Sauragia: Journey to the Red Mountain

Chapter 12

“Now now chaps, shape up there! Eyes front, shoulders back and all that. Tail up, Johnson. Come on lads, let’s get this done right, shall we?”

Captain Rob Winstone of the Saurahall Guard fought valiantly to keep from losing his temper as he directed the new recruits around the parade ground. They had only a week left before they would have to march through the city streets for the spring festival, and they still had a lot to learn.

Rob had taught many new recruits many things in his time as Captain of the Guard, and never had he had this much trouble. There had been a few hard lessons, of course, but he had always managed in the past. And most importantly, his previous recruits had come to respect and even befriend him in the end. They were now helpful, productive members of the Guard. But this latest bunch was something else.

Even with the help of Lieutenant Harrison he had trouble keeping them in line. Most were barely old enough to even be in the Guard and it showed. Rob could hardly believe he had once been that age. It was almost as if they went out of the way to test his limits sometimes. He was known for his almost infinite patience and mild speech, but somehow they had found those limits, and he was rapidly reaching them. And the one who pushed him the hardest—the ringleader, as it were—was none other than Johnny’s brother Ronald.

At this very moment, as all the other recruits had finally managed to form proper ranks facing forward, Rob noticed Ronald with his back turned talking to one of his mates in the row behind and giggling.

“Eyes front, Harrison!” he snapped.

Ron immediately spun around, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Sorry, old chap,” he replied with a lazy salute.

Rob heaved a deep sigh and closed his eyes, seeking the patience not to go over and c***k the youngster over the head for his mockery. How he longed for the guidance of old Captain Torilis at times like this! The good captain had always been Rob’s greatest role model, and had made him what he was today. He tried to be just like Torilis in every respect, but sometimes it was a challenge. Like now.

“That’s sir to you, lad,” replied Rob sharply but calmly.

“Yes, sir,” said Ron. He snapped to attention, much to Rob’s satisfaction. He then added under his breath, “I say, Rob there’s got to be the youngest cranky old codger in town.”

That did it for Rob, who spun around with absolute wrath in his eyes.

“Ronald Harrison! Front and centre this instant!”

Even Ron recognized when he had crossed the line and quietly obeyed. Though none dared turn their heads to watch, their eyes nevertheless followed the young mischief-maker as he came to a halt before the officer.

“You, sir, will turn your sword in to Quartermaster Briggs without delay and without complaint. He will hold onto it until you can learn some respect for your elders and betters. You will then retire to your quarters without any repast and there await further orders. Is that clear?”

“But I…” Ron’s protest died on his lips as he felt his captain’s gaze bore into him, and he merely bowed his head and mumbled, “Yes, sir.”

Rob watched as the young offender walked dejectedly off the parade ground toward the Palace, his head hung low in shame. He sighed and shook his head. It was not pretty, but sometimes he had to be firm and that was that.

“Right! Enough gawking,” he resumed. “Work to be done and all that. So, let’s take it from the top, shall we?”

After seeing what had happened to Ron, no one else dared act up lest they face the same. Thus, they marched around quietly and obediently for the next hour, during which they made marvellous progress. Rob shimmered with pride as he watched his newest recruits move in a perfectly coordinated column around the yard, each without complaint or error. Maybe they would be ready for the spring festival after all. They did so well that he complimented their form and allowed them to end practice early. With a bit of free time on his claws, he decided to go and see how the older recruits were doing with their sword drills under Johnny.

He made his way over to where Johnny stood overseeing twelve trainees practising their slashes and thrusts against dino-shaped dummies that were armed and clothed like enemies. They did this with wooden swords so as not to damage the dummies, which were harder to make than they looked, according Torvi the blacksmith. Rob looked on with approval as the youngsters proceeded to whack away at the targets with gusto. Johnny manoeuvred through them, giving out advice and compliments as he passed by.

“Great work, Robbins! Phillips, tighter grip on that hilt, miss. Don’t want it flying out of your claws here any more than in a real battle.” He spotted Rob. “Ah! Here’s your real master of the blade, young uns. He can show you what a solid thrust looks like.”

“Morning, sir!”

“Hello, Captain Winstone!”

The trainees greeted Rob with enthusiasm. They loved their Guard Captain and considered him the best officer ever. It was not that they didn’t like Johnny. He was good in his own way. But he was always stricter and more businesslike than the captain. Rob had known many of them since they were barely old enough to walk, and had always been kind and rather informal towards them. Even on duty he called them by their first names, just like Captain Torilis had done.

“Good morning, youngsters!” he replied jovially.

“Will you show us how to make a good thrust, sir, please?” asked one recruit.

“Absolutely, dear Eleanor! Sword please, Lieutenant.”

Johnny gave him one and he proceeded to demonstrate.

“Right, now you’ve got to hit hard and fast,” he instructed, taking a fighting stance in front of a target. “Remember, a real foe won’t just stand there and give you all the time in the world to hit him, wot! So make every stroke count. Aim to cripple and eliminate quickly. Like so.”

He struck with lightning speed, hitting first the dummy’s shoulder near the base of the neck, then again on the other side, and finally made a thrust at the middle. The dummy shook violently with every impact of the fake weapon, but remained very much intact.

“Of course, you’d probably have to knock the brute’s weapon aside first if he were real”—he tapped the dummy’s spear with his blade—”but you get the idea.”

The youngsters were thoroughly impressed by this demonstration of Rob’s prowess, and complimented him no end.

“That was superb, sir!”

“Good show!”

“Cor! I wish I could swing like that.”

“You’re far too kind,” said Rob modestly, giving the sword back to Johnny. “Right! I’m off to tour the gatehouses. Carry on, all!”

On the way toward the wall, he encountered Bard on his daily stroll.

“Morning, Rob,” he said.

“Aah! Morning, Bard, old chap. Looking good today, I must say. How’s the leg, then?’

“Never felt better, actually. I feel I could run for miles.”

“Glad to hear it, friend.”

“Say, that was pretty fancy sword work there.”

“Oh yes. Saw that, did you?” Rob reddened a little. “It’s nothing, really. Astron’s much better.”

“I was wond’rin’, what with your fine skill an’ all, if you’d care to give me a go.”

“Beg pardon?” asked Rob, pretty sure he wasn’t hearing right.

“It’s just, I haven’t had any practice in a while, and I figured I ought to do so under the guidance of an expert.”

“I don’t know, old lad. I’m awfully busy. And what with your leg…”

“It’s fine, I promise. If you granted me this request, I’d deem it a real honour.”

Rob remained hesitant. The truth was, he had not sparred for a long time either, and wondered if he could match this veteran warrior. Still, he was flattered that Bard had sought him out. So, he nodded.

“Very well, Bard. A little skirmish couldn’t do too much harm, I suppose. Shall I run and get the practice swords?”

“No, I think we can fight with real metal, Rob.”

“Very well, old boy. Draw steel, then,” said Rob, pulling out his blade.

Bard, who made a habit of carrying his sword at all times, reached up and drew it from his back. Striking ready stances, the two faced off. There were certain unwritten rules in this sort of sparring match that they both understood, of course. They would not jab with their sword points, and they would not pull any dirty tricks. Both were dinosaurs of honour, and would not want it said that they had cheated—even if this was not an officially sanctioned duel.

Bard opened the match by making several feints at his opponent. Rob was wary of such trite tactics, and did not fall for any of them. He made the first real move by striking at Bard from the side. This was blocked, of course, as were several other attempts to get to him. Bard then struck back, but was likewise thwarted. The two Alvarosaurs stared each other down for a second, searching for openings that weren’t there. They were both simply too good.

Bard lunged again, almost exposing his leg as Rob moved aside. They went on like this for a few minutes more, neither gaining on the other. Suddenly Bard stepped back and broke off the fight.

“Well done, Rob,” said he. “I confess myself impressed. What say we call ourselves equal?”

Rob shook his head. “You were better. If it weren’t for your leg you’d have had me.”

“Well I didn’t, so we’re equal.” Bard held out his claw.

“Righto,” said Rob as he shook it. “Well fought, sir.”

The truth was, neither wanted to carry on the fight. Rob had already had a busy morning, and Bard still had to watch his leg. They sheathed their swords and wished each other well before parting. Rob made his rounds of the wall, then went to deal with the less pleasant task of disciplining young Ronald.