Heritage of Fire

by Dave Luckett

  "Right you are, sir. Farrell's place hasn't been filled yet."

  "There you are, then. Lucky for you, we've had a man leave. You can start right away."

  Gerd frowned a little. Yes, he had decided to follow Master Hawken's advice, but this was a little fast. Still, there was no point in delaying. Then again …

  "How much is the fee?" he asked, temporising.

  The look of calculation that passed across the Captain's face was a brief one, no more than a passing glint in the eyes and a slight lowering of their lids. Already, though, Gerd had come to know it, and he had been carefully watching for it. He had been watching at the swordsmith's too, but had seen nothing like that. It was just as well that he was watching for it here, for the amount truly shocked him.

  "And there's your kit, as well," continued the Captain, running an eye over Gerd. "You'll need to get it made special - you're well above the normal size. Leather jack and helmet at least. We'd prefer a mail shirt." The last was said in a considering sort of tone, as if he were ready to compromise on that. "And your spear, shield and tabard. That's company stores. You pay the company clerk for that." He indicated the other man.

  "Well …" Gerd began. He offered half what had been demanded. Even that would mean having to break into his store of gold coins.

  It was strange, Gerd thought later, how you can only think of one thing at a time, and how you do what you're used to doing. He had been only finding out about the Western Knights, he thought, but as soon as the bargaining began he was thinking about price, and about watching the Captain, and gauging his reactions. Is that his best price? Can I beat him down a little more? What are his eyes and his face doing? Before he knew it, there was a sort of a commitment established. It had crept up on him, and he never saw it until it was large enough to be felt.

  They finally shook hands on a sum that was only large, rather than huge. Gerd calculated. Two gold pieces would be needed, out of the fifty that he had in the drawstring bag he wore around his neck. He drew out the bag and produced the two coins from it, not showing the others, and yet he saw the Captain's eyebrows rise slightly.

  This was the decisive moment. He'd been sidetracked by the bargaining, and hadn't noticed what the actual result would be. This would commit him. Even now, he could turn around and say that he'd changed his mind, but once the money was laid down he'd have to see it through. Gerd couldn't have said why that was, but it was so. Perhaps it was because the money was really the Squire's, and he would not waste it. He hesitated; but Master Hawken had said "knight or mage", and of those the only the first made any sense to him.

  He found that he had made his decision.

  He laid the coins on the table, and the clerk looked down at them, then up again. He wasn't as good a bargainer as the Captain - his face was less under control. He looked down at the coins again - shining broad pieces with somebody's head on them and some writing that Gerd could not read, though the number, 20, was plain enough - and frowned.

  Then he turned in his chair and groped in the open chest behind him. He pulled out a glass bottle the size of his thumb, with a stopper that was pierced through with a glass straw. At first Gerd thought it might be a scent-bottle, and he wondered what the clerk would want with that, but the other carefully pulled out the stopper, and used the straw to place a small drop of clear liquid on the coin. Then he watched, and when nothing happened he looked up again.

  "It's gold, all right," he said to the Captain, and there was amazement in his voice. "That's a twenty-crown gold piece of the Emperor Aulens, that is. A thousand years old if it's a day. Worth …"

  "Twenty crowns, yes, of course. That's what it says on it, twenty crowns. Fine." The Captain spoke casually. "I was certain he wouldn't be the sort to try to cheat us. You didn't have to test it. We have to trust people, sometimes. Two of those will do it, with five silver crowns in change."

  "Change?" The clerk closed his mouth, which had been open. Then he reached into the strongbox in front of him for a handful of silver. "Oh, yes, change. Sorry, recruit. We get so many false coins, you wouldn't believe it. Here you are."

  He counted out five into Gerd's palm. Gerd put them in his belt-pouch. The bag with his gold in it he had put back out of sight. "Where can I get the things I need?" he asked.

  "Go with the clerk, now, and he'll issue your spear, shield and tabard. The other things you get yourself. The smithy in the town will have mail that can be cut to size, and a helmet won't take more than a day or two. Mention my name, and the smith will do right by you. He's got a small stock of swords, as well … for that matter, we've some used ones in store we can let you have, cheap …"

  The calculating look was coming over the captain's face again. Gerd hastened to reply: "I've got one, thanks. The smith here is just making me a dagger to match." He indicated the castle yard with a gesture.

  "The castle swordsmith? The Coombe woman?" Gerd nodded. Captain Mannon frowned. "We don't recommend going to her. Not natural for a woman, and of course her work's all fussy and frilly and showy. No guts to it. I'd try the smith in town, if were you. Better all round." The frown cleared, and the Captain smiled. Gerd suddenly thought that it might be a good idea to try both, and make up his own mind. Then Captain Mannon held out his hand. "Welcome to the Company. To the Western Knights, that is. We'll read you in, say, at Saturday's parade. That should give you time to get your kit organised."

  Gerd nodded, released the Captain's hand, and turned, but the Captain hadn't finished. "One more thing," he said. "Once you're read in, you call me captain, and you address me as sir. Understand?"

  Gerd nodded. He had called other people sir or my lady all his life. Everyone was better than he was … or had been. He had got out of the habit, lately, though. Time to get back into it again. "Yes, sir," he said.

  "And what's your name?"

  "Gerd, sir."

  The captain made an impatient gesture. "Your family name."

  Gerd blinked. He only had one name. But here he needed another, it seemed. He hesitated, then, as if someone had whispered it in his ear, he said, "Penrose, sir."

  The captain nodded. "Welcome to the Company, Penrose. Go with the clerk now."

  Gerd nodded. He followed the other out. Perhaps he would do the name credit. He hoped so.

  7

  Gerd got his equipment, looking at the stock of the town blacksmith but deciding he liked Alissa's work more. If it was a little more expensive, he had the money to pay, and the Squire had taught him that quality was never wasted. As for fussy and frilly, it looked rather more sober and solid than the other.

  Alissa took the order and named a price. It seemed fair, but still Gerd needed to draw on his store, and again he laid a gold coin down. Alissa stared at it as it lay on his bench. "Is that what it looks like?" she asked.

  Gerd remembered what the clerk had called it. "It's a gold piece of the Emperor Aulens. Twenty crowns, it is."

  "Twenty?" asked Alissa. "More like sixty - maybe more. It's a coin of the old Empire, and it really is gold - almost pure." She picked up the coin and bit it. "Yep. It's gold all right." She stared at Gerd. "Didn't you know?"

  Gerd bit his lip, and the smith grinned, and then the grin faded. "Don't tell me," she said. "You paid your fee in these, and they took them at face value, didn't they?" Gerd nodded, and Alissa let out a gasp and closed her eyes briefly. "Those heartless, grasp … Look. The coins they call silver crowns here are only about a third part silver. Your gold is worth fifty times as much as them, by weight."

  Gerd looked down at the coin in dismay. It seemed to be mocking him, shining up at him with a cheeky face. So much for all my clever bargaining. The Captain had taken him like a plump plucked pigeon. He tried to hold in a surge of anger. It would do no good.

  Gerd had made his bargain, and he had shaken on it. There was nothing more to be said. He had bought his entry very dearly, it would seem. Now the only thing to do was to make it pay. He tried to hide his dismay. He had wasted the mo
ney, which meant that he had wasted the Squire's very life.

  Alissa reached into her strongbox. She counted, and then shook her head. "I haven't enough here to give you proper change. You'd better go into town and see the goldsmith there. He'll change one or two of your coins for silver - and don't take less than sixty for one. I'll start on your gear straight away." She looked away. "Perhaps I can show you that we Lorisoans aren't all sharpers and cunning-men. Or women."

  Gerd held out his hand, and had it taken. "Done. And thank you."

  He stayed at the inn in town for a few days. The spear, shield and tabard were simple enough. Gerd tried them, when he was sure nobody was watching him, and liked the effect. The spear was longer than he thought, though, and more awkward. It stood nearly twice as tall as he. He wondered what would happen if an enemy should dodge past the point and come lunging in - the spear was too long and too clumsy to shorten. You'd have to drop it, he thought. Then what? Fight with the sword, perhaps? What if you couldn't get it out in time?

  No doubt he'd be shown. He was going to be trained, after all. He'd better attend, and learn it properly, after what he'd paid for it. Another surge of anger welled up, and he pushed it down. It had been his own fault, for not finding out what his gold was worth. But still, did Captain Mannon think he was being clever, practising on his own men in that way? Gerd shook his head, put his new equipment aside, and went to have dinner.

  The training started that Saturday. There was a muster - what the Captain called "a parade", and Gerd found out what was meant by "being read in". It meant listening to a list of regulations and rules that had to be followed. Most of them were about obeying orders and showing respect to officers and looking after your gear. No problem there, thought Gerd. He'd been obeying orders all his life, and at the inn breaking a pot would earn him a thick ear. Then there was an oath to be taken. He had to swear to do justice, to protect the weak, and to abide by the Charter of the Western Knights, on his honour. Gerd supposed the charter was what they had just read out, the list of rules.

  Then there were papers to sign. Gerd made his mark several times. The squire had begun teaching him his letters, but there'd been no time to practice. The clerk might have looked at him a little strangely, for most gentlemen could at least sign their names, but Gerd simply stared back at him.

  Finally the training could begin, but it was nothing like what he had expected at all.

  They started on what the Captain called the barrack-square, the part of the castle yard around at the back. Rain fell, soft and persistent, and there were puddles, but the ground was hard and gravelled, so that Gerd's footsteps crunched. The clerk introduced him to an older man, and left. No others were in sight, except for a few sentries on the wet walls.

  Corporal Sankey was short and hook-nosed, with bandy legs and close-set eyes. He was wearing an oiled-cloth cover over his helmet, and it spread over his shoulders as well. Unsmiling, he looked up at Gerd as if wondering whether to cut him off at the knees, then he sighed. "Don't suppose you've ever done foot-drill before?" he asked, and then nodded, as the look on Gerd's face answered his question. "Thought not. We'll start at the beginning, then. Lean your spear and shield against the wall here, out of the wet. Yes, that's right. Don't worry about it. Nobody'll steal them, and in a few days you'll be wishing you'd never picked them up at all. Now. Hands by your sides. Stand up straight. "

  The last words were louder. Gerd squared his shoulders, watching his instructor. "Never mind looking at my face, lad, I'm no beauty. Look to your front. Now. To perform the right turn. You turn on your right heel, pushing with your left foot. Watch my feet now. You're allowed to do that, they're prettier than my face. Like this." Sankey twisted about on one foot, and then brought the other stamping down beside it with a crunch of gravel. "All right? Now you do it …"

  Gerd imitated him, frowning. "No," said Sankey. "Turn exactly a quarter of the way around. Try it again … yes. That's better. Once more. Good. Now on command. Ri-ight turn! Good. Count three before you stamp the left foot. One-two-three-stamp! Again. Right turn! Good. Now the left turn is the same only the other way around. Like this …"

  Gerd shook his head. This was making no sense at all. When was he going to be taught swordplay? Squire Penrose had at least started teaching him the staff. "Um … Mister Sankey?"

  " … and again you count three before you … what?"

  "What's this all about?"

  "What d'ye mean, what's it all about? What is what all about?" Sankey's little eyes opened wider. He seemed not so much puzzled by the question as insulted by it.

  Gerd shrugged slightly, with that half-grin that means, sorry, but I don't understand. "These, um, dance-steps." Sankey's eyebrows shot up. "Whatever they are. I mean, I knew how to turn around before I came here."

  Sankey's mouth opened slightly, and his eyebrows stayed high. He inspected Gerd again, as if seeing him for the first time. Then he nodded. "Oh. I see. So you knew how to turn around, did you? Well, that's a very useful thing to know, that is. But you did it in your own time, didn't you? And you turned around whenever you felt like it, and you turned just as far as you wanted to, yes?"

  Gerd shrugged his shoulders. It seemed obvious to him. How else would a person move? Sankey glared at him. "Maybe you hadn't noticed, so I'll tell you. There's only a few horses, here on the islands - not enough fodder and pasture for them. So, although they call us knights, we go afoot." He nodded at the tall spear, now leaning against the wall. "Now, we could just please ourselves about what gear we use, every man to his own taste, but oddly enough, we find it best if we all know what each other's doing, d'ye see, and all keep together. Now what do you think that means, eh?"

  Gerd glanced at the spear, and let his puzzlement show on his face. He was beginning to see, but he didn't like the way it was going. Sankey smiled. "Well, I'll tell you," he said. "It means we all use the same kit - a shield and long spear for all of us. Why a spear? Because the length of it keeps them as might want to do us harm at a distance. We march in straight lines, one offset behind the other, so that rear ranks can poke their spears over the shoulders of them in front. Anybody wanting to come at us has to beat not one spear but three. It's like fighting three to one then. But that means …" Sankey shoved his face forward. "That means, lad, all learning to move the same way. All at the same pace, in ranks, in step, turning all together the same way at the same time. By the numbers, on the word, to the beat of the drum. D'ye see?"

  Gerd nodded, doubtfully. He saw, sort of. But … "That would mean turning yourselves into … into, well, like …" he searched for a comparison.

  "Like bricks in a wall," supplied Sankey. That wasn't quite what Gerd meant. He had been thinking more of something like marching ants, each one the same, but he could see that what Sankey had said was true, too. Sankey nodded. "Yes. And very right, too. Walls are useful, lad. They keep out them as might want to get in and steal your things. They hold up the roof, and that keeps the rain off. Don't you ever run down walls in my hearing, lad. I like walls, me."

  Gerd almost nodded back, but there was still something about the idea that bothered him. The ants, he supposed. People weren't supposed to act like ants, like - like a machine, all driven by one will. It was making themselves into parts of a thing, rather than being a whole thing in themselves, and becoming all the same, when they were not all the same. But Sankey simply stepped back.

  "Now. If you're ready to go on, we'll go on. Remember, you can buy yourself out anytime. Just see the sergeant, pay out your charges, hand in your kit, and you're free as a bird. But if you want your three square meals regular and a roof and your pay and some respect, then you'll obey orders. And orders is that you drill. So let's get on with it." He drew himself up. "Atten-shun! Right turn!"

  Gerd found himself turning in the way he'd been shown. He stamped his foot down, as he'd seen the other do. Sankey smiled. "Better. Now the other way …"

  That was just the start of it, but Gerd learned the movem
ents. They were no more complicated than so many dance-steps, and he'd been to village dances, plenty of them. Not that you danced in armour, of course, and at a dance you swung your partner, not a heavy shield and a long spear. But that just needed getting used to. His arms and legs were sore for a while, but they got better soon. The whole of it wasn't difficult to learn. In fact, it took no thought at all to learn it. And that was part of the thing that was bothering him.

  The men of the company didn't like fatigues, which was what they called helping in the cookhouse and keeping their equipment and the castle reasonably clean - what Mistress Withers had called housekeeping. Gerd, on the other hand, had been brought up cleaning out jakes and scouring pots and sweeping floors. It was work he didn't mind, and it was nice that he was actually being paid to do it, apart from his keep. As the apprentice in his squad he got more work than his share, but he hardly noticed it. The inn had been harder.

  Living in barracks was no trial to him, either, for the bed was warm and soft, by his standards, and most of his companions were pleasant enough. The few who weren't could be ignored, or at worst, faced down. Most of them were younger sons who had bought themselves into the company because they hadn't inherited land - like Gerd, but not like him. If they saved their pay or if there was prize-money, they might be able to buy a farm eventually, and that was as much as they wanted. Gerd envied them. He felt restless, as though there should be more.