Chris Northern - The Last King's Amulet

“Sheo loaned me one of his spares.”

“Good, that's only three to find, then.”

“Three?”

“My slave will be traveling with the baggage so I have a spare for,” I gestured to my small command who followed me back toward the camp, “one of them.”

Most of the main force was still in place, the first cohort of Orthand's army marching off and the rest waiting for a hundred paces' worth of space to open up before following. Some of the equestes had struck out as vanguard and scouts, even though we were in about as friendly territory as you could get. My charges had wandered back toward the camp, presumably on the premise that standing around for an hour or more wasn't something they cared to do. Neither did I, and there was the small matter of horses to consider. My charges surely were not planning to walk. I had a horse, and so did Sheo, and I now knew Kerral had one. That left four men of my command on foot, which I felt was just plain silly.

“Can they all ride?”

Kerral threw the question over his shoulder and got a few terse but disciplined replies before he turned back to me with the answer, “Pretty much, yes.”

“Give the best rider my spare. I'll see about the rest.”

With that I picked up my pace and fell in alongside the healer, Lentro.

“How's your head?” He asked.

“Not good,” I told him honestly enough. “Remind me not to do that again, would you?”

He smiled. “Gladly.”

“Do your people have three spare horses I could borrow?”

He looked instantly suspicious. “Why?”

I outlined the problem and he thought about it before gesturing vaguely toward the city and wondering aloud why I didn't send my slave to go and buy what I needed.

“He doesn't have the money,” meaning that I didn't.

“Sumto Merian Ichatha Cerulian,” reminding me of my position was a fairly polite rebuke, “if one of our mounts goes lame we'll need the replacements.”

I wrinkled my brow in confusion. “You are healers..?”

He sighed. “Yes, bone is bone and flesh is flesh but a man with a broken arm that I have healed generally doesn't have to put it under immediate and constant stress, whereas a horse, using all four legs and with a man on his back, would. Bone healed isn't perfect. The body still has to finish the process.”

“Oh," I said. "I hadn't really thought about it.”

“People don't.”

He hadn't point blank refused, but as we walked on he didn't say any more and actually seemed in bad humor about the whole thing.

“There is clearly more to your calling than I thought. Perhaps I should consider learning more on the subject.”

“The College of healers requires payment. The rules are very strict. The penalties for breaking them harsh.”

I gave it up as a bad job. No horses and no free training.

Meran and the other slave were where we had left them but now everything was loaded onto a cart; two more held the gear of my charges, and horses had miraculously appeared. I needed three more. The indignity of having half my command walking was absolutely unbearable. Given a choice of two unbearable things, the least unbearable has to be done. I grabbed Meran and whispered to him fiercely for a moment, then ignored him as he jumped on my spare horse and pounded away as fast as he could, considering the press of men, mounts and wagons. Both Sheo and Kerral looked for a moment that they might ask but rightly judged by the look on my face that that would be a bad move if they wanted to stay on the right side of me. They merely exchanged glances and let the matter drop.

My own horse was saddled and ready so I mounted and looked around from the higher vantage. The camp had become, in effect, the baggage train. There were damn few men here who were not slaves or freedmen servants. I could tell who was who by the hairstyles and clothing. It was obvious. It wasn't long before my charges started to get into the saddle without order, consultation or fuss. I gestured their way, addressing Kerral and Sheo but keeping my voice just loud enough so that all my men could hear. “Go with them. You four, come with me.” I didn't wait, but urged my horse forward trying to look like I had an important chore to take care of rather than not wanting to be seen waiting about with four men on foot while the rest of my command rode off and left us.

Once free of the baggage train I dismounted and started fussing about the horse, checking her hooves unnecessarily and looking at her teeth. She put up with it. I figured I had at least an hour to kill, maybe two.

“Sir?”

I sighed. It was much earlier than I'd expected.

“Waiting for horses,” I told him curtly, dropping her right foreleg and turning around to face them as I dusted off my hands.

It was Pakat, a tall soldier of forty or so years. He seemed calm as ice and met my gaze steadily. His nose was flat and his eyes hard, face expressionless. He looked exactly the type I had expressly ordered Kerral to get for me. Hard as nails, experienced, lethal. Perfect.

“Yes sir.” He put one fist to his chest in a salute as he said it, then dropped into parade rest.

“Relax,” I told him.

“Yes sir.” He didn't move a muscle that I saw.

I sighed. It was going to be a long wait. Hell, I had nothing better to do and I knew it. “Pakat, isn't it? You a career soldier?”

“Yes sir. Twenty four years, sir.”

I glanced at the others who also stood at parade rest, though a couple of paces back from Pakat, making him their leader either by arrangement or pure instinct. Who knows how rankers sort these things out?

In any case he didn't need me to ask. “All career men, sir. Not less than twenty years.”

“Clients?”

He shook his head slowly. “Paid men sir.”

There was a big difference. A professional soldier could be in the clientele of one man and only go to war when their patron required them to do so. At other times they bimbled about the world guarding his interests in foreign lands, be they client kingdoms, conquered territories, border territories, whatever. In short they only saw action when it happened. Paid men joined a unit, initially when a new unit was recruited. They then stayed, were paid, and went to the war (why else would a unit be recruited?), but they, unlike a client, could leave any time not actually engaged in a war so long as they joined another unit. If refused permission to leave they could buy out of that unit by law. Any short-handed unit would take them. They saw more action than clients, had more experience, gained more booty. These four bastards probably had enough money to buy horses. Herds of damn horses. I carefully examined their gear. It was well worn, all of it. Well worn but of the highest quality, without being the gaudy stuff nobles tended to buy. They were each wearing a small estate's worth of equipment.

“Kerral chose well,” I commented under my breath.

“Good man, Kerral.”

No sir on the end of that comment. Oh no.

I felt like asking them if they had any spare gear but seriously bit my lip on that one. Father hadn't sent me a damn thing. Not that I could honestly blame him; I must have sold ten sets over the years, so why should he send another? Still, I admit to being a bit disappointed in him. After all, I was doing what he always wanted.

“Yes, he is. Saved my life once.”

Pakat didn't look surprised but his expression did relax just an iota. I guessed that he was relieved that Kerral thought my life was worth saving. Then I thought about it and decided that that was exactly it. These men were only following me because Kerral had asked them to do so and Pakat was a little relieved that Kerral thought I was worth it, worth enough to risk his life saving mine, not a fool, not someone who was going to put them in harm's way for stupid or trivial reasons. He didn't ask under what circumstances like anyone else would. For him it seemed enough that it was a fact. It occurred to me that these men would not consider having a casual chat with me, which left us standing around doing nothing while we waited. That just didn't seem right. Well, if in doubt, ask.