“The majer believes it is necessary, and since he does, and since it is likely that many follow his views, I fear I must concur.”
“Yes, sir. When does the majer suggest that this take place?”
“Within the glass. Here in the courtyard. He does not wish to disrupt your training schedule unduly, but he feels that for you to proceed under a misapprehension would not be wise.”
“I can understand misapprehensions, sir.”
“Majer Fedosyr is considered one of the best blades in the Southern Guard, and he would like to demonstrate that the Southern Guard is indeed expert with weapons. He would like to have all the lancers in the post watching.”
“If you feel it necessary, I would be more than happy to engage in such a demonstration with Majer Fedosyr,” Alucius replied. “Our exercises have been using rattan blades…”
“I believe that Majer Fedosyr might find that…less than satisfactory.” Frynkel frowned. “Yet I would find it disturbing if you were unable to carry out the Lord-Protector’s wishes.”
Alucius ignored the presumption implied by the marshal. “Perhaps you could suggest to Majer Fedosyr that we begin with rattan, and that if he finds rattan unsatisfactory, we could resume with our own sabres.”
“He might be amenable to that. In half a glass?”
“Yes, sir.”
After the marshal turned and walked back toward the headquarters building, Alucius walked the gray back inside the stable and stalled the big gelding. Feran followed, also with his own mount. Alucius did not unsaddle his mount, but left the stall carrying the rattan wand. He stopped in the open space beyond the stall as Feran approached.
“Fedosyr’s looking for an excuse to kill or disable you,” Feran said in a low voice. “Humiliate you at least.”
“Whatever makes you think that of the most honorable majer?”
“My high opinion of him, I guess,” Feran replied, deadpan.
“I thought it might be something like that.”
“What will you do?”
“Begin by acting in the most honorable way and assume that he won’t. Then only appear to act honorably while doing what’s necessary.”
“You’re using a lot of words.”
“How about: Wait he until he tries something dirty, then do it worse before he can?”
“I like that better,” Feran said.
“I’m also going to my quarters for a few moments. I’ll be back shortly. I need to get a few things.”
“Good idea.”
Alucius walked quickly from the stable to his quarters, where he stripped off his tunic and donned the padded nightsilk vest that had stood him in such good stead in the past. He’d end up sweating profusely by the time everything was over, but that was a price he was more than willing to pay, especially given his distrust of Fedosyr. Then he made his way back to the stable.
Feran was not there, but returned shortly. “You’re wearing the vest, aren’t you?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“Might be a good idea to wear it all the time around these sandsnakes.”
Alucius laughed.
“I told Jultyr and Deotyr to have their men form up in a square in the courtyard to watch the demonstration suggested by the marshal. Also told Fifth Company.”
“Was there any reaction?”
Feran’s lips quirked. “Egyl suggested that the marshal must not care much for Majer Fedosyr. Either that, or he didn’t understand herders.”
“It could be both. We’ll see.”
“The other companies are already forming up—Eighth Company and the two others stationed here.”
The last thing Alucius wanted was a sabre match in front of five hundred lancers, but upon reflection, he couldn’t say that he was surprised. He spent the next quarter glass doing some stretching and bending exercises. Then, he picked up his rattan wand and walked out toward the open square area formed by the gathered lancers. There were indeed at least five companies arrayed in the post courtyard.
Alucius stopped at the southern edge of the open space, in front of Fifth Company. He still wore his sabre in the belt scabbard. The murmurs of low voices filled the area with a low, whispering rumble.
Majer Fedosyr was already out in the courtyard, standing beside the marshal. As soon as Frynkel caught sight of Alucius, he said a few words to Fedosyr. Then the marshall stepped into the center of the area flanked with lancers. The murmurs died away.
“We’re very fortunate to have two exceptional officers here at Krost Post. Many of you know Majer Fedosyr, who is renowned for his skill with a blade and for his long and devoted career in the Southern Guard. Majer Alucius of the Northern Guard is also renowned and highly decorated. They will be demonstrating skill with weapons.” The marshal nodded and stepped back.
With the rattan wand in hand, Alucius moved forward into the open space, smiling, but listening to the murmurs from the ranked lancers.
“Except for that gray hair…looks younger n’ a fresh captain…”
“…think he’s all that good?”
“…no one’s as good as Majer Fedosyr…”
“…say that this majer decorated for bravery everywhere…”
“…doesn’t make him a good blade…”
Alucius agreed with that, but bravery didn’t make a man a poor blade, either.
After a moment, Fedosyr stepped away from where he had stood beside the marshal on the northern side of the rough square.
Alucius studied the majer closely. Fedosyr was a big man, a fraction of a span taller than Alucius and well muscled, but not fat, and he carried himself with a certain litheness. Fedosyr was not ifrit-possessed, but Alucius was sure now that he could detect the faintest hint of purpleness to the man’s lifethread—much as he had felt with Colonel Weslyn. Yet the colonel and the majer had never met. Of that, Alucius was most certain.
Alucius stopped a good yard short of Fedosyr and bowed slightly. “Majer.”
“I applaud your caution in suggesting rattan, Majer, if not your confidence,” said Fedosyr.
“I am most cautious, Majer,” Alucius replied politely.
“That is obvious.” Fedosyr raised his wand.
Alucius matched the gesture, reading with eyes and Talent the next move. He began the parry almost as Fedosyr eased to one side and swept in from Alucius’s right.
For the first moments, Alucius reacted and observed. To him, it was obvious that he was faster than Fedosyr and able to anticipate.
Fedosyr seemed to stumble, going down slightly into not quite a crouch. Alucius sensed the feint and gave the faintest hint of trying to test Fedosyr’s less protected side. Fedosyr came out of the crouch in a focused attack, but Alucius had anticipated the attack and struck.
In an instant, Fedosyr’s wand lay on the ground.
“You couldn’t do that with real weapons,” the Southern Guard officer said.
“Actually, it would be easier with a real sabre,” Alucius replied. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could take them back, realizing that Fedosyr was so hotheaded that he would take them as a challenge.
“Then we should try real sabres.” Even before he finished the words, Fedosyr’s hand went to the sabre at his side. He kicked the rattan wand away, and a lancer ran up and took it away.
Alucius stepped back, then half threw, half slid the rattan wand across the pavement stones of the courtyard in the general direction of Feran. His own sabre was in his left hand before the wand scraped across the stones to stop short of Feran’s feet.
Fedosyr’s sabre glinted in weak morning light, polished and clearly sharpened to a razor edge. A duelist’s edge, Alucius noted, as brought his own blade into a careful guard.
The Southern Guard majer attacked, furiously but deliberately, keeping himself well balanced.
Alucius circled away, easily parrying or slipping the other’s blade, not giving any openings.
“You see…not so easy with real blades,” Fedosyr m
urmured.
It wasn’t, not when Alucius didn’t really want to injure or kill the other man. He continued to parry and defend, his own sabre weaving a defense that Fedosyr could not penetrate.
As the moments passed, Fedosyr’s attacks grew sharper. Then for a moment, the taller man eased back, far enough back that Alucius did not press. Fedosyr blotted his forehead with the back of his sleeve, then his hand dropped to his belt, as if to wipe the sweat away. Except Alucius could sense that Fedosyr had something in his hand.
The Southern Guard officer held his free hand out more to the side, as if to balance himself, then rushed Alucius.
Alucius could sense the colorless powder that flew toward his face and eyes almost from the moment that Fedosyr released it. Instead of parrying or blocking the other’s thrust, Alucius darted sideways—but only for an instant. Even so, Alucius could feel the burning on the side of his neck where some of the colorless powder had grazed him.
Fedosyr hesitated for a moment, as if unsure whether his powder had done its work, and in that instant, Alucius attacked—for the first time. At the last instant, Alucius turned the blade. Even so, there was a dull crack of bones breaking as the flat of the sabre slammed across Fedosyr’s wrist.
The polished sabre clanked on the stones.
“I apologize, Majer,” Alucius said quietly, “but I don’t like duelist’s tricks.”
Fedosyr’s face had drained of color. He just looked at Alucius blankly for a moment. Then his left hand darted toward his belt.
Alucius took two steps forward before Fedosyr managed to fire one shot from the small pistol. The shell slammed into the left side of Alucius’s chest, not quite at the shoulder, staggering him, but he managed to hang on to the sabre just long enough for his right hand to grab it and use it to slash back across Fedosyr’s neck.
Fedosyr didn’t even look surprised as his lifeless body slumped to the ground.
Alucius forced himself to bend down and wipe his blade on Fedosyr’s tunic. He straightened and sheathed the sabre. Then he walked slowly toward the marshal.
“…shit…how could the majer miss?”
“…didn’t miss…see how Majer Alucius staggered…”
“…took the shot and then killed Fedosyr…with his other hand…”
“Must have been a duelist…”
“…never seen someone do that…”
Alucius stopped short of the marshal. Frynkel’s face was impassive.
“Sir, I regret the last, but I could not afford to allow Majer Fedosyr the opportunity for another shot. By your leave, I would like to get on with the training.”
“You have my leave, Majer. I will ensure that Majer Fedosyr’s kin know that he died in overextending himself during a training exercise, one in which he disobeyed Guard policies.”
“As you see fit, sir.” Alucius had to struggle to keep the anger out of his voice and wasn’t sure he had.
Frynkel waited, then said, “You may go, Majer.”
“Yes, sir.” Alucius stepped back and turned.
Feran met him on the far side of the open space. “I’d forgotten how good you are with both hands.”
“It helps at times.”
“How badly—” The overcaptain’s eyes flicked toward Alucius’s shoulder.
“I’ll be bruised on the left side of my chest,” Alucius said in a low voice, “and probably from elbow to shoulder. Better that none of them know that.”
“It’ll be a long day.”
“It’s already been too long. Have all three companies mount and form up here.” Alucius turned and walked toward the stable. The lancers parted, leaving a wide aisle. Only when he was past them did the whispers begin.
“…made Fedosyr look like a recruit…”
“…see why they wanted him…”
“…wiped his blade on his tunic…”
“…looked like he wanted to kill the marshal, too…”
After he reached the stable, Alucius checked his chest. The vest and the nightsilk undergarments had done their work. Nothing was broken, but the bruises were already beginning.
After blotting his sweating forehead, taking a long swallow of water from one of his bottles, and readjusting his uniform, Alucius waited a quarter of a glass before he led the gray from the stable out into the courtyard. He mounted and rode to the front of the formation. There he looked at Feran, Captain Deotyr, and Captain Jultyr. He waited for a moment before he raised his voice for all of them to hear. “We’ll head out to the maneuver field. Once we’re there, we’ll break down into two-on-two drills, trainees against Fifth Company. And you will use rattan. You’ll have enough bruises to prove that it’s no toy. Tomorrow, we’ll go back to working on the squad level…”
As he finished his instructions, Alucius couldn’t help but wonder if there weren’t an easier way to convince people than with some form of force. He also hoped he could keep moving without betraying the pain and stiffness that was spreading from the impact of Fedosyr’s bullet.
41
Stiff and sore after finishing the last training exercises on Octdi, Alucius walked into the headquarters building. The marshal had sent a lancer with a message requesting Alucius’s presence when his training duties were finished for the day. Alucius anticipated nothing good from the meeting.
Alucius looked at the ranker behind the desk. “The marshal requested my presence.”
The lancer bolted to his feet. “Yes, sir. He’s in the colonel’s study, sir. He’s expecting you, sir.”
“Thank you.” Alucius doubted that he’d ever gotten three “sirs” from a Southern Guard before. It was truly amazing what the application of skill and force could achieve when common sense and courtesy could not prevail. He opened the door and stepped into the study, expecting both the marshal and the colonel, but Frynkel was alone.
“Please close the door and have a seat, Majer.”
Alucius sat down cautiously.
From behind the colonel’s desk, Frynkel looked at Alucius. “Captain-colonel Omaryk had said that you were not only an officer, but a warrior-leader.”
It took Alucius a moment to recall that Omaryk had been one of those who had debriefed him in Tempre years before. “Warrior-leader, sir?”
Frynkel laughed wryly. “That’s why you’ve led so much from the front.”
“I’ve had trouble leading any other way, sir.”
“Just remember this, Majer. All the great war leaders led from the front. Most of them died. There were less than a handful that didn’t die in battle, and they founded empires and saved lands.”
There wasn’t much Alucius could say to that or wanted to. So he remained silent.
“I’ve spent most of the day cleaning up the mess that Majer Fedosyr created. Or rather, explaining that he had overreached himself. I found the pouch of acid-dust. He had more in his quarters. How did you manage to escape that?”
“I saw him reach for something. It seemed likely that it would be thrown at either my face or my feet.”
“You saw that while you were fighting?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You see more than you tell.”
“Everyone does, sir.”
Frynkel shook his head.
“I haven’t seen the colonel,” Alucius ventured, trying to shift the subject and probe as well.
“I doubt that you will, since he has left Krost Post for his family home in Syan. I asked for and accepted his resignation. He had enough service for a stipend.”
“So I was a tool for that?”
“Let us say that you helped. It was most useful to be able to point out that Jorynst did not recognize your past contributions. It was even more useful to be able to cite his failure to understand casualty figures. That allowed me to note that a once-distinguished officer had apparently suffered a loss of mental faculties by denying verified and published figures and events.” Frynkel’s smile was both wry and cold. “I did make sure that several lancers made copies for the file
s and for dispatches.”
Alucius understood that. Those lancers would spread the word. There was no way to stop that, and Frynkel certainly hadn’t wanted it stopped. “And Majer Fedosyr? Was that part of the plan?”
“Majer Fedosyr has always had an excessive opinion of himself, as well as well-placed friends in Tempre. They have always been rather forceful supporters. I hadn’t realized that he had a hidden pistol or that he was foolish enough to use it. If he had killed you, he would have been court-martialed and executed. That would have solved that problem, but I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to pay that price to get rid of him.” Frynkel looked at Alucius. “You didn’t have to kill him. He would have been court-martialed. Why did you?”
“I wasn’t certain of that, sir, and my grandsire always told me that a man who gave a sander or a sandsnake a second chance was a fool and deserved what he got. Majer Fedosyr was a sandsnake, and I felt that it was likely that he’d have gotten away with what he did if I hadn’t acted then and there.”
“You may be right, but we’ll never know.”
Alucius wasn’t about to point out that there had been too much risk in letting Fedosyr live.
“You made a point with all those lancers. You also set a personal standard that could be hard to live up to.”
“I can’t say that I’d thought about that, sir. I did what I thought was right.”
“The Lord-Protector told me that you always did. He also said that such officers were to be used sparingly. The right is too powerful a weapon for frequent use.” Frynkel looked directly at Alucius for a long moment. “I’m leaving tomorrow for Tempre. Overcaptain Nybor is temporarily in charge of Krost Post, with orders to support you fully. Even without my orders, I doubt you would have difficulty.” Frynkel paused. “Your orders allow you some latitude in when you leave. When you do, you are to proceed directly to Hyalt and not to go to Tempre.”
“I had thought so.”
“You also have complete discretion in Hyalt, and that means that you will be fully accountable.”
Alucius understood that message as well. Hyalt was another opportunity for total personal disaster.
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