Journeyman Warsmith Page 4

  The Adept shrugged. “You were at the tower for about two days, and saw her a handful of times. You’ve grown since then, I don’t think there’s much chance of her remembering you… It was more than two years ago.” he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Just to be safe, I’ll have to provide a constant distraction…”

  Kevon shut his eyes tightly and rubbed his temples for a moment, as Bertus huffed in disbelief. “But…” the young man stammered, “She’s… evil!”

  The Warrior ruffled Bertus’ hair and laughed. “Someday you’ll understand.” he said cheerfully.

  They continued on through the gates, and having been expected, were led through some of the interconnected outer structures to the officers’ quarters.

  The Commander waved them in as soon as they reached the doorway to his office, dismissing their guide and two other officers he had been speaking with. As the room cleared, the Blademaster closed the door firmly, and returned to his desk.

  “Have you decided to tell me what’s going on?” Carlo asked, thumbing through a pile of papers on the desk.

  The Seeker shook his head slowly. “No, sir.”

  Carlo dipped a quill in an inkpot and scribbled his signature on one of the pages and set it aside. “How about you two?” he asked, eyeing Waine and Bertus.

  Waine laughed out loud, and Bertus hung his head and mumbled a soft ‘no’.

  “Well, then,” the Blademaster continued, “We’ll have to figure out how this is going to work.” He shoved the pile of papers aside and motioned to the chairs in front of the desk. When his visitors were seated, Carlo spoke once more. “You’re already famous around here,” Carlo growled, pointing a calloused finger at Kevon. “The detail that was with me last night wanted me to pressure the Guild into promoting you to Adept status immediately. I refused.”

  The Seeker swallowed uncomfortably. He glared at Waine after his friend snickered quietly.

  “They would follow if you led,” Carlo raised his voice and spoke over the question Kevon had begun to ask. “It would save me hauling another lieutenant away from the palace. What do you think?”

  “Even if we were not going to abandon you halfway through the mission, I don’t know that I’d be comfortable giving orders,” Kevon admitted.

  “Who gets to keep an eye on the Mage?” Waine asked, grinning.

  “You’ve done your research, I see,” Carlo chuckled. “She is advisor to the Prince himself, you’ll have to behave. There are four, all hand-picked by the Prince. None that I would have chosen, they’ll be more trouble than they’re worth.” The Blademaster thought for a moment. “I have to take them along, but I don’t have to deal with them. Mirsa’s detail will report to you, Waine, since you seem so interested.”

  “Four lackeys,” Waine commented. “I’m surprised the prince isn’t coming himself.”

  “He wanted to,” Carlo replied. “I wouldn’t allow it. There’s a difference between leading an army to war, and walking into a Mage-spawned apocalypse.”

  Kevon’s eyes dropped for an instant, and Carlo leaned forward.

  “So you do know… That’s what this is, isn’t it?” the Blademaster asked, rising out of his chair.

  “Something like it,” Kevon answered meekly. “What’s more, the Mage that is going to ‘investigate’ is part of the problem. She was Gurlin’s top student, and left just before I assassinated the Wizard.”

  The Blademaster sat back, fists clenched in frustration. “I chose the way of the blade because I had no stomach for wizardry or politics. Now I’m waist deep in both. And the three of you aren’t helping matters! Tell me what is going on!” he barked gruffly.

  “Carlo,” Bertus spoke quietly in the silence after the Blademaster’s outburst. “I was upset when Kevon told me what he’d been keeping from us. But he did tell me, right when I needed to know.”

  The room was silent for long moments, and Bertus looked back and forth from Kevon to Carlo several times.

  “And I think I agree,” Bertus continued, “That now is not the best time for you to know.” The youth looked into the hard eyes of his hero, and said softly, “You’re not ready.”

  The Commander sat, glaring at the three of them for minutes before his gaze began to soften, as the words of his young friend sunk in. “All right,” he conceded. “Tell me what I do need to know, and how you’re going to work this, so I can make it official.”

  Two hours later, the four emerged from Carlo’s office. Bertus waved and scurried down the hallway with a set of orders and a pouch full of coin. He would make arrangements for long-term care of their horses before returning to begin his assignment with the support staff that would be traveling with the company.

  Kevon and Waine followed their new Commander through a warren of hallways to a storeroom where they found uniforms. After finding two suitable uniforms each, the new recruits lugged their bundled clothing back through several more hallways to the armory.

  Delighted to hear of Kevon’s blacksmithing experience in the south, the Blademaster had penned orders working Kevon into a squad with the company’s only other Warsmith. Carlo also insisted that Kevon not leave without a guard-issue warhammer.

  The Smith was somewhat disappointed with the selection of hammers; Warsmiths were uncommon around Navlia. Out of four hammers in the entire armory, only one did not feel like a toy when Kevon hefted it. Having apprenticed to a southern Blacksmith near the iron mines, he was accustomed to heavier weapons. He imagined the hammer was about the same weight as Master Farren’s forge hammer, and it did not feel too awkward to swing.

  With those matters settled, Kevon and Waine left to return to the Warrior’s Guild to stow their personal items in the Guild storeroom.

  The Warsmith loaded his things into the sturdy cedar chest that was provided, cautiously aware of anything that could be construed as magic-related. He’d sent all of his magical equipment with Bertus when they’d arrived in Navlia, and did not think anyone would go through his belongings, but he wanted to take no chances.

  The Seeker kept only his Guild necklace, the shell necklace he’d gotten from the Myrnar, armbands, ring, and dagger. He changed into the uniform he had brought, folded his clothes, and packed them atop the rest of the items in the chest. He wrote his name on a thin wooden placard, and after closing the chest, slid the piece of wood into the slots that flanked the hasp. He hefted the box from the table to one of the shelves lining the wall, and waited for Waine to finish.

  They returned to the palace by lunchtime, and were informally introduced to some of the other members of the company over the midday meal. Carlo was less than free with his conversation, as he was reluctant to call Kevon ‘Anton’, they ate quickly and moved on to other matters.

  The Commander took Waine deeper into the palace and introduced him to Mirsa’s retinue. It seemed to amuse the Blademaster that the four young nobles took affront to being placed under Waine’s supervision rather than reporting directly to Carlo, or to no one at all.

  Kevon was left with Xæver, the company’s other Warsmith. The two spent the greater part of the afternoon packing tools and parts of a field-forge into a supply wagon. It was only after all the gear had been stowed and lashed down to Xæver’s satisfaction that the Warsmith really began talking with Kevon.

  “It’s not that hard to learn,” Xæver reassured Kevon after finding out that the Seeker had no experience with a warhammer. “In my experience, though” he continued thoughtfully, “Armourers bear the hammer much more ably than weaponsmiths. You learn the weaknesses of armor from both sides, and it makes it that much easier to break through an opponent’s defenses. Against a Warsmith, poorly made armor is worse than none at all.”

  Xæver walked Kevon through some basic techniques. The heavier weapon used a slightly different approach, not so much concerned with getting through an opponent’s active defenses, but striking correctly when it inevitably did. “A sword requires the correct angle of attack. A hammer only needs the correct angle of
impact.” Xæver explained.

  The Seeker spent several minutes hammering away at a straw-filled suit of armor that hung from several ropes attached to the ceiling. Xæver would call out a target, and Kevon would strike at it a handful of times, until directed elsewhere. The differing lengths of rope caused it to lurch awkwardly at certain places, adding to the difficulty, making precision strikes nearly impossible for Kevon and his new weapon.

  Finally, Kevon’s mentor instructed him to attack the dummy full-on.

  He began with a downward swing to the suit’s right clavicle, knocking the target back and to the left. He stepped forward, transferred the momentum of his swing into an upward backhand strike at the bottom of the opponent’s right ribcage. The suit jerked violently back further, and to the right before one of the longer ropes reached its end and immediately brought the heavy metal target rushing back. Kevon stepped back and to his left as he continued his follow-through swing to the right. He twisted the hammer’s handle as he avoided the suit’s return swing, and he completed his spin, burying the curved point deep in the armor’s left side from behind it.

  The point of the hammer stuck, and the momentum from Kevon’s swing almost pulled the weapon from his hand. Kevon stumbled a few steps before arresting the dummy’s movement. After yanking several times without freeing the weapon, Kevon stuck his foot on the suit for leverage.

  Xæver laughed and took the handle of the hammer from Kevon. He wrenched it quickly up and down, and it slid free easily. “Very good,” he commented. “You’re a quick study. You’ll do fine. You may want to use a shield… Hammers are not nearly as defensive as swords, as you can imagine.”

  The Seeker sat and rested, listening as Xæver talked about different smithing techniques for field-forges versus established ones, tricks for setting up quickly, as well as more combat pointers. When he’d caught his breath, he stood.

  “That’ll be all for today,” the other Warsmith said. “Get some food in you, get some rest. The first day out is usually the toughest.”

  Chapter 5

  Kevon sincerely hoped Xæver was right. The next morning was a nightmare.

  Bells clanged, whistles blew, and irritated officers strode to and fro barking orders. The noise began what seemed like only minutes after he closed his eyes to sleep.

  The fledgling Warsmith rolled groggily out of his bunk to pull on his uniform. Once up, he and the other members of the company were shepherded through narrow hallways toward the palace courtyard. At one branch, everyone was handed a cooked sausage folded into a griddle-cake, and a mug of cider. Two halls down, mugs were collected and the men were goaded back to a faster pace on their way to the stable yard.

  The Seeker kept shifting his belt to try and get the warhammer he’d hung from a loop into a comfortable position. His sword rode easily now on his hip and his dagger was strapped lower on his leg, but the hammer seemed to catch on everything.

  The stream of soldiers, guardsmen, and the rest of the company erupted from the cramped stone passage near the stable in the courtyard. The four wagons the company would be using were already lined out; Bertus among the hostlers checking harness and tack on the teams ready to pull them.

  He recognized the wagon they had loaded with the forge supplies and other heavy equipment at the rear of the column. Two other wagons of similar, if lighter construction appeared to be for food and other such provisions, burlap could be seen poking out from tarpaulins here and there.

  The lead wagon was smaller, lighter, and was hitched to a quartet of elegant looking, pure-white horses that Kevon imagined would be more trouble than they were worth.

  The column swept past the wagons to the stable entrance, where horses waited to be saddled. Kevon saddled the horse that was given to him, and before he could even put a foot in the stirrup, it was led away by one of the stablehands.

  Then the Destriers were led out. The warhorses were huge, three hands taller, at least, than Carlo’s horse. Kevon found himself holding the reins of one of the beasts, staring up into its flaring nostrils, as a large cavalryman began affixing barding to his steed. He held fast throughout the ordeal as the restless charger stamped and snorted, until the armoring was complete.

  The cavalryman strode off, leaving Kevon with his unhappy ward until the rest of the larger horses were ready. Finally, before Kevon resorted to trying a Control spell on the increasingly agitated warhorse, another stablehand took the reins and led it outside.

  Kevon spent the next half-hour helping two of the cavalrymen into their heavy armor, and assisting them onto their steeds.

  “This is mostly for show,” Xæver reassured Kevon after the last of more than a dozen of the heavy cavalry rode into flanking positions along the wagon column. “On the road, we’ll have less help, but they won’t ride in full armor unless they know there’s going to be a battle.”

  The Seeker nodded, relieved. He was sweating as hard as he would have after an hour over a forge. He had no idea how the men could stand the weight of the armor, even when they were riding. He followed Xæver over to their waiting horses, and the two mounted and wheeled into their positions behind their squad leader.

  After several minutes of standing still, even the calmer horses began to get restless. Kevon sidestepped his mount back into line and looked to his fellow Warsmith.

  “Magus…” Xæver whispered low over at Kevon.

  The younger Blacksmith nodded almost imperceptibly. Indeed, Mirsa had yet to appear, as did Waine.

  Almost as if on cue, from around the other side of the courtyard, rode Mirsa and her escort. The four hand-selected guards led the way on a matched quartet of chestnut mares. Mirsa followed on a dainty appaloosa, Waine riding closely at her side.

  Wizard, not Mage… Kevon thought to himself, noting Mirsa’s hoodless black riding cloak and matching beret that jaunted smartly to the side. She’s decided to settle in at the palace, then. He feigned disinterest and rechecked the fastenings on his saddlebags.

  “Look sharp!” Xæver whispered as their squad leader circled around to make sure everyone was ready before returning to his place.

  Fanfare sounded, and the first unit’s cavalry squad moved out the opening palace gate in a wedge formation, armor and barding clanking as they steadied into a trot. The rest of the company fell in beside the wagons as they hastened to follow Mirsa, her detail, and Waine.

  Kevon rode behind Xæver, on the right flank of the rear supply wagon. The second unit’s cavalry squad rode in two lines behind that, bringing up the rear.

  The people they passed on the streets seemed only mildly interested or annoyed, Kevon observed, except for the children. Displays like this must be so common that only the young still get excited about it, he thought, smiling. One of these cavalrymen riding through Laston would be talked about for years.

  The column stopped for nothing, but it was not moving too swiftly. Still, Kevon was amazed that it took less than two hours before they exited the city gates. Another hour down the road, and a halt was called. Units took turns eating and helping the cavalry units remove and store most of their armor and horses’ barding. Kevon had time to wolf down his meal before he found himself in a line passing armor up into a wagon to a waiting Xæver.

  Fifteen minutes later, after five minutes of actual rest, they helped the cavalry re-mount. They started back down the road, the late morning sun warming their necks as they continued westward.

  The miles fell away at an astonishing pace. Carlo led the column as quickly as the wagons could go without threatening to shake themselves apart. All of the horses and riders were well accustomed to rapid travel and the non-military Warriors in the group swiftly, if grudgingly, adapted to their new positions and the strictures they entailed.

  The company slept and patrolled by thirds, the youngest third taking the mid-night shift. By the end of the second week, Kevon could have the canopy on the supply wagon stretched and anchored to its support poles before the wagon crews were even started unsadd
ling horses. He would eat his evening meal while hauling and setting up cots, and no sooner than he would place the last one, he would fall asleep, sprawled out on it.

  By the end of the third week, Kevon could feel the tension mounting throughout the company. The countryside was growing wilder. Fields grew untended, some crops rotting within a choking undergrowth of weeds. Farmhouses were found abandoned, with never a clue to point to where the inhabitants had gone, or why.

  Carlo directed his troops to resupply at these abandoned buildings as best they could; the supplies they had brought were running low, and there was no longer game to be found. Scavenging parties consisted of two cavalry, two scouts, and five of the mounted infantry or support personnel. There were scarcely more than two dozen of the mounted infantry, and Carlo ran two scavenging parties whenever the opportunity presented itself. Kevon often found himself rummaging through the increasingly slim pickings of the abandoned homes they managed to spot.

  The Warsmith became quite skilled at spotting hiding places where supplies and money might be cached. Different texture in a dirt floor might conceal a buried box, a polished spot on a timber could reveal a hidden cache that more often than not hid valuables, or heirlooms. These alone were left, while supplies and weapons were loaded up and returned to the slowly moving column that the company had settled into.

  Four weeks into their journey, the company began finding evidence that homes had not simply been abandoned. Signs of struggles and spatters of dried blood were foremost amongst countless other things Kevon noticed that were not quite right. All of the combatants in the company had rotated out on patrols, had seen firsthand what had been suspected all along. Things were noted and reported back to Carlo, but otherwise not spoken of. The support personnel all took to carrying scavenged weaponry, and all who asked were quickly shown the basics of their use.

  The attack still caught them off guard. The horses, picketed nearby, caught wind of the demons, panicking just before the men started screaming.