Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

They’d learned the basics of spear and pike back home, but there the militia’s main job was fighting bandits and peacekeeping. The weapons were more likely to be sword, bow, or staff. The Guard, however, had decreed they were pike soldiers, so Pikes they had to become. For Rury, one good thing about drill was getting some small respite from the massed feelings pressing in. Those around him mostly suspended thought and feeling as they concentrated on the barked commands and responses.

“Rest in ranks,” ordered Sergeant Krandal. The four rows of militia grounded the butts of their weapons gratefully and leaned on the shafts. The sergeant walked around the formation to face them. He upended the spear he carried and thrust it upright into the trampled sod.

“It took some doing to get these toys.” He patted the short sword hanging off his right side, and the buckler, a small round shield two hand-spans in diameter, clipped at his left. All the militia members carried the same. “So you will oblige me by being proficient with them.”

He had them lay down spears and walked them through various drills, drawing the sword with either hand and getting the buckler off the belt and up. They’d had months of training back home using larger shields and longer swords, and they were improving rapidly.

Aed Karlan, the group’s self-appointed jester, muttered sidewise to Rury, “It’s not enough we have to slog around with armor and pigstickers. We get to haul extra gear, too.”

“You have questions, Karlan, or just gas?” said Sergeant Krandal. Aed flushed and stammered.

“Uh, just wondering, Sergeant. Why the extra weapons if the army thinks we’re pike soldiers? Not that I mind ’em, but it’d be nice having a full-size sword and shield.”

“That’s simple enough,” Sergeant Krandal replied. “Two lines of spears backed with two of pikes are a bit thin against a massed rush. Put a big force of heavies against you, or even an equal force whose front line cares more about running over you than staying alive, and you people will be playing kissy-face with the Tedrel. If that happens,” he pointed at Aed’s weapons, “those will give you a fighting chance. And there’s no way to carry full-size weapons and still fight a spear in close order without getting hung up on your comrades.” The sergeant smiled thinly. “I approve of soldiers asking questions.” Aed looked relieved as Krandal continued, “but not soldiers talking in ranks. Karlan, you get wood and water duty tonight.” Aed’s look of relief melted.

“Dortha, front and center!” A dark-haired young woman broke ranks and came on the double. “Run them through reverse-draw drills.” Dortha was no-nonsense and as good a fighter as the men. After joining up she’d silenced snickers from the boys with a ready kick to the knee if they were lucky, somewhat higher if they weren’t. She quickly got them into the rhythm of the drill, drawing the sword with blade reversed and pointing down, slashing up and across an enemy’s face, then immediately sweeping back to stab face or throat.

Sergeant Krandal noticed the unit sneaking looks off behind him. He glanced back to see a small group of horsemen, most on brilliantly white mounts, turn off the camp road at the end of the drill field and trot toward them. The sunlight glinted off the armor and crown worn by the group’s leader, and off the coat of the Companion he rode. Behind him a horseman bore the blue-and-silver standard of the King of Valdemar.

“Hold! Dress your ranks!” Sergeant Krandal snapped back to the militia. “I don’t know why, but that’s King Sendar coming to call. You lot follow my lead and show some respect, or you’ll all spend the next week wishing you had!”

Sergeant Krandal turned back just as the group pulled up. He saluted and dropped to one knee. Clinking and rustling indicated the militia was following his example.

Now if they can just keep quiet.

Rury dropped to a knee with the rest. With the mindless rote of drill paused, he immediately felt the feelings of those around pressing on his mind. The militia were awed and a little apprehensive. Sergeant Krandal was mostly curious. From the king, Rury sensed an almost overwhelming weight of worry and sadness, but in front of it, like an army’s standard in the charge, rode a spark of hope and pleasure.

King Sendar sat his Companion, leaned forward on the saddle, and smiled warmly.

“It’s good to see you back in the field, Sergeant Krandal,” the King said. The militia’s eyes widened.

“It’s good to be back, Your Majesty,” replied Sergeant Krandal. “I may be getting old for this game, but I’m your man and Valdemar’s to the end of it.”