Phoenix Destiny

Twenty

Jaron’s newly organized troop assembled away from the tents. They swayed in the slight breeze and morning mist. He knew their heads hurt from the previous night’s festivities and that was the way he wanted it. Silently, he walked the line of fifty soldiers with Gambler following like a shadow.

Last night, he entertained them with music, but there would be none of that today. The General had been serious about this promotion, so he was going to treat it seriously. When he was satisfied with their vacant expressions, he marched several feet away before turning to address them.

“As you know, the General has promoted me to Captain,” Jaron paused, studying the line of faces. “He also tells me that all of you volunteered to be in my detachment. That means you are here of your own free will, and you will not be dismissed unless it is of your own choice.”

Some nodded in acceptance. Others struggled to remain on their feet. At least, they all seemed in agreement.

“Today, we start training.”

The company suddenly came out of their haze.

“Right now, you are all at a disadvantage and that’s the way I want you. I want you to be able to fight drunk better than your enemy can fight sober. I want your body to think even when your mind can’t.”

The soldiers looked at each other, slowly processing everything he told them.

“There are fifty of you. I will choose five of you to be field commanders. Those commanders will choose nine others to form their ranks. You will be expected to follow your commander’s orders with the same enthusiasm that I expect you to follow mine.”

Some shuffled in the ranks, perking up at his words. This was new and different than they were used to.

“Commanders will be chosen on their merit. I don’t care how many years you have been a part of this company or how many people you killed in battle, and I certainly don’t care the amount of riches you have amassed. What I care about is your skill.”

The soldiers looked at one another, weighing their abilities with those around them.

“You will be tested by sword and bow. You will spar against a single enemy of my choosing as well as pairs for any duration I set or until you cannot fight anymore. You will be set in front of a target at twenty paces, thirty, sixty and any other distance I dictate to test your accuracy. And you will do it until you can no longer lift your bow,” Jaron said. He wanted these soldiers to take this as seriously as he was. “Look around you. These men you are with are your comrades. They are the ones who will be next to you in battle. They are the only ones you can count on.”

The soldiers studied each other, taking stock.

“We’ll begin with sparring. Draw your swords and split into pairs of your choice. I will make substitutions as I see fit.”

Some soldiers returned to the tents to retrieve forgotten swords. Others immediately paired off. Jaron watched the first uncertain attacks. The soldiers’ heads were ringing, he knew, but he wanted to see who handled it better. He watched for which soldiers focused on their superior strength and which ones relied on speed and agility.

With Gambler as his constant shadow, he weaved through the combatant field, forcing pairs to swap their opponents for others. True to his word, he kept them at it until their arms were too weak to lift their swords. He watched as some of them switched to their opposite hand to continue the fight and smiled as he noted them.

After a brief rest and midday meal, he organized them in front of targets and tested their skill with bows. Since Manlea’s betrayal, messages for their services were fewer and the General considered them closely before responding. In the meantime, the soldiers enjoyed a well-earned rest. It also gave Jaron ample time to train his new detachment without haste.

As the days progressed, he tested them with sword and pike, one enemy or two, in pairs and alone. Remembering his battle with Dorrall, he made them spar on horseback. Though the horses were allowed armor, the soldiers were not. He didn’t want them to rely on armor to protect them from their own mistakes, but there was no reason to allow injury to a horse.

During their training period, the company returned to their secret meadow and took stock of their assets. Jaron’s group camped together, slightly away from the others, and he kept close watch over them, even when they ventured to local inns for evening entertainment.

“You’re sure you won’t come?” Dak asked, halting his horse beside Gambler and Jaron.

It had been a long day for the group in which he had them fighting in pairs against multiple enemies. They had earned some time for leisure. Jaron sat in the saddle, watching the men depart for a nearby village. The gray stallion shook its head, echoing its master’s inner thoughts.

“I’m sure,” Jaron nodded. “Tomorrow, I will choose the commanders. I have a lot to think about.”

“Knowing you, you’ve known for days who you are going to choose,” Dak studied his impassive face. “It wouldn’t hurt you to relax and enjoy yourself for a change.”

“It might.”

“Fine,” Dak rode ahead. “See you tomorrow.”

Jaron watched the soldier leave with the others. The camp was quieter without them. It was easier to think now, but he remained anxious. Dak was right, he knew which five he would choose, but he was still unsettled and couldn’t figure out why.

He reined Gambler around, turning the stallion away from the road. The stallion trotted away as if happy to escape into the hills. Above, he heard Ivy’s warbling chirps and knew his path was safe. Gambler’s pace increased as the stallion charged up a hill. Cresting the top, Jaron reined in the stallion to look over the place they had left.

What is stopping me from turning around and letting loose?

“Guilt,” a voice supplied.

“What?” Jaron jerked to attention. Gambler grunted in protest as he reined the stallion in tight circles, looking for the speaker. “Artac.”

“For a moment there, I thought you had forgotten me,” the sprite appeared on the crest of the stallion’s neck. He must have been exceptionally light because the horse hardly seemed aware of him.

“I figured you had forgotten me. You’ve been absent for some time,” Jaron studied the creature, but its expressions were as impassible as ever.

“Well, you were busy. It didn’t seem appropriate for me to interrupt. Besides, I’d hate for your men to see you carrying on conversations with thin air.”

“Why are you here now?”

“You have the annoying habit of asking yourself questions you think are only in your head,” Artac used his tail for balance as he shifted his perch on Gambler’s neck. “You should be wary of that.”

Jaron’s mind returned to the moment the sprite first spoke, before he understood what the creature meant. After a moment, he asked, “What does guilt have to do with turning around and joining the others at the inn?”

“It is your heart, not mine.”

“I don’t understand. What am I feeling guilty for? Killing Dorrall?”

“That you rather enjoyed,” the sprite shook its head and flexed its strange frills. “No, the guilt you feel is for something you haven’t done yet.”