The Choice of Magic

by Michael G. Manning

  The armorer nodded to his apprentice. “Show him what we’re doing.” Then he looked at Will. “Good luck, Cartwright. I hope you don’t get killed. It’s bad for business when people wearing my goods don’t survive.”

  That was the end of their conversation, so Will followed the young apprentice. The man stopped along one wall and pointed to a large selection of mail that was hanging there. The pieces were of varying sizes and shapes. “We’re up day and night making those. For a shirt like yours we take the sections already done and piece them together, adding just enough to fit your measurements. The gambesons are different, of course—we don’t do those, but there are several seamstresses that work with us to make sure they fit the customer properly.”

  Will held up his arm and examined the armor. It was coated in oil that was already leaving gray stains on the linen underneath. Each ring was linked through four others, and there were tiny rivets holding them closed. “It must take forever to make this,” he murmured.

  The apprentice laughed. “You have no idea. I see those little rivets even in my sleep.” He held a large leather bag out to Will.

  “What’s this for?”

  “When you take it off,” said the other man. “The leather is heavily oiled. It will help keep the mail from rusting.”

  “What if it rusts anyway?”

  The apprentice smiled. “It will. Just put it in the bag and shake it. Or you can rub the mail against itself. Make sure to add oil to it now and then, including the bag. If something happens and it gets really bad, bring it back to us. We have a big sand tumbler we use for exceptionally rusty armor.”

  Will returned to camp feeling as though he had grown several feet taller. He definitely got a few extra looks from the camp guards, for not many of the soldiers wore mail aside from the sergeants and officers. Some of the veteran corporals had managed to save up enough for it, but they were few and far between.

  When he rejoined his squad at lunchtime, Dave whistled. “Damn, that looks good! I’d kiss a lot of ass if I could get armor like that right now.”

  Will frowned. “Why?”

  Corporal Taylor leaned in. “The orders came down just before noon. We move in two days.”

  “That soon?” asked Will. “I figured we had a few more weeks.”

  Sven broke in, “They don’t pay us to think.”

  “They probably want to make sure we command the pass before Darrow tries to cross. There’s been a rumor that the Patriarch might have a lot more men in Barrowden than we thought they did. If so, we might not be able to take Barrowden back. It might be all we can do to keep them out of Branscombe,” explained the corporal.

  “Easier to hold the pass than defend the town,” agreed Tiny.

  Unhappy with what he was hearing, Will protested, “We have to take Barrowden back. Won’t the king be sending the rest of the army here?”

  Corporal Taylor glanced around and lowered his voice. “They’d have been here already, which means they’ve probably been sent somewhere else, Cerria or Thornton maybe.”

  “Then someone screwed up!” swore Will, “Because Darrow is sending most of their army through Barrowden.” The others stared at him while Tiny closed his eyes and shook his head as if to say, ‘idiot.’ Hastily, Will added, “That’s what I heard, anyway.”

  “You know something, don’t you?” said the corporal with interest.

  Will shook his head. “That’s just what I heard the officers talking about when they arrested me last time,” he improvised.

  “Keep your voice down then,” advised Corporal Taylor. “Or you’ll be getting arrested again.”

  “Won’t matter,” snickered Dave. “He’s better at getting arrested than I am.”

  They spent the next day packing wagons and double-checking lists while supply sergeants hurried back and forth, yelling at seemingly everyone. That evening the captain, Sir Kyle Barrentine, addressed the company personally, explaining that they would have the ‘honor’ of leading the vanguard.

  That made little sense to Will, and he said as much as they gathered in the evening before lights out. Sven merely chuckled. “You’ll see.”

  “What’s that mean?” demanded Dave angrily. The ex-thief was no happier about being told they would be in the lead element than Will was. “Our company has the most inexperienced soldiers. Shouldn’t they put the company with the most veterans up front?”

  Sven shook his head. “First, this is just while we march, but I have no doubt they’ll put us up front in the first battle as well. They put the green soldiers up front for a reason. If we get an easy fight and win, we build morale. If we don’t, we soften up the enemy for the veterans to clean up after us. The veterans are less likely to run if things go ass-up too, and we can’t run if they’re behind us.”

  “Balls!” exclaimed Dave. “How do I get put in a veteran company? This sucks.”

  Tiny laughed. “That’s easy. Live through the first few battles. After enough of us die, they’ll probably reorganize us into different companies.”

  “Bullshit,” said Dave. “We haven’t had a real war in over fifty years. Who are they to say who’s experienced and who isn’t?”

  “At least the veterans have fought bandits and whatnot before,” said Sven. “That’s more than we can say.”

  Something occurred to Will then. “Sven, you served a full contract before. Why didn’t they put you in one of the veteran companies?”

  “I’m a conscript now,” replied the older man, “so I don’t really count. More importantly, they don’t make new companies out of nothing but green soldiers. They always mix in a few old timers to help the boys grow into soldiers.”

  “Who are you calling a boy?” asked Dave belligerently.

  “You,” said Sven pointedly. “You can’t even have a drink without starting a fight or trying to steal something.”

  It seemed as though a fight was imminent, but Dave relaxed after a tense moment, then he replied, “I never drink when I’m stealing.”

  Maybe he’s maturing, thought Will.

  ***

  They woke up well before dawn on the day they left, and even as they were beginning to take down the tents, Will saw several groups of horsemen leave the camp. “Where are they going?” he asked Sven.

  “Scouts,” said the veteran. “They have to make sure the engineers don’t get ambushed.”

  “Engineers?”

  Sven laughed. “The ones who check the route and clear obstructions. The column can only march as wide as the narrowest point, otherwise everything goes to shit.”

  “I never thought it would be so complicated,” observed Will.

  “You haven’t seen the half of it yet,” said the old soldier. “First scouts, then engineers, then they’ll send us. They’ll send the companies out in intervals with some space between us in case there’s an obstruction, so we don’t all pile up. Behind the main body the wagons will follow, and then behind them the rearguard. We’ll stop at the new camp before the rearguard even leaves this place.”

  “Huh? How does that make sense?” asked Will.

  “You’ll see,” said Sven. “We’ll be preparing the camp for a couple of hours before they reach us. We probably won’t march more than five hours. And this is a small army. It gets even worse with a larger force.”

  Sven’s words proved to be accurate. Company B led the column, marching five abreast through the morning. They stopped at noon and after a brief rest they were put to clearing brush and digging latrines. Men were also sent out to collect wood for the evening fires, and others began setting up tents and preparing food.

  In the late afternoon the wagons started arriving, and the drivers and rearguard went to work unloading mules and caring for the horses. Once that was done, the evening meal was started and a variety of minor chores were begun. Watches were set, but most of the soldiers were in their bedrolls shortly after sundown.

  Will was glad he hadn’t been assigned to one of the night watches, for it se
emed that almost as soon as he had put his head down Sergeant Nash was shouting for them to all rise and begin it all over again. Sitting up, he stared bleary-eyed, at the oiled bag that held his mail, wondering if he should put it on. The army had only covered ten miles the day before, but the march combined with all the labor had made the extra weight a misery.

  I’ll still have to carry it, whether I wear it or not, he told himself. And if something does happen… With a sigh, he removed it from the bag and began shrugging it over his head and shoulders.

  Chapter 46

  The second day’s march was much like the first, except everyone was a little more tired. Will couldn’t help but compare their travel to what it was like alone. A small group on foot could reach the top of the pass in a single day if they pushed themselves, though most would go slower and take two, but a large column took three days.

  They had been on the march for three hours when something caught his eye. The road ahead was gradually rising, and the terrain on either side was increasingly rocky, but to the left a distant ravine caused it to slope downward. Trees and brush obscured everything in the distance until the next mountain rose up behind the tops of the trees. What held his attention was a spot where the turyn swirled in an unusual pattern, as though a person or large animal hid behind the thick brush.

  Turning his head, he searched farther back and saw a few other similar places he hadn’t noticed as they marched. Opening his mouth, he tried to catch Corporal Taylor’s attention. “There are men hidden to our left.”

  The rest of the squad looked as they continued marching, but no one saw anything. “I don’t see anything,” said the corporal. “The scouts would have reported it if anyone was there.”

  “I saw them,” insisted Will.

  Sergeant Nash, who had been walking alongside the company, drew closer. “Dress the line! You’re too slow!”

  The corporal sped up, but he also responded, “Sergeant, one of my men saw something in the ravine to our left.”

  “We aren’t stopping because some green recruit is jumping at shadows,” barked the sergeant.

  Will didn’t like the way things were progressing, for the more he looked the more convinced he became that at least seven or eight men were hiding within thirty yards of the road. With the way the terrain dipped, there could easily be many more beyond them that were completely blocked from sight. He was afraid of the consequences, but after a moment he simply stopped in his tracks. “Sergeant, they’re there. I can show you.”

  The men behind might have marched right over him, but Tiny stopped as well, and his sheer mass was far harder to ignore. Sergeant Nash began screaming, and the look on Corporal Taylor’s face suggested he would have loved nothing more than to be able to vanish from the face of the earth. The entire company came to a halt and despite the shouting, Will heard the sound of hooves approaching as the captain rode up.

  “Sergeant Nash! What the hell is going on?” demanded Sir Kyle.

  “One of the new recruits is afraid of his own shadow,” growled Sergeant Nash.

  “Take him out of the line and have him whipped. Now, get these men moving,” ordered the knight captain.

  Will could see his chance of getting through to them quickly vanishing, so before the captain could ride on, he shouted, “I saw their helmets! Just over there!” He jumped and pointed to emphasize his point.

  “I saw them too,” lied Tiny, his deep voice booming.

  Sergeant Nash hesitated then, and Sir Kyle rode closer. “Both of you saw this?”

  “Yes, sir,” answered Will and Tiny bobbed his head in agreement.

  The captain lifted his arm and signaled to Lieutenant Latimer, who was riding farther back on the opposite side of the column, giving him the signal for a full halt even though they were already stopped. He leaned over in the saddle and gave Will a glare that could scour the rust from mail. “If we don’t find anything, I’ll have you both whipped.” Then he began giving orders. “Send a runner back to let the other platoons know we are forming up to march on the left side of the road. They are to do likewise. Have Sergeant Moon send a runner from Second Platoon to inform Company D of our action.”

  In the span of a few minutes, Will saw the payoff for their months of drill practice as the entire company formed a line seventy-five men long and two ranks deep facing the left side of the road. Will and Tiny were in the front rank along with the rest of their squad. Sir Kyle and Lieutenant Latimer rode behind at either end of the formation.

  The knight captain’s voice boomed over their heads, “Company B, forward march!” and a hundred and fifty men began to advance in step with one another. “Shields up, ready arms! Sergeants, watch the line!”

  The line shifted as they crossed the rugged terrain and were forced to accommodate obstacles like bushes and small trees, keeping the sergeants busy as they ranged back and forth behind them, shouting orders to keep the company in formation. Will started to get nervous as he saw that the strange flows of turyn no longer showed, indicating the watchers had withdrawn. At fifty yards, the company began to descend a steeper slope and there were still no enemies in sight.

  Then a lone man broke from concealment behind an isolated boulder, running away from the shield wall. Shouts went up from the soldiers as they saw him, and the sergeants were busy once more keeping the men from speeding up to catch the stranger. “Hold the line, goddamn it!” shouted Sergeant Nash. “This isn’t a fucking race!”

  They reached the bottom of the shallow ravine and started up the other side when a long line of men just twenty yards away appeared, pushing aside the cut bushes they were using to conceal themselves and raising crossbows. Will ducked his head and felt something heavy strike his shield.

  “Forward, double time! Stay together!” shouted one of the sergeants.

  Will could see the head of a heavy bolt had come all the way through his shield and was now wedged there, halfway through, and from behind he heard someone cry out in pain. Looking over the top of his shield, he saw the crossbowmen fire again before turning tail and running. Something hard glanced off the top of his steel cap.

  Even at a double-time march, they had no hope of catching up to the fleeing enemies, but Sir Kyle was firm in not letting the men charge. They followed the crossbowmen for several hundred yards before the knight gave the order to slow to a normal march, and they continued at that pace for another half a mile before he called a halt. Shortly thereafter, they returned to the road and assumed a defensive formation.

  Sir Kyle was sending another runner back. “Tell them to get the chirurgeon up here. They can put him on a horse. I’ve got men bleeding to death here.”

  Will spotted Sergeant Nash and stepped toward him. “Sir, I have experience with wounds.”

  A few minutes later, he found himself with two or three other men, trying to treat those who had been hit by crossbow quarrels. Six men had been wounded: three had in and out wounds in their lower legs, which were fairly simple, but two of the others had bolts buried in their chests. The sixth was dying, and Will knew at a glance there was little hope for that soldier, for the head of the bolt had gone through just beneath his neck.

  The leg wounds were already under control, with pressure being applied, so Will went to one of the men with a bolt in his chest. Someone had already cut the shaft down so only a few inches of wood protruded. Taking out his knife, Will carefully cut the soldier’s padded gambeson away so he could see the wound itself.

  The head had gone through the padding and sunk a full two inches into the unfortunate fellow’s chest, just below the collarbone on his left side. Ignoring the man’s screams, Will probed the wound, noting that only a trickle of blood emerged. It missed the artery, he thought with relief. If the head was barbed like the one that had gone through his shield, though, he couldn’t safely draw it out. Removing it might hit the artery at worst, and at best would cause a lot more damage.

  “I need some feathers,” said Will, glancing up.


  Sergeant Brummett was looking over his shoulder. “What?”

  “Feathers,” repeated Will. “Preferably large ones, like the sort you’d make a quill pen from.” The sergeant went to see what he could find, and Will went to examine the other man with a chest wound.

  The second chest wound was less serious, as it had only gone in far enough to bury the head of the bolt, and it was below the ribs. Will judged it could be removed safely, but he decided to wait on the feathers to minimize the damage it would do.

  The company began marching again, while Will and the two other men who were experienced with wounds, Tims and Granthon, stayed with the wounded. Lieutenant Latimer rode up to them a minute later.

  The lieutenant offered Will two quill pens he had scavenged from his writing kit. “This is the best I could find. The company will continue marching for another hour. After the chirurgeon gets here, follow the rest of the column and meet up with your squads. Doctor Guerin will have these men sent back to Branscombe.”

  The officer started to mount up again, but Will called out to him. “We need a pot to boil some water, sir.”

  Granthon spoke up. “I’ve got one in my pack.”

  The lieutenant left, and Tims watched as Will trimmed the points from the quills, leaving a blunt end with a large hole. “What are you doing?” asked the soldier.

  “We’re going to take the point out of him, but I don’t want the barbs to tear him up,” said Will. Using his knife, he cut the entry hole in the wounded soldier’s chest a little wider. Then he inserted first one and then the other quill into the wound, slipping them over the barbed points.

  “Start pulling on the shaft,” said Will. “Slowly.” Tims began pulling, while Will made sure each quill remained firmly over the tips of the barbs. Half a minute later, the head of the bolt was out, followed by a slightly stronger flow of blood. “Put pressure on it until we can clean it. I’ll start on the other one.”