Shadow of a Dark Queen (27 page)

That they were soldiers was beyond doubt to Erik. They spent long hours drilling, climbing the wooden walls, jumping barricades, riding horseback, practicing with all manner of weapons.

Instead of being returned to the rock hill, for their third day of moving the rocks to Robert de Loungville's newly chosen location, they were marched before the big building where Erik was now convinced the officers lived. They were told to stand at attention and wait, while de Loungville entered the building.

A few minutes later he reemerged with another man behind. The second man struck Erik as looking somewhat odd, though he couldn't place why. He was slender, blond, and youthful—no more than twenty or twenty-five years of age—but de Loungville showed obvious deference to him as they spoke.

“These are the last six,” he said. The blond-haired man nodded, saying nothing. “I don't like this,” de Loungville continued. “We planned for sixty men, not thirty-six.”

The other man spoke at last, and there was something strange in his speech: soft and well mannered, yet different from what Erik had heard among the nobles and wealthy merchants of Darkmoor and Ravensburg. Erik had heard a lot of foreign accents in his day, but he couldn't place this one. “Agreed, but conditions force us to make do with what we have. What about these?”

“They have promise, Calis, but we've months of training ahead.”

“Who are they?” asked the man called Calis.

Robert de Loungville moved before Biggo. “This one's called Biggo. Strong as an ox and almost as intelligent. Quicker than he looks. Calm—doesn't rattle easily.”

He stepped before the next. “Luis de Savona. Rodezian cutthroat. Likes to use a knife. Handy where we're going.”

Then he said, “Billy Goodwin. Looks like a simple lad, but he'd cut your throat for the fun of it. Too mean when angered, but he can be broken.”

He came to stand before Erik. “This is von Darkmoor's bastard. Probably too stupid to live, but
he's almost as strong as Biggo and he'll do as he's told.”

Then he was before Roo. “Rupert Avery. He's a sneaky little rodent, but he's got potential.” He then grabbed Roo's ever-present noose and pulled him forward, almost off balance, as he shouted into his face, “If I don't kill him first for being so damned ugly!”

Then he let go and Roo almost fell backwards overcompensating, as de Loungville stepped before Sho Pi. “This is the Keshian I told you about. Could be very useful to us if he can learn to keep his temper. More dangerous than Goodwin; this one doesn't show it when he's getting angry.”

Then he turned to the six prisoners. “Do you see this man, here?” asked de Loungville.

The prisoners said, “Yes, Sergeant!”

De Loungville said, “Be afraid of him. Be very afraid.” He looked from face to face. “He is not what he seems. He is the Eagle of Krondor, and wise men keep out of sight when he flies above.”

Calis indulged himself in a slight smile at the rhetoric, nodded, and said, “You men will live or die as the Kingdom requires. I will see you dead before I will let you jeopardize the mission we will be upon. Is this understood?”

The men nodded. They had no idea what mission they were to be a part of, but it had been driven home daily that it was vital to the interests of the Kingdom and that each of them would instantly be killed if they appeared in any way to threaten its success. Erik was certain he had never been more convinced of any single fact in his life than he was of this.

Calis studied each face, then said, “You have two weeks, Bobby.”

“Two weeks! I was to have three more months!”

With a hint of a distant sadness, Calis said, “Arutha is dead. Nicholas was not told of his father's plan until the day after hearing of his death. It was a shock. He's not convinced of the wisdom of what we do.” He turned and looked at de Loungville. “Two weeks, and any man who isn't reliable, hang him.” Without another word he returned inside the building.

De Loungville glanced from face to face one more time, then said, “Be very afraid.”

The next morning, the hill of rocks was gone. The men in black had been ordered to remove it, and thirty of them had made quick work of the pile. Erik and the others had been taken to another part of the compound by Corporal Foster.

He had stood before them and said, “Any of you murdering mother-lovers think you know how to handle a sword?”

The men glanced at one another, but no one spoke. They had learned within a few hours of arriving at camp that when Foster or de Loungville asked a question, you had better be absolutely sure of the right answer if you opened your mouth.

“I thought so,” said Foster. “Easy enough to club a man from behind in an alley, eh, Biggo?” He grinned without humor.

Foster moved down the line. “Or slip a dagger into a man's back when he's drunk in a tavern, eh, Luis?”

When he got to Erik he said, “Or you can just hold him from behind while your little rat-faced sweetheart sticks a knife into his gut.”

Erik said nothing. De Loungville had a harsh nature and was a tyrant, but didn't seem to find particular pleasure in his work. Corporal Foster seemed to enjoy insulting the prisoners. Billy Goodwin had lost his temper with Foster the second day and had endured the humiliation of being soundly drubbed by the experienced soldier before the entire company in the compound. The men in black had gathered to laugh at the thrashing.

Two soldiers approached, each carrying three swords. “Well,” said Foster, “these two lads and myself are going to attempt to show you a thing or two about using this weapon, so you don't hurt yourself if you happen to find one in your hand someday.” Taking out his own sword, he said, “Better men than you have managed to cut off their own foot.”

The soldiers passed out a blade to each man. Erik held his awkwardly. It was a common Kingdom shortsword, heavier than the fast rapier, shorter than the broad-, bastard-, and greatswords used by some fighters. It was, he had been told as a boy, the simplest weapon to train with.

“Pay attention,” said de Loungville. “Your life will certainly depend on it.”

So began an intensive week of arms study. For a half day they stood in the yard, slamming away at one another with wooden practice weapons, until every one of them was covered in black-and-blue welts. Then, after the midday meal, they were taken to the stable area.

“Who's a rider here?” asked de Loungville.

Erik and Luis raised their hands. Two horses were led toward them, and de Loungville said, “Get aboard and let's see what you know.”

Luis quickly mounted, but Erik walked around his horse and inspected the animal.

De Loungville said, “Waiting for him to invite you up, von Darkmoor?”

Ignoring the sarcasm, Erik said, “This animal isn't sound.”

“What?” asked Robert de Loungville. “He looks sound enough to me.”

“He's off in the left rear.” Erik reached down and ran his hand along the animal's left rear leg, and the gelding obligingly raised his font. A thick mat of dirt, hay, and dung was packed in the hoof. Erik reached for a pick that hadn't been on his belt for a month, and smiled to himself ruefully. “Old habits.” He looked up. Without a word one of the two grooms handed Erik a hoof pick and he pulled the mass loose. Even standing a few feet back, de Loungville could smell the stink.

Erik held the hoof, inspecting it. “Thrush. That won't make him lame until the hoof rots off, but there's certainly something else here.” Erik dug into the frog and the horse protested and began to pull away. “Hold!” shouted Erik and gave the horse a backward slap with his hand, more an admonishment than any real punishment. Sensing he was being treated by someone who knew what he was doing, the horse quieted, though he obviously wasn't pleased. “Got a rock here, small one, but in there good.” Suddenly it popped out and blood and pus oozed after it. “A couple of days of soaking that hoof a time or two in hot salty water should fix him right up. Just needs to be packed with poultice to keep it from festering.” He let go of the leg. “Someone's not taking proper care of these horses, Sergeant.”

De Loungville said, “Someone is going to find himself shipped back to the Shamata garrison at first light tomorrow if there's one other lame horse in that stable tonight!” To one of the grooms he shouted, “Bring another mount.”

As the horse was led away, de Loungville asked, “How did you know?”

Erik shrugged. “It's what I do. I'm a blacksmith. I can see little things most don't notice.”

De Loungville rubbed his chin as he thought, then softly he said, “Get back in line.”

While waiting for a fresh mount to be brought, de Loungville said, “Let me see you take the yard at a trot, de Savona!”

Luis moved the horse easily forward and Erik nodded slightly in approval. The Rodezian had a good seat and didn't saw at the horse's mouth. He overbalanced a little and his legs were somewhat out of position, but overall he was a fair rider.

The afternoon wore on, with each of the men taking a turn at riding. Roo sat well enough, despite his having little experience, and Sho Pi seemed to have a natural aptitude—good balance and a relaxed seat. Biggo and William were both tossed before they made it halfway around the compound, and by the end of the day, every man but Erik and Luis was complaining of muscles in his legs he never knew existed now stretched and beaten.

For the first three days after meeting Calis, Erik and the other five prisoners were put through intensive weapons training as well as at least two hours of riding each day. Erik was developing a fair sense of how to use a sword, as was Roo, who used his quickness to good advantage.

No one asked, but it was clear that they were being trained for combat and that their ability to prove something to Robert de Loungville was critical to their future survival. No one spoke of Calis's final instruction to de Loungville, that any man found unreliable was to be hung.

No one cared to speculate on what would constitute reliability in two weeks' time.

Each man's strengths and weaknesses began to emerge as the week wore on. Biggo was fine as long as he had clear instructions, but when something unexpected arose, he was indecisive. Roo was daring, and took chances, and as often as not received lumps and bruises for his troubles.

Billy Goodwin lost his temper in a blind rage, while Sho Pi lost his temper and became intensely focused, in a fashion that made Erik consider him the most deadly of the company.

Luis de Savona was a fair swordsman—though he claimed he excelled with the dagger—and a decent horseman, but his vulnerability was his vanity. He could not say no to any challenge.

Sho Pi was naturally gifted and never repeated a lesson. He sat effortlessly in the saddle and used a sword easily mere hours after having been shown what to do.

Five days after Calis had inspected them, training in the camp changed. The six prisoners were ordered out with an equal number of men in black, and the dozen of them were marched to a distant area of the compound, where two soldiers waited, wearing the brown and gold tabard of the Duchy of Crydee. On the ground before them lay a host of strange-looking objects, some which appeared to be weapons, others which were incomprehensible.

The two soldiers, a captain and a sergeant, began a lecture on these alien weapons, quickly demonstrating what each was capable of doing. After that demonstration was over, the men were marched to another area, where a man who appeared to be a priest of Dala began to instruct them in the basics of caring for wounds.

By the end of the day, Erik had a firm picture in his mind of one thing: they were going to war. But from the unspoken urgency of each man's instruction this day, they were going into war with a dearth of preparation.

The sound of horses whinnying in greeting brought Erik awake. He rolled from his bunk and moved aside the door flap of the tent. Looking out, he saw a company of Royal Krondorian Lancers entering the compound, some distance away. He glanced toward the east and saw the sky already lightening. They would be roused from sleep in another hour.

He started to return to bed, but something caught his attention. For a moment he stared at it without recognition, then it struck him. He watched until he was almost sure of what he saw, then moved to Roo's bunk. Kneeling, he shook his friend awake, covering his mouth to keep him from waking the others. In the gloom he made a motion for his friend to follow him.

They crept out of the tent, and then Roo said, “What?”

“Miranda. She just rode in with a company of Royal Lancers.”

“Are you certain?” said Roo.

“No—that's why I'm going to get a closer look.”

Erik turned and, hunkering down so those marching post on the wall wouldn't notice him, moved off. The sentries weren't there to keep Erik and the others inside, he was now certain, but to ensure no one outside got close.

The two young men circled around to the far side of what Erik had come to think of as the officers' quarters; at least, that was where de Loungville retired every night, and where Calis seemed to reside. They ducked along, keeping away from the line of lancers, who sat their horses easily as they turned their mounts around and began riding back toward the gate. Erik glanced at them long enough to realize they weren't heading out again, merely moving away from the command building. Erik had a suspicion but said nothing to Roo.

The two of them darted along behind the building, and crept under a window. Faint voices carried. Erik motioned for Roo to remain silent and moved to another window. Here he could barely make out the sound of conversation.

“. . . need to be gone before the camp rises. Every man here has seen me at least once. It would not do for my presence to be detected. Too many questions.”

A man's voice—Erik thought it sounded like Calis—answered: “I agree. Something urgent must have brought you here. What is it?”