Forlorn Hope - Chapter 7

A Taste of Discipline

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‘Very good. You weren’t lying when you said you could loose a bow,’ Gagan, Commander of the Gates, loomed over Tebin son of Tegar in the range. The other boy recruits were awed as they stood in a semi-circle around Tebin awaiting their turn. The older recruits, the men, were being kitted out with what armour could be found. Gagan held his horsehair plumed helmet under his arm, ‘But you’re wearing a deel. Do you think you go to battle in a deel?’

Tebin swallowed hard, ‘No, sir.’ His voice croaked.

‘No,’ Gagan slammed his helm onto Tebin’s head. ‘Now hit the target.’

The helm was hot and stank of stale sweat. The cheek guards were like a mountain range in his vision, the nose guard like a tree. His breath echoed back at him and made his cheeks warm and moist. The worst part was the weight. The conscious effort of holding his head up distracted him.

‘What are you waiting for? Loose an arrow,’ Gagan barked.

Tebin reached for an arrow from his quiver on his lower back and drew the bow. He clipped the edge of his helm and the arrow was sent veering miles off from the target.

Gagan chuckled, ‘Again.’

Tebin nocked another arrow. This time he pulled the string alongside the helmet but the nose guard and side clustered his vision. The hay bale target was half in his vision. He pulled his head back and looked out the corner of his eye but the helm wobbled on his head.

‘Too slow,’ Gagan chuckled.

Tebin loosed the arrow. It flew and skewered the edge of the target, missing the mark completely. The other boys chuckled now.

‘Who said you could laugh!’ Gagan wheeled on the group. ‘This boy is the best archer among you and he can’t hit the target wearing only a helm. Think of how well you would do. Now imagine you’re in full lamellar armour, maybe you’ll be lucky to have a little round chest plate. We have two weeks, maybe less, to get you hitting that target in full gear,’ the Commander prowled the length of the semi-circle. The thirty or so boys from the orphanage had been bolstered by hundreds from the city. More were expected, many more.

A whistle screeched over the training grounds. ‘Form up!’ Gagan bellowed. ‘Time for you to get your equipment. Do not lose it. Do not break it. If you lose it, or break it, you pay for it. It is for you to fight and die in. Some of you will be lucky enough to live, your armour will be why.’

Tebin ran by Gagan to join Jatan in the rank and file. The Commander plucked his helm off the boy as he passed. The sudden loss in weight caused Tebin to stumble into Jatan. The whole line quivered from the impact. ‘Sorry,’ Tebin said.

‘Get out of here!’ Gagan barked.

The square lurched forward out of time with one another. Immediately the lines broke apart as the boys marched to their own beat, or the beat of some other group, or to nothing at all. Tebin and Jatan attempted to match each others steps but the hesitation of waiting for the other one caused them to fall behind.

Gagan swore to the heavens.

The boys and barely men made it to the armoury on the edge of the training grounds. Sergeants barked at them to make a line while women and older men handed out equipment from a long table groaning with the weight of steel and leather.

‘What do you think we’ll get?’ Jatan said. Before waiting for a response he said, ‘I hope we look like Commander Gagan. Thick armour and a fancy helm.’

Tebin shuffled forward half listening. The sounds of the training grounds were a constant din of blunt steel, spear shafts, and the thudding of arrows into hay. Dozens of commanders shouted orders to one group or another all the while the city garrison lounged on the low walls encircling the grounds. Some watched and laughed as their new compatriots struggled with bow, spear, and sword. Others were ashen imagining their impending doom.

‘Do you need boots?’ An older voice asked.

‘Huh?’

‘Do you need boots?’ The man behind the table had seen many winters, his face a litany of pits and craters.

‘No, sir. I have a pair.’

‘Move along then,’ the old man shooed him away.

A pair of greaves was shoved into Tebin’s hands and he shuffled along the line. Soon the pile of hardened leathers and iron was up to his nose. Tebin struggled to balance the weight when a helm, a battered thing of iron without any plume, was planted on top with a heavy hand. He stumbled out to the side where his fellow recruits were figuring out how to wear the armour.

Another horsehair plumed commander circled them, thumbs in his sword belt. ‘If you lose it you pay for it. If you break it you pay for it. If it doesn’t fit, you can trade pieces to find ones that fit better. If no one wants to trade, tough luck. If you have a chest plate make sure it’s fitted right, one of the women can help you.’ There was a chuckle from a handful of city garrison above. The commander glare up, ‘Don’t you have duties elsewhere? Get to them!’

Tebin fought his way into each piece of armour, fumbling with leather ties and the bulkiness of it all. The lamellar body hung down to his knees and had been patched numerous times yet still little squares of iron were missing. The greaves were so long that they jabbed the tops of his feet. The arm guards fit, but were covered in cuts and scrapes. As did the helm, a battered thing that had seen its fair share of close calls. A dent in the top made him wonder if anyone had died in it but he quickly shook the thought from his head.

‘What’s wrong with your greaves?’Jatan asked as he pulled his body armour on.

‘Too long.’

‘Swap you,’ he held out a shorter set of greaves.

Tebin snatched the hardened leather shin guards and passed over his too long ones. The new ones were a little short but they at least let him walk without hobbling.

‘Form up! Back to your training!’ The commander bellowed. He turned to the next group of recruits receiving their equipment. All the men in line wore the same thin, white deel and had tattoos on their cheeks or neck.

Tebin fell in beside Jatan and their unit messily marched back to Commander Gagan. ‘Criminals! We’re going to be fighting beside criminals?’ Jatan gawped.

‘They can fight and die just as well as you,’ the commander said.

Tebin’s heart pounded in his chest as they returned. The din and booming of the training grounds reduced to a distant sound as he imagined the Gör Khāni army sieging Silicia. He’d never been atop the walls before but he pictured the view from atop as best he could, the road, fields, and Village of a Thousand Villages all hidden by an endless sea of Gör Khāni invaders in black armour wielding shimmering moon swords. He had never seen a siege before, never heard tale of one either. How did they do it? What did they use? He could only guess.

‘Now you have your armour you can get used to the weight of it,’ Gagan bellowed. ‘You will take off this armour to wash, that is it. You will sleep in it. You will train in it. You will eat in it. I want you to think it is part of you, to learn the weight of it, how to move in it. We do not have the luxury of time. Tebin, you’re up. Three arrows into the target. Let’s go!’ He clapped until Tebin was in position, bow in hand, sixty feet from the target.

He’d hit the target, well the bale, before. He could do it again. Tebin reached for an arrow and found his quiver was further back than normal, he pulled the bowstring and found he needed a touch more strength because of the weight of armour. He peered from underneath the brow of his helm. It lacked a nose guard but the cheek guards pressed against his face, the chipped iron scratching his skin. His breath rebounded and the warm, moist air stung his eyes.

‘Quicker!’ Gagan shouted. ‘I want everyone here to have hit that target three times by nightfall!’

Tebin loosed his first arrow.

It went wide.

He reached for a second. The muscles of his left arm ached holding the bow up, it had been years since he’d last practiced so much. The second arrow pierced the leather edge of the target.

‘Good! Another.’

Tebin’s third and fourth went wide but the fifth struck closer to the black centre dot.

‘Good!’ Gagan called.

Tebin loosed his last three arrows in quick succession, the first struck true, the second grazed the edge of the leather, while the third went straight through the end of the bale.

‘Not terrible! Who is next?’

Tebin holstered his bow on his hip and shuffled back into the semi-circle. Sweat dripped from every inch of him and he felt like curling up on the ground for a long sleep, instead he had to watch as every other boy attempted to hit the target three times. He wondered how long a siege would take, how long he would have to stand on the wall, how long he would have to loose arrows for. Did the garrison take turns or did they see it through regardless. He didn’t know but was too afraid to ask Commander Gagan.

Jatan’s first arrow missed. It would be a long day.

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