Chris Northern - The Last King's Amulet

Sheo and Kerral were outside their tent, fully kitted out in armor, swords strapped to their sides and generally immaculate. I cursed inwardly. No armor or weapons had arrived for me, at least not yet. It didn't improve my mood but didn't help my case either; without military apparel I felt that my authority was diminished. Unfortunately I couldn't fault either of my friends and as soon as Sheo spoke I stopped wanting to.

“Ready to parade, sir. Just waiting for the signal.”

Only then did I notice my other four men standing round a communal fire, putting breakfast inside themselves but otherwise ready for the day. That would be what all the trumpets were about then; wake up, get ready, and sometime soon, parade. I was starting to remember the lectures about this sort of thing that had been a staple part of my childhood. I had pretended to absorb it, been able to answer well enough, but it was a good while ago and memories fade, especially when the material learned isn't of interest. There were eight watches to the day, dividing twenty four hours; the first watch of the day was also the wake-up call for the army as a whole. The commanders would be returning to their units about now with the watch password and orders of the day. Technically I was a commander. I hummed and nodded as though in response to Sheo's comment, but really I was deciding that I would pop along and see Tulian or his aide a bit later and get the password; not that I anticipated needing it; and also check to see if it was required for me to be up before dawn. Needless to say, I hoped for a negative response to that. Surely someone could drop by and give me the password?

Meran appeared at my side with a bowl of porridge. I took it with a nod of thanks, noticed that he had a chain mail shirt thrown over one shoulder, a sword belt hooked over the other and a helm on his head. The helm didn't fit but I really didn't need the extra clue. If he kept this kind of thing up I was going to have to think about thanking him in some way.

The porridge had some bacon for flavor and I forced the stuff into my rebelling stomach before I exchanged the empty bowl for the chain mail, which fit well enough. The cohorts around us were already moving through the camp, all heading the same way. I slipped the belt round my waist so that the sword rested at my left hip, tied off the belt so that the full weight of the chain didn't rest on my shoulders and slipped on the helm. It fit.

I didn't see who theatrically cleared their throat but both Sheo and Kerral were looking the same way when I glanced at them, so I did the same and saw the languid progression of the battle mages as they strolled past without so much as a glance at us.

“Time to move.” I tried to put some authority in my voice. Frankly I was feeling a bit off balance. I wanted to make someone miserable but events were putting me on the back foot and my stomach now hated me almost as much as my throbbing head did. I led the way and my command of six men followed. Walking into the rising sun didn't help but I didn't trip over any guide ropes and we were not last to the parade ground where something like seven thousand men, including the equestes, were forming up just as the trumpet sounded for parade. I followed the battle mages and healers who knew where they were going. Finding our unit was never going to be hard. The first centurion, a trumpeter, and a standard bearer stood out in front of the cohort. Our cohort was slightly aside from the legion that Orthand had brought to arms, and I recognized the Verrans family standard, that of the family of which Tulian was the head. The battle mages and healers formed a rough block of ten and left room for us to form up in front of them, so that's what I did, turning and facing the camp which was being hastily struck by the slaves. For every eight fighting men there were two servants; we had two, Meran and whatever Sheo's slave was called. None of the four rankers Kerral had picked had come with his own slave or servant, so two was our lot. The battle mages and healers, nobles to a man, had one each. In times not that long past all fighting men for the city were landowners and the servants numbered as many as the army. In modern times this meant that a century was actually only eighty fighting men.

The whole army fell silent just as I turned to Kerral, intending to ask him if he had had any hint that the army was on the move. In the sudden silence I decided against it but saw anyway from his expression that he'd no clue. It was I who should know. That, I remonstrated with myself silently, will teach you to get up before dawn and check in with the commander in chief. No more surprises. No more not knowing the damn password. The camp was being struck and we were on the move. On the bright side the next few hours would not be spent practicing weapons, at which I was well beyond rusty and deeply into clueless. Another of our little military foibles is that the officers, including the commander in chief, join in this group activity which thankfully only happens when in camp. We would now be on the march, and riding a horse is one thing I can do with great skill and aplomb.

The two commanders rode out from the camp, with their subordinate commanders. They rode together but soon separated to move to the front of their respective armies. The fact that one was ten times the size of the other meant nothing in terms of who commanded overall. I wondered how they were getting along. Would Tulian have conceded that this was Orthand's party and he the uninvited guest? In short, would we operate as one army or two? My guess would be the latter. Shared command meant shared glory. Technically, being a noble of an ancient family, I could take my command and call myself an army. Of course, not having held any office of any kind ever, I had no authority whatsoever to do any such thing, but if I shouted enough and blustered enough and my men followed me I could do it. The idea amused me but wasn't something any sane man would choose to do.

Tulian rode up and down a bit, inspecting the men to see if we were any damn good for anything. He looked content enough for most of the time, though when he got to us he caught my eye and glared. I shrugged back and he wheeled his horse without comment and rode back the other way. His aide stopped and walked his horse to a standstill close enough that I could have petted it and leaned out of the saddle. “Be at the commander's pavilion before dawn.”

“Be good enough to get your horse out of my face or we will crossing swords at dawn.”

“The commander in chief has instructed me…”

I cut him off. “To insult me and get yourself into a duel?”

It was pure bluff of course. Okay, Gatren Orans was a boy of seventeen or so, pretty much the usual age to be an aide and about the business of learning to command. In short, he was young and inexperienced. On the other hand he was a boy who was significantly fitter than I was, and probably trained with weapons every day as I had tried hard to avoid doing. It worked because of the arrogance of our class; and the fact that dressed and wrapped in armor I didn't look fat, I just looked big. He backed his horse away a pace or two.

“The commander in chief's compliments, he would be grateful if all commanders attended him for a briefing before dawn each morning.”

I nodded sharply. “Delighted.”

I held his glare until he had no choice but to accept that that was all he was going to get, at which point he turned his mount aside and walked the beast away, back straight and stiff with suppressed anger. I might have won the round but I'd made the beginnings of an enemy. It's a talent I have.

Having Gatren's horse in my face had put horses in general to the forefront of my mind, and when the parade broke up I asked Kerral if he had one.