The first three weeks of training were comparatively easy for Alucius, and nothing compared to herding and what his grandsire had put him through. He did what he was told as well as he could. He listened and learned, both from what was said and what was not. His greatest problem was getting used to sleeping in a long room with fifty other men and always being surrounded by others. He did miss the solitude and the openness of the lands under the plateau.
The conscripts had been riding about three glasses a day, one in the morning and two in the afternoon, but most of the riding had been formation practice. They had also been practicing with the rattan sabres, but on foot. Since the exercises were elementary, and well beneath Alucius's level, and since he hadn't wanted to stand out, he'd decided that his best course was to go through all the exercises right-handed. Most people used their right hand anyway, and few would suspect he'd learned with his left. He'd gotten more than a few drubbings at first, but had caught up with most of those in the training company.
On the fourth Londi after he had arrived, he was grooming the gray and cleaning the stall before breakfast, looking forward to getting his rifle back, if only for target practice. As he closed the stall, he could hear Dolesy's loud whisper, clearly pitched to carry.
'Course he finishes with his mount first… herders sleep with 'em."
Alucius ignored Dolesy's comments and walked away from the stable and toward the farthest barracks, the one that held the conscript mess hall.
'… doesn't like us talking about his being an animal lover, a real animal lover… wouldn't know what to do with a woman…"
Alucius tightened his lips, took a deep breath, and kept walking. He did wonder at times why Dolesy disliked herders so much, but the reasons didn't matter for some people.
Breakfast was the usual—lukewarm porridge, overdone mutton slices, greasy yellow cheese, bread not quite stale, dried apples with a slice of lemon—and cider. Alucius looked at the platter before him for a long moment, then used his belt knife to slice the cheese. It was greasy enough that he could only take it in small bites between the bread and the apples. Rather than squeeze the lemon over the apples, he just ate it, following it with a healthy swallow of cider.
Kypler joined him. "Dolesy sure doesn't like northerners." The lanky conscript looked at Alucius. "He doesn't like you at all. Did you do something?"
'Nothing. Never even saw him before we got here." Alucius gestured at the nearly empty table where they sat. "People sit with those they know. Not many know us, so…"
'It's not just that. He caught Velon in back, bruised his ribs… where it wouldn't show."
'He's that sort," Alucius said, taking a mouthful of the porridge. "How can you eat that?" "Because I feel worse if I don't."
Kypler laughed. So did Akkar, several places away on the other side of the long table.
After breakfast, as the sun was rising in the east, the cavalry conscripts lined up in formation outside the first training barracks—their barracks. The other three barracks were for the foot conscripts. Alucius found it strange not to see the plateau in the northeast, but considering that Sudon was well over a hundred vingts from the nearest part, he couldn't expect to see it.
Estepp marched down the line, studying each conscript silently, then returned to the front of the formation to address the forty-odd young men. "We're going to start rifle training today. You'll get your rifles for practice, and then you'll turn them back in. Some of you think you're good shots. Most of you aren't. If you are, just practice to keep your skill up. If you're not, listen and try to learn something. Remember that every bullet you put in a brigand means one more person who's not going to be able to put one in you."
The senior squad leader paused. "We don't like it when you waste cartridges. We can gather some of the casings. That's not the problem. Anyone want to guess what is?"
'The powder, sir?" ventured Velon from beside Alucius.
'Very good. Gunpowder. We've got charcoal, and we can find saltpeter, but the one thing we have to trade for is sulfur. That gets to be a little hard at times, seeing as everyone around us wants to make us part of their land.
'Now… fall out and get your rifles from the armory. Then mount up and re-form. We ride out to the range. You'll be issued cartridges there."
On the ride westward toward the range, Alucius and Kypler were side by side in the rear of second squad. If Alucius rode behind Dolesy, that seemed to cut down on the number of snide comments. Half a glass later, the five squads of the training company halted opposite a small structure and a very long railing.
'You must have used a rifle a lot," Kypler said as they dismounted and tied their mounts.
'Some," Alucius admitted. "You have to as a herder. What about you?"
'Some. My da took me hunting, but I'm not that good a shot."
'I imagine we'll get better."
'Form up by squads. Shoulder arms!" came the commands. "First squad forward…"
Alucius and Kypler stayed to the rear of second squad.
The range itself was simple—a line of wooden cutouts set fifty yards away in the shape of foot soldiers, covered in rough brown paper. Another fifty yards behind the cutouts was a berm. The range was clearly designed so that the targets could be moved back.
'You'll be issued ten cartridges, and you'll turn in ten empty casings," Estepp announced. "You'll load your magazines with five. After my command—and only after my command—you will fire. Take your time. Make each shot count. Is that understood?"
'Yes, sir."
'Then either Furwell, Jynes, or I will offer advice to those who need it. Most of you will. After that, you'll reload. You are not to reload until commanded."
Alucius fired his first five shots at what he thought was a deliberate pace.
Immediately after Alucius had finished, Estepp eased up behind him. "Conscript… I said to take your time."
'Yes, sir. I thought I did, sir."
Estepp smiled. "You only get to fire that fast if you hit the target. Did you?"
'Yes, sir."
'We'll see."
Once the last shots had died away, Estepp commanded, "Rifles at rest!" After a moment, he added, "Give me a check on target number seven, second squad!" Estepp called out.
'One moment, sir."
Alucius waited calmly. He knew where his shots had gone.
'All five in the center, sir," came back from the spotter.
Estepp looked at Alucius. "You're a herder, but not all herders shoot that well. Who's your father."
'His name was Ellus, sir."
Estepp frowned, then nodded. "Your grandsire is Royalt, Captain Royalt?"
'Yes, sir."
'He taught you?"
'Yes, sir."
Estepp nodded and walked on. "Dolesy, you're jerking the trigger. Squeeze it."
As the senior squad leader went on, giving advice to other conscripts, Alucius could hear Dolesy once more, whispering to Ramsat in the voice meant to carry. "… so he had a big name grandsire… someone who could murder lots of other scum… still northern sand scum…"
Alucius could sense the rage and antagonism from Dolesy, but hadn't the faintest idea why Dolesy was so angry with him or herders. He'd just have to watch the man, let him act, and catch him out—the same way he would have handled a sandwolf—except he had no intention of killing Dolesy.
Harvest had ended, and with fall had come colder weather. In the early morning, Alucius's breath steamed when he cleaned the gray's stall, and the warm cider for breakfast was actually welcome.
After two months, the conscripts had gone from sabre drills on foot to drills on horseback, but still with the rattan weapons. The drills ranged from full squad attacks or defenses to single combat. Alucius continued to drill mainly with his right hand, although when he worked with Kypler or Velon he sometimes used his left—if Estepp or Furwell were not following him closely.
Second squad was formed up in the gray light of a cloudy morning in the maneuver
field to the south of the camp complex.
'Five on five drills!" Estepp called out. "At my command!"
Alucius could see Dolesy had switched places with Adron. Dolesy grinned at Alucius, a grin without warmth.
'Attack!"
Alucius urged the gray forward, but not at the headlong pace of Dolesy's bay. He guided his mount head-to-head with the bay—until the last moment when he and the surefooted gray cut left, leaving Dolesy unbalanced after the bigger man had made a giant lunge toward Alucius. Alucius swung the gray back toward Dolesy, still keeping his rattan sabre in his right hand.
Dolesy came in with his sabre high—on Alucius's right—then ducked and slammed the rattan weapon directly toward Alucius's knee. Alucius parried the slash, swung around, this time coming up on Dolesy's left.
Dolesy tried to bring his sabre across his body. But Alucius turned the gray slightly with his knees, switched his own rattan weapon to his left hand, and caught Dolesy with a sharp cut on the back of the wrist. The bigger man's weapon went flying.
Alucius ignored him and maneuvered the gray around him, attacking Ramsat from the other's left, disarming him, and saving Kypler from a blindside attack.
'Halt attack! Halt attack!"
Alucius rejoined the others in formation, slipping the gray in place between Velon and Kypler.
'Velon, forward!"
Alucius tried to hear what Dolesy might be saying, but the dark-haired man was massaging his injured wrist.
'Alucius, forward!"
Alucius eased the gray forward, reining up two yards short of the senior squad leader. "Sir."
Estepp looked at Alucius. "I saw something rather strange. You switched your sabre in the middle of an attack. That's dangerous. I've never seen you use the sabre in your left hand before today."
'Yes, sir."
Estepp looked faintly amused, as if he were going to say something, then just nodded. "Dismissed to formation. Kypler, forward!"
As Alucius returned to formation, he could hear Estepp's comments.
'If your flanker hadn't managed to break through, in a real battle you would have been dead. Even here you would have been hurt. Look everywhere. You don't and you'll be on your back with your eyes wide open forever."
To his right, Alucius could hear the faint murmur of Dolesy to Ramsat.
'… used some sort of trick… get him yet…"
'How? Seems to know when you're layin' for him."
Alucius had been using his Talent for just that purpose, but he had the feeling he wouldn't be able to keep it up much longer.
Mid-morning on the first Trtclt of Dccem, Alucius and the eight other remaining members of the second squad, still in well-worn black training tunics and trousers, were seated on backless wooden benches in the square room where squad leader Furwell discussed cavalry tactics—and anything else that came to mind.
'… to repeat it all in simple terms," Furwell concluded, "always come from where you're not expected. Never charge a prepared position. It's a waste of men and mounts. They could have caltrops spread on the ground. They could have concealed pits with riflemen—or even pikemen waiting in ditches, and there's nothing that will stop you quicker than getting your mount spitted on a four-yard-long pike. If the fall doesn't kill you, one of the pikemen probably will. If you survive that, the best you can hope for is a very long run with soldiers shooting at you."
'What about warlocks or people with Talent?"
Alucius couldn't see who asked the question, and he didn't recognize the voice.
Furwell smiled. "Cold steel or a well-aimed rifle bullet will kill someone with Talent just as dead as anyone else."
'Sir… aren't folk with Talent more like sanders and soarers than real people? Can't they avoid a sabre?"
The squad leader snorted. "I can avoid your blade, Oliuf. That doesn't make me Talented. Having Talent is like having any other skill. It gives people abilities. For example, we use herders as scouts, and most herders have a touch of Talent. They make good scouts because they have a better sense of where sentries and ambushes are. They can also confuse tracking dogs. But they get killed and die like anyone else. People kill sanders all the time. It usually takes two or three men—but it would take two or three men to kill an experienced soldier—the kind we're trying to make you. Don't worry about Talent in battle.
There probably aren't twenty people with a major Talent in all of Corus, and no one's going to waste them in a battle."
'Do you know if the Reillies, the brigands, have warlocks?"
'I doubt it. But it doesn't make much difference. You shoot him first, and he's dead. You don't, and he's got a chance to kill you, either with a crossbow or a rifle or a blade."
'Crossbow?" asked Ramsat.
'They're slow to reload, but you get hit with an iron quarrel and the whole time you're dying you'll wish that they'd shot you with a rifle. With crossbows, they don't have to worry about powder, and any backwoods smith can forge quarrels."
'What about the Matrites?"
Furwell laughed. "You just don't want to go out and go through drills, Velon. Right now, we're not fighting the Madrien forces. The hill folks to the west are. We might have to in time, but you'll have a chance to learn about that when you get to your permanent company." Furwell held up a hand. "They have cavalry, just like we do, and more foot. They've got rifles, and their officers carry pistols along with their sabres and rifles. They've taken over the entire coast from below Fola to well north of Northport. I'd say that they can fight." The squad leader grinned. "And don't ask me about the Lanachronans. You're dismissed. You've got half a glass to take care of whatever you need and to get saddled and mounted in formation."
The nine stood and stiffened at attention until Furwell had left the room.
'… still say Talent can make difference…"
Anything that provided an advantage could make a difference. That was the whole point of what Furwell had said. And what an enemy—or an officer—didn't know was another type of advantage, Alucius reflected.
To the sound of a light rain pattering on the stable roof, Alucius finished brushing all the mud from the gray's coat, as well as checking his hoofs—and feed. After that, he left the stable for the barracks washroom to remove the mud from himself, his boots and his black training uniform. Once he'd cleaned up and stowed his gear, he hung up the damp riding jacket on the stand by his bunk and then headed for the barracks mess.
The evening meal—Alucius hated to call it supper—was mutton, with greasy fried potatoes and overcooked and soggy gladbeans. The bread was fresh, and the weak ale passable. Alucius sat down at the corner seat of an empty table. He had several bites of bread and mutton before Velon slipped onto the bench across the battered wooden table from him.
'Wet out there," Alucius offered.
Velon did not quite meet Alucius's eyes. "Watch out… Ramsat put Bowgard up to something, claimed something about his mount… got Furwell and Estepp out in the stables…" Velon's eyes flickered to his left.
Even before Velon had finished, Alucius could sense Dolesy's presence, and another figure behind the big conscript.
'You love sheep, don't you? You really love them, in just about every way possible, don't you?" Dolesy's voice filled the mess, as did the contempt in his words.
Alucius ignored the comment from the man, and concentrated on finishing the mouthful of bread and greasy potatoes.
'I was talking to you, sandscum."
Alucius took a quick and short swallow of cider, setting the mug down on the table without turning, although he could sense where the exchange would go, no matter what he said.
Dolesy put his beefy hand on Alucius's shoulder and yanked him around, intending to throw him to the floor.
Alucius kept turning as he came off the bench, bringing his knee into the other's groin, followed by a knuckle jab to the vee just below where the lowest ribs met. Dolesy lurched forward, gasping, and Alucius slammed his palm up under the other's jaw, the
n swept his legs out from under him. Dolesy went down like a sander-stunned sheep.
Ramsat charged forward. Alucius stepped inside the wide swing and slammed his elbow across the other's neck, then followed with a jab under the ribs, and another knee into Ramsat's groin.
Ramsat sank to the wooden floor retching.
'Halt!"
Estepp stood in the archway. His eyes went from Alucius to the two men on the mess floor planks. Then he laughed as he stepped forward.
Alucius remained at attention, waiting.
'You, Dolesy, haven't the brains of one of Alucius's sheep." His eyes raked over the second man. "You don't either, Ramsat." He waited. "It takes three of you with rifles to bring down a sander—if you're lucky. Alucius… how many Sanders have you killed?"
'Just three, sir."
'By yourself?"
'Ah… the first one was with my grandfather, and the others by myself."
'Sandwolves?"
'Eight or ten."
Estepp laughed. "Sandwolves have a nasty habit, Dolesy. They can't be tracked by scent, and they can kill a dog or an unprepared man like that." He snapped his fingers. "Herders have to have senses that hear or feel one coming. Just like Alucius heard you coming. He'll always hear you coming.".
Dolesy did not look at the senior squad leader.
'Now," continued Estepp, "I don't like trouble. Alucius can take care of himself. That's pretty clear. Only problem is that if he takes care of you two again, the militia's short two men. If you catch him off guard, I'm short a man who's worth both of you. The militia really doesn't like being short-handed. I really don't like it." He glared at the two on the ground.
'I won't do anything," Dolesy said.
Alucius looked at him. "You're lying."
Estepp grinned. "Another thing you don't know, Dolesy. Most night-sheep herders can tell when someone's lying. That's why no one ever cheats 'em. You want me to turn you over to Alucius right now?"
Dolesy paled. "No, sir."
'You're stupid, Dolesy. You got a man who could be your flank-rider who's twice as tough as any brigand. He could save your life, and you've spent two months trying to get him mad enough to kill you. He could have killed both of you. He didn't. Might have been easier for the rest of us if he had." Estepp looked to Alucius. "You weren't trying to kill them, were you?"
Legacies Page 13
