Ships from the West

'Yes, damn it. I could do with one. Now cut along.'

Felorin took off at a run, whereas Corfe's pace slowed. Finally he halted, and propped himself by a windowsill which looked out on the Proving Grounds below where a new set of recruits were being put through their paces. The glass was blurred with age but he was able to make out the man-high wooden posts sunk in the ground, and the lines of sweating men who hacked at them with the arm-killing practice swords whose blunt blades housed a core of lead. They had to strike defined spots at shoulder, waist and knee height on the right and then the left sides of the iron-hard old posts, and keep doing it until their palms blistered and the sweat ran in their eyes and their backs were raw masses of screaming muscle. Over thirty years before, Corfe had stood out there and hacked at those same posts while the drill sergeants had shouted and jeered at him. Some things, at least, did not change.

The Bladehall was new, however. A long, vaulted, church­like building, Corfe had had it constructed after the Battle of the Torian Plains ten years before, close to the old Quarter­master Stores where he had once found five hundred sets of Merduk armour mouldering and used them to arm his first command. He disliked using the old conference chambers for staff meetings because they were in the palace, and curious courtiers and maids were always in and out. Though Odelia might remind him tartly that the older venue had been good enough for Kaile Orma

Still a peasant with mud under my nails, after all this time, he thought with sour satisfaction.

Along the walls of the Bladehall were ranged suits of antique armour and weapons, tapestries and paintings depict­ing past battles and wars won and lost. And near the massive timber beams that supported the roof were hung the war ba

Set into the walls were hundreds of scroll pigeonholes, each of which held a map. On the upper galleries there were shelves of books also: manuals, histories, treatises on tactics and strategy. Several sycophantic nobles had begged Corfe to write a general treatise on war years ago, but he had curtly refused. He might be a successful general, but he was no writer - and he would not dictate his clumsy sentences to a scribe so that some inky-fingered parasite might polish them up for public consumption afterwards.

Hung above the lintel of the huge fireplace at one end of the hall was John Mogen's sword, the Answerer. Corfe had carr­ied it at the North More, at the King's Battle, and at Armagedir. A gift from the Queen, it had hung there with the firelight playing upon it for a decade now, for Toru

There were large tables ringed with chairs set about the floor of the lower Bladehall, and seated at these were several young men in Toru

There was as yet no formal military academy in Toru

The young men in the Bladehall ceased their reading. They stood up as Corfe entered and he returned their salutes. The two couriers doffed their helms.

'Your names?'

'Gell and Brinian, sir. Dispatches from—'

'Yes, I know. Give them here.' Corfe was handed two leather cylinders. The same dispatch would be in both. 'Any problems on the road?'

'No, sir. Some wolves near Arboro

'When did you leave Gaderion?'

'Five days ago.'

'Good work, lads. You look all in. Tell the cooks here to give you whatever you want, and change into some fresh clothes. I will need you back here later, but for now get some rest.' The couriers saluted and, gathering up their muddy cloaks, they left for the refectory. Corfe turned to the other occupants of the hall, who had not moved.

'Brascian, Phelor, Grast.' These three were standing to­gether. At a table alone stood a dark young officer of medium height. Corfe frowned. 'Ensign, forgive me, I do not recall your name.'

The youngster stiffened further. 'Ensign Baraz, your ma­jesty. We have not yet met.'

'Officers simply call me "sir" in garrison. Are you part of the Ostrabarian Baraz family?'

'My mother's brother was Shahr Baraz, the Queen's body­guard, and my grandfather was the same Shahr Baraz who took Aurungabar, your— sir. I kept the Baraz name as I was the last male of the line.'

'It was called Aekir then. I do not know your uncle, but your grandfather was an able general, and a fine man by all accounts.' Corfe stared closely at Baraz. 'How is it that you are become an ensign in the Toru

'I volunteered, sir. General Formio inducted me himself, not three months ago.'

When Corfe said nothing Baraz spoke up again. 'My family has been out of favour at the Ostrabarian court for many years. It is known all over the east that you will take loyal men of any race into your forces. I would like to try for the Bodyguard, sir.'

'You will have to gain some experience then. Have you completed your Provenance?'

'Yes, sir. Last week’

'Then consider yourself attached to the General Staff for the moment. We're short of interpreters.' 'Sir, I would much prefer to be attached to a tercio.' 'You'll follow orders, Ensign.' The young man seemed to sag minutely. 'Yes, sir.' Corfe kept his face grave.

'Very good. There's to be a conference of the staff here in a few minutes. You may sit in.' He nodded to the other three officers who were still ramrod straight. 'As may you, gentle­men. It will do you good to see the wrangling of the staff, though you will of course say nothing of what you hear to anyone. Clear?'

A chorus of yes sirs and a bobbing of heads and hastily smothered grins.