All in Stammel’s unit went into Arcolin’s cohort. He was a tall, stern-faced man with dark hair and bright gray eyes. Arcolin’s junior captain was Ferrault, who had ridden with them as far as Vérella: sandy-haired, bearded, both shorter and slighter than Arcolin. Barra and Natzlin and the rest of Kefer’s unit were assigned to Dorrin’s cohort. Paks was startled to find that Dorrin was a woman. Sejek was her junior captain—and Stephi, then, was in another cohort. Paks was relieved.
The next few hours were even more chaotic than her first as a new recruit. Each novice was assigned to a veteran, and the veterans made it clear that they would have to prove themselves all over again—if they could. Donag, a heavy-set file leader with dour dark brows, gave Paks an unfriendly look.
“Are you the one that got Stephi in such trouble?” Paks froze; she had relaxed too soon. Donag interpreted her silence to suit himself. “I thought so. You ought to be ashamed enough to keep quiet. A good friend he’s been to me, Stephi—cause more trouble, and you won’t see the north again.” He glowered at her a moment longer. “They say you can fight; it had best be true.” He led her to her assigned bunk without another word. Paks felt a smoldering anger. She had not gotten Stephi in trouble; it had been his fault. She glared at Donag’s back.
The next several days were uncomfortable. They drilled every day, marching and weapons, and it was obvious how much they had yet to learn. Paks had been coasting, as one of the best recruits. Despite Siger’s nagging about speed, she had thought she was as fast as she needed to be. The slower veterans were faster. The best—and Donag was one of these—seemed inhumanly fast. She acquired a lot of new bruises, and the only time Donag smiled at her was when he dealt them.
“He’s down on you, isn’t he?” asked Saben one evening on the way back from supper. Paks nodded. She didn’t want to talk about it. She had heard, through the grapevine, what had happened to Stephi, and had decided Donag would just have to wear out his resentment. Barra, of course, had noticed and urged Paks to complain. “It’s not your fault,” Saben went on. “He shouldn’t be like that.” Paks shrugged.
“I can’t stop him.”
“No, but Stammel could. Or the captain.” That was what Barra had said, too.
“No. It wouldn’t work. Just—don’t say any more, Saben, please.”
“All right. But I’m on your side, remember.” He looked worried, and Paks managed a smile, her first in several days, to reassure him.
Later that evening, Stephi showed up in their barracks. Donag smiled at him, and gave Paks a warning glare. She went on with her work, polishing her helmet. To her surprise, Stephi greeted her first.
“Paks—how do you like the south?”
She looked up, startled. “It’s very different. It’s so hot already.”
Stephi smiled. “That surprised me, my first year south. Wait until full summer; you’ll think you’re melting into your armor. Are you settling in all right?”
Her eyes flicked toward Donag and back. “Yes, very well.”
“Good. I expect, though, you’ve found it a change from being a top recruit—it’s usually a shock.”
Paks found herself relaxing a bit. Stephi did not sound angry with her, not nearly as hostile as Donag. “It is a change—you’re all so much faster.”
“If we weren’t, we wouldn’t be here to teach you,” said Donag gruffly. He had walked over while they were talking, and now turned to Stephi. “Have you heard about the contract yet?”
Stephi shook his head. “No. We were out all day in the hills. Have you?”
Donag looked at Paks.
“Don’t mind her,” said Stephi. “They have to learn about contracts sometime.”
Donag frowned, but went on. “I saw Foss Council messengers today, and two of them rode out just after lunch with a squad of guards. And in the city they’re saying that Foss Council and Czardas are squabbling over boundaries.”
“Huh,” grunted Stephi. “Czardas. Let’s see—that’s a count, isn’t it? All he’s got is local militia, unless he hires someone—or if Andressat joins him.”
“I don’t really know yet,” said Donag, but he was grinning.
Stephi grinned too. “But it was one of your—umm—good sources?”
Donag just grinned, shaking his head. Paks watched him in surprise. When he wasn’t scowling, he had a pleasant face: rough and weathered, but humorous. He caught her look, made a wry face, and went back to his grin. “I’m not always a grouch, no—if that’s what you were thinking. And perhaps you’re not as bad as I thought—if you behave.”
“I’m going down to the Dragon,” said Stephi. “Why don’t you come, Donag? I’d like to see what other rumors you can pick up.”
“Well—I’m on late watch. But if we don’t stay long—” He looked at Paks, then back at Stephi. “I’ll come. But you, Paks, don’t be blabbing all I told Stephi, and be sure you’re ready for watch on time.”
“Yes, sir.” Paks watched the two men leave with mingled relief and astonishment.
From that time on, she had little trouble with Donag, though he still thumped her during drill until she found speed she had never thought to reach. In those weeks, a few of the younger veterans made cautious overtures of friendship. Paks was glad to spend time with Canna Arendts, whose tales of her first year’s battles were much more exciting than Donag’s dry instruction. Canna’s best friend had died, and she enjoyed having someone to tell her stories to, someone who would listen by the hour. Saben liked her too, and Vik said he liked having a woman around who was not taller than he was—which made them all laugh wildly, the last night in Valdaire, as he craned his neck pretending that Paks and Arñe were seven feet tall. Canna laughed too, dark eyes dancing. She was lean and quick, and Paks felt clumsy and huge beside her.
On the road again, marching south, Paks could think only of the fighting to come. She had thought herself close to fighting before, but this time she was. This was real, marching with battle-scarred veterans around her, and soon the fighting would be real. No more drills, no more instruction. In the back of her head the vision rose of herself with a great sword, leading a charge. She knew it was nonsense, yet—this was a long way from Three Firs. Anything could happen. Almost anything. She was marching as file second to Donag—that had been a surprise. Most of the recruits were slotted further back in the column.
After several days of marching, they came to the fields where the first battle would be fought. Across a wide space was a dark mass: the enemy army.
“Militia,” muttered Donag contemptuously. “We won’t have much trouble with them, unless they’ve a surprise for us.” Paks did not dare ask how he knew. She said nothing at all. “Just remember that even militia can kill you if you’re stupid,” he told her. “Stay in formation—remember the strokes—and listen for orders.”