Sunrise Lands

"Hey, mostly, 'Hello, my dear beer!' " Gottberg said.

Edain checked the fletching of the last arrow as he slid it back into the quiver. He caught the glances the squad gave one another, and this time kept his look of i

"What do you say we do a little pila practice?" Gott berg went on, elaborately casual. "And low man buys the first two rounds? It's not too different from throw ing a hunting spear… I'll bet you use hunting spears sometimes…"

"Oh, sometimes, but mostly bows. I'm not much with spears… I wouldn't turn down a sporting bet with you lads, though."

They walked over to the pila targets, shapes of tight rolled matting on wooden posts. Those at least resem bled men with shields, which was good. He'd never yet fought an enemy or hunted a beast who was round and colored white and red in concentric circles. They weren't very far away-only about twenty yards-but then the heavy javelins were short-range weapons. The pila were piled in neat tripods with the big oval shields stacked against them and the helmets hung by the chinstraps. The young men put the helmets on and clipped their cheek pieces in place before picking up the shields and javelins.

Good, Edain thought. Practice the way you're going to do it for real, or as close as you can.

Thoughts like that always sounded a bit like his father's voice.

"Two throws each," the file closer said. "Kit, get a couple of spares for Eddie here."

It took a moment for Edain to realize he was an Eddie, locally. While he struggled with the thought, the Boisean noncom took a step forward, shield up. The spear went back and then forward in a long blurred arch. There was a thunk! as it sank through the center of the target and into the wooden pole within. The second matched it, a handbreadth lower down. Both sank as the long iron shanks behind their points bent.

"Now that's clever," Edain said. "So they can't throw them back at you, eh?"

The file closer nodded. "And if it goes into a shield, whoever's holding it has to throw it away or spend time trying to pull the pila out. You want to go next?"

"Oh, I'll wait and see how the rest of your lads do," Edain said i

Or he thought it was i

Most of them were nearly as good as their corpo ral. When they'd finished the twelve throws, only four spears had missed or glanced off, and most of the ones that hit were solidly planted through the wicker or in the central pole. The Boise soldiers knew their business, and they had the strong limber bodies of well fed young men who'd worked and trained hard all their lives.

They'd most likely all inherited keen eyes and steady hands too; even in fortunate areas like this, not many weaklings had lived through the Change and its aftermath to breed more of their kind.

I can't lose either way, Edain thought. If I'm last man, I buy them more beer and they get talkative. If I'm not, I get more respect

… and they'll be more likely to speak freely, eh? And I hate to lose; so may Cernu

He hefted the spear he'd been handed, which had a much dinted shaft and an iron shank that looked as if it had been straightened any number of times. It was a practice weapon; well balanced, but probably a little off center. And it was as heavy as a battle spear, or nearly, which was not meant to be thrown.

"Ground and center, ground and center," he murmured to himself.

Edain was wearing his brigandine, which was fair, but that was a hair less hampering than the cuirass of steel bands and hoops that was their equivalent. He didn't use the solid face front step and-throw method the local men did; that was designed for use with a great twenty-pound shield in your left hand to balance you. Instead he took a half sideways skip forward and put all his body into it with a snapping twist. Throwing something this heavy that far took real effort; his breath hissed out between clenched teeth.

Good!

The throw had the smooth heavy to-light flow that said it was going where it should as it left his hand. It arched higher than the others had… and then his lips moved in a silent curse as it wobbled in flight.

Thunk.

The long pyramidal point of the spear clipped a little twist of osier from the wicker figure's notional head as it went by, and then banged into the asphalt a half dozen yards farther on.

"Not bad," Gottberg said, taking off his helmet and scratching vigorously. "Most newbies can't even get a pila to go that far."

The redhead named Kit looked at him narrowly; he'd be the one buying the first two rounds if Edain wasn't. "I thought you said you only used bows?"

"No, I said I mostly used bows," Edain said, gri

Several of the others laughed. Kit smiled, if a little sourly. "Here," he said. "Try this one-it didn't bend and it's better than those old clunkers from the practice bin."

Edain caught the tossed spear with a smack of palm on wood. It was a better weapon; he could feel it in the swoop and sway as his arm rocked back under the impact. He made a half bow.

"Nar laga Ardwi

He didn't speak the old language-only a few schol ars did, and Rudi and his mother and his sisters Fiorb hi

"May the Huntress never weaken your hand," he repeated in English.

Breathe in, breathe out, and… throw.

Shunk.

This time he speared the target through the i

Kit sighed. Edain held out his hand. "We're low men on the pole, so let's split those first two rounds," he said.

The redhead shook the outstretched hand. That won him more acceptance than he'd hoped for. The file shed and racked their armor at the gatehouse barracks. Edain did the same with his brigandine and bow and quiver, though it made him feel a bit naked so far from home and among strangers.

"Let's get that beer," Gottberg said. "And something to eat."

"They don't feed you?" Edain asked, surprised. A lord usually did, at least keeping table for his full-time warriors.

"Sorta-kinda." Kit gri

At Edain's raised brow he went on: "We all get it on a printed sheet when we're called up, with the rest of the paperwork. It's sort of a list of things soldiers believe. Like, 'It is very unlucky to get a spear in the guts on a Friday.'"

Gottberg went on:"The one he's thinking of is,'When the sun rises in the east, it is a sign that we shall have stew for di

"Mystery meat stews with desecrated vegetables. And they say the stuff with it is beer. I say the quartermaster's horse has something bad wrong with its kidneys."

"We'll go to the Fife and Drum instead. That's where a lot of guys go off duty. It's a bit pricey but not too bad and it's all fighting men."

"I'm not much of one for brawling in taverns."

"Oh, they don't brawl there. Because-"

The city of Boise was an orderly, law-abiding place, like the rest of the United States governed from there. People mostly liked it that way, and those who didn't tended to meet the National Police and then either dance the hempen hornpipe on air or spend many sad and stress ful years working under extremely unsympathetic management in the National Infrastructure Reconstruction Battalions.