Legacies (16 page)

Harvest had ended, and with fall had come colder weather. In the early morning, Alucius's breath steamed when he cleaned the gray's stall, and the warm cider for breakfast was actually welcome.

After two months, the conscripts had gone from sabre drills on foot to drills on horseback, but still with the rattan weapons. The drills ranged from full squad attacks or defenses to single combat. Alucius continued to drill mainly with his right hand, although when he worked with Kypler or Velon he sometimes used his left—if Estepp or Furwell were not following him closely.

Second squad was formed up in the gray light of a cloudy morning in the maneuver field to the south of the camp complex.

“Five on five drills!” Estepp called out. “At my command!”

Alucius could see Dolesy had switched places with Adron. Dolesy grinned at Alucius, a grin without warmth.

“Attack!”

Alucius urged the gray forward, but not at the headlong pace of Dolesy's bay. He guided his mount head-to-head with the bay—until the last moment when he and the surefooted gray cut left, leaving Dolesy unbalanced after the bigger man had made a giant lunge toward Alucius. Alucius swung the gray back toward Dolesy, still keeping his rattan sabre in his right hand.

Dolesy came in with his sabre high—on Alucius's right—then ducked and slammed the rattan weapon directly toward Alucius's knee. Alucius parried the slash, swung around, this time coming up on Dolesy's left.

Dolesy tried to bring his sabre across his body. But Alucius turned the gray slightly with his knees, switched his own rattan weapon to his left hand, and caught Dolesy with a sharp cut on the back of the wrist. The bigger man's weapon went flying.

Alucius ignored him and maneuvered the gray around him, attacking Ramsat from the other's left, disarming him, and saving Kypler from a blindside attack.

“Halt attack! Halt attack!”

Alucius rejoined the others in formation, slipping the gray in place between Velon and Kypler.

“Velon, forward!”

Alucius tried to hear what Dolesy might be saying, but the dark-haired man was massaging his injured wrist.

“Alucius, forward!”

Alucius eased the gray forward, reining up two yards short of the senior squad leader. “Sir.”

Estepp looked at Alucius. “I saw something rather strange. You switched your sabre in the middle of an attack. That's dangerous. I've never seen you use the sabre in your left hand before today.”

“Yes, sir.”

Estepp looked faintly amused, as if he were going to say something, then just nodded. “Dismissed to formation. Kypler, forward!”

As Alucius returned to formation, he could hear Estepp's comments.

“If your flanker hadn't managed to break through, in a real battle you would have been dead. Even here you would have been hurt. Look
everywhere
. You don't and you'll be on your back with your eyes wide open forever.”

To his right, Alucius could hear the faint murmur of Dolesy to Ramsat.

“…used some sort of trick…get him yet…”

“How? Seems to know when you're layin' for him.”

Alucius had been using his Talent for just that purpose, but he had the feeling he wouldn't be able to keep it up much longer.

Midmorning on the first Tridi of Decem, Alucius and the eight other remaining members of the second squad, still in well-worn black training tunics and trousers, were seated on backless wooden benches in the square room where squad leader Furwell discussed cavalry tactics—and anything else that came to mind.

“…to repeat it all in simple terms,” Furwell concluded, “always come from where you're not expected. Never charge a prepared position. It's a waste of men and mounts. They could have caltrops spread on the ground. They could have concealed pits with riflemen—or even pikemen waiting in ditches, and there's nothing that will stop you quicker than getting your mount spitted on a four-yard-long pike. If the fall doesn't kill you, one of the pikemen probably will. If you survive that, the best you can hope for is a very long run with soldiers shooting at you.”

“What about warlocks or people with Talent?”

Alucius couldn't see who asked the question, and he didn't recognize the voice.

Furwell smiled. “Cold steel or a well-aimed rifle bullet will kill someone with Talent just as dead as anyone else.”

“Sir…aren't folk with Talent more like sanders and soarers than real people? Can't they avoid a sabre?”

The squad leader snorted. “I can avoid your blade, Oliuf. That doesn't make me Talented. Having Talent is like having any other skill. It gives people abilities. For example, we use herders as scouts, and most herders have a touch of Talent. They make good scouts because they have a better sense of where sentries and ambushes are. They can also confuse tracking dogs. But they get killed and die like anyone else. People kill sanders all the time. It usually takes two or three men—but it would take two or three men to kill an experienced soldier—the kind we're trying to make you. Don't worry about Talent in battle. There probably aren't twenty people with a major Talent in all of
Corus
, and no one's going to waste them in a battle.”

“Do you know if the Reillies, the brigands, have warlocks?”

“I doubt it. But it doesn't make much difference. You shoot him first, and he's dead. You don't, and he's got a chance to kill you, either with a crossbow or a rifle or a blade.”

“Crossbow?” asked Ramsat.

“They're slow to reload, but you get hit with an iron quarrel and the whole time you're dying you'll wish that they'd shot you with a rifle. With crossbows, they don't have to worry about powder, and any backwoods smith can forge quarrels.”

“What about the Matrites?”

Furwell laughed. “You just don't want to go out and go through drills, Velon. Right now, we're not fighting the Madrien forces. The hill folks to the west are. We might have to in time, but you'll have a chance to learn about that when you get to your permanent company.” Furwell held up a hand. “They have cavalry, just like we do, and more foot. They've got rifles, and their officers carry pistols along with their sabres and rifles. They've taken over the entire coast from below Fola to well north of Northport. I'd say that they can fight.” The squad leader grinned. “And don't ask me about the Lanachronans. You're dismissed. You've got half a glass to take care of whatever you need and to get saddled and mounted in formation.”

The nine stood and stiffened at attention until Furwell had left the room.

“…still say Talent can make difference…”

Anything that provided an advantage could make a difference. That was the whole point of what Furwell had said. And what an enemy—or an officer—didn't know was another type of advantage, Alucius reflected.

To the sound of a light rain pattering on the stable roof, Alucius finished brushing all the mud from the gray's coat, as well as checking his hoofs—and feed. After that, he left the stable for the barracks washroom to remove the mud from himself, his boots and his black training uniform. Once he'd cleaned up and stowed his gear, he hung up the damp riding jacket on the stand by his bunk and then headed for the barracks mess.

The evening meal—Alucius hated to call it supper—was mutton, with greasy fried potatoes and overcooked and soggy gladbeans. The bread was fresh, and the weak ale passable. Alucius sat down at the corner seat of an empty table. He had several bites of bread and mutton before Velon slipped onto the bench across the battered wooden table from him.

“Wet out there,” Alucius offered.

Velon did not quite meet Alucius's eyes. “Watch out…Ramsat put Bowgard up to something, claimed something about his mount…got Furwell and Estepp out in the stables…” Velon's eyes flickered to his left.

Even before Velon had finished, Alucius could sense Dolesy's presence, and another figure behind the big conscript.

“You love sheep, don't you? You really love them, in just about every way possible, don't you?” Dolesy's voice filled the mess, as did the contempt in his words.

Alucius ignored the comment from the man, and concentrated on finishing the mouthful of bread and greasy potatoes.

“I was talking to you, sandscum.”

Alucius took a quick and short swallow of cider, setting the mug down on the table without turning, although he could sense where the exchange would go, no matter what he said.

Dolesy put his beefy hand on Alucius's shoulder and yanked him around, intending to throw him to the floor.

Alucius kept turning as he came off the bench, bringing his knee into the other's groin, followed by a knuckle jab to the vee just below where the lowest ribs met. Dolesy lurched forward, gasping, and Alucius slammed his palm up under the other's jaw, then swept his legs out from under him. Dolesy went down like a sander-stunned sheep.

Ramsat charged forward. Alucius stepped inside the wide swing and slammed his elbow across the other's neck, then followed with a jab under the ribs, and another knee into Ramsat's groin.

Ramsat sank to the wooden floor retching.

“Halt!”

Estepp stood in the archway. His eyes went from Alucius to the two men on the mess floor planks. Then he laughed as he stepped forward.

Alucius remained at attention, waiting.

“You, Dolesy, haven't the brains of one of Alucius's sheep.” His eyes raked over the second man. “You don't either, Ramsat.” He waited. “It takes three of you with rifles to bring down a sander—if you're lucky. Alucius…how many sanders have you killed?”

“Just three, sir.”

“By yourself?”

“Ah…the first one was with my grandfather, and the others by myself.”

“Sandwolves?”

“Eight or ten.”

Estepp laughed. “Sandwolves have a nasty habit, Dolesy. They can't be tracked by scent, and they can kill a dog or an unprepared man like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Herders have to have senses that hear or feel one coming. Just like Alucius heard you coming. He'll always hear you coming.”

Dolesy did not look at the senior squad leader.

“Now,” continued Estepp, “I don't like trouble. Alucius can take care of himself. That's pretty clear. Only problem is that if he takes care of you two again, the militia's short two men. If you catch him off guard, I'm short a man who's worth both of you. The militia really doesn't like being short-handed. I
really
don't like it.” He glared at the two on the ground.

“I won't do anything,” Dolesy said.

Alucius looked at him. “You're lying.”

Estepp grinned. “Another thing you don't know, Dolesy. Most nightsheep herders can tell when someone's lying. That's why no one ever cheats 'em. You want me to turn you over to Alucius right now?”

Dolesy paled. “No, sir.”

“You're stupid, Dolesy. You got a man who could be your flank-rider who's twice as tough as any brigand. He could save your life, and you've spent two months trying to get him mad enough to kill you. He could have killed both of you. He didn't. Might have been easier for the rest of us if he had.” Estepp looked to Alucius. “You weren't trying to kill them, were you?”

“No, sir.”

“You two really are stupid. When you put Bowgard up to that this evening, I thought you might have something in mind. Pack your gear. You, too, Ramsat. Furwell owes me, but, sander shit, I hate to call in a favor for this.”

Dolesy looked blank.

“It's real simple, Dolesy. You don't learn. And you won't learn from me, because I've seen through you. Sooner or later, either Alucius will have to kill you, or you'll find a way to kill him, and then I'll either have to hang one of you or muster you out. Either that or spend all my time watching you. So, you're going to Furwell's squad to finish training. If you make trouble, if you even talk to Alucius or anyone in second squad until you finish training, I'll have you flogged and mustered out.”

For the first time, Dolesy paled. Ramsat was wide-eyed.

“I hope you understand that.” Estepp smiled. “I expect you and your gear to report to Furwell in a quarter glass.” He looked at Ramsat. “You, too.”

Once the two had gone, Estepp paused by Alucius's shoulder and said in a low voice. “You lasted a long time, Alucius. You'll have to do better in the future.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I just hope you're a tenth as good as your grandsire.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alucius?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Some people don't need a reason to hate, and you have to learn to deal with it.” With that, Estepp was gone.

Alucius stood alone beside the mess table, looking down at the remainder of his supper.

Standing before the thirty-one ranked men in new black-and-green militia uniforms, Senior Squad Leader Estepp surveyed them—those remaining from the more than forty that had entered Sudon two seasons earlier. A small table with a stack of flat papers stood by his left side. Standing behind him were Furwell and the other training instructors.

“Congratulations,” began Estepp. “You're now militia cavalry. We don't have any more ceremony than this because you still have a lot to learn, but you've learned enough to be of use, and you've proved that you can learn. If you're smart, you'll make an effort to keep learning. Now…after I read out the full list of assignments, so that everyone knows where everyone else is going, I'll be handing out your orders, by squad, one by one.”

Alucius stood third in line in the front rank of second squad, flanked by Retius and Kypler.

“You all have one week of furlough, starting in one glass,” Estepp continued. “You report back here a week from Londi, no later than the fourth glass of the morning. That's when you'll pick up the rest of your gear. Now, your assignments…” He smiled briefly. “Most of you are going to Soulend. You'd better make sure you have warm undergarments. You can draw the winter gear before you leave, but if you don't bring them back, you'll lose three months pay.

“Caston, Deault, Kybar, and Thom—you four are being assigned to Third Company, first squad. Wualt is your squad leader.”

Estepp paused before continuing. “Alucius, Akkar, Kypler, Oliuf, Retius, Velon. You six are being assigned to Third Company, second squad. Delar is your squad leader.

“Adron, Boral, Tyreas—you three are going to Third Company, third squad. Your squad leader will be Jult.

“Dolesy, Bowgard, Ramsat—you'll be in Third Company, fourth squad…”

Alucius could sense a sort of satisfaction in Estepp's assignment of Dolesy and Ramsat, and he wondered why the senior squad leader felt that way.

After completing his reading of the assignments to Third Company, Estepp added, “Squad Leader Gurnelt will be in charge of all of you on the trip north. He's taking over the fifth squad of Third Company. You'll also be escorting five wagons of foot replacements.”

Twenty cavalry replacements for a company of one hundred? And more than fifty foot replacements? Were they for a year's losses? Or for just the two seasons they had been in training? Alucius kept his face impassive, wondering if the others had calculated what he just had.

“The rest of you are going to Fifth, Eighth, Tenth, and Twelfth Companies. Fifth Company is at Emal, Eighth is on the north side of the Vedra from Borlan at Nerle. Tenth Company is sixty vingts downriver from Borlan at Rivercliff. Eleventh Company will be moving to a new outpost west of Wesrigg on the old lower road through the Westerhills to the coast…”

An outpost in the lower Westerhills, not all that far from Iron Stem?

Alucius was definitely getting the message that all was not well with the Iron Valleys, and that the problems couldn't be just the Reillies or other brigands.