Prince of Wrath (11 page)

Clora giggled and nodded, then adjusted her top, and then, once decent again, turned and took Zonis by the hand, leading him off to one side of the room. Kimel stood looking a little unsure of himself. Wottek glared at him. “What are you looking at?”

“Uh, nothing, chief.”

“Get lost.”

“But I’m supposed to keep him in sight.”

“I’ll send him out when he’s finished speaking to her. Now go!”

“Fair shout,” Kimel said, happy to have been given permission, and trotted off.

“Idiot,” Wottek muttered and looked over the papers he’d been given to check by his boss.

Zonis bent and put his mouth close to Clora’s ear. “How are you getting on?”

“Alright,” she whispered back. “But he’s a brute and uncouth. Just like the worst of the patrons of the Black Rodent.”

“Hmm, I guessed that. The scrapings of society; they always get into posts like this in these sort of organisations. A bully and stupid. He hurt you?”

“Nothing I can’t deal with,” Clora said, glancing at Wottek who was clearly struggling with the paper. “He’s happy with me.”

“So I see. We’ve got to get word to Demtro that this lot are likely to be on the move in three sevendays. It doesn’t give us much time.”

Clora nodded. “So what do we do?”

“Either escape here, or find a way of passing a message on.”

“Don’t think we can escape,” Clora said, “we’re watched too much and there’s too many around.”

Zonis grunted. “Right, so what we do is to work on the problem from different directions. You work on Wottek to see Lombert Soul, then you work on him. Try to seduce him. You’ve got to get to the top. You understand?”

“Alright – but why?”

“Make Wottek jealous. I want him to be so damned angry at his boss stealing you that he’d be prepared to get his own back by betraying him. Meanwhile I’ll work on a couple of people at the training ground, see if any of them are easily bribed. You can normally spot them fast enough.”

“Alright,” Clora giggled, making Wottek look up. “It’ll be fun.”

“Dangerous, Clora. Be careful. Meanwhile, you see anything overnight arriving? Lots of packets, or bags of anything?”

“No, but I wasn’t allowed out early this morning from my quarters.”

“And where are they?”

Clora opened her mouth but Wottek clicked his fingers. “Alright, enough of the touching family reunion. Clora, over here now. I want you on my desk this moment. And you, get going and train my men up. Get going!”

Zonis regarded the irascible captain. “Who’s going to inform them I now have the authority to do that?”

“Eh?”

“I can’t just go out there and say I’m going to train them…..”

“Alright! Don’t make a full scale issue about it!” Wottek glared at the guard sergeant standing by the exit. “You, Pitikkan, go tell the squad leaders this man Sinoz is to train the men up until I say otherwise. Got it?”

Pitikkan, a tall, fair haired man with a hard face and curved beak of a nose, grunted. He opened the door and jerked his head at Zonis. “C’mon, you heard the Captain, let’s go.”

Zonis saluted stiffly at Wottek who ignored him, then nodded to Clora and turned smartly, fighting the urge to start coughing. The talking had irritated his lungs again. He fought to control his breathing and followed the sergeant out of the room. Wottek slapped his hand on the desk, indicating Clora to sit on that spot. She meekly complied and received a crude fondling from the captain which she endured. He really had little idea as to how to make a woman enjoy being touched.

“You should be a little easier on poor uncle Sinoz. He’s not a well man.”

“Shut up, slut,” Wottek said harshly. “You’re here to please me. Forget about that old has-been; he’s going to be too busy to worry about you anymore. So how about showing me how grateful you are in giving you all these nice things?”

Clora smiled, wishing he’d break a leg or something, and began pleasuring him. Wottek forgot all about the papers on his desk and leaned back, shutting his eyes.

Zonis made a point about carefully studying the passageway back to the clearing. Off to the left as he went through one stone passage there was a smaller tunnel ending in a wooden door. It was free of dust; the handle looked polished, indicating frequent use. There were no other visible alternative passages until they got to the smaller cavern. Then when they got back to the big cavern there were a few other doorways which may or may not be portals to corridors, or maybe merely storerooms. Guards were everywhere here and so it was clear there would be no way to check.

Back out in the daylight Kimel was waiting for him. Pitikkan snapped at the two men to follow him over to where a number of men were striking bales of hay. They stopped by them and two squad leaders came over to see what was going on. They were dark haired, rough looking men with brown studded tunics that went down past their belted waists to their upper thighs. Pitikkan jerked a thumb at Zonis. “Captain says he’s here to train the men up to defeat the Koros, a gift from the gods.”

The two squad leaders laughed evilly, displaying gapped teeth with blackened stubs in places. “Oh? Well be my guest,” one said.

Pitikkan turned to go back to the guard office, but stopped as the other asked about Kimel. “Oh, he’s here to hold the new guy’s hand. Boss thinks the new guy needs protecting.” More laughs. Zonis screwed his eyes up as a coughing fit overtook him. He bent over, wracked with a hacking fit, and blood spattered his mask. Zonis wiped it away distastefully, red-faced, his eyes watering. His lungs felt as if they were on fire.

“You gonna survive the day?” the first squad leader asked, “or you gonna die on us?”

“I need to sit,” Zonis wheezed.

“By the gods,” the second groaned, “we’ve been given a cripple. What use are you?”

Zonis dragged a small wooden crate over and sat down heavily on it. The crate creaked for a moment and Zonis tensed, but then the crate held so he relaxed. “Let me see them lined up fully armed and equipped,” he said, still fighting for breath.

“Why?”

“Because,” Zonis said, exerting patience, “they’ll go into battle that way, won’t they? No point in practicing in a manner they’ll never use when the time comes.” He fumbled for his pipe and some of the painkiller.

The two men saw that and pulled grimaces of distaste. They didn’t care one bit having a newcomer being foisted on them, especially one who was clearly unwell. To make things worse he appeared to be a smoke-taker, something that placed him so far down on the social ladder that he wasn’t merely on the ground, so to speak, he was underground. Kimel stood by the side, staring blankly at them. “What’s this all coming to?” the first muttered under his breath, but nevertheless turned away to fetch his squad. The second spat into the ground in front of Zonis’ feet, glared at him, then stamped off in a temper.

“Think they don’t like me,” Zonis observed, filling the bowl of his pipe.

“Scary,” Kimel commented.

Zonis grunted, then lit the dried leaves and inhaled, forcing the smoke into his lungs. The painkiller initially stung, as it always did, then deadened the pain and Zonis sighed in relief. He shut his eyes and allowed the deadening effect to take hold. As always, along with it came the tingling of the nerves away from those directly affected. He had no idea why this happened, but it was this that was pleasurable and made a smoke-taker want to take it again and again.

Time seemed to drift and he was only vaguely aware of his surroundings. People were as half shadows in his mind, moving around him but he could not see or hear them properly. “What do we address you as?” came the truculent voice of the first squad leader close to his ears.

Zonis opened his gritty eyes and focussed with difficulty on the man standing before him, holding his head away from him. He was also upwind. Regretfully, almost, Zonis took the stem of the pipe from his mouth and tapped the smouldering remains of the painkiller out, crushing it under his heel. He stood up with a sigh and looked at the man. “Training Commander Sinoz, Squad Leader,” Zonis said, his voice slow and half slurred.

“The men are on parade, Commander,” the second man said, his voice clearly full of resentment.

Zonis adjusted his face cloth and studied the four ranks of men standing behind the squad leaders. There were approximately two hundred of them. He looked in surprise at the squad leaders. “So many? You should be captains.”

“There are more of us but they are out on patrol,” the first said. “Your orders?”

Zonis walked off to one side, followed by Kimel and the two squad leaders. Kimel looked lost but automatically followed Zonis. Zonis halted on the end and looked along the four lines. They were irregular and the men were looking at him in curiosity. Their attire was a mix of militia-type leather tunics, vestments and leggings, and some very rudimentary clothing. They appeared to be the poor and underprivileged sections of Kastanian society. They were carrying swords, spears, axes, knives and a few farming implements were dotted here and there. Shields were infrequent, and where they existed they were mostly of the rough wooden circular type.

“I want to see them march up to the edge of the grassed area there and back again.”

The two leaders looked perplexed. “March? What’s that to do with fighting?”

“In battle you’ll face disciplined men fighting as a cohesive unit. Against a rabble they’ll cut them to pieces. I want to see them maintain a disciplined line. Can they do that?”

The first squad leader grunted and stamped off to the front. Clearly he was unimpressed. “Right, you lot, all of you are to march neatly up to the end of the grass, turn round and march back here again. Go!”

The men set off, not in a neat line, but in groups. Already the neat lines of the parade were in chaos, but they all moved off. The trouble really began when they had to turn. Those in the front tried to turn but only succeeded in blundering into the next line. The men got themselves mixed up and it was a sorry line that returned, men in different units alongside each other. Zonis put a hand to his face and held it for a moment.

“Stupid manoeuvre, can’t see the point of that!” the second squad leader growled.

“The point of that, Squad Leader, is that in battle or approaching a battle you may be surprised by a new unit appearing from the rear so it is vital to be able to swing round to meet them head-on. This lot would be hit while they were busy trying to get themselves untangled, and cut to pieces.”

The squad leader muttered and looked away, his arms folded. The first rubbed a bristly chin. “Well, how do you get them to stop messing it up, then?”

“Space the ranks more and get the rearmost line to turn first and so on.”

The squad leaders looked at their men for a moment as the ranks reformed. “How far apart?” the first asked. The second was still doubtful about the whole procedure, and the need for it.

Zonis walked over to the first and second lines. “Too close. Front rank forward one pace.”

The men looked at each other, and a few complied, so the rest followed when the squad leaders said nothing. Zonis began walking down the space in between the ranks, eyeing the men and their weaponry. “This is the perfect space when on the move or before a battle. Ideally you’d have spears in the front rank and swordsmen behind, but I suppose we’ll have to make do with what we have. You’ll be facing three kinds of opponent,” he said, turning to face the two officers who were close behind. Kimel was behind them, looking a little concerned. Zonis ignored him.

“Who are they, then?” the first officer asked.

“Spearmen. Tough men, Kastan’s regulars. They won’t break easily, you can bet on that. Then you have the archers. They’re nasty; they’ll stand back and shoot holes through your ranks. Unless you have something that can counter them, you’ll take heavy losses before you get to grips with the enemy. Then there’s the cavalry, and that is who I’m going to train you to fight against, as it is that arm of Kastania’s army you need to fear the most.”

“Huh, soft privileged noblemen’s sons!” the second officer scoffed. “They’ll run the first instance they come up against our army!”

Zonis eyed the man for a while, then grinned mirthlessly. “When your head is stuck on a lance and paraded in Prince Jorqel’s camp, don’t start moaning to me! Let me show you what you’re up against.” He got the four lines to split into two and face one another, then got them to simulate a melee. He then positioned Kimel and himself off to the side. “Now, your men are these here,” he waved at the nearest group. “We are the cavalry who have ridden round the flank and are now charging your rear. What are you going to do?”

The squad leaders looked at each other, and Zonis tugged on Kimel’s arm. “Come on Kimel, you’re going to attack these soldiers with me.”

“Scary.”

“It’s a practice. Come on, just follow my lead.” Zonis bore down on the rear flank of the second line. He raised his arm, imitating a strike about to start.

“Uh, second rank turn round,” the first officer said. The line twisted, some turning one way, others the opposite direction. Men collided. Zonis kept on going and slapped the nearest man on the head before the soldier could defend himself.

“Now, you are dead,” Zonis informed the man, and pointed at the second who was raising his sword. “And you have just been knocked over by my equine, a great big heavy beast running at you full charge. If you’re lucky you’ve just been knocked out.”