"The Healers?"

Fat actually turned around in his chair to glare at me. Tall jerked a thumb to signal behind him, which I took to mean that they were not so far away in that direction. Thinking I might not improve things with further questions or one sided conversation, I left and put my subordinates to setting up camp in the s.p.a.ce indicated. Then went to check in on the healers; just as well appointed as the battle mages but much friendlier. Invited to stay and join them for the evening meal, I accepted with alacrity. They looked like people who liked to eat, and I guessed the food would be good. A short time later I sat before a friendly fire in a comfortable chair with a small table to my right hand on which slaves dumped dishes and drinks. I did a head count, six healers and me, confirming that there was in fact one more battle mage than Tulian had said. Interesting. Or odd. Or maybe he was just visiting and would go back to the city when we moved out, tomorrow or the next day. With less qualms than I would have had with the battle mages, I asked about the extra mage.

"Ah, you mean the student." Middle aged and plump, Lentro was the only healer whose name I had retained from the bombardment of introductions. He was the nominal leader of the healers, senior by some ranking system I didn't inquire about; on his right hand he wore a ring that encompa.s.sed two fingers, and the gently iridescent lilac stone upon it must have been nine carats or more. It was the most impressive stone in sight and I had only seen one or two greater stones in my life, both owned by my family and not much in use. Just because you have the stone, and the money, doesn't mean you are going to be any good at magic, even if you have the inclination to learn. Anyway, he'd answered my question. The fourth one wasn't a battle mage in much the same way that Tul's aide, Gatren Orans, wasn't a commander, or even in the command chain, but was there to learn how to command by observing. That was interesting. What was he observing and could I get to observe and learn with him? It was an intriguing thought. But later for thinking, I had my end of a conversation to keep up.

"Ahh," I said. "I seee."

"Yes. He's here to learn. He won't do anything, just watch and see how his betters do what they do, and maybe as importantly, why they do what they do."

"Hmmm?"

"Battle mages act pretty much independently on the battlefield. Unless asked to try and achieve something they just watch and intervene where they think they can do the most damage without harming any of our own soldiers. Tricky, that, if you think about it."

I hadn't. Now I did. From accounts of battles I'd gleaned an idea of what battle mages can do; quite a lot in the way of lightning and fire spewing forth from the stone used, which is why most stones are worn as rings. Make a fist, cast the spell and point. Of course, personally I had no idea how this was done, I could never afford to find out, and didn't ever intend to need to know. There were accounts of noxious clouds enveloping enemy units, walls of fire springing into existence, and so on and so forth. All of which could be as big a hazard to your own troops as the enemy if used without restraint. Battle mages were also useful in intelligence gathering; using magic to enhance their senses to see and hear what the enemy was doing or what they planned. It has been a truism that our armies could easily be one tenth the size of the opposition and still win. Magic tipped the balance in our favor. The elite units, and many of the n.o.bles, had access to magically enhanced weapons and armor, including trinkets that enhanced strength, stamina and so on, making them easily worth ten men on the battlefield.

"Of course, our job is easier and safer. Surrounded by a hundred men or behind them, I am safe enough, and all I have to do is heal anyone who comes to me or who is dragged back to me." He shrugged in self depreciation.

I had a mouth full of spicy meat ball at that moment and had some difficulty rea.s.suring him that his efforts were in fact critical to the impending battle, not to mention very much appreciated by the recipients of his healing efforts. At least without choking. Still, I think he got the idea and seemed pleased that I'd made the effort.

"I would rather be working with the sick than the wounded, but I haven't been in the field for a few years and it was my turn. Our turn." He apologetically gestured to his colleagues, belatedly including them.

"None of us like war. Healing is a peaceful man's occupation. But we can't have foreigners thinking they can kill our citizens with impunity! I think we all recognize that what we do is both just and necessary!" This from the pudgy and somewhat bald older healer to my left.

"Quite right, Ormal," Lentro approved.

"Justice has nothing to do with it," another healer piped up. "Our citizen was selling wine to people who have no head for it, in exchange for slaves that they had taken by force from another tribe, who quite understandably objected, found out what was happening and killed the greedy son of a b.i.t.c.h."

"Oh, don't start that." Ormal snapped back. "Our citizen was carrying out lawful trade in lands controlled by the city. If the Alendi had a problem with being raided their problem was with the raiders, not our lawful and legal trader!"

I had wondered what the war was about. Well, now I knew. Not that I cared much, I mean it wasn't my war as such, I was just doing what I had to do to avoid a more unpleasant fate; i.e. possible but avoidable death instead of pretty much certain demise.

I leaned closer to Lentro, "Is that all? The death of one merchant?"

"No. The Alendi are now at war with the Ensibi, our allies and Orthand's clients. He has to help them, of course."

Of course. A patron helps his client and a client helps his patron in return. In the city clients will arrive at their patron's door early in the day and say something like, 'Is there anything I can do for you today and thank you for the gift.' The fact that in this case the client was a whole tribe of three towns and maybe a hundred thousand people made no difference; 'of course you can trade freely with my people for slaves from other tribes, and thanks for the military help when it goes sour.' Same thing.

"Where did he think the slaves were going to come from? Hmm? How moral is that?" The argument went on without us.

"Of course he has to help. Any news on how things are going?"

Lentro showed less interest than I thought appropriate. "Not much, a couple of strongholds have fallen, a few villages razed. The Ensibi have taken losses but it's early days."

The Gerrian tribes are numerous, maybe as many as a hundred of them all told. The Ensibi had called for help from an ally, and I couldn't help wondering if the Alendi might do the same. Still, no tribe had more than four others on its borders, and none of them were much larger in numbers than the Ensibi. Probably nothing to worry about. In warrior cultures any able bodied man could fight but the true warriors were only one in fifty, n.o.blemen in other words, men who owned weapons and armor, so in a hundred thousand only two thousand were capable and experienced fighting men. In a worse case scenario, say three other tribes got involved; eight thousand against our seven thousand and whatever the Ensibi fielded. No real problem. Of course, spears are cheap and one in five of any given normal population base would be able bodied men. If the whole tribe rose, maybe twenty thousand men could be raised. Not much more than two to one, not worried. Four tribes would make eighty thousand, enough to stretch us if brought to battle all in one place. But that was unlikely, wasn't it? Allied tribes who felt obliged to help out, for whatever reason or incentive, were unlikely to send every able bodied man, right? So say, at a stretch, seven times four or twenty-four thousand serious warriors and maybe twenty thousand guys with spears, worst case scenario. What was that? Seven times our numbers? We could take down ten times our number, that was the tradition, right? So stop worrying.

Still I didn't sleep well. Camp beds and tents are not as comfortable as beds and roofs and I missed my bed. And I couldn't stop running numbers in my head.

Eventually I must have slept because I woke up to the sound of trumpets and started the day with some choice curses and a groan or two. The healers' hospitality had been generous and I had a pretty good hangover. Being woken rudely at dawn was something I had experienced before under the savage tutelage of my Uncle and had never wanted or expected to have to deal with again, especially with a bad head.

There must have been a dozen or more trumpets, so there was no stopping them, which left waiting them out as the only option, so this is what I resolved to do. Cracking open one eye and waiting, I could see Meran sitting up in the doorway to the tent. There was enough room in here for my bed, such as it was, a small table and chair, a little s.p.a.ce with nothing in it and a couple of chest-sized canvas bags that were my luggage. A pale, cool light poked its unwelcome way through the flaps of the tent and cut a sharp swathe across the limited empty s.p.a.ce before stinging my one open eye.

"Don't say a word," I warned Meran, barely raising my voice above a whisper. "Just get rid of the light."

He took me at my word and slipped silently out the tent, closing the flaps behind him to kill the light that so offended me. He did a good job but the canvas of the tent wasn't going to be thick enough to protect me from all the sunlight when the sun finally rose. The pale half-light of dawn was not enough to push its way through but I knew already that it wouldn't last. The noise of the trumpets swiftly faded away but left behind the sounds of voices, some raised to a shout but most not, and of course the sounds of feet and movement. Lots of voices, lots of feet, lots of movement. I was surrounded by six hundred people and not far away another six thousand or more were also adding a dull background din that I felt sure distance should have reduced more than it did. I closed my eye and hoped that things would settle down. Things didn't. One voice raised in laughter, another shouted in anger, and others less readily identifiable would suddenly ring out and die off to mingle with the incessant background noise.

I was in h.e.l.l. No two ways about it. Just as I'd begun to think I could cope with the background rumble of voices and movement something sudden and jarring would shock me and make it clear that there was not going to be any more sleep for me that day. The only thing that would make sleep possible would be to get away from all these d.a.m.n people. Not an option right now. So, the only thing that would make me less miserable would be to transfer some of that misery to someone else. And I had six people under my direct command. They would have to do.

I threw back the eiderdown and put my feet on the floor. There was a rug, small but thoughtfully placed so my feet wouldn't hit the ground. Point for Meran. Less misery for him today. It was cold. Not seriously cold but dawn-chilly; not warm. Nothing immediate to be done about that. I pulled on a kilt and strode to the entrance, stooped slightly, and stuck my head outside. I would have thrown the flaps open boldly and stepped outside but frankly I'm a little overweight and don't look great in just a kilt. Across from me, about twelve feet away, Sheo and Kerral were ostentatiously up and awake. The flaps of their tent, which was every bit as large as mine, thrown wide, they stood clearly visible bathing and shaving while a slave stood by with towels. Just to my left stood Meran, his expression devoid of meaning, a small brazier of hot coals at his feet right next to a bowl of hot water. He held a lamp in one hand and had a towel thrown over one shoulder. I nodded and stepped back inside where he shortly joined me, placing the brazier on a tripod. He slipped outside and then came back with the lamp and hot water. The bowl went on the table and the lamp hung from the place where two poles met to support the canvas of our ceiling. Seconds later the towel was laid on the back of the chair and a razor appeared with soap to be laid on another towel and a face cloth was placed beside them.

"Good." I meant everything.

He left without saying a word and was back by the time I'd washed and shaved, bringing with him a steaming cup that he placed silently on the table. I finished drying, took the tea and gestured to the water as I turned away. "Go ahead."

I sipped the tea and grumbled to myself as he stripped, washed, shaved, dried, dressed and left. I kept up the grumbling until he had gone, then dressed in clothes that had been left on top of one of the big canvas bags, slipped on some boots and prepared to face the world with no clue what I was supposed to be doing but a clear intent to make my command more miserable than I was. More trumpets sounded before I pulled back the flaps but I carried on regardless. Outside the sun was finally clearing the horizon. The camp was set up across the river from the city in a big meadow that could, and sometimes did, hold four legions or more. There were no permanent buildings. The road was a mile away and headed north. There were two other fields like this; one to the south-east and one to the west of the city, each near a major road, the road intended to be used by the a.s.sembled army that camped near it.

Sheo and Kerral were outside their tent, fully kitted out in armor, swords strapped to their sides and generally immaculate. I cursed inwardly. No armor or weapons had arrived for me, at least not yet. It didn't improve my mood but didn't help my case either; without military apparel I felt that my authority was diminished. Unfortunately I couldn't fault either of my friends and as soon as Sheo spoke I stopped wanting to.

"Ready to parade, sir. Just waiting for the signal."

Only then did I notice my other four men standing round a communal fire, putting breakfast inside themselves but otherwise ready for the day. That would be what all the trumpets were about then; wake up, get ready, and sometime soon, parade. I was starting to remember the lectures about this sort of thing that had been a staple part of my childhood. I had pretended to absorb it, been able to answer well enough, but it was a good while ago and memories fade, especially when the material learned isn't of interest. There were eight watches to the day, dividing twenty four hours; the first watch of the day was also the wake-up call for the army as a whole. The commanders would be returning to their units about now with the watch pa.s.sword and orders of the day. Technically I was a commander. I hummed and nodded as though in response to Sheo's comment, but really I was deciding that I would pop along and see Tulian or his aide a bit later and get the pa.s.sword; not that I antic.i.p.ated needing it; and also check to see if it was required for me to be up before dawn. Needless to say, I hoped for a negative response to that. Surely someone could drop by and give me the pa.s.sword?

Meran appeared at my side with a bowl of porridge. I took it with a nod of thanks, noticed that he had a chain mail shirt thrown over one shoulder, a sword belt hooked over the other and a helm on his head. The helm didn't fit but I really didn't need the extra clue. If he kept this kind of thing up I was going to have to think about thanking him in some way.

The porridge had some bacon for flavor and I forced the stuff into my rebelling stomach before I exchanged the empty bowl for the chain mail, which fit well enough. The cohorts around us were already moving through the camp, all heading the same way. I slipped the belt round my waist so that the sword rested at my left hip, tied off the belt so that the full weight of the chain didn't rest on my shoulders and slipped on the helm. It fit.

I didn't see who theatrically cleared their throat but both Sheo and Kerral were looking the same way when I glanced at them, so I did the same and saw the languid progression of the battle mages as they strolled past without so much as a glance at us.

"Time to move." I tried to put some authority in my voice. Frankly I was feeling a bit off balance. I wanted to make someone miserable but events were putting me on the back foot and my stomach now hated me almost as much as my throbbing head did. I led the way and my command of six men followed. Walking into the rising sun didn't help but I didn't trip over any guide ropes and we were not last to the parade ground where something like seven thousand men, including the equestes, were forming up just as the trumpet sounded for parade. I followed the battle mages and healers who knew where they were going. Finding our unit was never going to be hard. The first centurion, a trumpeter, and a standard bearer stood out in front of the cohort. Our cohort was slightly aside from the legion that Orthand had brought to arms, and I recognized the Verrans family standard, that of the family of which Tulian was the head. The battle mages and healers formed a rough block of ten and left room for us to form up in front of them, so that's what I did, turning and facing the camp which was being hastily struck by the slaves. For every eight fighting men there were two servants; we had two, Meran and whatever Sheo's slave was called. None of the four rankers Kerral had picked had come with his own slave or servant, so two was our lot. The battle mages and healers, n.o.bles to a man, had one each. In times not that long past all fighting men for the city were landowners and the servants numbered as many as the army. In modern times this meant that a century was actually only eighty fighting men.

The whole army fell silent just as I turned to Kerral, intending to ask him if he had had any hint that the army was on the move. In the sudden silence I decided against it but saw anyway from his expression that he'd no clue. It was I who should know. That, I remonstrated with myself silently, will teach you to get up before dawn and check in with the commander in chief. No more surprises. No more not knowing the d.a.m.n pa.s.sword. The camp was being struck and we were on the move. On the bright side the next few hours would not be spent practicing weapons, at which I was well beyond rusty and deeply into clueless. Another of our little military foibles is that the officers, including the commander in chief, join in this group activity which thankfully only happens when in camp. We would now be on the march, and riding a horse is one thing I can do with great skill and aplomb.

The two commanders rode out from the camp, with their subordinate commanders. They rode together but soon separated to move to the front of their respective armies. The fact that one was ten times the size of the other meant nothing in terms of who commanded overall. I wondered how they were getting along. Would Tulian have conceded that this was Orthand's party and he the uninvited guest? In short, would we operate as one army or two? My guess would be the latter. Shared command meant shared glory. Technically, being a n.o.ble of an ancient family, I could take my command and call myself an army. Of course, not having held any office of any kind ever, I had no authority whatsoever to do any such thing, but if I shouted enough and bl.u.s.tered enough and my men followed me I could do it. The idea amused me but wasn't something any sane man would choose to do.

Tulian rode up and down a bit, inspecting the men to see if we were any d.a.m.n good for anything. He looked content enough for most of the time, though when he got to us he caught my eye and glared. I shrugged back and he wheeled his horse without comment and rode back the other way. His aide stopped and walked his horse to a standstill close enough that I could have petted it and leaned out of the saddle. "Be at the commander's pavilion before dawn."

"Be good enough to get your horse out of my face or we will crossing swords at dawn."

"The commander in chief has instructed me..."

I cut him off. "To insult me and get yourself into a duel?"

It was pure bluff of course. Okay, Gatren Orans was a boy of seventeen or so, pretty much the usual age to be an aide and about the business of learning to command. In short, he was young and inexperienced. On the other hand he was a boy who was significantly fitter than I was, and probably trained with weapons every day as I had tried hard to avoid doing. It worked because of the arrogance of our cla.s.s; and the fact that dressed and wrapped in armor I didn't look fat, I just looked big. He backed his horse away a pace or two.

"The commander in chief's compliments, he would be grateful if all commanders attended him for a briefing before dawn each morning."

I nodded sharply. "Delighted."

I held his glare until he had no choice but to accept that that was all he was going to get, at which point he turned his mount aside and walked the beast away, back straight and stiff with suppressed anger. I might have won the round but I'd made the beginnings of an enemy. It's a talent I have.

Having Gatren's horse in my face had put horses in general to the forefront of my mind, and when the parade broke up I asked Kerral if he had one.

"Sheo loaned me one of his spares."

"Good, that's only three to find, then."

"Three?"

"My slave will be traveling with the baggage so I have a spare for," I gestured to my small command who followed me back toward the camp, "one of them."

Most of the main force was still in place, the first cohort of Orthand's army marching off and the rest waiting for a hundred paces' worth of s.p.a.ce to open up before following. Some of the equestes had struck out as vanguard and scouts, even though we were in about as friendly territory as you could get. My charges had wandered back toward the camp, presumably on the premise that standing around for an hour or more wasn't something they cared to do. Neither did I, and there was the small matter of horses to consider. My charges surely were not planning to walk. I had a horse, and so did Sheo, and I now knew Kerral had one. That left four men of my command on foot, which I felt was just plain silly.

"Can they all ride?"

Kerral threw the question over his shoulder and got a few terse but disciplined replies before he turned back to me with the answer, "Pretty much, yes."

"Give the best rider my spare. I'll see about the rest."

With that I picked up my pace and fell in alongside the healer, Lentro.

"How's your head?" He asked.

"Not good," I told him honestly enough. "Remind me not to do that again, would you?"

He smiled. "Gladly."

"Do your people have three spare horses I could borrow?"

He looked instantly suspicious. "Why?"

I outlined the problem and he thought about it before gesturing vaguely toward the city and wondering aloud why I didn't send my slave to go and buy what I needed.

"He doesn't have the money," meaning that I didn't.

"Sumto Merian Ichatha Cerulian," reminding me of my position was a fairly polite rebuke, "if one of our mounts goes lame we'll need the replacements."

I wrinkled my brow in confusion. "You are healers..?"

He sighed. "Yes, bone is bone and flesh is flesh but a man with a broken arm that I have healed generally doesn't have to put it under immediate and constant stress, whereas a horse, using all four legs and with a man on his back, would. Bone healed isn't perfect. The body still has to finish the process."

"Oh," I said. "I hadn't really thought about it."

"People don't."

He hadn't point blank refused, but as we walked on he didn't say any more and actually seemed in bad humor about the whole thing.

"There is clearly more to your calling than I thought. Perhaps I should consider learning more on the subject."

"The College of healers requires payment. The rules are very strict. The penalties for breaking them harsh."

I gave it up as a bad job. No horses and no free training.

Meran and the other slave were where we had left them but now everything was loaded onto a cart; two more held the gear of my charges, and horses had miraculously appeared. I needed three more. The indignity of having half my command walking was absolutely unbearable. Given a choice of two unbearable things, the least unbearable has to be done. I grabbed Meran and whispered to him fiercely for a moment, then ignored him as he jumped on my spare horse and pounded away as fast as he could, considering the press of men, mounts and wagons. Both Sheo and Kerral looked for a moment that they might ask but rightly judged by the look on my face that that would be a bad move if they wanted to stay on the right side of me. They merely exchanged glances and let the matter drop.

My own horse was saddled and ready so I mounted and looked around from the higher vantage. The camp had become, in effect, the baggage train. There were d.a.m.n few men here who were not slaves or freedmen servants. I could tell who was who by the hairstyles and clothing. It was obvious. It wasn't long before my charges started to get into the saddle without order, consultation or fuss. I gestured their way, addressing Kerral and Sheo but keeping my voice just loud enough so that all my men could hear. "Go with them. You four, come with me." I didn't wait, but urged my horse forward trying to look like I had an important ch.o.r.e to take care of rather than not wanting to be seen waiting about with four men on foot while the rest of my command rode off and left us.

Once free of the baggage train I dismounted and started fussing about the horse, checking her hooves unnecessarily and looking at her teeth. She put up with it. I figured I had at least an hour to kill, maybe two.

"Sir?"

I sighed. It was much earlier than I'd expected.

"Waiting for horses," I told him curtly, dropping her right foreleg and turning around to face them as I dusted off my hands.

It was Pakat, a tall soldier of forty or so years. He seemed calm as ice and met my gaze steadily. His nose was flat and his eyes hard, face expressionless. He looked exactly the type I had expressly ordered Kerral to get for me. Hard as nails, experienced, lethal. Perfect.

"Yes sir." He put one fist to his chest in a salute as he said it, then dropped into parade rest.

"Relax," I told him.

"Yes sir." He didn't move a muscle that I saw.

I sighed. It was going to be a long wait. h.e.l.l, I had nothing better to do and I knew it. "Pakat, isn't it? You a career soldier?"

"Yes sir. Twenty four years, sir."

I glanced at the others who also stood at parade rest, though a couple of paces back from Pakat, making him their leader either by arrangement or pure instinct. Who knows how rankers sort these things out?

In any case he didn't need me to ask. "All career men, sir. Not less than twenty years."

"Clients?"

He shook his head slowly. "Paid men sir."

There was a big difference. A professional soldier could be in the clientele of one man and only go to war when their patron required them to do so. At other times they bimbled about the world guarding his interests in foreign lands, be they client kingdoms, conquered territories, border territories, whatever. In short they only saw action when it happened. Paid men joined a unit, initially when a new unit was recruited. They then stayed, were paid, and went to the war (why else would a unit be recruited?), but they, unlike a client, could leave any time not actually engaged in a war so long as they joined another unit. If refused permission to leave they could buy out of that unit by law. Any short-handed unit would take them. They saw more action than clients, had more experience, gained more booty. These four b.a.s.t.a.r.ds probably had enough money to buy horses. Herds of d.a.m.n horses. I carefully examined their gear. It was well worn, all of it. Well worn but of the highest quality, without being the gaudy stuff n.o.bles tended to buy. They were each wearing a small estate's worth of equipment.

"Kerral chose well," I commented under my breath.

"Good man, Kerral."

No sir on the end of that comment. Oh no.

I felt like asking them if they had any spare gear but seriously bit my lip on that one. Father hadn't sent me a d.a.m.n thing. Not that I could honestly blame him; I must have sold ten sets over the years, so why should he send another? Still, I admit to being a bit disappointed in him. After all, I was doing what he always wanted.

"Yes, he is. Saved my life once."

Pakat didn't look surprised but his expression did relax just an iota. I guessed that he was relieved that Kerral thought my life was worth saving. Then I thought about it and decided that that was exactly it. These men were only following me because Kerral had asked them to do so and Pakat was a little relieved that Kerral thought I was worth it, worth enough to risk his life saving mine, not a fool, not someone who was going to put them in harm's way for stupid or trivial reasons. He didn't ask under what circ.u.mstances like anyone else would. For him it seemed enough that it was a fact. It occurred to me that these men would not consider having a casual chat with me, which left us standing around doing nothing while we waited. That just didn't seem right. Well, if in doubt, ask.