Tarion watched with interest as the guards confiscated the new arrival's spear. He was a fairly typical Nagian—black haired, slender, and tall; taller than most. Still bearing his shield, he marched up to the commander and slapped a palm on it in salute. Then he stood stiffly at attention, staring over the commander's helmet. His grotesque face paint made his expression almost unreadable.
Having seen him earlier only at a distance, Tarion had not realized how young he was. He felt a stir of interest. A straight diet of Dosh Houseboy would soon pall. If rank did not suffice, a few coppers would seem like a fortune to such a peasant.
"Your name?” Kammaeman demanded, looking the youth up and down, mostly up.
"D'ward Troopleader, sir."
"And before that?"
"D'ward Roofer."
"From Sonalby?"
"Yes, sir.” He had a faint accent that Tarion could not place. He was showing no signs of nervousness, which was exceedingly curious.
"I ordered you to bring your new recruit with you."
The young man did not look down. “With respect, sir, my oath was made to another, who then transferred it to you. I take orders only from you directly."
Kammaeman's face reddened under the dust. His hairy fists clenched.
"If you order me to go and fetch him now, sir,” the youth told the tent in the background, “then of course I shall obey."
"That is exceedingly kind of you!"
Tarion detected a suitable moment to win the boy's gratitude. “If I may speak, Battlemaster? Technically he is correct. That is the way things stand at the moment. He cannot be expected to understand proper military procedures."
The youth glanced briefly at the speaker and Tarion saw with astonishment that he had brilliantly blue eyes. How bizarre! How very intriguing!
And why was he not quaking in his shoes—apart from the fact that he was barefoot, of course? This lad must definitely be investigated more closely. Nasty, fat old Bondvaan had obviously had the same idea. He was almost slobbering on his stool.
"I see!” Kammaeman growled, mollified. “Well, I can't have a dozen troopleaders pestering me all day. I have to appoint an overall commander for the Nagian infantry, do I? Someone responsible to me?"
Tarion opened his mouth and then hastily closed it. The question had been directed to the peasant.
"As I understand, sir, there are no precedents. No hordeleader has ever resigned before."
He was not speaking like an ignorant rustic. He was quite right, though, and Kammaeman's proposal was the only possible solution. Tarion had carefully not mentioned the problem earlier, but he was prepared to undertake the additional responsibilities if they were offered. Then he would command the entire Nagian army. He did not say so yet, for Kammaeman was still intent on the youngster.
"What military experience do you have?"
"None, sir."
"Who taught your squad to drill?"
"I did, sir. I asked some of the elders in the village how Joalians made war.” He was showing no pride or satisfaction or ... or anything! He was as impassive as a veteran of innumerable campaigns. His confidence was positively eerie. Tarion wondered if Kammaeman might order him flogged, just on principle. But there was nothing in the boy's manner to indicate insubordination or hidden mockery. He was being completely factual, and his manner carried conviction.
"How long did it take you?"
"Two days, sir, was all I had—I do have a request, sir."
"Yes?"
"I have nothing more to teach them. If you could send us a Joalian instructor, he could further their training."
Kammaeman snorted disbelievingly. “It has been tried before! Nagian warriors insist on fighting in their traditional fashion. They will not listen to a Joalian."
"They will listen if I tell them to, sir."
At Tarion's side, Kolgan Coadjutant chuckled. Kammaeman shot him a glance that silenced him, and then looked back to D'ward. Up to D'ward.
"Give me your oath on that, subject to a flogging if you are wrong."
"I so swear,” the boy said at once, still staring over his head.
Tarion felt a stab of alarm. What was going on here? Was the old rogue going to take the word of a raw laborer? He glanced at Kolgan and saw a scowl that mirrored his own feelings exactly.
Kammaeman said, “Kneel."
The boy knelt. That put their eyes on the same level.
"So you can make them march in step,” the commander said. “I admit that. I admit that I am surprised by that. But how do you make them remember that spears are for thrusting? In the heat of battle, they will throw their spears away! They always have in the past."
"I was planning to tie the poles to their wrists with leather thongs,” D'ward said simply, “to remind them."
"Indeed?” Kammaeman raised those jungly eyebrows. He was obviously impressed. “How long would it take you to train the rest of the Nagian contingents to the same standard you have brought Sonalby's?"
Even the youth looked startled, but he barely hesitated. “I can talk to them this evening, sir. If you will assign a Joalian instructor to each troop in the morning, I will guarantee that they will obey him and do their best."
The battlemaster scratched his beard. “On the same penalty? No, I'll raise the stakes. Make that two floggings."
The boy grinned. “Done!"
"By the five gods, lad, you're either crazy or just insane! Your new recruit? What is he doing now?"
"Digging a latrine ditch, sir."
Tarion exploded. Oh, joy! Oh, perfection!
Kammaeman shot him a disapproving glare, but he was having trouble hiding his own amusement. “Why that?"
The boy seemed surprised, as if the answer were obvious. “I told him that was the worst job I could give him. Once he has done that, then he has nothing more to fear."
The Joalians exchanged glances. Old Bondvaan ran soft fingers through his skimpy silver hair. Kolgan was chewing his lip thoughtfully. Kammaeman seemed to be at a loss. “Did your group accept him?"
"Yes, sir."
"Oh? What did you tell them?"
"I said we were very honored to have the prince enlist with us. That they need not show him any special favor, but they should try to be patient with him, because he has had a deprived upbringing and has everything to learn about true manhood."
This time even the commander grinned. He turned to Kolgan.
"Well, Coadjutant? Do we have a native military genius here?"
"He appears to have flair, sir."
"Stand up!” Kammaeman said, heaving himself to his feet. Even in his boots and helmet, he was shorter than the boy, but twice as wide. “Take good care of him!"
"Yes, sir."
"We don't want him to have any accidents—do we, Cavalryleader?” He favored Tarion with a threatening glare.
"I hope my brother survives to dig many, many latrine ditches, sir,” Tarion said crossly. If the Nagian rabble was to be turned into an effective fighting force, he could no longer count on Golbfish dying in the customary massacre. How annoying!
Kammaeman thrust out a hairy arm and grasped the youth's brown shoulder.
"I shall make you a wager! D'ward Troopleader, I appoint you acting commander of the Nagian infantry. Any instructors you need, just ask this man. His name is Kolgan Coadjutant. Three days from now, you will parade your horde for me. I shall then either confirm your appointment or have you beaten to jelly. Do you accept those terms?"
"Yes, sir,” the youth said calmly. “Thank you, sir."
"My pleasure! Dismissed."
With a smart salute, the new troopleader spun around and marched away. The guards gave him back his spear.
Kammaeman watched him go and then turned to his deputy with the sleepy content of a bearcat that has just eaten a band of hunters. “You are dismissed also. Give him the best men you can, all the help you can. You two gentlemen wait a moment."