by Guy Antibes
Trevor hurried back to the Garrison, found the purses he had hidden in his office and in his quarters, and stuffed them in his tunic before heading back to the weapons shop.
“Here,” Trevor said, counting out his money.
The shopkeeper appeared like he couldn’t keep a smile off his face as he counted out the money. There was plenty left over after the man extracted his price. He retrieved the blade from the back and pulled out a new belt.
“This is a baldric for wearing the sword on your back. It isn’t what soldiers do, but perhaps you won’t always be a soldier.”
“Or a prince,” Trevor said. “I am Lieutenant Arcwin at the garrison.”
“As you wish. If you ever come across a matching knife, I wouldn’t hesitate to buy one. They would make a beautiful pair. This is the only Jarkanese sword I have ever carried. I would have kept it, but I am a businessman above being a collector. I wish you well, Prince Arcwin.”
“Lieutenant Arcwin.” Trevor gave the shopkeeper an appropriately crisp military salute and left the shop with his unexpected purchase. He strolled back to the garrison with the new weapon thrown over his shoulder.
He wondered as he approached the main gate if he had been too impulsive in his buy. Had he been taken? Did the shopkeeper have ten identical swords tucked away in a cheap box somewhere? Trevor set the thoughts aside when he saw Boxster jump off the end of a wagon. He had his tunic tossed over his bare chest, exposing a wrap of bandages on his shoulder and side.
Trevor ran to his sergeant just as others gathered around the bedraggled soldiers filing through the south gate.
“Are there more injured?” Trevor asked.
“We are strung out for a mile or more. Put your weapon…” He looked at the hilt of Trevor’s new sword poking out. “A new weapon, I see. Put it away and return. Everyone is going to have to play healer for the rest of the day. If you could help me get my tunic on, I’ll do what I can to direct others.”
Trevor nodded and helped Boxster into his tunic. He almost looked normal, except for his slower than normal movements. When Trevor returned from stowing his purchases, more wagons appeared, and the entire garrison was put to work, helping the injured and unloading the carts.
Most of the soldiers needed some kind of attention, but then the bodies came. Trevor had never seen so many dead soldiers before. There must have been twenty or thirty, an entire company killed.
“I’d like to say we took the lives of more of them than they did of us, but that isn’t true. The West Moreton force lost half of what we did,” Boxster said as Trevor followed him, helping his sergeant work with the injured. “Make sure you pay attention to what I am doing. You may end up as the best healer in a company sometime. Brother Yvan is better than I am, but I use a few different techniques that I learned in my travels and do rather well for a healer without magic.”
Trevor watched Boxster do a more thorough job of cleaning wounds. He also stitched up wounds using smaller stitches and a curved needle that Trevor hadn’t seen before.
“Smaller scars that way,” Boxster said when Trevor asked him about stitch size. “The better the scarring, the more mobility a soldier will have when he is healed.”
“Then I could use better stitching,” Trevor said.
“We all could,” Boxster went silent while he finished with his next patient. “When you are out on your own, you have to do the best you can. Stitches are better than merely wrapping a wound up, although that will work, too, the scars can be pretty wide.”
Trevor had never thought about such things before. If he was injured, he sought out Brother Yvan. The prince hadn’t put much thought into what he would do out on his own for an extended period.
“Now you can put into practice what you’ve just seen. Help me off with this tunic,” Boxster said. “I can’t sew myself.”
The sergeant’s comment caught Trevor by surprise. “Me?”
“You. No reason not to practice on me. Don’t tell me you can’t sew, since I have seen you stitch up the holes in your uniform,” Boxster said. “You can start on my shoulder.”
He began to unwrap the bandage while Trevor looked on with disbelief. “I don’t know how to sew up skin, let alone my sergeant’s,” Trevor said.
“Tie a knot at the end of the string in that bag using the curved needle. Clean the needle, first,” Boxster said.
Trevor did as he was told, showing Boxster what he could along the way. When the shoulder was done, Trevor fetched a mirror to show Boxster how his shoulder looked.
“Serviceable. You will get to be the one to remove them in a few weeks.”
“Weeks,” Trevor said. Who knew what would happen in a few weeks? He unwrapped Boxster’s side and cleaned the wound. “How far did the sword go in?”
“Not far enough to do any damage, but the cut does sting. Clean it really well.”
Trevor had to ignore Boxster’s grunts. The cut wasn’t healing quite as well as his shoulder wound, and Boxster, using the mirror to look at the cut, instructed Trevor to trim some of the edges. The patch job was bloodier than the shoulder, but Trevor finally got the wound sutured.
“You did a fair job. The shoulder was better, but it needed to be,” Boxster said. “The wound in my side was the one I was worried about. I still am, but less so after you trimmed the edges.”
A healer brought cloth bandages and healing salve for Trevor to use binding Boxster’s wounds with something clean.
“You can rest, now,” the healer said as he went to administer to a few others.
“Now, you can show me your new sword,” Boxster said.
“I’ll help you to your spot in the barracks, and then I’ll bring it to you.”
“I’m infirm now?” Boxster said.
“Until your side heals, I’d say so,” Trevor said.
Boxster stood, his bloody tunic wadded up in his hand, before he walked much slower to his bed at the end of a line of mattresses in the barracks. Injured soldiers occupied too many of them in the middle of the day, Trevor thought as he made sure Boxster was taken care of before he left to retrieve his treasure.
Boxster was sitting up in his bed reading one of the books they had brought from Tarviston.
“Here it is,” Trevor said.
Boxster took the sword and looked at Trevor with narrowed eyes. “From the shape of the scabbard, you paid an awful lot of money for your blade.”
“I did. I’m not sure I didn’t make a mistake.”
Boxster drew the sword. “Jarkanese. I never thought I would see one of these in Presidon.”
“It is genuine?” Trevor said.
“You bought this and ask me now?” Boxster swished it a little, something that was a bit awkward sitting up in bed. “It is likely genuine, but we will find out when we do a little sparring. The edge should hold up very well. It has the right weight, and the steel looks right. I am looking at this from some ancient memories. Brachians hold the Jarkanese sword in very, very high regard. This was likely stolen to have made its way this far east. The price is a good one for a stolen weapon. You like the balance?”
“It is like an extension of my hand,” Trevor said. “The shopkeeper of the weapons shop said this had no magic in it, but it almost seems like it is a magical sword.”
“The sword makers reputedly use magic to make a Jarkanese sword, but it isn’t needed to work the blade. I wouldn’t know the truth since we have the same magical aptitude.”
“None,” Trevor said.
“What are you going to do with your service sword?”
“Keep it. If I go out on patrol, I won’t want to risk using my new weapon.”
Boxster chuckled, but he stopped abruptly. “I can only laugh so long with the hole in my side. Use them both sparring with one of the officers; I think you will be giving up your army sword.”
Trevor shrugged. “I’ll take your advice. I’d spar with you—”
“No, you won’t. I won’t get long enough to recover if I do th
ings to reopen my wounds. I wouldn’t be surprised if the army that leaves the garrison is out of here in seven days or less.” Boxster pursed his lips. “The West Moreton force didn’t appear to want to leave Presidon anytime soon, and the way they took us on and defeated us, I’d say they have a right to do so.”
“You can’t mean that,” Trevor said. “They have intruded on our borders.”
“How do you think borders are created? The parties on both sides have to agree on where the line is. Borders get shifted all the time. The stronger the party, the more land they can take.”
Trevor would have to read about that. Hopefully, there would be some comments in his thicker scout’s journal.”
Chapter Fourteen
~
“W hen are you going to use that sword?” Trevor’s sparring partner asked.
“In a few minutes. I want to make sure we are both warmed up sufficiently.”
“I’m ready,” the older man said.
Trevor wished that Boxster was out to give him an honest opinion about the Jarkanese sword, but the sergeant was sleeping, and the healer said that was what Boxster needed the most.
After a few more passes, Trevor called a halt to their session and exchanged swords.
“That is an odd-looking blade. Are you sure you want to play with me using that ungainly thing?”
Trevor looked at the sword, extending it and twisting his wrist so he could examine the weapon at a few angles. “It isn’t ungainly in my hand,” Trevor said. “Shall we get started?”
Trevor swished the sword in front of his opponent. The balance hadn’t changed for him, and he nodded to his opponent. They engaged, but Trevor beat him more easily.
“You are faster. I mean, I can’t defeat you under any circumstances, but you were faster. Can we switch swords?”
Trevor didn’t have a reason not to. His opponent began with a flurry of slashes and thrusts, but Trevor’s service weapon performed well. The other man’s actions weren’t as crisp as before.
The other officer dropped the point of his sword and held up his left hand. “Enough. That sword isn’t made for me. I can use it, but I’m not comfortable. It is all yours.”
Trevor smiled. “It was mine anyway. If there was a sword meant for me, this is it.”
“I would say so. Are you going to take it out on expeditions?”
“Would you?”
The man smiled. “If I could make it work like you do, definitely. It’s almost like a magic sword.”
“You’ve wielded a magic sword before?” Trevor asked.
“Once. I have a little bit of talent, and we were spending the night in a border town on the West Moreton side if you must know. The West Moretons are permitted to carry magic weapons. We fought them the day before, and I had picked up the sword in question. It worked differently than yours, but it was almost directing me where to point my blade. It was exciting to use it until the senior officer commanded me to give it up. King Henry doesn’t like enchanted anything.”
“That is correct,” Trevor said.
“You would know, Prince Arcwin.”
“Lieutenant Arcwin,” Trevor said.
His opponent laughed. “I fought you as Lieutenant Arcwin, but it doesn’t matter who you are, I sparred with the winner of this year’s Summer Tourney. As always.” The man bowed and left the practice field.
Trevor found Boxster still reading the book.
“How did it work?” Boxster asked.
Trevor drew the sword. “Hardly a nick,” he said, examining the blade.
“Better than the softer steel of your old weapon, which was a very good rendition of the army sword. Is it flexible?”
Trevor nodded. “At least as much as the sword it replaces. My opponent said it was almost like a magic sword, but he couldn’t get any magic to work. It was more awkward in his hand than it was in mine.”
“And that is an advantage,” Boxster said. “Did you read this while I was gone?”
Trevor could feel his face heat up. “I did something quite different.”
“And what was that?”
“I found two scouting journals. I made some blunders on our patrols, and those were related to scouting, so I decided to read up on it. The first journal was the best of the lot in the garrison library, and I almost memorized it. Now I’m working on the second, but it is slower going.”
“It couldn’t have taken you three weeks to get through the book, could it?”
Trevor smiled and sighed. “I turned what I learned in the books into a game. I would imagine different scenarios and would play them out in my mind to help learn the techniques.”
“Did your games work?”
“I think they did. When you are better, I’ll show you how I played the game.”
Boxster grimaced and sat up. “No time like the present. I need to get up and walk. I would appreciate it if you would help me put on my boots, that is more painful than anything.”
~
Boxster sat in Trevor’s chair, looking down at the notes and maps that Trevor had made on his practice campaigns.
“You were productive while I was gone.”
“Productive? I just made up games.”
“War games? You came up with all kinds of strategies based upon weather conditions and the shape of your men. I’m very impressed,” Boxster said. “Did you learn a lot?”
“I did. I was able to scale up the scenarios and scale them down to fighting with a few men. I like the improvisational nature of different approaches. It is like choosing my sword. I went with something a little less conventional that felt right to me.”
“What would you have done differently in the field?” Boxster asked.
After reviewing his notes, Trevor gave him two scenarios from each of the two patrols that they had gone on and gave him reasons why he made changes.
“I am very impressed. Even if you aren’t the commander of an entire unit, it is plain you can play, if I can use the term, with different plans of attacks in the field. I’m sure you are going to get the chance. Would you do what the general intends?”
“He will be pushing injured troops into the field, and I don’t think that is ever a good strategy. Men are weaker and subject to getting their wounds infected. It would be better to await reinforcements,” Trevor said.
“That makes two of us who know better, and there are more in the garrison who feel the same way we do. Most of the officers in the last expedition are among those who think such an act would be folly,” Boxster said. “What do your games tell you about what tactics to use going into the field with men who aren’t one hundred percent?”
“Reorder the patrols and the duty rosters, so those most injured are engaged in support activities according to their abilities. As I said, sending injured men to fight is sending them to their deaths. There are different ways to do that, depending on the skills of the injured.”
Boxster smiled. “That is very daring. Can you win a battle when half your soldiers are cooks and quartermasters?”
“I’m not sure if you can predict winning battles since conditions can change. That was emphasized again and again in every military book I’ve read. Men who ride can scout or be messengers. Some men can help prepare a battlefield, but if they are too injured, they will be left in the rear somewhere minding medical tents or something.”
“Now you are guessing,” Boxster said.
“And from guesses can come courses of action,” Trevor said. “At least that is what I think. Every strategy will be tested in the field.”
“I agree with you there. Let’s play a game. I will be the West Moreton army, and you can be the Presidonians with twenty-five percent of the men impaired with healing injuries and reduced capacity to fight.”
Trevor didn’t think he would enjoy fighting against Boxster, but as they made up their battle plans and settled on the state of Trevor’s forces, Trevor realized he had a chance. The battle started, and Boxster moved his men into position
first. Trevor countered that with a flanking strategy that had worked as described by the scouting journal. Boxster looked over the map that Trevor had drawn for their game and moved his men again. Whoever was able to touch the opposing force first was able to reduce the enemy.
In the end, as they worked on the rules and the actions, Boxster won, but his victory wasn’t as decisive as what the West Moretons had just experienced in the field. Their next step was to repeat what happened in the disastrous skirmish. It was plain to Trevor that the Presidon forces hadn’t scouted as aggressively as they should have. They also overcommitted their infantry too early in the conflict as the West Moreton archers poured arrows on the relatively unprotected ground soldiers. It was almost as if the West Moretons knew what the Presidonian forces were going to do.
“You made major mistakes, and the West Moretons didn’t,” Trevor said after Boxster talked about his personal experience having to follow orders that he didn’t agree with.
Boxster didn’t complain, though. Fortunes of war include tactical mistakes made by both sides, especially as battles gets heated.
“I think you’ve had a productive month,” Boxster said. “If you are assigned to another company and I’m recovered enough, I’d be happy to ride at your side again.”
“Same with me,” Trevor said. “Somehow, I don’t see that happening.”
~
As it turned out, Boxster was at Trevor’s side. Trevor commanded a company of quartermasters, not fighters. More than half of the men were able-bodied, but, just as Trevor had suggested to Boxster, many of the wounded men were pushed into his company of wagon drivers, latrine diggers, camp makers, and weapon repairers.
Most of the garrison proceeded south and then east into the forest to turn south again toward the scene of the last battle. General Greenwood ignored Trevor’s suggestions, but some of his thoughts must have been common sense, because the General, who personally commanded his force, made adjustments to the expected order of battle.
“Why don’t we practice fighting?” Trevor asked Boxster when they stopped early.
