Next morning, Burek was out early to relieve Selfer and begin the day’s drill. His own cohort grinned before settling to work; Selfer’s did not, but they did not know him. He told their sergeant to warm them up with close-order drill, and then he spoke to the armsmaster about his arm and what the surgeon had said.
“With respect, Captain, you young men always want to hurry a healing, and healing won’t hurry. If your surgeon says no hard work for that many days, I don’t want to see you out here with even a hauk in that hand.”
“I need to be fit by campaign season—”
“And you will be, if you follow orders. I’ll stretch it out for you twice a day, and we’ll go from there. And no formation drill. Sure as there’s snow on the mountains, someone’d hit a shield into it and you’d be back where you were, or worse. You can do longsword work with another captain, but no shield or dagger.”
Burek had expected that but felt he’d had to ask. Selfer had gone to a late breakfast; Harnik was going over supplies with the quartermaster, Maia. Swordplay would have to come later. “When was your last hill march?” he asked Devlin.
“Maybe ten days agone, Captain,” Devlin said. “I wouldn’t say we’re really stale yet …”
Burek looked over the north wall at the mountains rising above. “See those clouds? We’re due another storm. Load ’em up; we’ll be back before dinner, but we need to use the day the gods give us for the work that needs doing.”
“Yes, sir,” Devlin said, and turned to the cohort. Selfer’s sergeant did the same. Burek went to the mess hall and alerted the cooks that the men would all need a pack meal. Selfer, who had just finished his late breakfast and lingered in the mess hall with a third mug of sib, grinned at him.
“You’re taking mine, too, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Unless you say no,” Burek said. One of the cooks offered him a sweetcake; he shook his head. “I had enough riding on the way here, and I need to walk out the soreness. Besides, did you look up at the north sky and the mountains?”
“Storm tonight or tomorrow,” Selfer said, nodding. “Back before dark?”
“In time for supper,” Burek said. “Gods willing. Taking full packs, so if we aren’t, we should be all right.” The first troops were already filing in to pick up the bread and cheese and sausage they would eat on the march; Burek took his and jogged across the courtyard to his quarters, stuffed an extra pair of heavy socks in his tunic, and then packed his own pack. By the time he had it on and his winter campaign cape over it, the cohorts were ready, four abreast in their column of march, fox-head pennants already uncased and fluttering in the breeze.
“You riding, Captain?” Sergeant Devlin asked.
“No,” Burek said in a tone that brought a chuckle from someone. “I rode all the way from Cortes Andres. The last thing I need is a cold saddle under me. No, I’m walking to get the kinks out. That’s all we do today—a nice easy walk in the hills.” This time it was a dramatic groan from two or three. Burek ignored them and led them out the gates, around to the left, and up the rising ground north of their winter quarters. Directly ahead of them, brown hills patched with snow in the hollows lifted toward higher, steeper hills with much more white and then to the mountains themselves, snow-covered trees below and snow punctuated by the jagged edges of rocks to which no snow could cling.
The snow-covered hills were too far away for them to reach and return by supper, but the brown ones would have snow on their north sides. Burek led them at a brisk pace up the first rise. Sure enough, not far below the crest the sheep trail they were on was covered with snow all the way down to the bottom. He turned west a little, following the crest of the hill, looking for an even more challenging trail he remembered from the previous spring. As he went, he kept an eye on the clouds; he had no mind to have them caught out in the storm. When he came to the trail he remembered, he changed his mind. The rough tumble of rocks with a web of sheep trails would indeed make a good exercise, as would the climb up the opposite slope, but he did not trust the weather. To his left, on the southward slope of the hill, they had ample room to practice keeping formation on a slope, across it, down it, and back up it.
By the lunch break, they were all sweating freely; Burek had spotted a lambing hut, and they squatted in its lee, munching rounds of bread and hunks of cheese and sausage.
“Didn’t figure you’d be ready for an exercise like this, Captain,” Sergeant Devlin said. “Heard you were bad hurt.”
“I was,” Burek said. “Nearly lost the arm, the surgeon told me, but being young and fit is what saved me. So as soon as they let me, I thought I had best get fit again. I’m not allowed to risk the arm until after the half-Evener, but there was nothing wrong with my legs.” He grinned at the sergeants. “Except those days horseback, when I hadn’t ridden since I got to Cortes Andres.”
“So,” Devlin said, looking at his sausage, “we’re out here working up sweat just to loosen your legs, Captain?”
“And yours,” Burek said. “Captain Selfer said he hadn’t had you out on the roads lately.”
“He thought we had enough of that coming across from Verrakai lands to Vérella and then down here,” Selfer’s sergeant said. Devlin opened his mouth and shut it again.
Burek finished eating and looked around. The jacks trench, well away from the lambing hut, was still in use, but most had finished. He used the jacks himself, then nodded to the assigned team, who filled it in. Then he led them to the foot of the slope, next to a dry streambed, and told them of the final challenge he’d planned.
“Open out along the streambed,” he said. “It’s a race to the ridge trail; pick your own routes. Winner from each cohort is off jacks duty for two tendays; winning cohort is off for a hand. First cohort to assemble in formation, ready to march back, wins. Sergeants, go on up—you’ll be giving us the signal to start and judging the winners at the crest.”
“You, sir?” Devlin asked.
“I need the exercise, remember?” He grinned at them, and they saluted and started up the slope. He waited until the sergeants had reached the crest and turned to face him, then said, “Ready.” The sergeants waved their arms, and the cohorts charged the slope. Burek had the first part of his own route planned and scrambled up it, bent almost double. On either side of him, the others did the same, some silently and some grunting with every stride.
Burek had been good at hill running as a lad, but he had not done it—not like this—for years. Off to his left he saw someone already a horse-length ahead of the uneven line. He reached for a clump of grass to help himself up a steeper place and remembered in time he must not strain that arm. Two steps instead of one and then a quick three strides on a gentler slope before he was faced with a low ledge of crumbling rock, just too high to step up easily. Someone, trying to leap up it, caught a toe and fell, rolling in front of someone else so they both slid an armspan down the slope, cursing.
Burek made it over that obstacle and spared no more glances aside … the hill demanded all his breath and both eyes open to avoid tussocks and rocks and patches of snow. His chest burned; his legs felt heavy as sacks of grain. At last the slope eased; he looked up and saw that the clouds hid the upper mountain slopes to the north and to the west poured through the pass. Someone yelled from the crest trail—a winner, no doubt. He still had a bow-shot to run. On the easier slope, he gained on those ahead of him, and when he came level with the sergeants, he saw that perhaps a third of both cohorts had already made it, moving into their assigned files. Others ran into position even as he walked over to the sergeants. Everyone was most of the way up, only two still on the steeper part of the slope.
Burek looked north again, gauging how near the clouds were and how fast they were forming. The nearest mountain slope … He stared. Something was moving just below the clouds … a line of tiny dots against the snow, dark, moving as if along a trail. Wild animals? But the gait was wrong—more like men. Could there be a trail there? And where were they going
with a storm coming? The line shortened … Were they going behind a rock? Into a cave? The last disappeared just as the clouds would have blotted it out, and a gleeful shout rose from Selfer’s cohort. The last two soldiers bolted for his own cohort.
Burek congratulated Selfer’s sergeant, then turned to Devlin. “I see we need more such exercises,” he said. “But not today; we’ll do our snow marches closer to the city.”
He led them back faster than they’d come; the first snow flurry left cold wet kisses on his face just as they reached the back side of the winter quarters. He reminded Devlin that his cohort would have all the jacks duty for the Company for the next hand of days—all but the lucky overall winner, who was freed of that for twenty.
At supper that night, he asked Selfer about any trails along the mountains themselves and tried to describe what he’d seen.
“You must have hawk’s eyes,” Harnik said. “But I never heard of any trails that high. There’s one in the pass itself, heading east, but it only goes to a flattish meadow where you can camp if the caravansary is too crowded.”
“I’ve been there,” Selfer said. “But there’s nothing else. It must have been dwarves you saw—or maybe wild goats.”
“Didn’t move like wild goats,” Burek said. “But it was a long way off.”
The next day, snow fell steadily. With Burek’s cohort having all the jacks duty for the next hand of days, Selfer’s had the courtyard—usually the easier, but not with snow forming a new blanket as soon as they’d cleared off the first. Checking on the cohort work details, Burek heard one old veteran say to another, “So you saw ’em, too?”
“That I did. But nobody’ll see anything in this storm.” Then the man looked up, nodded to Burek with a polite “Morning, Captain,” and said nothing more.
The two were in Selfer’s cohort, and he had not learned all their names yet, but they carried all the physical signs of long service. Well, he would learn them all soon enough. Thinking about that, he went to check on the stables, where work parties from both cohorts were finishing up the morning mucking of stalls and grooming. Harnik was talking to the farrier.
“Well, young Burek,” Harnik said, “I hear your cohort lost the challenge yesterday.” His voice was a little loud; Burek wondered if he was going deaf.
“They did,” Burek said. “But they probably won’t next time. It was a near thing.”
“I wondered if you’d get them back before the storm. Once or twice, when we Clarts rode out that way to practice skirmishing, a mountain storm came down on us.”
“Did you see much game?” Burek asked.
“Nothing but sheep,” Harnik said. “And angry shepherds if we rode too near. They say the high mountains have rare and magical creatures, but I’ve never gone far—it’s not horse country once you’re above the trees. You like to hunt?”
Burek shook his head. “Never had the time. I thought I saw some goats on the mountain yesterday, but it may have been staring too long at snow.”
“That would be it,” Harnik said. “There was a time we went out in winter—sunny day after snow—and my eyes burned for the rest of the day.”
That evening, Harnik was off duty. Burek and Selfer ate supper together. “What do you think of him?” Selfer asked, nodding to the empty place.
“I’m not sure,” Burek said. He was not sure how much to say. “Is he a little deaf, maybe?”
“Maybe. I don’t know if I made the right choice—what Lord Arcolin will think. It’s clear to me that Harnik thinks he’s senior—he is older and more experienced, I don’t dispute that. But I feel as if he expects to be made senior captain when Arcolin comes.”
“Captain Arcolin wouldn’t do that.”
“No, but Harnik’s always giving me advice, telling me what I should do. And he talks on and on about what they did in Clart Company. Clart’s a good cavalry company, but they’re not infantry and it’s not the same. And Lord Arcolin’s Company has its own traditions already.”
“And yet Harnik is one of us now, until Captain Arcolin comes down, so—”
“So we must get along with him. Yes, you’re right. But I have orders directly from Lord Arcolin, and so do you, from before he went north. I worry that Harnik may step beyond those, present himself to merchants or even potential employers as having more authority than he does.”
“Surely he wouldn’t—”
“The day before you came, we got a load of fodder from a supplier this Company doesn’t use. Harnik had authorized it rather than asking me who our suppliers are. I had some on order, and that’s why the stable lofts are stuffed. Our usual supplier wasn’t happy; I hated to make Harnik look bad … I’m not sure what to do, Burek. This is the first time I’ve had a separate command down here. I was junior to Dorrin Verrakai.”
“Did you tell Harnik not to do it again?”
“Of course. He puffed up a bit but then apologized … only in a way that convinced me he thought my objection silly.”
“What do you want me to do?” Burek asked.
“What you did yesterday—just make it clear that you’re in charge of your cohort. They like you, it’s clear. Mine will come to know you—they’ve heard good things from yours already. I made a copy of the muster for you, with some notes, today; it’s in your quarters.”
“Thanks,” Burek said. “That will help. By the way, who are the older veterans—one bald with gray eyes and a scar from brow to jaw and the other with graying dark hair, dark eyes, and a big scar on his right forearm?”
“Bald Laris and Gannin,” Selfer said. “They’re old friends—same recruit cohort. Never made corporal, either one of them, but good soldiers in their place. They haven’t given you trouble, have they?”
“Not at all,” Burek said.
“Good. I was a little surprised that they stayed with me after Duke Verrakai left the Company. We lost three hands who were senior enough to make that choice. I think they’re the oldest who stayed.”
“What is Duke Verrakai like?” Burek asked. “You know I had a year with Golden Company—was she like Aesil M’dierra?”
Selfer shook his head. “I’m not sure. I saw M’dierra only from a distance, back when I was the Duke’s senior squire. Dorrin Verrakai was the next senior captain to Lord Arcolin. To look at, tall, dark. A better fencer than Lord Arcolin—almost as good as Kieri Phelan was, if not as good. She’s a Knight of Falk—absolutely honest, strict but fair. I didn’t know she was a Verrakai at first—she never used the name, and the family had repudiated her. As her junior captain, I learned so much—but that was in the north, not on campaign. You’re actually more experienced than I am at that, Burek. I was here last as a squire.”
“But I never fought in Siniava’s War,” Burek said. “Even as a squire.”
“Well … she’s a noble now. The king attainted her whole family for treason, except her, and gave her the family title and lands to administer, with the assignment to capture her fugitive relatives and turn them in.”
Burek shivered.
“She hired her former cohort—and me, as acting captain—from then until after the Fall Evener, when Lord Arcolin was confirmed Count and wanted us back with the Company. We trained her people as much as we could in a half-year or so, and I thought we would go back to the stronghold in the north, but Lord Arcolin sent word to Vérella that we were to go south. So we came, escorting Count Andressat … and you know the rest.”
“It was late to come through the pass,” Burek said.
“So the gnomes said,” Selfer said. “But they knew the Duke’s Company and let us through.”
They passed the rest of the evening planning exercises for the next few days, assuming the snow held. Selfer had the early watch and came back from each round to report that snow still fell. “The first really big snow of the winter,” he said. By the time Burek took over for the second watch, Harnik had not returned. Selfer shook his head. “I hope this won’t be a habit now that you’re back.”
Harnik reappeared while Burek was making rounds for the second time, his voice a little slurred. “Well, lad, it’s no night to be coming up that hill from the White Dragon into the face of the wind. I almost turned back and begged a bed there, but I knew you depended on me. Can’t leave you two young bravos without a graybeard to back you up.”
So. This was near insubordination, but what could Selfer do with a half-drunken older man in the middle of the night? “Captain Selfer has tomorrow’s schedule posted in the guardroom,” Burek said, in as neutral a voice as he could manage. “You’ll be taking both cohorts for a march after the morning chores.”
“In a snowstorm? He can’t be serious.”
“I believe, Captain Harnik, that Captain Selfer has done this before.”
“We’ll see what the morning brings,” Harnik said, and stumped off to his quarters, muttering to himself. Burek could just hear a phrase or two … nothing flattering to Selfer. He continued his rounds without waking Selfer, making sure that the sentries had their sib in shelter every second turn of the glass.
Selfer came into the guardroom before the end of the watch, carrying a pot of sib with him. “He’s snoring loud enough to hear in the courtyard,” he said. No need to give the name. “What time did he come in?”
“My second round,” Burek said. “And he’d been drinking. Said he’d almost decided to spend the night at the inn.”
“Um.” Selfer poured sib for both of them. “Anything else to report?”
“No. I thought perhaps some enterprising thief might think we didn’t man the walls on such a night, but nothing happened.” Burek stretched. “I have one more round—better get to it.”
“Go on, then. I must think what to do.”
What to do about Harnik … Burek thought about that as he went from sentry to sentry. Did he and Selfer really need a third captain with both of them healthy? But Captain Arcolin had told Selfer to hire one for the winter. In those few days he couldn’t tell how much help Harnik actually was. For himself, the older man’s condescending attitude was not a problem. Harnik was Selfer’s second and Selfer’s hire; he himself, having sworn his oath to Arcolin and clearly second to him, did not care how Harnik treated him. He would have command only over Selfer’s cohort.