Legacies (15 page)

Standing outside the stable in the grayness before dawn on Londi, Alucius strapped the rifle in place. As a cavalry conscript, he was required to supply not only his own mount and gear, but his own rifle—one of a standard gauge and boring—and his own sabre.

In the already warm breeze that foreshadowed a hot beginning to harvest season, his grandparents and his mother waited beside the stable door.

“Take care, Alucius,” Lucenda said quietly. “Don't seek friends just to have them, and don't put your trust where it does not belong.”

“I won't,” he promised, knowing that was as much as she could bear to say, knowing she knew he would understand. He stepped forward and hugged her warmly before releasing her.

“Take care, grandson,” Veryl said slowly.

“I will.” Alucius almost couldn't bear to look at her, so thin and frail had she become.

Royalt just nodded.

Alucius mounted the gray, turning his mount to look at the three who had raised him. “I'll write as I can.”

“You won't have much time for a while,” Royalt said, as much for Lucenda's benefit, Alucius knew, as to caution Alucius. “And remember, young man,” Royalt said, “those undergarments will stop a blade, but they won't stop its force.”

“Yes, sir.” Alucius reflected on what was inside his saddlebags—the new vest that his grandsire and grandmother had made—of tanned nightram leather, and trimmed fleece, and covered in a double layer of nightsilk. There were also two sets of long-sleeved nightsilk undershirts and low-calf-length underdrawers. All were tailored to fit under the militia uniform. Without it ever having been spoken, Alucius also knew that the less said about his underclothing and vest, the better.

“I should be riding,” he finally said. “Take care of Lamb and the others for me.” He forced a grin.

“Likely he'll take care of me,” returned Royalt.

With a last head bow, Alucius turned the gray, all too conscious of their eyes on his back as he rode down the lane toward the old road that would lead him into Iron Stem.

He sensed neither sanders nor sandwolves, and certainly not any soarers. He also saw no one on the ride into Iron Stem—not that he expected anyone. Vardial was not eighteen yet. Kyrtys and Jaff had been conscripted almost a year earlier, and he didn't know of any other herder youths within vingts who were close to his own age.

When he passed the dustcat enclosures, he thought of Gortal, and the man's ease in buying out his sons's conscriptions…and how that somehow felt wrong, although he knew his mother would have done that for him, had it been realistic. In a way, he was relieved—not glad—but relieved that it had not been possible.

“Then, you could just be a fool,” he murmured to himself. Being a cavalry trooper was dangerous, that he knew, but he also knew it was something he had to do. He frowned, recalling once more the phrase he had overheard—“too dangerous.” He'd asked his grandsire if a herder had anything dangerous or special to worry about, but Royalt had just assured Alucius that he had nothing to worry about on that count. It had been the truth, but not the whole truth.

Again, as he passed the bright green facing of the abandoned tower near the Pleasure Palace, he had to wonder at what the ancients had done. With the brilliant green surface on the exterior stones, a surface unscratched by weather or by time, the upper part of the tower looked as if it had been built within the past few years, yet his grandsire had insisted that it had been built closer to a millennium before, although no one in Iron Stem seemed to know exactly when that might have been.

Most of the shutters of the shops and buildings along the road into town were open, although he saw few people on the road or on their porches. The iron works was already operating, the dull thudding hammering rumbling into the street with the acrid odor of hot metal.

As he rode into the square, he could see that the militia was ready for the summer season conscripts. A thin and trim man in the black-and-green of the Iron Valley Militia sat mounted before a half squad of rankers drawn up in formation. To the south of the rankers were two long wagons, each with four wide wooden bench seats behind the driver's seat.

Alucius could see another six youths who were mounted. As he neared the center of the square, another pair rode in from the west road—out from where Amiss had his mill. He reined up short of a group of four riders who seemed to know each other. No one made any effort to even look in his direction, even while they talked quietly among themselves. So, rather than interjecting himself, Alucius eased his gray more toward the militia cavalry.

Every so often, he glanced in the direction of the cooperage—but he couldn't see anyone on the porch. After a time, more than a quarter of a glass, possibly a half glass, the second bell rang. No sooner had the echoes died away than a voice filled the square.

“Cavalry conscripts! Cavalry conscripts! Form up by twos in front of the wagons!” The deep and powerful voice issued from the trim figure in front of the half squad.

Alucius shrugged to himself and eased the gray to a position that looked to be where he had been ordered. A lanky youth looking even younger than Alucius jockeyed a bay gelding beside Alucius. The two looked at each other.

Alucius didn't recognize the other. “I'm Alucius. From out on the north road.”

“Kypler. From out west. Family runs the sawmill at Wesrigg.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

Kypler nodded in return.

“Cavalry conscripts! We haven't got all day. The rest of you form up behind those two!”

Alucius suppressed a wince. The last thing he wanted was to be an example.

“Not that they're any example!” added the militia cavalryman. “But they did follow orders. Foot conscripts! Take a place in the wagons. Two to a seat, and your gear goes with you.”

Up close, Alucius recognized the insignia on the man's collar—that of a senior squad leader—and was thankful his grandfather had insisted on his learning the rank badges.

Before long, there were seven cavalry conscripts lined up behind Kypler and Alucius, and the squad leader who had called out the orders had ridden around and reined up facing them. His eyes raked over the group, and not with approval, although Alucius could sense that the man was not as angry as he looked.

“I'm squad leader Estepp. I'm the one who will make you into a semblance of a militia cavalryman. If I can, and if you don't kill yourself first. You call me ‘sir' or ‘squad leader' at all times. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Alucius said quietly, but a number of the others did not answer or merely said, “yes.”

“That's ‘Yes, sir,' conscripts, and don't you forget it!”

The chorus of “yes, sir” was ragged but unanimous.

“A little better, that was. We've got a long ride ahead. A short one compared to what you'll be doing in a season, but a long one for most of you. You'd better be a summer conscript. We don't check that here, but they'll have your name at Sudon. Anyone not a summer conscript?”

“Sir?” came a voice from behind Alucius.

“Yes, conscript?” answered Estepp.

“I'm Velon, sir. I should have been a spring conscript, but the Council let me wait a season because my father's arm was crushed in the works. I have a paper here from the Council.”

“That's fine, Velon. You're a summer conscript now.” Estepp looked over the nine once more. “Anyone else.” He waited. “We're headed to the training camp at Sudon. For those of you who don't know where it is…it's about twenty vingts south of here and then five west. When we get there, you'll be formed into training squads with the other cavalry conscripts, and issued a training tunic, and your weapons will be checked. If they're adequate, we'll lock them up, and you'll be given training sabres. They're rattan. That's a wood that hurts almost as much as a blade, but won't kill you unless you're a total fool. Why rattan? Because we don't want you killing each other. Then you'll be assigned to your barracks, and one of the squad leaders will brief you on what we'll do to try to make you into cavalry. That's all you need to know for now. No talking, except when I say you can. That will be at rest breaks and if I feel you merit that privilege. You'll ride two abreast, the way you're lined up now, and the man on the left keeps his mount exactly three yards behind the mount in front. The man on the right keeps his mount exactly even with the man on the left.” Estepp looked at Alucius. “You're on the front left, and you take station on the guide. That will be a regular, who will set the pace. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good!” Estepp turned his mount. “Guide to the front!”

An older cavalryman, with a thin mustache and a scar across his left cheek, rode forward and eased his mount into position three yards or so in front of Alucius and the gray.

“Column forward! Take station on the guide!”

The guide urged his mount forward at what would be a quick walk.

As he followed the guide from the square, Alucius couldn't help but wonder if Wendra had watched. He hadn't seen her, but…that didn't mean she hadn't looked. He hoped so.

Two abreast, the conscripts rode southward, followed by the two wagons with the foot conscripts. Once they passed beyond the last dwellings of Iron Stem, Estepp rode along the left side of the road.

“You're going to learn a few songs. Here's the first one. Listen, and then you try it.” Estepp stood in his stirrups and gestured.

Behind the conscripts came the words from the half squad of cavalry.

Alucius listened. It was always better to listen, and no one wanted to hear what he thought. That was already clear.

The first three weeks of training were comparatively easy for Alucius, and nothing compared to herding and what his grandsire had put him through. He did what he was told as well as he could. He listened and learned, both from what was said and what was not. His greatest problem was getting used to sleeping in a long room with fifty other men and always being surrounded by others. He did miss the solitude and the openness of the lands under the plateau.

The conscripts had been riding about three glasses a day, one in the morning and two in the afternoon, but most of the riding had been formation practice. They had also been practicing with the rattan sabres, but on foot. Since the exercises were elementary, and well beneath Alucius's level, and since he hadn't wanted to stand out, he'd decided that his best course was to go through all the exercises right-handed. Most people used their right hand anyway, and few would suspect he'd learned with his left. He'd gotten more than a few drubbings at first, but had caught up with most of those in the training company.

On the fourth Londi after he had arrived, he was grooming the gray and cleaning the stall before breakfast, looking forward to getting his rifle back, if only for target practice. As he closed the stall, he could hear Dolesy's loud whisper, clearly pitched to carry.

“Course he finishes with his mount first…herders sleep with 'em.”

Alucius ignored Dolesy's comments and walked away from the stable and toward the farthest barracks, the one that held the conscript mess hall.

“…doesn't like us talking about his being an animal lover, a
real
animal lover…wouldn't know what to do with a woman…”

Alucius tightened his lips, took a deep breath, and kept walking. He did wonder at times why Dolesy disliked herders so much, but the reasons didn't matter for some people.

Breakfast was the usual—lukewarm porridge, overdone mutton slices, greasy yellow cheese, bread not quite stale, dried apples with a slice of lemon—and cider. Alucius looked at the platter before him for a long moment, then used his belt knife to slice the cheese. It was greasy enough that he could only take it in small bites between the bread and the apples. Rather than squeeze the lemon over the apples, he just ate it, following it with a healthy swallow of cider.

Kypler joined him. “Dolesy sure doesn't like northerners.” The lanky conscript looked at Alucius. “He doesn't like you at all. Did you do something?”

“Nothing. Never even saw him before we got here.” Alucius gestured at the nearly empty table where they sat. “People sit with those they know. Not many know us, so…”

“It's not just that. He caught Velon in back, bruised his ribs…where it wouldn't show.”

“He's that sort,” Alucius said, taking a mouthful of the porridge.

“How can you eat that?”

“Because I feel worse if I don't.”

Kypler laughed. So did Akkar, several places away on the other side of the long table.

After breakfast, as the sun was rising in the east, the cavalry conscripts lined up in formation outside the first training barracks—their barracks. The other three barracks were for the foot conscripts. Alucius found it strange not to see the plateau in the northeast, but considering that Sudon was well over a hundred vingts from the nearest part, he couldn't expect to see it.

Estepp marched down the line, studying each conscript silently, then returned to the front of the formation to address the forty-odd young men. “We're going to start rifle training today. You'll get your rifles for practice, and then you'll turn them back in. Some of you think you're good shots. Most of you aren't. If you are, just practice to keep your skill up. If you're not, listen and try to learn something. Remember that every bullet you put in a brigand means one more person who's not going to be able to put one in you.”

The senior squad leader paused. “We don't like it when you waste cartridges. We can gather some of the casings. That's not the problem. Anyone want to guess what is?”

“The powder, sir?” ventured Velon from beside Alucius.

“Very good. Gunpowder. We've got charcoal, and we can find saltpeter, but the one thing we have to trade for is sulfur. That gets to be a little hard at times, seeing as everyone around us wants to make us part of their land.

“Now…fall out and get your rifles from the armory. Then mount up and re-form. We ride out to the range. You'll be issued cartridges there.”

On the ride westward toward the range, Alucius and Kypler were side by side in the rear of second squad. If Alucius rode behind Dolesy, that seemed to cut down on the number of snide comments. Half a glass later, the five squads of the training company halted opposite a small structure and a very long railing.

“You must have used a rifle a lot,” Kypler said as they dismounted and tied their mounts.

“Some,” Alucius admitted. “You have to as a herder. What about you?”

“Some. My da took me hunting, but I'm not that good a shot.”

“I imagine we'll get better.”

“Form up by squads. Shoulder arms!” came the commands. “First squad forward…”

Alucius and Kypler stayed to the rear of second squad.

The range itself was simple—a line of wooden cutouts set fifty yards away in the shape of foot soldiers, covered in rough brown paper. Another fifty yards behind the cutouts was a berm. The range was clearly designed so that the targets could be moved back.

“You'll be issued ten cartridges, and you'll turn in ten empty casings,” Estepp announced. “You'll load your magazines with five. After my command—and
only
after my command—you will fire. Take your time. Make each shot count. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then either Furwell, Jynes, or I will offer advice to those who need it. Most of you will. After that, you'll reload. You are not to reload until commanded.”

Alucius fired his first five shots at what he thought was a deliberate pace.

Immediately after Alucius had finished, Estepp eased up behind him. “Conscript…I said to take your time.”

“Yes, sir. I thought I did, sir.”

Estepp smiled. “You only get to fire that fast if you hit the target. Did you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We'll see.”

Once the last shots had died away, Estepp commanded, “Rifles at rest!” After a moment, he added, “Give me a check on target number seven, second squad!” Estepp called out.

“One moment, sir.”

Alucius waited calmly. He
knew
where his shots had gone.

“All five in the center, sir,” came back from the spotter.

Estepp looked at Alucius. “You're a herder, but not all herders shoot that well. Who's your father.”

“His name was Ellus, sir.”

Estepp frowned, then nodded. “Your grandsire is Royalt, Captain Royalt?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He taught you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Estepp nodded and walked on. “Dolesy, you're jerking the trigger. Squeeze it.”

As the senior squad leader went on, giving advice to other conscripts, Alucius could hear Dolesy once more, whispering to Ramsat in the voice meant to carry. “…so he had a big name grandsire…someone who could murder lots of other scum…still northern sand scum…”

Alucius could sense the rage and antagonism from Dolesy, but hadn't the faintest idea why Dolesy was so angry with him or herders. He'd just have to watch the man, let him act, and catch him out—the same way he would have handled a sandwolf—except he had no intention of killing Dolesy.