An uncomfortable silence settled on the courtyard as soldiers glanced at each other and then back at the young lord on his half-barrel.
A voice somewhere among the crowd cut through the silence; a slightly croaky sound, but strong. “I know where Munda is. I can take you there and by fairly safe routes.”
Julian strained to see through the drifting smoke, still wisping around the courtyard. An old man sat clutching one knee. He had long grey hair or would have, had he not suffered some dreadful disfiguring wound many years ago. The left side of his head was devoid of hair, marked with scars and furrows that continued down his face and cheek as far as his neck. He wore the uniform of Pelian’s army, but the boy couldn’t remember ever seeing him before. Still, he’d never spent much time with his father’s troops, so it was no surprise that even this frightening specimen of a man was unknown to him.
“I can guarantee your safety and acceptance” the man continued. “I know general Caerdin of old. I served with him a long time ago.”
The man grinned, an unpleasant sight, given the dreadful facial wounds he’d suffered, and took a deep swig from a darkened metal flask emblazoned with a wolf’s head.
Chapter XXVII
Kiva stood, leaning on the fence with his elbows, watching the training. Sithis, the captain of the ‘Swords’ had named his unit well. Twenty and more years ago the man had been a captain in Kiva’s army and, when Caerdin had disappeared and the army had fallen apart following Velutio’s rise to power and the collapse of Imperial order Sithis, like many other officers, had taken a unit and gone his separate way. Sithis, however, unlike the others, had not taken his own unit per se, but had carefully selected a number of men he especially had his eye on. Consequently, the ‘Swords’ had been born of some of the best swordsmen the Imperial army had to offer. And it showed in their training methods, even in just the four days since Sithis and his unit had arrived. Some of the lowliest men who’d turned up at Munda had been indentured farmers whose livelihoods had been swept away from under them by Velutio’s reprisals against unsupportive lords or just his pure acquisition of lands. And some of these peasants who’d never wielded anything more dangerous than a hoe in their lives had a glint of steel in their eye and swiped and parried as well as the career soldiers. Sithis’ regime was tough and lasted almost as long as the light each day.
All in all the training was going well. They’d made last minute plans before Tythias and Darius and their party had left on the political mission to gather support. Sithis, Marco and Mercurias had stated that the more time they got to train the army, the better chance they would stand when they finally brought someone to battle, but equally, Sarios and Kiva had pointed out that every day their army got better, Velutio’s army and power grew. In the end, a route was agreed that would take the Emperor’s entourage in a circuit through seven of the more local lords in the space of two weeks, returning to Hadrus then. One more week would be allowed for any lords who joined them to reach the meeting point at Munda, and then the army would march, hopefully picking up further allies as they travelled.
There were approaching ten thousand men stationed at Hadrus now and, with the exception of certain mercenary units that maintained their independence due to the specific tasks they’d been allocated, the entire force had been organised along traditional Imperial lines. There had been some grumbling among lords who thought they were far too clever commanders to have been allocated lesser positions, such as quartermaster or officer of only a hundred men, but on the whole most people had been placed in positions for which they were suited. The private forces of the various lords had been broken up and dispersed alongside some of the lesser mercenary units and prior loyalties had been abandoned; Kiva had made that clear in his first speech to the army. Every new recruit, no matter what his background, was made to take the oath once more, to Darius, to the people and to the Empire. A second oath had been elicited from every man, pledging individual allegiance to their own officer and the commanders of the army.
It was with tremendous satisfaction that Kiva noted how speedily the engineers had been put together and how little outside organisation and training was required. Engineers were always like that though, and the entire corps had been formed of men with prior engineering experience or interest. They knew their jobs and enjoyed them and the entire force had been constructing, testing and reworking different machines from the moment they’d first formed. Now, in what was once the massive exercise yard of the prison, bolt throwers, catapults, siege engines and strange constructions that Kiva couldn’t easily identify lined the walls and he could see even now a half dozen engineers crawling over one of them with tools and sheets of schematics.
The cavalry was nominally under the command and guidance of Tythias, though due to his continued absence, one of his men had remained in Hadrus to train and organise them. Kiva had never been a great believer in the value of cavalry on the battlefield, though Tythias had argued vociferously for their inclusion at a command level. Given his own way, Kiva would use them only as scouts and light, mounted skirmishers, but Tythias had badgered Athas until the big sergeant had ordered his armourers to begin work on chain armour for the steeds. The Lion Riders intended to make serious use of heavy cavalry after the fashion of the eastern peoples.
As Kiva stood watching, a small unit of newly-recruited horsemen in full uniform came riding into the cavalry training area, a large space of lawn that had been previously unused just inside the walls. Dressed in shirts of chain mail that hung down to their knees, they each carried an oval shield and a short spear, with a long sword hanging by the belt loop from the saddle. They clutched the reins and hauled on them as they reached their training officer, a Lion Rider named Peris, who shook his head in irritation.
“Firstly, forget everything you’ve ever been taught about horses. You’re all either trained to ride for fun or sport or you’ve been trained for battle by an idiot.”
There was a grumbling among the horsemen.
“Shut the fuck up. When I talk, you listen and you pay attention. Every one of you needs to lean forward and remove the reins, bit, bridle; the whole frigging lot from all your horses.”
Three of the men did so immediately while the others stared at each other. One brave young man thrust a hand in the air.
“This is not a fucking classroom, lad. What?”
“Sir,” the young man asked, “why are we getting rid of our reins?”
Peris growled. “You’ve all been given proper military saddles. I intend to show you how to use them. The saddles are different from the ones you’re used to. The four horns at the corners are keeping you wedged in your seat, as I presume you’ve noticed. You’ll also have noticed there’s no stirrups. I’m going to teach you how to control your steed with just your knees. Your feet will be free to kick the horse gently or any footman bloody hard. Your hands’ll be free to wield both sword, spear and shield liberally without having to fight for control with the horse too.”
As he spoke, others began to remove their reins. “As far as your weapons are concerned, you’ll bear your shield on your left arm, whether you’re left or right handed. You’ll go into any combat with the spear. Don’t throw the fucking thing; that’s a waste. When you first ride in, jam it under your arm and lock it as best you can and aim for the torso of the man in front of you. If you’re lucky you’ll impale the bastard and the spear’ll break. If you’re really lucky, you’ll do that and the spear won’t break. Best you can realistically hope to get from it’s three goes; they don’t last that long. You’ll then draw your sword and go to work.”