before the Chief Watcher in the Watch station outside Bree, Torry let the silence grow after Grimbriar announced the posting. The other Watchers sitting at the table with the Chief Watcher glanced between themselves and shifted uncomfortably as the air between Torry and Grimbriar seemed to freeze.
“No objections…. Master Greenlake?”, the Chief Watcher sweetly asked with mocking respect.
“No, sir.”
Grimbriar waited for long moments as he and Torry glared at each other. The others in the room continued to squirm until the Chief Watcher stared them motionless.
“Your duties are to patrol the area around the horse ranch, looking for any movements between the Chetwood and Wildwood. According to reports we are getting from the Staddle Watch, be on the lookout for Orcs. Your friend Boggs is a very good scout.” He paused to reach under the table to retrieve a helmet, which he examined briefly before tossing it, clattering, down the length of the table to Torry, who caught it. It bore a Sergeant’s insignia.
“You are not to engage in combat except in defense of the ranch. Don’t worry …. Sergeant. Although you are the only one on permanent assignment at Hengstacer’s, there will be two more of the Watch with you on rotations.” He vaguely waved at the other Watchers at the table, but his eyes never left Torry. “You are to command any Watcher squad posted there. If you see suspicious movements or activities, defend the ranch if you can, or evacuate the ranchers if you can’t. In either case, send one of the other Watchers directly to report to me.”
“And” Grimbriar continued with a wicked smile, “if the Hengstacers need any help with the chores, your squad is to pitch in.”
Torry’s fingers ran over the helmet’s rank insignia, and his jaw tightened at that last command. With narrowed eyes he locked onto the Chief Watcher. “Anything else…. sir?”
After letting the question hang in the air for several moments, Grimbriar slowly nodded. “Aye, in private. The rest of you lot are dismissed.”
With obvious relief, the others quickly filed out, silently offering Torry polite nods. The last one closed the door.
“You’re not going to ask, are you Sergeant.” Grimbriar stated rather than asked as a question.
Torry looked at him silently, suspecting what his question was supposed to be, but determined not to offer it.
“No. You wouldn’t. So, I’ll tell you anyway. My hardness towards you has been at your uncle’s request.” He paused to witness the blinking surprise on Torry’s face. “He told me years go that you might want to follow in his footsteps, and he did not want you to have any special treatment, not that you would have ever gotten any from me. ‘Be tough on him’, he said. ‘Don’t let him out with less than his best and the least that we need.’ I guess he didn’t want you disappointing the family. Don’t think you will, frankly, but understand something.”
Grimbriar stood and walked around the table to stand in Torry’s face. “I’m not your uncle. I’m not your friend. I am your commanding officer. You do your duty, and I will see to it you have everything you need that the town can offer. You get any of my men needlessly killed, don’t come back to Bree… ever.”
