“Where do you think we’ll be posted?” Reskird asked.
They had been sent to barracks immediately following supper. Their companions were abuzz, speculating about the unprecedented event. They used the time to catch up on their brass and boot polishing. Sergeant Sanguinet was obsessed with shininess.
“All I want is out of this dump,” Haaken grumbled. “Penny to a pound, this is what Hell is like.”
“Think we’ll get lucky?” Reskird persisted. He smoothed straight, fine ginger hair that refused to stay in place. “One of the famous outfits? We’re doing good.”
Kildragon did not look Trolledyngjan. He was tall but on the lean side, with delicate features and feminine hands. He seemed more typically Itaskian.
“Hawkwind? Lauder? The White Company?” he babbled.
Bragi shrugged. “Wickhard’s got a chance at the White. If we can get him through. It’s spooky, the way he can use a bow.”
“It’s the regiments for us,” Haaken grumbled. “Lauder and Hawkwind don’t take Greens.”
“I’d guess the regiment in Simballawein,” Bragi said. “That’s where the war scare is.”
“Farther south,” Haaken complained. “And it’s still summer.”
“Me,” said Reskird, “I think we ought to kiss Sanguinet’s ass so he’ll recommend us for Octylya.” Sardygo, the Prince of Octylya, maintained a Guild bodyguard consisting entirely of Trolledyngjans.
A demonic creature looking nine feet tall and seven wide lumbered into the barracks room. “Kiss it all you want, boy. I’m still getting rid of you before you get your shield.”
Ragnarson squawked a startled, “’Ten-shut!”
“Failing that, Kildragon, I’ll get you the honeybucket concession for the whole damned castle.”
Reskird did not cringe. This was what passed for light banter with the sergeant.
Sanguinet stalked round the cramped little room occupied by Bragi’s squad. He poked fingers into cracks. He thumped hammocks. He hunted mercilessly, and could find nothing to bitch about.
“Ragnarson!”
“Sir?”
“You making fun of me, boy?”
“Sir? I don’t understand, sir.”
“You’re playing some kind of game. It’s too perfect. Your squad is always too perfect.” He grinned wickedly. “So maybe I’ll change the rules.”
Corporal Trubacik stuck his head in the doorway. “Sarge? The Old Man wants you. Said make it yesterday.”
“What is it now?”
“Another messenger came in. Looks set. He’s expecting word from the Citadel.”
“Damn it all to Hell! The rumor was right. And us stuck with Greens.” The demon stalked out in the wake of his apprentice.
“What was that all about?” Bragi wondered. Haaken and Reskird shrugged.
Kildragon said, “We’ve got to give him something to gnash his teeth on, Bragi. He’s foaming at the mouth because you won’t give him anything.”
“Not going to, either. I don’t like his game. As long as I’m stuck with it, I’m going to play it better than he does. All that growl is just for show, anyway. My father did the same thing. Bet you he isn’t half a hardass once we’ve won our shields.”
“Hrumph!” Haaken opined.
Rumors flew like panicky pigeons at breakfast. The old men in the Citadel had accepted a big commission. The drill instructors did not deny that. The recruit company would be included. The noncoms would not confirm or deny that. Going on from that point, virtually every imaginable possibility was aired. Sanguinet and Trubacik apparently knew the truth, but they weren’t talking. The sergeant was pale, and he roared more than normal. He altered the training routine to include more weapons practice and drill to battlefield signals.
“We’re going,” Bragi guessed, stomach heavy. “And he expects action. The enemy won’t be anybody who’ll fold when he hears we’re in the field.”
Haaken grunted affirmatively. Reskird observed, “He’s scared.”
Bragi grumbled, “Hell, you can’t blame him. His life will depend on us. And we’ve never been in combat.”
“He should have more faith in his ability as an instructor.”
“Would you, in his boots?”
Reskird shrugged. “No. You never know what a man will do till he’s stuck in a situation. We’re the only ones in the outfit who’ve ever been in a real fight.”
There was no official comment till evening parade. Then a Colonel from the Citadel addressed the assembled troops, veterans and recruits alike. He said, yes, a commission had been accepted. A thousand men would be involved. General Hawkwind would command. Details he kept to himself, perhaps for security reasons. He urged all brothers not actively participating to remember Hawkwind’s force in their prayers.
“Hawkwind!” Reskird enthused. “What a break. First time out and we get the grand master. You hear what he did at Balewyne last year? Beat the whole Kisten army with five hundred men.”
