“All I see are potential spies,” said Jeldor.
“Aye, my Lord, They were probably sent by Lord Bronn,” replied one of his men.
Jeldor looked down at Rygar. “Bring the wagon for this one and have Osher look at him for now until we get back to the castle. Tie the other two up.”
“Tie us up? What for?” asked Elyse.
Jeldor quickly hid the smile pulling at the sides of his mouth, but could do nothing for the sparkle in his eyes. “To be put in the dungeon for questioning, of course,” said Jeldor. “I’m sure if given enough time we can get to the truth of things.”
Chapter 23
Jonrell scribbled in a large ledger, recording the latest shipment of supplies from Lyrosene. He trusted no one else to track the things so crucial to an army’s success. Any mistake would be his, and anyone brave enough to tamper with the supplies would have to be smart enough to change multiple books of record.
Still, Jonrell couldn’t be everywhere at once, forcing him to rely on someone else to check in the goods as they came in from Lyrosene, as well as those produced and consumed each day in Cathyrium. Lord Caliva handled those tedious tasks for him.
Caliva rattled off more numbers while Jonrell’s quill scratched at a furious pace to keep up. “…ten bushels of mixed beans and barley, two hundred quarters of corn, fifteen quarters of wheat malt, twenty quarters of oatmeal, five barrels of vinegar, ten barrels of wine, and twenty barrels of salt. That does it for the food.”
Jonrell flipped several pages, dipped his nib into ink. “Go on.”
Caliva ran down the lists, detailing the amounts of iron, lead, bolts, and cable that came in on the wagons that morning. “…and the last wagon contained twelve barrels full of arrows.”
Looking up from his ledger, Jonrell raised an eyebrow. “Arrows?”
“Yes, my prince. Illyan sent a note with today’s shipment saying that they are compliments of General Grayer. Apparently production amongst the fletchers has increased at such a rate that he could spare sending them our way. He goes on to say that Grayer hopes to have twice that many on the next shipment.”
“Excellent news. I was not expecting them to catch up so fast. It’s not a lot, but One Above knows we could use all the help we can get.”
Caliva nodded.
“Does Illyan say when we can expect the next shipment to arrive?”
“No, My Prince, he does not give a date. He only says that the roads may allow one or possibly two more shipments before the snow makes them unfit to travel.”
“Aye, and then we’ll be on our own,” said Jonrell, his words hanging dead in the air. It’ll be all up to you, Elyse.
“My Prince, I really wish you would consider recalling Krytien before the roads become too treacherous. He is a huge asset to us here.”
“I know. But he is already well on his way to Floroson. We will need to make do without him.”
Caliva grunted. “An army of eight thousand, including those you brought from Lyrosene. Another ninety-six soldiers from the Hell Patrol and a couple hundred commoners to act as support. That’s only a fraction of what Tomalt fields.”
“I’ve faced worse odds,” said Jonrell in an even tone.
Caliva seemed disappointed by the response but bowed all the same. “As you say, my Prince.”
* * *
After Caliva excused himself, Jonrell locked away his ledger and put on his heavy winter cloak, dyed a crimson red. Blood red, he thought, remembering the words Ronav had told him.
“Most men wear black, hoping to look like the Angel of Death himself but I say why bother? Anyone who has seen the fool is already dead by that point. Doesn’t serve much purpose to strike fear in a dead man. But blood? Even the simplest of men knows blood is what gives us life. That’s why the Hell Patrol wears red as bright as fresh blood pouring out a man’s chest. It’s a reminder, Jonrell. A reminder that their life is in our hands. They may not come to that realization when we first meet them in battle but I promise you, when they’re crawling over the mangled corpses on the battlefield, watching that crimson flow spilling out upon the ground, they’ll look up and see me smiling. Then they’ll understand.”
Jonrell wasn’t sure why those words had come to mind, but it acted as a bit of a wakeup call to his attitude. Ronav had been a man that exuded confidence and walked with a swagger that few dared to call him on. Those that did, rarely lived to tell about it. When Jonrell had first assumed command, he had adopted a similar swagger, trying to emulate his former commander. Over time, it seemed more natural and less of an act. He opened and closed his fists before exiting the room, once again looking over the color of his clothes. The Hell Patrol. A name that struck fear for years just about everywhere in the world. Except Cadonia. There wasn’t a need here before. But now there is.
* * *
Jonrell made his way down the tower’s stairs. When not burdened by the administrative duties of preparing an army, he made it a point to be seen several times throughout the day.
Several people bowed and acknowledged his passing as he descended. He was as courteous as time would allow, but was careful not to pause too long. His mind was too focused on the task at hand. He hoped to make his first set of rounds early today so he could tend to other matters after lunch.
Stepping into the practice yard the renewed wind whipped his coat around him. He suppressed a shiver as the cool air crawled down his neck.
Jonrell watched Yanasi lead the archers, firing two shots off for every one of theirs. Despite her speed and the wind working against her, her arrows found the center of her target each and every time. She barked at the rows of archers as she drew another arrow.
“Faster! You’ve each got five more quivers at your feet, all of them untouched.” She let an arrow fly and didn’t bother to follow it with her eye. She turned to the man next to her as her arrow found its mark thirty yards away. The man had been in too big of a hurry and fumbled an arrow from his grip. He bent over frantically to pick it up.
“Take your time to aim,” she said. “You can’t let yourself be flustered by what’s going on around you. You need to be able to do this as easily as putting on your boots each day.”
Jonrell shook his head. I never imagined our talks on the way to Cathyrium would have increased her self esteem so much. She’s like a drill sergeant with her men. He smiled at that. I should have listened to you long ago, Cassus. Giving her more compliments and pushing her harder has done wonders for improving her confidence.
The man threw his bow to the ground in frustration and looked up at her with fire in his eyes. “Make up your mind. Is it faster you want or accuracy?” he snarled.
“I don’t want either. I demand both,” said Yanasi.
The man took a step forward and glared down at the red-headed woman. The others stopped, and all eyes turned to the confrontation. None noticed Jonrell working his way forward, scowling.
The soldier stood a head taller than Yanasi and outweighed her by a good fifty pounds. He leaned in close with a look of disgust. “I’m sick of taking orders from some low-rent, hired sword, especially from one who’s got to relieve herself while sitting down. What do you think of that?”
Jonrell tightened his fists at the comment but forced himself to walk slower so as not to give away his approach. He didn’t want to interrupt. This was the first time he had trusted Yanasi with any sort of command. She was the best archer he’d ever seen, and if they were going to be ready to defend the walls, he wanted the men to learn from the best. Jonrell had warned her that this scenario would probably happen at some point.
This is her battle, and if she doesn’t put the man in his place now, it will only get worse.
Yanasi just stood there staring in silence, her eyes leaving his. One Above, girl. Now isn’t the time to give in to them.
The soldier smiled as if sensing he won. “I tell you what. Why don’t you go work in the kitchen with the other women. Better yet, there are plenty of beds that need warming during
these cold nights,” he said with a chuckle. Several others joined in at the comment and Jonrell saw Yanasi twist her hands around the black bow and shifted her feet.
She slammed her bow up between the soldier’s legs with a force that Jonrell hadn’t seen her use even when dealing with Raker. The man doubled over and let out a gasp that was cut off as Yanasi’s fist crashed in under the man’s chin and rocked him flat on his back. Yanasi jumped on top of him, knee thudding into his groin as she leaned in close.
“I reckon there will be one less bed that’ll need warming tonight. Seems like it might be several nights before that swelling down there resides I’d say. In fact, you may have to sit down to relieve yourself for awhile. Ain’t that something?” she said with a grin, though there was nothing playful about it.
Jonrell walked up just then. “Everything ok here?”
Yanasi jumped to her feet and got a bit of her old sheepish look to her face as she started to speak, almost as if someone caught her picking their pockets. “Well Commander, what happened was...”
Jonrell cut her off. “I saw what happened. The man should be punished for disrespecting one of his superiors. Usually a man would receive three lashes for such behavior. But I’ll leave that decision to you,” he said, making sure everyone heard him.
Yanasi looked back at the man who groaned on the ground. She shook her head. “No. I think he’s learned his lesson.”
Jonrell nodded. Atta girl. Be forceful but not cruel. “Good.” He turned to the others. “Anyone else have a problem with the way training is being run here?” Heads hung low, eyes averted. “Speak up now if you have an issue. Because I won’t entertain it after today. This is your last chance, no repercussions.”
A throat cleared. “Well, Sir. It’s just that with all this wind, we can’t shoot straight. Most of us never practiced like this before. It’s not that we don’t understand the reason behind it. It seems harsh is all.”
“If you think it seems harsh now, how do you think it’s going to feel when someone’s shooting back at you? If you think the wind is a distraction, what do you think a man dying next to you is going to be like? There are no perfect conditions in war. Practice should be as miserable as you can make it, because it will better prepare you for the real thing. You all need to understand that as a unit, your skills will be crucial once things get under way. The man next to you needs to be like your brother, your commander, like a parent. That is what you need to think about in this yard. Bettering yourself however you can, so you can save the men around you.
“I know you men are mostly part-time soldiers, and haven’t seen what a full-scale battle is like. It isn’t pretty. In fact, it’s nothing you can fully prepare yourself for. That’s why you need to trust me and your captains. We’ve lived that hell.”
Jonrell scanned the faces looking at him and waited for an argument. Someone might mutter something about it “not being their war” or some other excuse he had heard dozens of times in the past. Yet, he got none of that. Instead, there were a few nods, a few more “yes, sirs” and one by one each man resumed training arrows on their targets, with an intensity he hadn’t seen before.
He placed a hand on Yanasi’s shoulder. “Keep it up,” he said, giving her a small wink. As he turned his back, he heard her shouting orders again. The low grumbling that had followed her orders before was replaced with a determined twang of a bowstring and the thud of another target being struck.
* * *
Leaving the archery field, Jonrell made his way to the top of the inner walls. As he crossed a catwalk that connected the inner wall to the outer, he saluted several guards near the top. He passed under the arches of several smaller drum towers on his way to the much larger one that sat at the corner of the eastern and southern walls.
Jonrell saluted another set of guards bundled tight against the weather, and ducked into a doorway, thankful for the dead air inside. Even over the roaring wind outside the nearest window, he heard Raker barking instructions to his men.
He reached the top step of the tower and paused outside of the door to observe Raker’s group of engineers. Jonrell watched the confusion on the men’s faces as Raker, with a mouthful of chew, quizzed them on how to operate the newly constructed mangonel. Despite repeating his questions after spitting a big wad over the side of the parapet, Drake had to interpret. Jonrell chuckled as he watched Raker grow more frustrated each time Drake stepped in. It always took people some time to grow accustomed to the mercenary’s garbled speech.
After a few moments, Jonrell joined them. A strong gust of wind slammed into his chest. The soldiers immediately saluted except for Raker who nodded.
Raker has earned that.
Jonrell had never cared for all the pomp and circumstance that a man in his position often received. But he knew that those small gestures and insignificant formalities helped stabilize the chain of command and build into the psyche of each man an inherent level of respect and trust in their superiors.
Or at least that’s what Amcaro always told me. And the man rarely steered me wrong.
Jonrell nodded back to Raker and then looked to Drake. “Go ahead and continue on with the men. I’d like to speak with Raker in private.” He thought about adding a bit of encouragement to the men but could see that unlike those at the archery range, these men didn’t need it. He and Raker returned to the stairwell, shutting the door behind him.
“How’s the boy doing?” asked Jonrell.
Raker spat on the step and Jonrell let out a sigh that went unnoticed. “He’s getting there. I hate to say it, but the kid had some good ideas. He’s come up with ways I haven’t even thought of to improve the range on the weapons without increasing their size. He’s sharp, but he still hasn’t gotten it in his skull that he doesn’t know everything there is to know about everything.”
“Well, he is a boy.”
“Yeah, but he’s also a soldier now. He needs to understand that this ain’t no game. He thinks he understands war because he saw a man or two die back on Slum Isle. I been telling him he don’t understand a thing until he watches the man next to him drop his sword so he can use both hands to keep his guts from falling out.”
Jonrell felt his mood turn grim. As if I needed to be reminded myself. “Did it work?”
“A little, I think. But who knows for sure.”
“Well, keep working on him. During the battle I’m not going to be able to keep you together. I’ll need you and him at opposite ends to work the crews. You can’t be everywhere at once.”
“Aye, I’ll make him understand.”
“How about the men’s knowledge of the equipment?”
“Good thing is they definitely know their way around a hammer and a saw. Good craftsmen, all of them. Things are coming together fast. I wanted to start drilling them in two days on each of the machines we have. They need to know them better than they know the back of their hands.”
“Where at?”
“For now, on the two trebuchets between the inner and outer gatehouses, and then the catapult here and on the opposite corner. I’m not satisfied with the other equipment just yet.”
“I’m guessing you want to fire real shots?”
“Don’t see why not.”
“Well, there are still people out there working, for one. Not to mention all the homes and buildings outside the outer walls that may get crushed.”
“More than likely they’ll get burned or crushed when that army gets here anyway.”
“True enough, but they don’t need to know that just yet. For now, have them go through the motions with empty buckets. Once we get word Tomalt is moving, then we can talk about filling them.”
Raker shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
“I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Yeah, I need to get back to that boy before he fills the heads of those men with who knows what.”
* * *
A wave of heat struck Jonrell as he stepped into the sweltering forge. He r
emoved a glove and wiped at his face as he watched the men and boys covered in dirt and grime run about. He was amazed that a moment before, the cold had seeped through his marrow, and now he couldn’t stop the sweat from pouring.
Jonrell made his way through the forge amid the incessant pounding of hammer on steel to find Cisod near a large door separating the forge from the armory. He was personally examining every piece of armor, sword, shield, chain, down to even the smallest of nails.
He held a shin guard, his face no more than inches from the metal as he turned it about. He gave the piece of equipment to a boy waiting next to him. “Send this back to Kirkell. His seams are sloppy.”
“Yes, sir,” said the boy as he spun round, dodged a man with an armful of lumber and ran off. Cisod started to shout after him but caught himself and shook his head in resignation. He noticed Jonrell. “Sorry, Commander. I didn’t see you come up.”
“It’s ok. That seems to be a common theme today. If I was a prideful man, I may be hurt. But, I’d rather believe everyone is too busy to worry about that.”
The blacksmith smiled. “Busy is an understatement. We still aren’t where we should be. Yesterday, I finally felt comfortable to leave someone in charge while I slept, so we’re running around the clock now. Hopefully, that’ll help things move along.”
“That’s good to hear. So I take it the men are improving?”
“Aye, things were rough at first. I’d never seen such poor standards. But after they got with the program and started taking care of what they produced, well, I found a few diamonds in the rough.” He gestured to a spot behind Jonrell. “Take a look at the second shelf from the bottom, third from the end.”
Jonrell saw and reached down to what Cisod referred to. He was far from an expert on making armor but right away he noticed the craftsmanship in the breastplate, it stood out like a giant oak in a field full of flowers. He ran his fingertips along each seam. “This is amazing. It looks very similar to the armor Denneth wore on Slum Isle.”
“It’s the same technique. Only a few have been good enough to pick up on it. You’re looking at the best one there. Unfortunately the process is slow, so until we’ve caught up, I’ve shifted their attention away from perfecting it.”
Rise and Fall (Book 1) Page 43
