Young Warriors (Wine of the Gods Book 10)

  Young Warriors

  Pam Uphoff

  Copyright © 2013 Pamela Uphoff

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN

  978-1-939746-96-2

  This is a work of fiction.

  All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional.

  Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Kingdom of the West

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  About the Author

  Other Titles by Pam Uphoff

  Excerpt from an Upcoming Release

  Kingdom of the West

  Chapter One

  Late summer 1387

  Karista, Kingdom of the West

  "It's traditional for a young lord to serve two years in His Majesty's Army." Prince Rufi studied his great-grandson. The old general was still the tall, strong man who'd led the Army for longer than this boy had been alive. But the boy was nearly as tall as he was. Both strong and graceful. Smart, open, honest. A blessing to an old man who'd somehow never gotten around to marrying.

  "Well." Xen looked like he was considering that statement from all sides. "I had thought about enlisting. But since I'm three illegitimacies from you, I'm not at all certain I qualify as a young lord."

  Rufi chuckled. "By the customs of the Ash witches the only thing illegitimate about your birth was your gender. And you are very much your father's son. If anyone gets snippy, sic your father's banker on them. Young lords have immense respect for money."

  Xen shook his head fondly. "Hmm. And I'm a wizard, even if a rather young and spottily trained one at this point in life. Although two years in the Army would keep me out of Ash and temptation for a while."

  The general smiled as he saw the boy make up his mind. He picked an envelope up off his desk. "This is a letter of recommendation. I've assured General Hastin of your outstanding potential, and recommended that he accept you for the two year rotation. Which involves about three months of training and then throwing you in to sink or swim. I used the name Xen Wolfson. Would you prefer I rewrite it as Xenotine Rustleson?"

  "No. Xen Wolfson is what I use when I'm away from Ash." He took the envelope and grinned. "Thank you. I'll try to not damage your Army too badly."

  "Take a pen, you'll need it."

  ***

  "Has da Liddow Pwince's daddy decided if his baby boy is all gwon up enough to go pway sodjer with the other liddow lords this year?"

  Garit clenched his teeth and tried to keep a grip on his temper. As much as he'd love to punch Rebo, it wouldn't do any good. And here in the Palace dining room with his parents, their siblings, his siblings, their spouses and half their kids all in attendance . . . It would be very poor tactics. Technically, Rebo was his nephew. Just a year younger than Garit, they'd been raised almost like brothers . . .

  "Fortunately I don't need to wag a sword around to prove I'm a man." Rebo smirked. He'd taken to talking down to Garit since he'd topped him in height a year ago. And constantly bragged about all his women, and the babies he'd (possibly) fathered on them. All the while screeching about the dent their maintenance was putting in his allowance.

  "I am going into the rotation this year." Garit made it a firm certainty. Tried and failed to not glance up the table to see how his father would take that. Hell is being the baby of an oversized family.

  His brother Mirk snorted. With sixteen years in between their births, Mirk didn't feel much like a brother. And their oldest brother, Crown Prince Rolo, was even less close. And ignoring the younger relatives down the table.

  Uncle Rufi leaned toward the king and said something quietly.

  Garit's father nodded faintly. Smiled a bit. "Hard though it is for me to admit, you're an adult. If you think you are ready for the rotation, then sign up for it."

  Garit let out his breath slowly.

  "Good timing actually." Uncle Rufi leaned to catch his eye. "You'll have two rather distant relations in the same rotation. I'm sure you remember Baylor Trehem. And my great grandson will be there as well. You can clue him in on some of the, umm, urban customs he may not have picked up in his village."

  A faint stir, a few whispered comments. " . . . illegitimate daughter, remember when . . . "

  Garit blinked. Of course Uncle Rufi had always told tall tales involving his "witch daughters" but an actual great grandson . . . Garit suppressed a moan at the thought of a country cousin. He'll probably try to put on airs. Maybe even dare to call himself "prince." Old Gods! Nothing could be worse than another year around Rebo . . . but was it necessary for fate to try to top it?

  Rebo snickered.

  ***

  Xen tracked down the admissions office of the School of Military Science with little trouble.

  The man at the front desk had sergeant written all over him. He eyed Xen cynically. "Academic or Career?"

  "Two year rotation, Sergeant."

  The cynicism deepened. "You'll need a recommendation."

  Xen produced the envelope.

  "And to fill out these."

  Apparently like so much of the World, the Army ran on paperwork.

  "You can sit there and do it, as registration for this year closes tomorrow."

  "Thank you Sergeant." Xen sat and started writing. Some of the questions were a bit hard to answer, as they didn't exactly fit his peculiar situation. But he answered them in the most generous sense of their meaning.

  When he returned the papers the Sergeant pointed to a list on the wall. "If you are accepted, your name and who to report to will appear on the list. Check tomorrow. By the day after, if you are not on the list you were not accepted and can appeal."

  "Thank you Sergeant."

  Xen had good hearing, and heard the man muttering as he left. " . . . never trust the ones with manners . . . "

  In the morning his name was on the list, and he reported to General Kenner.

  "Know General Rufi, do you?"

  "Yes, sir. Although not living in the city, not well."

  "I see. We'll be evaluating your knowledge, both academic and practical over the next week. This is your schedule. This is the required, recommended, and allowed equipment. Pack no less than the requirements, and no more than is allowed. Take it all to the Saren Street Entrance to the training grounds. Present this pass at the gate and you will be directed where to go."

  Xe
n had been traveling light, but the Great Grand was delighted to provide the rest. "You really ought to put a bit in that horse's mouth. And yes I do recall your riding him bareback and bridleless everywhere when you were younger."

  As ready as was possible, Xen reported in and received directions to both the stable and the barracks he would be living in for the next three months.

  Pyrite snorted in disgust. :: More stalls! :: The horse’s mental voice was clear and loud in Xen’s mind. He’d never quite figured out why no one else could hear Pyrite.

  "Ah but think how much fun you'll have, sword fighting and all." He ran his hands down Pyrite's legs. He was used to fixing injuries, not that Pyrite ever got beat up, but the other horses always seemed to find a way to bruise, scrape or twist something. He was good at fixing them.

  :: More fun bareback. ::

  "Unfortunately I'd probably fall off, trying to fight that way." He straightened and grabbed his saddle.

  "Are we to believe the horse is supplying the other half of the conversation?"

  Xen turned to find himself being inspected. The young man leading the others down the barn aisle looked amused.

  "I talk to Pyrite all the time." He nodded politely to the trio. "Xen Wolfson." he said politely.

  The man's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I'm Prince Garit Negue, this is Lord Dominic March and Lord Rally Faloni." The young man talking was about five and a half foot tall, with broad shoulders. Unless Xen had lost track, he'd be the King's youngest child, and thus his own distant cousin. A blue-eyed blonde, he looked more like General Rufi than Xen did.

  Lord Dominic was a heavy set blonde. "You say you fall off a lot? When fighting?" There was a bit of a sneer in his tone.

  "Not so far, but then I haven't actually fought on horseback. For real. Plenty of practice, of course."

  Rally was thin and dark haired. "We can only hope." Definitely a sneer.

  :: See you tomorrow. I need to go establish herd dominance. ::

  Pyrite snorted his amusement. Xen racked his tack in front of the stall, shouldered his saddlebags and nodded politely to the trio. "Excuse me. I need to check in. Nice to have met you."

  "Ooo. Nice to have met us." Dominic was the only one that commented, and they all followed him as he crossed to the adjoining barracks. The uniformed Corporal at the door checked his pass and assigned him a bunk, checking his name off his list.

  The other three also produced passes and were assigned the next three bunks. Xen's proved to be next to that of a man attempting to put sheets on his. He caught Xen's eye and shrugged. "If a thirteen year old maid can do it, I can do it. Right? Asti Througus."

  Xen grinned. "Xen Wolfson. Never underestimate a thirteen year old girl. I have a little sister who is flat out scary." He set his saddle bags on the footlocker at the foot of the bed and eyed the folded sheets and blanket. "Right. My Dad showed me how to do this. Years ago."

  After some experimentation he was quite certain his corners were not right. "Damn it, he made it look so easy."

  Garit, on the other side wasn't doing any better. "This is ridiculous."

  A bell chimed five times, and an officer strode into the barracks. A captain, by his uniform. A drill sergeant, by his attitude. His lip curled as he observed the state of the barracks.

  "Goodness. The fate of the Kingdom rests in the hands of men who don't even know how to make a bed? We're doomed." He turned his head. "Corporal, come show these Lords how to make a bed."

  The corporal had the empty bed crisp, each corner looking like folded paper, top sheet and blanket tight across the bed. It took him maybe a whole minute.

  "Surely you aren't going to admit that you can't do such a simple thing?" The captain sounded incredulous. "Show me that you can. Now." He snapped.

  Xen turned back to the bed and attempted to repeat what he thought the corporal had done to produce those neat corners, the tight fit . . . At least he could take comfort in getting it sooner than the other Lords. He redid a corner slowly, where Asti could see it, and then again on the other side for Garit.

  He had a suspicion his gear should be put away, but that dropping the stuffed saddle bags into the foot locker wasn't enough.

  "Very nice, M'lord Xen." The captain had snuck up behind him as he stood there weighing his saddle bags. "And now you think you are ready to unpack? Please do."

  Xen opened the foot locker and started unpacking and storing things. Saddlebags and extra boots at the bottom. Pants on that side, shirts on the other, socks and small clothes in the middle, brush in the rack, toothbrush, razor, shaving mug . . . he usually used magic to rid himself of unwanted hair, but Rufi had suggested he downplay the magic and pointed out that shaving gear was required. Belt with sword and knife on top.

  "That's actually passable. Not right, mind you, but not disastrous." He strolled down the aisle. "And have the rest of you unpacked yet?"

  He stopped by a tall thin fellow. "Do you think your footlocker is in order, Lord Keith?"

  Lord Keith gritted his teeth and admitted that it wasn't.

  The captain agreed, and it was emptied and refilled three times.

  Xen shifted his stuff according to the directions others received, remade his bed twice more, and finally lined up and marched off to a plain but plentiful dinner. There was a fair amount of grumbling and indignant murmurs at dinner, but most of the young men seemed quite determined to do this. There might have even been a hint of pride at being treated like a real soldier.

  Unfortunately a few sneered. And complained about the lack of alcohol accompanying dinner.

  Prince Garit seemed to mostly be eager. If touchy of his pride, now and then. He was the youngest of the group, by nearly a year. And the shortest. Odd. Why not wait a year? Xen shoved his analysis aside and tried to pick up the rest of the names. Thirty young men. They would split them up into three or four groups and send them out to spend six months at four different forts. Being assessed by the officers there, and later, possibly, being recruited.

  Xen slept poorly, surrounded by strangers and strange noises. And was rousted at the crack of pre-dawn to make his bed, report to receive two uniforms, shower, shave, dress in one of the uniforms, remake his bed, pass inspection, eat breakfast, and form up in some semblance of order to swear his oath to serve the King.

  Then Captain Fulton made them march around and form up again and again. "So you won't disgrace me again!" Those of them who had their own mounts brushed and tacked them up, while the rest marched off to be assigned a horse for the three month training period.

  They were inspected and corrected. Pyrite's hackamore bridle got a raised eyebrow and note in a book.

  They rode out through the training grounds at a walk until the horses were warmed up, and trotted until the riders were all warm. Then they were sent one at a time through an obstacle course, then over jumps. They were resorted according to their performance, and told this was how they were to line up the following morning. Back at the barns, grooms came out of the woodwork, but merely observed. The young lords did all the work.

  After lunch, they were issued wooden training swords. Asti was the only one there who wasn't already an expert. The captain raised an eyebrow, made a note.

  Lots of notes were made. They swapped partners, and then swapped again. The captain tapped his pen irritably as he watched Xen. "Wolfson, you appear to be able to use whatever style your opponent uses, and acquit yourself well. What is your favorite style of fighting?"

  "Weaponless, sir."

  The captain studied him. "Are you quite certain you are a Noble?"

  "No, sir. Foothills Province isn't much interested in titles."

  "Oh yes. The Province that refuses to have a Duke so the King has to appoint a Governor. What is the advantage in that?"

  "If we don't like him, it's relatively easy to get the King to replace him, sir."

  "I've never heard of that happening."

  "The King does seem to find competent, businesslike people to fill
the post, sir."

  "Umm. But it means you lack experience working with Armsmen and militias."

  "Oh, we have plenty of militias. Got to deal with bandits now and again, after all."

  "Yes. A Province without bandits would be stranger than a province without lords." The captain took up a wooden sword and faced off with him. He started with a two handed grip, and after a few blows, switched to a right hand grip and the left open to grab.

  Xen stayed alert and fast, blocking everything and striking back hard and fast, pulling his blows at the last second.

  The captain stepped back. "You will drill with Lord Asti." He returned the wooden sword to Xen's former sparring partner, a Lord Onray.

  Onray grunted. "Wish I could impress him." He turned and faced off with Asti's former partner, Lord Baylor.

  Xen pulled Asti a bit out of the way and drilled him on all the basic moves. "You know what to do, you just haven't gotten to the point that it is automatic, like the rest of us. Okay, take this combination . . . "

  They were all exceedingly hot and sweaty by the time the captain declared them finished, and they marched off to clean up and relax for a few moments before dinner.

  The next morning they combined the riding and the sword fighting, and he and Pyrite had a great deal of fun. "Guess I won't comment on the hackamore, Wolfson. Who the hell was stupid enough to geld that horse?"

  Xen shrugged. "He was already gelded when we got him as a yearling."

  Prince Garit, on a big bay mare, had done well. Poor Asti, on a strange horse, hadn't done well. But then again he hadn't fallen off. There had been a couple of those. Show offs, mainly.

  More notes taken.

  In the afternoon they were marched into a classroom and tested. Questions about well known historical battles. Definitions of words. Descriptions of the desired responses to specific orders. Horse care. First aid. Rules of warfare.

  Xen wished himself outside with a sword in hand.

  Asti sighed, looking at the scores. "Finally, something I excel at."

  Lord Lester Gannis chuckled. "You're doing well enough. Officers don't often get into the thickest parts of the battles. You could handle a poorly trained bandit, and keep yourself alive against a good one long enough for one of your men to get there."