“So, we petitioned the king for a transfer, and he granted it, on the condition that you accept us,” Genevieve said. She looked at him with pleading in her eyes.
Inwardly, Fletcher was rejoicing. Low-level though they were, having the pair on hand would be a huge advantage in battle. Not to mention that they would both have had training in military strategy and command.
“You’ll be second lieutenants,” Fletcher said, trying to keep his excitement from his voice. “But you’ll be given command of a squad each. If you’re willing to accept those terms, I’ll be honored to have you.”
“We would!” Genevieve laughed, and then Fletcher found himself with a mouthful of red hair as the young battlemage gave him a tight hug.
“Thank you,” Rory said, holding out his hand.
Fletcher extricated an arm from Genevieve’s hug and shook the proffered hand warmly. For the first time, he felt as if Rory and Genevieve had truly forgiven him for almost killing Malachi in the tournament. He hadn’t realized how heavily that guilt had weighed on his conscience until that very moment.
“If I may be so bold,” Rotherham said as Genevieve released Fletcher and wiped a tear from her eye. “You’ll be needing a sergeant or two to whip these troops into shape. Show them the ropes, as it were. I’m an old hand, been fighting since I was a nipper. Would it be presumptuous of me to recommend myself to the position?”
The grizzled veteran seemed to squirm under his gaze as Fletcher considered him. Fletcher owed him, certainly, and he needed a sergeant to relay Rory and Genevieve’s orders. And he was an experienced fighter. He’d know every trick and shortcut the troops would take. Why not …
“All right then, sergeant it is,” Fletcher said, clapping Rotherham on the shoulder and walking out into the savannah. “Just know that Sir Caulder will be our sergeant major, and you’ll be taking orders from him. That goes for you too, Rory and Genevieve: Sir Caulder outranks the both of you.”
Fletcher resisted the urge to turn and catch the look on Rotherham’s face. The old man must have been passed over for promotion a thousand times in the military. Only a choke of surprise gave him a clue to the man’s reaction.
“Now let’s have a look at our troops,” Fletcher called, striding through the tall grasses to where the soldiers were training.
They had been spread into a circle, and Sir Caulder had paired two off to fence against each other. The fighters battled not with their poleaxes but instead with weighted quarterstaffs, simple wooden poles that had a heavy lump of wood affixed to the end, to imitate the poleaxes’ weight, length and balance.
“Good lad, Kobe,” Sir Caulder was shouting, for the young soldier had just swept his opponent’s feet from under him with the pole and now held the wooden block to his throat. “Use every part of the weapon. The haft and butt are as useful as the tip.”
Kobe smiled and held out a hand to help his opponent up. Fletcher recognized the downed fighter as one of the convicts: a skinny, bucktoothed lad with acne scars on both cheeks. The boy ignored the proffered hand and scrambled to his feet. He spat at Kobe’s feet and stalked off.
Kobe shrugged and saluted Sir Caulder instead, before joining the circle.
“At ease, lads,” Sir Caulder called, spotting Fletcher approaching. “Take a breather.”
The troops gratefully collapsed to the ground, many gulping at water flasks. Their faces were coated with sweat from the day’s exertions, and Fletcher suspected Sir Caulder had been training them since early morning.
“Bless my soul and damn my eyes, is that Rotter?” Sir Caulder cried, limping over to the foursome.
“Wait, you know each other?” Fletcher asked. Then he realized. The gasp of breath from Rotherham had been at recognizing Sir Caulder’s name, not his promotion.
“Too right I bleeding know him,” Rotherham said, laughing with delight. “We’ve been thick as thieves since we were nought but little lads. Served in the same regiment for a time too, before the old git got airs and graces and became Lord Raleigh’s bodyguard.”
“Less of the old git,” Sir Caulder said, prodding Rotherham with his hooked hand, “I’m only a few years older than you.”
“What are the chances!” Genevieve laughed.
“You know what they say,” Rotherham said, embracing his long-lost friend. “There’s old soldiers and bold soldiers but no old bold soldiers. I reckon we’re the two exceptions.”
“Hah, maybe one of us,” Sir Caulder said. He turned to the two new officers and winked at them.
“Rory, Genevieve, nice of you to join us. I hope you’ve not forgotten my training.”
“No, sir,” Rory said, tapping a rapier at his belt. “We’re ready to get in the thick of it.”
“Well, you won’t be just yet—we’ve a few weeks to go before we take our position in that mountain pass up there.” Sir Caulder pointed at the sierra of peaks beyond the ruins of the Raleigh mansion.
Fletcher peered at the mountains, trying to spy where the pass might be. There seemed to be a point where the peaks curved inward on each side in the shape of a U, with a dip in the very bottom. Now that he looked at them, the mountains seemed very near. He shuddered at the thought of how close they were to the orc jungles. He needed his men to be ready sooner rather than later. Who knew when Lord Forsyth’s troops would abandon their posts?
CHAPTER
43
“ALL RIGHT, MEN, pay attention now!” Rotherham snapped.
It was dusk, and Sir Caulder had finally finished his lesson with the recruits, allowing them a moment to wolf down venison sandwiches before returning to what had become their training field—the old lawn of the Raleigh mansion.
“I will demonstrate the proper way to load and fire a musket,” Rotherham continued. “An elite soldier can fire four shots in a single minute. It can be done, and I shall prove it. I shall fire five.”
Rotherham unslung his musket, a weapon identical to the soldiers’ in every way. He lifted it to his eye and swung the weapon until he found a target—a mushroom-covered tree stump.
“A musket will be able to hit a five-inch target at fifty yards, around the distance of that log over there,” Rotherham said, squinting down the barrel. “When shooting at a group of enemies, we will open fire at more than twice that, but I’ll be damned if you won’t be able to pick your targets once they get in range. Sir Caulder, start the minute when I fire.”
Sir Caulder nodded, holding up a pocket watch.