Malikel’s crew took turns training the new recruits. This morning, Tristam arranged them in concentric circles: Flick stood with four men in the outer circle with their spears pointed diagonally up, while three more stood in the middle with spears angled closer to vertical. Sixteen men formed two of these formations, while the remaining four members of their unit stood to the side, holding sticks with bags of straw tied to the end—standins for demon cat heads.
“This is a variation of the formation our infantrymen use against cavalry charges,” Tristam said. It was interesting to finally see the wallhugger in his element. Tristam was comfortable here and competent (at least, to Flick’s untrained eye), and he seemed to genuinely want this ragtag group of soldiers to do well. “The difference, of course, between cavalry and demon cats is that cavalry don’t come at you from above. That’s why we have three men in the middle whose job is to watch the trees. You’ll have an easier time holding ranks if you brace your spears against the ground. Remember, these beasts pack a lot of force.”
“So the demon cats will oblige us by attacking only while we’re in this formation?” piped a young baker named Tommy.
Tristam ignored the sniggers that followed the question. “You take this formation when you are able, whether it’s because you’ve had advance warning of an attack or because your enemy has given you enough quarter to re-form. If they give you no space, then you will have to use another strategy.”
He gestured toward the four men of Flick’s unit who held cat head targets. “All right, demon cats. See what you can do.”
Shouts rose up from the trainees as they fell into mock battle. Funny enough, these exercises reminded Flick of the games he used to play as a street child. The level of chaos was certainly comparable, though the participants were a little less nimble. Flick raised his spear as a demon cat charged in, digging his feet into the mud to get a more stable stance. He got a good thrust into the center of the sack as it came at him, though he was momentarily distracted by an image of Kyra’s face as he pulled his spear back out. It was an odd duality, the thought of Kyra as both the young street urchin he knew so well and a different sort of creature altogether. Over the last few months, she’d experienced things that were far beyond his ken. Flick couldn’t keep up with her anymore, and he worried how she’d fare by herself in uncharted waters.
Loud guffaws came from the next circle over. Apparently, one of the target holders had tripped and fallen on his face. The fallen man regained his feet, covered in mud, and joined in the laughter. Tristam’s lips tightened with impatience as the ranks dissolved, but Flick understood the compulsion to laugh. The wallhuggers might have been raised with the expectation of riding out to battle, but this type of danger was new to the men in this unit. They needed to laugh, if only to dispel their fear.
“Hold it together,” said Tristam. “You could be facing live ones tomorrow.”
That quieted them down. Orders had come in the morning that their unit was to start trial sweeps of the forest the next day. It was much earlier than anyone had anticipated. Even Malikel, usually so stoic, had failed to hide his surprise.
They drilled like this a while longer, then Tristam called out a break. “Get some water. Sir Rollan will take up your spear training in a quarter hour.”
The recruits laid down their weapons and gratefully made their way to the edge of the field. Malikel was there, handing out ladles of water. Flick had to give the Defense Minister credit. Malikel had been at the training fields almost every day, and not just ordering his subordinates around. He’d been in the thick of things and had spoken to every man in the unit at least once.
There was a rustle behind Flick. He turned to see Tristam wipe his brow, pick up a demon cat head, and stuff the protruding straw back into the sack. He paid Flick no mind.
“They still get to you, don’t they?” said Flick.
“They’re not trained military. I need to remember that,” said Tristam, his voice gruff. He moved on to the next target and retied the knot securing the bag to its stick.
“I don’t mean the recruits. I mean the demon cats.”