Imperial Assassin Read Free Page B

would be better if I just ride out the storm and look to
re-establish my place as quietly as possible.’
    By evening, Reynik was ready to change his mind. He had endured the afternoon training sessions through gritted teeth. Now he was spattered in excrement and stinking to high heaven from having
filled in the old jacks trenches. But that had only been the beginning. He, and the other unfortunates designated to this duty, were still struggling to dig the new trenches. Regulations stated
that the trenches had to be five spades long, a spade wide and a spade deep and Shand help any duty group who tried to skimp on the regulations. History had proved time and again that poor
sanitation had killed more soldiers than any battle, which was why jacks duties, and all other matters of personal hygiene, were taken extremely seriously.
    After the physical activities of the training sessions, the task of digging in the heavy, muddy ground was torturously hard work. Reynik’s arms, back and shoulders all protested with every
stab and heave of the spade. Every time his spade struck a large stone, the jarring impact reverberated through his body, amplifying his aches and pains. Time dragged, every minute stretching into
an eternity. He felt as if it would never end. It was almost full dark before he finished.
    ‘Good enough,’ the supervising File Second admitted grudgingly, as Reynik demonstrated the dimensions of the trench with his spade. ‘Go and get cleaned up. I’ll see you
again at first call after training tomorrow. Dismissed.’
    Reynik was so tired he could barely scramble out of the trench. He staggered over to place his spade with the others, being careful not to upset the neat stack. Then, with as much dignity as he
could muster, he marched wearily back to his tent.
    It was not far. By the time he arrived his sole desire was to fall into his bed space and sleep. But, much as his body craved the rest, Reynik knew he had to push on just a little longer.
    The others in the tent ignored him when he entered. Not even Tymm looked at him when he ducked through the canvas doorway. ‘So this is how it’s going to be,’ he thought glumly.
‘Well, so be it. It won’t be for long. I know the drill.’
    Stripping off his filthy clothes, he folded them into a pile and put them by the doorway. Then he pulled on a spare pair of briefs and, gathering his dirty clothes together with a small square
of drying cloth under his arm, he forced himself to duck out of the tent again into the chill evening air. He knew it was not wise to go out so scantily dressed, but he did not want to make any
more clothes dirty. He desperately needed to wash before touching any of his spare uniform. The File Leader was out to make life difficult, looking for any little excuse to pick on him. Reynik was
determined not to make it easy for him.
    Washing in the cold water was uncomfortable. Scrubbing his filthy clothes whilst still not fully dry was even more so. However, it did wake him up and stimulate his body enough that he found the
energy to hang up his wet uniform in the appropriate drying area before retiring back inside the tent.
    Still he could not rest. Experience told him that unless he got something hot to eat and some fluid into his body, he would pay the price in the morning. He had to get to the field kitchen. So,
ignoring the deliberate snubbing of his fellow Legionnaires, he dressed and went out in search of food.
    The walk was not a long one, but he felt every step like a bee sting. Not for the first time since he had joined the military as a recruit, he questioned his reason for being a member of the
Legions. Did he really want this life, or was he just stubbornly following his father’s footsteps because it was expected? Would he have been better off trying his hand at becoming a
merchant, or at learning a respectable trade? After a moment or two of negative thoughts, he laughed aloud and dispersed his melancholy