Bashar's hands were steady as he looked at him over the rim with sharp eyes.
'I guess you haven't learned anything. Maybe you're not like your father after all.'
'My father again.' Riordan started to get up.
'Wait, Riordan. There are things you should know about your father. Morka and I served with him in the last Flaming Spike uprising. We were with him at the GapofReth.'
'The Gap of Reth?' Riordan stopped. It was his father's last campaign. He'd come home a crippled, bitter man after that battle. Riordan had heard stories, but his father would never talk about it.
'Aye, Evern had the rearguard. He held the Flaming Spike off until the Sceptanar's army got through. Those merchants were so grateful, Murzig Hekkatayn himself gave your father the hero's medal for that.'
'He would never tell me what happened.'
Bashar nodded. 'Not surprising.'
His voice dropped and his eyes took on a faraway look, remembering. 'We lost too many companions in that action. Half the rearguard died on those slopes. Your father took terrible wounds. The clerics did their best, but couldn't save his legs.'
Riordan nodded, remembering. 'Mother was killed during one of the early raids of the war. Without her… when he came home he became different… He told me he wanted me to become a cleric.'
Bashar sipped his ale and put his hand on Riordan's shoulder. 'We all changed. It was a terrible, bloody battle. Perhaps your father had seen too much of what war could do. Maybe he wanted you to save lives rather than take them.'
Bashar pushed away his ale and said, 'Me… I became a drunk.'
Riordan stared at him a moment. 'My father… the wounds you described. How did he get out of the Pass?'
Bashar stood up and looked at Riordan a moment. His eyes softened, and he smiled. 'Morka and I carried him, lad.' Then he turned and walked out the door.
Riordan drank his ale and ordered another. He sat at the table and let his mind drift.
Riordan was groggy the next morning when the alarm clanged outside the barracks window. The recruits stumbled around the barracks in the dark, struggling to find their weapons and armor. There was a rush for the door and Riordan fell into line, panting and out of breath.
Morka stood there with his hands on his hips as he studied the line of recruits. Bashar stood beside him. The polished armor of the two men gleamed in the soft light of the dawn. Morka's expression took on a deep frown as they began to walk down the line of stiff recruits.
'You pissants probably think that was good.' He shook his head. 'I've never seen such a miserable performance.'
He grabbed for the spear of the watchman in front of him. The weapon clattered to the ground. The recruit turned pale and tried to avoid the eye of the swordmaster.
'Release the weapon when I have it in my hand, not before. Twenty laps in the coliseum tonight.'
He moved down the line and stopped in front of Ri-ordan, inspecting his armor and harness. 'Not bad. Someone taught you to hang your sword forward, I see.'
From the corner of his eye, Riordan saw Morka glance at Bashar then move to the next recruit.
There was a clatter of hooves, and a column of horsemen entered the parade ground.
'Attention! Form up!' The two ranks of recruits snapped to attention on the swordmaster's command.
Khedra, Captain of the Dragon Watch, and one of his lieutenants rode up behind Morka and Bashar. Their polished armor cast blinding reflections in the sun. Two other men were with them. Riordan recognized Stilmus, leader of the Society of the Sword and one of the magistrates from the third section.
'Third section, Dragon Watch present and accounted for, sir!' Morka said.
'Stand at ease.'
Khedra took a moment to look up and down the ranks of soldiers. Riordan could not tell if he was pleased with what he saw. His bronzed face looked weathered and tired, but his cold blue eyes seemed to miss nothing.
'Normally, you recruits would spend another month learning your drill, but things have changed. There are reports of raids along the western coast of the Sea of Fallen Stars. Yesterday, two triremes were cut loose and driven on the rocks in Airspur. Two others were torched a day later.'
There was surprised muttering from the watchmen.
'All right men, settle down.' Khedra paused and stared at the recruits.
'We know it's the Soorenar, stirring things up again and we have to be prepared. The raiders you caught last tenday are just one example. There have been several unexplained fires on merchant ships and even some rumors an assassin is loose. We believe there will be some attempt to cripple the fleet. I want these raiding parties stopped.
'Each of you recruits will be assigned to patrol with an experienced guardsman. You will find these raiders and you will call in the rest of the watch. Is that clear?'
'Clear, sir!' they shouted in unison
'By the way, Stilmus is looking for one or two outstanding recruits among the watch for the Society of the Sword. He will be observing you all in the next few days.'
There was a buzz of excitement through the ranks.
'Good.' Khedra looked over the ranks with a pleased expression. 'Swordmaster, corporal, you know what to do.' Khedra spun his horse and trotted away.
'You heard the captain. Fall out and suit up for patrol.'
Riordan started to join the others when Morka held out his hand. 'All except you, Riordan. You stay in the barracks.'
Riordan jerked upright. His voice quivered with anger, but he couldn't help it. 'I should be out on patrol, sir.'
'Yes, you should, but you won't.' He shook his head. 'You're not ready. Your recklessness might kill the comrade you're with. The answer is no.'
'But that's not fair!'
'Fan-? The last time you were in an engagement the two watchmen with you would've let you be killed. Just who do you suppose I should pair you with?' Morka stared at him and started to turn away.
'Sir, perhaps he could patrol with me?'
'You, Bashar?'
'Aye, sir. You know we need every available man. We're stretched too thin as it is.'
Morka frowned. 'I…'
Bashar drew himself up. 'I'd take it as a personal favor.'
At that moment, there was something different about the corporal. He didn't seem like the stooped rummy that cleaned weapons for a silver and staggered into the barracks every night.
Morka frowned. He looked as if he would say something, but then he shrugged. 'So be it. It's on your head, Bashar.'
Bashar spent most of the day going over the route with Riordan. He pointed out the buildings that had to be checked and the layout of the streets they would patrol. Bashar warned him to be especially alert for fires. Cimbar had been hot and dry for over a month and there was still no sign of rain. By evening, Riordan felt ready.
The docks of Old Town were deserted. Moonlight filtered through the narrow streets threading between the overhanging buildings. In the distance, the peak of the Untheri pyramid was visible. Here and there, light reflected off iridescent puddles of water between the cobblestones. The smell of the sea and rotting fish lay heavy on the hot, still air.
The shops were closed and shuttered. Riordan and Bashar tested the locks and rattled the windows to make sure the buildings were secure for the night.
Bashar stopped by an apothecary. 'Did you hear that?'
'It was just a cat.'
'Then it was a cat with steel claws. I heard the sound of metal. Come on.'
Riordan followed Bashar trying to move as quietly as the older man did. The corporal moved quickly down the street and hesitated. He held up his hand and gestured toward a narrow alley.
