The Channeling (Rise of the Witch Guard Book 3)

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “And if our boys spill the beans to the other fighting bands directly?” he asked dourly.

  “Then they can attempt to explain whatever situation develops to the tribals,” Falon said sharply. “Let’s be clear: the Old Blood shouldn’t have too much of a problem with this. It’s only the New Blood who are going to have fits. So if they do, step on it—hard. We need swords and if they can swing them up to your standards, Darius, then I’m of a mind to take them. Now hop to it, boys!”

  Gaped mouths slowly closed in the ensuing silence, much to Falon’s satisfaction.

  “Yes,” Tug said faintly, while Darius turned on his heel and walked away.

  Falon relaxed as soon as he started barking orders at the pile of new recruits.

  This might have been a mistake, but it was one she was just going to have to see play out.

  Chapter 15: Problems in the Chain of Command

  Early the next day the small training ground was filled with the shouts, grunts and cries of two batches of fresh recruits being put through their paces.

  Freshly bearded—thanks to Tulla’s magic and the contents of her pockets—all of the former peasants and barbarians were fighting, running or rolling in the mud under the direction of the sadist otherwise known as the battalion’s Training Master.

  “Good,” Falon said with satisfaction.

  However, her good mood was soon to be short lived because no sooner had she turned away to get a hot, steaming, fire-hardened clay mug of tea, a man attired in brilliantly highlighted pink and purple court clothes came thundering up on his horse—and he wasn’t alone.

  Pulling to a stop just short of her position—and doing so in a spray of mud and snow that showered all over the front of her clothes—the courtier and his band of well-equipped armsmen began laughing and joking.

  Falon was now cold, wet and dirty and this popinjay sat astride his horse as if it was a matter of never no mind. “Hey!” she called out angrily.

  As if only just noticing her, the courtier turned his head to face her for the first time since coming into the camp.

  Falon was floored—she recognized him! Blinking at that second, all she could do was stare at him blankly.

  “Run along, boy, and tell your master he is to come pay attendance upon his new Captain,” the Courtier said with a great deal of satisfaction and self-importance, while he acted as if everything around him was a game set up for her personal amusement.

  “What?” Falon asked with surprise.

  “Tell him that Lord Casper, of the order of the Blue Garnet, fourth son of the Earl of Warrick has come to call,” he said pompously, but with a hint of irritation in his voice.

  “Jasper…I thought you were dead!” Falon exclaimed with surprise. “How did you survive the attack?”

  A look of understanding crossed the lordling’s face and in an instant the laughter and good cheer disappeared from his face only to be replaced with over exaggerated grief and sorrow.

  “Ah, you were familiar with my brother were you? He did tend to like them young, the sorry old sod; I’m afraid I have to tell you that Jasper really is dead, so there’s no point in carrying on and on about it,” the lordling said with a knowing look and a sudden wink in her direction. “But don’t worry; whatever my twin owed you for your services will be covered in full by the House of Warrick. Having said that, if you would be a good boy, run off and,” here he flicked a silver coin into her hand, “find your commanding officer, you’ll have my gratitude.”

  Falon’s mouth worked silently, opening and closing as she tried to make sense of the entire situation. First, Jasper really was dead, but it turned out he had a twin brother?

  “But you said you were the fourth son. That’s what Jasper said, too,” Falon said stupidly, before the import of that wink and the second half of what he’d been saying caught up to her and she flushed a bright beat red. Fortunately, she still had her beard to help cover her shame.

  Once again, instant sorrow replaced his joking and winking demeanor as the lordling in front of her once again sighed.

  “I was the fifth; a mere mischance in the order of birth I assure you. He stuck his foot out first and they tied a ribbon to it…but that’s not important. What is important is now that he’s gone from this world—far too soon, rest his soul—I am forced to take up the mantle of fourth son,” Casper explained, apparently having rehearsed the monologue at some length due to his fluid delivery. Then he blinked and looked pointedly from her to the silver in her hand and back to her again before clearing his throat. “Ahem!” he said loudly.

  Falon flushed again. “I’m the Acting Captain of this company, now that Smythe’s been settled on his lands and the Fighting Swans have been called back by the Prince,” she said before clearing her throat, “so if you’re here to speak to our leader, that would be me.” After she finished, she stuck a foot out and cocked her hip trying as she feared failing to strike a self confident pose. Then, belatedly, she decided to flick the coin back to him.

  Casper recoiled as if he’d just stepped into something foul and unexpected before his face once again smoothed. Catching the coin, he absentmindedly returned it to his purse.

  “I say, old chap; sorry for the mistake in identity,” the foppish lordling said smoothly. “I should have noticed immediately from your demeanor that you were the top man in charge out here. I fear that it must have been that scrappy beard that threw me off my game. But if it’s of no matter to you then I’ll consider the issue closed.”

  “Alright,” Falon said, once again—and as far as she would have liked, for the last time—silently cursing the now patchy beard concealing her face. ‘Scrappy,’ was it? It was time the cursed thing went for good. As soon as she had the chance, she was tearing it out by the roots!

  “Is there somewhere we could speak privately?” Lord Casper asked.

  “Sure,” Falon said, and then gestured for him to follow her to the tent before leading the way.

  From the sound of things, the armsmen quickly scurried down from their horses and moved to follow their leader.

  “I say, old bean, could you tell me your rank and station in this fighting company? I wouldn’t want to give any inadvertent offence,” Lord Casper said casually.

  “Ah, sorry,” she said hastily, feeling as if she were somehow in the wrong for not introducing herself even if he had just sprayed her with mud, insinuated she warmed his brother’s bed, and then said it was all a mistake caused by her scrappy face. Upon reflection, she decided that really must be a courtier; his talent and mastery as a wordsmith was something she’d never encountered before at any length.

  So while silently warning herself to gird her proverbial loins, she nodded her head and proceeded to introduce herself.

  “I am Sir Falon Rankin, Lieutenant and Acting Captain of the Fighting Swan Battalion, raised by Lord Richard Lamont, at your service. I was knighted by the Prince for service after the Battle for Ice Finger,” she said, explaining it as simply as she knew how before gesturing for him to enter the tent.

  Casper blinked as if this were something that he hadn’t expected, but once again his face smoothed and he moved into her patched campaign tent with all the aplomb she would have expected from a person who looked like a professional courtier.

  “Excellent. I’d give a big ‘how do you do?’ but seeing as how we’ve already met, I’ll ask if we could get down to business,” said Lord Casper, pausing to look around the tent as if searching for a place to sit.

  Moving over, Falon retrieved her campaign stool and offered it to him while she was left sitting on her rolled up bedding.

  “Ah, thank you. It’s good for a body to get out of the castle every now and then to ‘rough it’ with the men, don’t you agree?” Casper asked, and then not waiting for an answer continued, while Falon glanced significantly at the nearby walls of the keep and then back to her camp stool which was better than nine in ten of the men had at their disposal, “As I was saying, I’ve been given
a writ by the Prince to take over ‘provisional’ command of this Fighting Company until the Prince Marshal has sufficient time to make his own determination as to your suitability for command.”

  “I see,” Falon said, not able to suppress a pang at the certain knowledge that she was about to lose command of the Swans, “and, technically, we’re a battalion—not a company. For the record.”

  “Yes, of course,” Casper said, flashing a meaningless smile, “let me assure you: this is none of my doing and only a temporary state until the Prince can get a measure of you as a leader of men. I’ll be reporting on your progress and, of course, exercising over all command of this temporary arrangement.”

  Falon was starting to get mad. It’s not that she was unwilling to hand over the command, but if he used the words ‘provisional’ or ‘temporary’ one more time, she was going to scream. She wasn’t an idiot; she knew what was going on and he didn’t need to treat her like this, but instead of punching him in the nose she did her best to smile sweetly and hold her piece.

  “Good. Now with that settled, I don’t see as how this has to be an adversarial relationship. We can keep the old arrangement you had under your previous Captain…Sir Smith, or Smithy, or whatever his name was—” he said.

  “It was Smythe,” Falon corrected.

  The lordling frowned at the correction. “Quite,” he said, a touch of crossness entering his voice, “as I was saying: you’ll continue to run the day to day operations while I will give general directions and exercise total control in the field,” said the Courtier.

  Falon coughed, “The Captain had me in direct command of one of our two fighting companies; during battle he’d give the orders on where to position ourselves or to advance, charge, or what have you, but he generally left it to me to carry out,” she explained.

  Casper stared at her with calculating eyes. “I don’t see as how that’s significantly different from what I said, but I don’t see a problem presenting it your way to the men in order to ensure a smooth transition,” he laughed, his mouth saying one thing while his eyes said another. “Which brings me to my next point: we are to receive reinforcements in order to expand this fighting company to battalion strength,” seeing her open her mouth, he pursed his lips and seemed to recall something, “I mean re-expand back to battalion strength.”

  Falon settled back.

  “While at a current strength of two hundred warriors, I don’t think we ever left battalion level fighting power,” she fudged, including the new recruits as full-fledged warriors even though they made up over half of her current fighting strength, “any reinforcements will be appreciated.”

  “Good, good; I’ll leave the disposition of the new men in your no doubt capable hands while I continue to ensure a smooth flow of information from the Prince’s inner circle to our unit in the field,” Casper said with a false smile.

  Falon stared at him. “Meaning you’ll be spending the majority of your time with the…General’s staff, or I guess that would be the Marshal’s staff?” Falon asked with surprise.

  “There’s the ticket,” Casper said easily.

  Falon frowned. It sounded like he intended to stay with the comforts of the Prince’s court and only show up to give order during combat. It wasn’t what she was used to—or even really wanted—but she supposed she could live with it. There were worse arrangements out there to be had, after all.

  Maybe sensing something of her general mood and aura of mild disapproval, the lordling’s face hardened even though his voice remained a smooth and light hearted as ever.

  “Working the court, or rather ‘staff’ in this situation, maintaining ties and giving this company a voice in matters at the highest level is absolutely necessary. We wouldn’t want to fall behind the other commanders and one day wake up to find this Company consistently in the van and the tip of the spear when it comes to hazardous duties,” he warned.

  Falon felt a chill, feeling that this Casper’s eyes suddenly seemed to resemble a snake more than they did a human’s after the way he could insinuate and threaten without missing a beat—and do it all while smiling and laughing easily as if it were all part of some game instead of people’s lives.

  “No…we wouldn’t,” she said faintly.

  “Then I hope I can count on your unwavering support?” he asked, one corner of his mouth turned up.

  “For the good of the Fighting Swans,” she said, nodding seriously to showcase her agreement. Then a thought occurred to her, “How do you want me to allocate the new men? We previously had a two company arrangement and—”

  He idly waved a hand.

  “Now that my brother is gone, my personal guard has swelled to fifty armsmen. I’ll retain them under my direct command and they’ll follow me wherever I go. As for the rest,” he shrugged, “you are free to put the criminals, prisoners, and gutter-sweepings wherever you see fit.”

  “Criminals…from the stocks?” Falon said faintly, her enthusiasm for the reinforcements suddenly waning.

  “Well then I think this has been a very productive appointment; a real meeting of the minds as it were,” Casper said, standing up.

  “Thank you for coming,” Falon said perfunctorily.

  “Well then, I’ll be off,” said the Lordling.

  “Wait!” Falon said suddenly before quickly lowering her voice. “When can we expect the crimin—make that, the reinforcements?” she asked urgently.

  “Expect them? Why, my good Lieutenant,” he said, gesturing to the side of the camp where she saw a large number of men had already gathered, “I assure you they are already here. Well, I must away! Ta-ta!!” he finished, doffing his cap—complete with an improbably long feather in it—before turning to his armsmen. “Back to the Keep; we might yet make it in time for dinner!”

  Mouth hanging open, Falon watched with dismay as her new ‘captain’—who expected total command during battle—hurried away back to court in the castle while she was left to handle the integration of a bunch of criminals into the Swans.

  “This is just great,” she said suddenly in an increasingly foul temper. Then she realized that with Lord Casper’s brother Jasper, while she’d instinctively rejected his attempt to seize control of the Swans, when it came to Casper the Courtier she’d not only agreed—she’d even forgotten to ask to see the Prince’s Writ and Seal!

  Feeling like an utter failure, Falon sat down in the opening of her tent and stared at the small hoard of new recruits. They were a raw-looking bunch and even with all this cold she could see that several of them didn’t even have boots much less all of them coming equipped with winter coats.

  Without some quick work, it looked like she was going to lose many of these new men just to the elements before they got within a hundred miles of the enemy.

  Which is why she came to a sudden, critical decision—and you could call her a hypocrite if you wanted. Turning her back on both the savage and criminal recruits, Falon stood up, returned to the inside of her tent, and immediately started to rip out the ragged results of the beard spell.

  Clumps of facial hair came flying out by the fistful and, ignoring the tugs—and in a few certain case the stinging sensation of plucked hairs—she wasn’t satisfied until each and every hair on her face was pulled, plucked or yanked off her face.

  Feeling much better, despite the small beads of blood welling on her face, her lips made a firm line and she marched right back out of the tent once again ready to face the world. It was time to get this mess straightened up—and she was just the girl for the job.

  “Darius!” she yelled.

  Chapter 16: Leaving Ice Finger

  “Alright, you sad, sorry sacks of dirt clods: I said ‘step with your left foot’—your left! This is your left,” the Training Master bellowed, slapping the indicated appendage with the wooden rod in his hand. “March!”

  The Battalion had expanded to nearly three hundred strong and was now comprised of three unequal sized companies. There was her original Se
cond Company—now renamed the First—which was comprised of the survivors of her company from both the Flower War and the Battle for Ice Finger (or the War of Northern Aggression as it seemed the Prince was now terming it.) That, plus the Forager Squad, a few stragglers from Smythe’s former company who hadn’t liked the idea of staying in the Northlands, along with the twenty odd original tribal recruits that had been with them since winter, and finally included the starving peasants they’d picked up along road here.

  The next company was formed out of the fifty three late recruits from the Snow Fox clan, among them the no longer suspiciously smooth-faced ‘youths.’

  And her last company was formed out of the prisoners and men kicked out of other fighting bands that had been foisted off on her and the Swan Battalion.

  All of them were now trying to form up into some kind of marching order by command of the Prince Marshal, who seemed in an awfully big hurry to head off down the road.

  That moment, while Falon was standing there, a horse came thundering up pulling to stop in a spray of mud and snow. Thankfully, this new rider at least had the common courtesy to pull up short of her position.

  “Hello the camp!” shouted the Armsman, even though he was a mere fifteen feet away from her.

  Falon snorted. “As you can see, the camp is already broken down and we’re in the process of marching out,” she retorted without rancor.

  The armsman grimaced before stiffening. “I have a message from your new Captain, Lord Casper of the Blue Garnet,” he paused to clear his throat, “by order of the Prince: today we march. The Fighting Swans Company is to break camp and move out with all haste upon receiving this command,” with a sharp nod the Armsman ended his message.

  Several people nearby looked at him incredulously while another joker hidden within the ranks snorted and laughed. In another part of the ranks, a stream of brown tobacco spittle flew a good eight feet before hitting the ground just outside the marching path of the men.