Prison of Night

For Earth. For the money to find it. For the pride of holding what was his own. For the woman and the child she could be carrying and the security both would need.

"Yes," he said, "I'll fight."

Chapter Nine

Castle Belamosk changed. The gentle air of unhurried indolence vanished to be replaced by a fevered sense of urgency with women kept busy sewing uniforms of strong fabric reenforced with leather, with artisans making heavy boots, edged weapons, belts, canteens. Others furbished old weapons; sporting rifles and pistols used in formal duels, even crossbows made to designs supplied by Dumarest.

He shrugged when Lavinia pointed out the primitive nature of the weapons.

"A bolt can kill as surely as a bullet if well-aimed. It would be nice to equip the men with lasers but we haven't got them."

"But crossbows?"

"Are easy to make and simple to use. The bolts they use can be recovered and used again and again. The weapon itself will get them used to the weight of arms." Patiently he ended, "Leave it to me, Lavinia. I know what I'm doing."

Arming and teaching men to be soldiers, to march and drill and to kill when given the order. But, as the days passed, she realized that to train men wasn't as simple as she had thought.

"It's a matter of cultural conditioning," explained Roland when she spoke of it one day after watching a group of young boys try and fail to perform a simple maneuver. "Our retainers have never had to think for themselves in their entire lives. They know what to do and how it should be done and have never had the need to think of alternative methods. Now they are being asked to change their social pattern into something strange and a little frightening. To perform acts without apparent purpose. To obey without apparent need. March, turn, halt, drop, aim, fire-words new to their vocabulary. But don't worry, my dear, Earl knows what he is doing."

Bran Welos wasn't so sure.

At first it had been a game and he had been eager to thrust himself forward for, as his dead father had advised during delusia, the one who was among the first would be the one to gain rapid advancement. And Gelda had been pleased and given him the reward of her body that same night after curfew when the castle had been sealed against the dark. Even at dawn when he has assembled with the others it hadn't seemed too hard. The initial marching had become tiresome and the drills were stupid but there were watching faces to smile at and familiar things to see.

Then Kars Gartok had struck him and knocked him down and swore at him as he lay with blood running from his nose.

"Pay attention you fool! Left is left not right! March, don't slouch, and take that silly grin off your face. You're a man, not a clown. Head up, shoulders squared, stomach in, chest out, back straight, eyes ahead-now on your feet and march! March! March!"

March until his legs grew weak with fatigue, his feet sore with blisters, his eyes burning with glare and dust. March and obey until he had become a machine without sense or feeling. Then the long, long journey out into the arid lands without water or food and with the crossbow he had been given a dragging weight at his shoulder.

"Keep in step there!" Dumarest was in charge of the party. "Left! Left! Left, right, left! Don't drag your feet! Left! Left!"

Welos spat and muttered something. Dumarest heard it but paid no attention. Anger was a good stimulus and if a man trained to be deferential all his life could have found the courage to vent his displeasure then it was a sign the training was having some effect.

A man stumbled, fell, lay in the dust. He turned to face the sky, his cracked lips parting.

"Water I must have water!"

"On your feet!"

"A drink! I must-"

"Get up!" Stooping Dumarest lifted the man by brute force. "You aren't thirsty," he snapped. "You haven't been out long enough for that. Now suck a pebble or something and stop thinking about water. Just concentrate on putting one foot before the other. March!" His tone became ugly. "March, damn you, or I'll cut your throat!"

One glance at the harsh set of the features and the man hurried to catch up with the rest, thirst and weariness forgotten. As he moved forward Dumarest looked at the sky. The suns were past the zenith, edging close but, he hoped, not too close for delusia. He had enough problems without having the group of men complain to their dead relatives and friends and, perhaps, being given destructive advice.

He halted the column at the summit of a knoll and checked for landmarks and guides.

"Listen." He looked at the ring of attentive faces. "Pay attention. You're all hungry and thirsty and tired and you'd like a chance to rest and take things easy. Right?"

He waited for the murmur of agreement to fade.