Prince of Malorn (Annals of Alasia Book 3)

by Annie Douglass Lima

  After Jeskie had been sent off on horseback, Sanjik made everyone else form up into their platoons again. He told the corporals to check everybody’s position, and Thel came around to make sure they were all standing in the right order the proper distance apart. Then Sanjik explained to them all that they would have to get used to the screeches; that the whistle was going to be a code so he wouldn’t have to shout orders anymore. One long blast meant form up. One medium blast followed by a short one meant the same as forward march. Two medium ones meant halt, and so on. Sanjik had made up a whistle code for every command they had learned.

  They practiced marching for the rest of the morning, this time learning how to turn right and left at the whistle’s command and still stay in their straight lines. “You’re learning fast,” Sanjik complimented the army when he finally let them take a break.

  Back in their platoons that afternoon, Sanjik held up an extra spear that someone had lent him. “Let’s work on some different ways you could strike at an enemy. You’ll be getting new spears soon, but for now we’ll use the ones you’ve got.”

  Gripping the spear in his right fist, he made an overarm jab at the empty air before him. “We’ll call this Offense One.” Changing his grip on the spear, he swung it forward in a low underarm jab. “This will be Offense Two.” Next, he switched it to his left hand. “Most of us won’t do it this way as often since we’ll have shields strapped to our left arms, but it would be a good idea to practice both ways just in case one arm gets injured or your opponent is standing where you can only attack him from this angle.” He acted out a mirror image of the first two moves. “Offense Three, Offense Four. If you’re left handed, you’ll wear the shield on your right arm and those two moves will be easier for you.” He flipped the spear around and used both hands to swing it like a club, first to the right, then – adjusting his grip on the shaft – to the left. “Offense Five, Offense Six. The last two won’t be as effective for attack, but they could be useful in knocking someone’s sword away, or for striking in close quarters if you don’t have time to bring the tip of your spear around.” He ran through all six moves again, calling out their names as he performed each one. “After you get your shields, you’ll practice striking this way at each other,” he explained, “but for now you’ll be attacking the air.”

  He made them practice the moves all in unison, performing each one once when he called out its name. There were some grumbles about a Lowlander not knowing the proper way to do such things anyway, but Sanjik was prepared for that. He had already assigned the corporals to stand facing their platoons so they could watch all the privates and remind anyone who made a mistake how to do it right.

  At first it was hard to remember the different terms Sanjik had made up for each type of jab or swing. Everyone knew how to use a spear; they just had never had names for the ways they did it, and they had never had to switch their spears from hand to hand like this. But Sanjik drilled them over and over again, first calling out the moves in number order, then changing the order around so they had to be ready for anything, then using only whistle codes with no words.

  That part was fun, Ernth had to admit. There was laughter and good-natured teasing whenever anyone dropped a spear or got mixed up. At first Sanjik scolded them and tried to make them keep silent while they practiced, but then he seemed to change his mind. As long as they followed instructions and kept up with the orders he was calling out, he let them laugh at themselves and joke about whoever hadn’t done it right. And when an entire platoon finally managed to get through the whole set of moves in perfect unison without a single mistake, he let them cheer and congratulate each other.

  After that they combined marching with spear practice. It was fun to hear the medium blast and then the short one that meant “forward march” and to set off in step with the rest of the platoon, never knowing exactly when Sanjik was going to blow the whistle codes that meant, “Halt! Offense Two!” or “Right face! Offense Five!” and see if they could all do it together without getting mixed up.

  Before they stopped for the evening, Sanjik gathered all the platoons back to their original positions in the center of the meadow to make an announcement. Starting tomorrow, he said, all the camp chores – hunting, skinning their catches, tanning the hides, sewing, gathering firewood, cooking, cleaning up afterwards, and standing guard over the camp at night – would be divided up among the platoons. Everyone would take turns at every job, trading off daily. The skins of the rabbits and deer they caught would be sewn together into additional blankets, to be divided up among those who needed them most as the weather grew colder. But each day, the platoon that had done the best at practice would have free time in the evening instead of a job.

  Life in the army camp settled into a strict and tiring but enjoyable routine. After breakfast, they practiced until noon: not just spear techniques, but exercises that Sanjik taught them. There were all sorts of stretches, apparently designed to limber up every muscle in the body, followed by strange activities with names like sit-ups and pushups, and then running. Sometimes they all ran laps around the meadow together; sometimes Sanjik had the platoons sprint back and forth and compete against each other in races. Then they practiced with their spears, interspersed with marching and more running, always staying in orderly lines in their platoons. At noon they would stop for food and a brief rest, and then it was back to more exercises and more drilling with their spears. When they stopped again, each platoon would get to work wearily on its assigned job for the day, followed by supper and bed.

  After several days of this, Sanjik announced that they were ready to start practicing on horseback. There was a murmur of interest; no one had realized that an army could use horses. Practice would be more fun if they could do it with their four-legged friends.

  By this time most of them could follow orders and perform the moves pretty well, but everything changed when they brought the horses in. Their horses, of course, had no idea what was going on or that they were supposed to stay in straight lines. Most of their riders could already control them with spoken commands, which was a good thing since they would need both hands to wield their spears. Sanjik, however, wanted them all to go a step further and learn to direct their horses with just their feet. “Battles can be noisy,” he explained. “Your horse needs to know which way to turn and how fast to go without having to rely on your voice.”

  So they worked with their horses, removing the bridles so they could practice riding without holding on, using only their feet to direct the animals. When after a couple of days they had all pretty much mastered this, Sanjik didn’t hide his surprise.

  “I’m truly impressed, Sire,” Ernth heard him say to Korram during the noon break one day. “I’ve never known animals to adjust to training like this so quickly.”

  “Mountain horses do seem to be smarter than the Lowland kind,” Korram explained, pride in his voice. “I know Clinja is. And they’re so attached to their riders that they really want to please us.”

  Jeskie returned that afternoon riding on a wagon. Inside, wrapped in large sacks, were bundles of spears and stacks of oval-shaped objects that Korram said were called shields. “You wear them strapped to your arm,” he explained, passing them out to the curious crowd. “When someone strikes at you, raise your shield to block the blow.”

  Everyone got a new spear too. Their shafts were unnaturally dark, the entire length obviously fire hardened. “Be careful; they’re sharper than you’re used to,” Sanjik warned. But Ernth had already cut his finger feeling the strangely pointy metal tip.

  Sanjik showed Korram a pile of little triangular wooden blocks with short leather straps attached. “I thought we ought to have a way to cover the spearheads while we’re practicing, Sire,” he explained. “I drew up a design for the carpenter that will make them safer.” Ernth watched over Korram’s shoulder while Sanjik demonstrated how a spear’s metal tip would fit into a slot in the wood and be fastened securely with the straps.
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br />   Training for the rest of that afternoon was much more exciting than before. The army worked on the same spear techniques they had been using, but this time they faced each other in pairs and practiced using their new shields to block their partners’ blows. Of course, every time they didn’t block those triangular wooden tips quickly enough they ended up with scrapes and bruises. But all the same, it was so much fun that nobody wanted to stop even when they were allowed to.

  After supper that evening, Ernth and most of the others brought out their knives and began to carve designs into their new spears. It was difficult because the shafts were so much harder than they were used to, but how else would they know whose was whose? Besides, weapons and tools were more fun to have and use when you could decorate them.

  In the meantime, Jeskie reported to Korram and Sanjik – and everyone else sitting around their fire – about his trip to the city. “The regular army has been practicin’ a lot too,” he told them. “I talked to one o’ my friends in the palace – Patoran the groom – and he said Regent Rampus keeps goin’ to the barracks to meet with the officers. Patoran says things seem to be gettin’ more intense, whatever that means. And Captain Ebbrem, with the army, says that supposably it’s because they’re still afraid the Alasians are gettin’ ready to attack Malorn, though he doesn’t believe they would.”

  Korram and Sanjik both looked worried. “Whatever Rampus is really getting ready for, I’m sure it has something to do with me,” Korram grumbled. “I wonder if he’s found out I’m back.”

  “I don’t think he could of, your Highness,” Jeskie assured him. “I didn’t hear any rumors ’bout you in Sazellia.”

  “Still, I think it would be safer if you stayed away from the city,” Korram decided. “When we need more supplies, we’ll buy them from some of the smaller towns and villages between here and the capital.”

  “That would be wise, your Highness,” Sanjik agreed, “and yet I can’t imagine the regent would strike at you so directly. Word would get out, and he would be seen as a murderer. If anything, I think his strategy would be to welcome you back with open arms and then quietly arrange a little accident behind the scenes.”

  “Like he arranged for my father?” demanded Korram. “I know it’s never been proven, but I’ve always suspected Rampus had a hand in his death.”

  Sanjik nodded his agreement. “So have I, Sire. I know your father had been growing suspicious of High Councilor Rampus’s ambitions. He had been planning to try to arrange for Rampus to be removed from the High Council, but then he took ill so suddenly.”

  Korram nodded too. “I remember Arden guessing at the time that Father had somehow been poisoned. When I do go back, I suppose I’ll need to be very careful about what I eat and drink.”

  The next day they began what Sanjik called sparring: spear fighting in pairs, where each person could decide on his or her own moves instead of Sanjik calling out the offensive positions. That was even more exciting, since you never knew what your opponent was going to do next. They practiced that for a whole day, always keeping the wooden caps fastened on the spears so no one would get badly hurt.

  The next day, Sanjik explained that their enemies would not be fighting with spears, so they had better get used to defending against swords. He used his sword to demonstrate the kinds of slashes and jabs they could expect to face, and then he had everyone go and fetch their old spears. They had to swing the spears at each other the way Lowlander soldiers would swing swords. When they had a general idea of how to do that, half of them switched back to the new spears and practiced defending against the sword blows.

  Day after day they practiced, sometimes on foot, usually on horseback. Ernth’s muscles didn’t get sore anymore; at least, not like they had at first. He knew he was stronger now than he had ever been, thanks to the exercises and strict training. He had become a good fighter, too; better than he had ever dreamed he could be. It was exciting, and he was proud of himself for everything he had learned. Sanjik and Korram kept telling everyone how well they were doing and what a good army they were becoming, but when Ernth overheard the two of them talking privately, he could tell that they were still worried.

  Dannel strolled down the marble corridor with his I’m in no particular hurry gait. He was wearing his palace servant’s uniform once again, so nobody paid him any particular attention, which was preferable at the moment.

  Purposely taking a much more roundabout route than necessary, he made his way toward Regent Rampus’s office on the fourth floor. Whenever he passed servants or guards, he slowed down to take in bits of their conversations. Of course the palace was abuzz with excitement; considering the news he had brought two days ago, it was only to be expected. But Dannel always tried to get a sense for which way public opinion was turning when these major political events took place.

  He had spent the morning doing the same thing out in the city. Most people were excited, surprised, disbelieving. He did catch a few murmurs of disapproval, heads shaken in concern, questions asked as to whether such extreme measures had really been necessary. But those were few and far between. And here in the palace, not many would dare voice any degree of dissent against the regent’s actions.

  Approaching a trio of women carrying soiled tablecloths and napkins from the dining hall, Dannel heard one of them humming under her breath and then a chorus of giggles from the others. Pausing to adjust his shoelace, he pretended to pay them no attention as they drew near.

  The first woman started over, singing the words this time; and as one of her companions joined in softly, Dannel recognized the song.

  “Oh, what should be done with a tyrant,

  A tyrant, a tyrant?

  Oh, what should be done with a tyrant?

  He must be overthrown!

  For he takes what he’s got no right to,

  No right to, no right to,

  For he takes what he’s got no right to,

  And keeps it for his own!”

  “I know it’s funny, but you mustn’t sing that,” the third woman scolded her friends in between giggles. “You want a guard to hear you?”

  The first woman had already drawn breath for the chorus, but she paused to reply. “It’s not as though I agree with the words. But have you ever heard a catchier tune?”

  No, Dannel reflected as he left them behind and mounted a narrow flight of stairs, I don’t think I have. That minstrel was a genius. The song had been stuck in Dannel’s head since last night’s banquet, as it probably had been in most people’s. Which must have been precisely the minstrel’s purpose. Surely he had known all along that he would never get away with such a traitorous act, and yet he had made sure that no one who heard would forget his message.

  Regent Rampus had certainly not forgotten, and Dannel suspected he never would.

  The servant on duty outside Rampus’s office recognized him but didn’t open the door. “The regent’s in a meeting, but he should be done any time now. You can wait out here.”

  “I have news for him that can’t wait. If he’s angry at the interruption, it will be on my head. If he’s angry that he couldn’t hear and act on my news right away, it will be on your head, and are you sure you’re willing to risk that?”

  The servant hesitated. “Well, if you put it that way ….”

  “I do. And you know the kind of mood he’s been in since the incident at the banquet.”

  Convinced, the man pulled open the door. “Just knock before you go into his office.”

  “Of course.” Dannel strode into the waiting room, furnished with comfortable chairs and a thick red and gold patterned carpet. A closed door at the far end, the Malornian royal seal carved into its polished wood, led to the office in which Rampus held private meetings and did most of his government work.

  The shield, spears, and hawk had been chiseled so deeply into the wood of the door as to leave parts of it rather thin. As a result, the door was not entirely soundproof, which was the reason why visitors weren�
�t usually allowed to wait in here while the regent was speaking with anyone inside.

  Dannel, who actually had nothing in the least urgent to tell Rampus, nevertheless had no intention of waiting out in the hall. You never knew when an overheard conversation could be useful to someone else, and so he stepped up to the door and listened.

  “I’m honored, Regent,” an unfamiliar voice was saying. “It’s my pleasure to serve our kingdom in this way.”

  “I am deeply grateful,” Rampus’s voice replied. “Your donation will help keep our brave troops fed and housed in comfort. Assuming our prince returns safely from his quest, I’m certain he will be grateful as well. But with his royal highness not yet experienced in the ruling of a kingdom or the allocation of treasury funds, I’m not certain if or when he will express his appreciation for your generosity in any tangible way. And so I wished to present you with a little token of my own, this promise of a gift from my own pocket.”

  “That’s most gracious of you, Regent. I’ll look forward to the delivery; it will be wonderful to have glass windows in my home and business, especially in the winter.”

  “It’s the least I can do. Again, thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  Dannel heard chairs scrape as they rose to their feet, so he backed away to the opposite wall. When the office door opened, he was briskly crossing the room toward it, one hand raised as though he were about to knock.

  “I beg your pardon, sir.” Dannel affected surprise and embarrassment as the regent ushered his guest out, jewels glittering from the stranger’s collar and sleeves. Like a respectful servant, the spy darted to open the outer door, holding it open as the man, probably a merchant, exited into the hallway.

  The broad smile Rampus had plastered onto his angular face faded into a scowl the moment the door was firmly shut. “Have I ever mentioned how much I hate that kind of meeting? Fawning all over generous idiots to convince them they’re serving their kingdom well is not my idea of a pleasant way to pass half an hour. Alas, there’s no other way to keep them voluntarily handing over their money and convince them that I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to Malorn.”