John Dalmas - The Lion Returns

"Tell me about that attention they gave you," he said.

‹It was not overt. They simply contemplated action. They regarded me as a challenge.›

"Were they in ranks?"

‹At the time, yes. They did and said nothing, nor was their attention coordinated. But several of them wondered independently how many it would take to make pork of me. There was also the explicit thought of bringing up the matter to others, with the possibility of action. They were not aware of my connection to you.›

"Hmm." Vulkan's addendum relaxed Macurdy somewhat. "How many would it take, do you suppose?"

‹If the situation precluded flight, and I did not cloak myself, half a dozen should suffice. Certainly with spears, but they would be highly dangerous with swords as well. By the standards of your species, Tigers are more than extremely strong and athletic. They are also highly skilled, and do not fear death. Danger is a spur to them. They accept that death is not the end; that they will reincarnate. Where they err is in believing they'll return as Tigers. Given their perspective from the other side, that is extremely unlikely.›

"Other side?"

‹The off-stage side.›

"Huh! What did they think when you disappeared?"

‹They were reminded of my reputation as a wizard.›

Macurdy frowned thoughtfully. "I wonder how good they are at hand-to-hand combat."

‹I do not know. I watched them drill just once, when the Cloister was at Ferny Cove. They drilled with practice swords, appearing to be very quick and highly skilled.›

Macurdy considered what he'd planned for the evening, and how it would affect Vulkan. The boar had eaten a whole lamb the night before in Asrik. "Do you want to wait around here?" he asked. "Or slip out through the gate? Or what?"

Vulkan heaved himself to his feet. ‹I will accompany you,› he said. ‹Cloaked. This environment is not without hazards for you, too, particularly considering what you are contemplating.›

Macurdy went to his sons' company orderly room. Their company, he learned, was outside the wall, training. The desk sergeant notified the company commander, who sent an orderly to take Macurdy to watch them. Afterward, the captain added, the marshal was welcome to eat supper with his sons' squad, or with himself.

After arranging with his sons to spend part of the evening with them, Macurdy ate supper with the captain, questioning him about Guards training, and what he knew of Tiger training.

After eating, he was taken to his sons' barracks. Together they went outside, and began a leisurely walk along the grassy margin of the street. Grinning, they told him they both had breeding duty that evening at nine.

"You like that, do you?" he asked.

"Oh yes," said Ohns. "It's our favorite."

"What do the women think of breeding duty?"

"They like it too, except for Tiger breeding. Tigers are rough, they say, and show no respect. Often they hurt them."

"Do you breed the same ones all the time?"

"It varies," said Dohns. "So far we've been assigned to breed members of three clones. I'll bet anything that if you asked, they'd schedule you in, too."

Nonplused by the suggestion, Macurdy didn't respond. Instead he broached his real interest. "Are Guardsmen trained in hand-to-hand combat? Without weapons?"

"We train in both wrestling and blows," Ohns said.

"Are you good?"

"Very good." Ohns grinned again. "Would you like to test me? We've both wondered how good you are."

Macurdy accepted the challenge, and they stepped onto a lawn, where he took off his belt pack. Ohns fronted off with him, and began to feel him out. Macurdy was more direct. He feinted, drew a countering move, and slammed the young man to the ground with a simple hip throw. Afterward he had them demonstrate Guards wrestling techniques on each other, stopping them now and then with questions. He soon had a sense of the overall style.

"What about the techniques for blows?" he asked. "Could you demonstrate those? Not on each other. Show me the drills you do."

After a few minutes, and more questions, he knew as much as he felt he needed. "What about Tiger training?" he asked. "Does theirs go beyond yours?"

"They don't train much in hand to hand," Dohns answered. "Guardsmen can be assigned to embassies and craftworks, and to protect property and personnel, we have to be able to control people without killing them. Tigers fight only to kill, and train endlessly with weapons. Though they do wrestle each other for fun and exercise; we've seen them."

Afterward they demonstrated their wrestling techniques on each other. And again on their father, who played the role of an untrained antagonist.

When he'd left, the youths walked together to the breeding dorm, in the pleasant Eight-Month evening. "Blessed Sarulin!" said Dohns. "Did you feel his strength? His hands are so strong, I thought he was going to crush my arm with his fingers. I must be black and blue where he gripped me! I wonder if he has any idea how strong he is."

Ohns nodded thoughtfully. "And quick. I'd never have believed it."

Macurdy ate a light breakfast the next morning in the Guards command dining room. There he sat beside General Grimval, answering questions about the Ozian system of training. Afterward he returned to what was commonly referred to as the Dynast's Palace, though its official name was Executive Hall. There he sat briefly in the shelter of Vulkan's cloak, and talked with the boar about his plan. It was not explicit; he'd have to play things by ear. But he had a definite idea of what he hoped to accomplish.

It seemed reckless to Vulkan, but he didn't say so. Macurdy would have many decisions to make, and no doubt some would have to be bold in the extreme. To argue now could weaken his confidence and resolve. And at any rate Macurdy had done what he could to prepare.

Half an hour after lunch, they walked together to Tiger headquarters. At the stoop he was stopped by a scowling sentry, who demanded to know his business.

"My business is with your commanding officer," Macurdy answered, and stepped onto the stoop as if to walk past the man.

The Tiger flushed at the insolence, and stepped between Macurdy and the open door. There was not twelve inches between the two men. "He is away from the Cloister," the sentry said.

Macurdy's tone was casual but absolute. "Someone's in charge here," he said. "I'll speak with him."

"Private!" called a voice.

Inside, the sergeant major had overheard them, and from his desk could see a situation developing. During Quaie's War, he'd been in the Tiger platoon guarding Omara's healing coven, and recognized Macurdy. The sentry too should have known him. Word of his arrival had spread throughout the Cloister. But the sentry was young.

"Yes, Sergeant Major!" the sentry called back. It was difficult talking to someone behind him while this foreign pile of shit was pushing his face at him.

"Let him in. I'll speak with him."

Reluctantly the sentry stood aside, and Macurdy entered. "Thank you, Sergeant Major," he said. "I appreciate your help; I don't know your regulations." He gestured toward the stoop and its sentry. "If I bent them, my apologies."

The sergeant major ignored both thanks and apology. "In Colonel Bolzar's absence," he said, "Subcolonel Sojass is in charge. Before I interrupt him, it is necessary that I know why you want to speak with him."

Macurdy nodded. "Yuulith is in danger of invasion from across the Ocean Sea. I've been traveling through the Rude Lands, looking at their armed forces, and their effectiveness. The Tigers have a reputation which I presume is well deserved. But I need to see for myself."

The sergeant majors jaw set. "Be seated," he said. "I will inform him." He got to his feet and disappeared into an adjacent room. Macurdy could hear voices through the closed door, but couldn't make out the words. A well-knit, pre-adolescent boy sat near a corner of the room, watching and listening. A Tiger cadet pulling orderly duty, Macurdy supposed, and wondered what the boy made of an outsider coming here. After a long minute, the sergeant major reappeared, again closing the door behind him.