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.
“We are going to be waiting for a while. What would you normally do?”
“Wait.” He said it as though waiting were an activity.
Well, I would normally read a book and I had been reading Tetrin's Study of the Barbarian Peoples, which seemed pertinent, so I dug the book out of my saddlebag, turned to the chapter regarding the Alendi and started reading. There was not much to distinguish them from the Ensibi; about the same in numbers and culture. Their lands edged the foothills to the Urnalin Mountains. Behind them a hundred smaller tribes controlled the valleys and highlands, generally a few villages and one stronghold to their name. The passes through the mountains were controlled by somewhat stronger tribes who controlled trade from the north. To the east were the Orduli and to the west the Prashuli. Much of a muchness. The Alendi produced charcoal and smelted iron. That was bad. Meant they had a good supply of weapons and armor, probably. And spare money if they sold their goods to other tribes. And trade relations and maybe treaties with some of the hundreds of small tribes at their back. But they were small tribes, a few villages. Say fifty to a village and ten villages each just for convenience. Populations of five hundred giving ten professional fighting men each tribe. Ten times hundreds wasn't many. Okay. No sweat. Memory told me that the other side of the pass was wasteland, hundreds of miles of it but set in its center a place called Battling Plain which was hotly contested by the surrounding nomadic, semi-nomadic and settled tribes simply because it was a large and well watered fertile plain where the bulk of what rivers flowed out of the mountains to the south and west joined together and ran on to the sea. The area fell outside the scope of the work I was reading but it sounded from what I recalled that there was nothing there to fret about even if our enemies had allies there. There were wild tales of strange magics and so on but then, aren't there always? Having the only source of magic known to us made us slightly paranoid on the subject. Spirit magic, we knew about and didn't worry over. It was small scale stuff, the spirits of the dead molded by priests to perform single simple tasks when called. Other potential rivals made us uneasy. I put that aside and read on. The Alendi had a single mighty fortress called the Eyrie, large enough to hold the entire tribe and to which they had apparently withdrawn several times in defense against greater tribes that no longer existed. In part that was our doing. No one had had any inclination to take control of these areas, but battles fought in order to plunder material wealth and slaves had been numerous in this area for the last two centuries, chipping away at their numbers. To the east, I knew, there were more numerous tribes that might extend for a thousand miles for all I knew. These other tribes also played a part in keeping down the numbers of the Gerrian tribes by their own raiding activities. There was an extensive section on the Eyrie that I read through even though I wasn't that interested; this was, after all, a punitive expedition and not a war of conquest. March there, meet the enemy, hit them hard, grab some booty and go.
My reading was interrupted by hoofbeats coming steadily closer. I closed the book with one finger marking my place and looked around. My men didn't seem to have moved an inch. From the direction of the city came three horses and three riders. Not what I was expecting. Two of them were women. Definitely not what I was expecting. As they came closer I recognized them as Orelia and Jocasta. The man with them was their brother Urik, all of the
