blankets to see if there was any chance of another round before they fell asleep. Ah, and it looked like the extra seven years wasn’t slowing Reji down at all. “Shall we make sure you’re not bored, old man? I wouldn’t want you to up and abandon me, after all.”
Reji growled suddenly and pounced, making it very clear that ‘old’ and ‘bored’ were not words he wanted applied to him any time soon, and in a very short time Kei would feel very ‘abandoned’ indeed.
Chapter : Darshian 5
It was a habit Arman never mentioned to his fellow generals, but he liked to walk through the camps of an evening. Wearing a cloak to cover his hair and his uniform, he passed unobtrusively through the lines to measure the mood of his troops, to see what concerned the common soldier, what were their fears, their hopes, their complaints. Aware he was treading close to actual spying, he made it a point of honour to never hold a grudge against a man he heard grumbling about the generals, or to treat them any differently. He had certainly heard enough comments about his own person to keep his ego in check, although he didn’t mind particularly being considered a ‘tough bastard but fair, mind you’. He’d discovered Jozo was well-liked, and criticised only for his occasional conservatism. Ritus suffered more harshly, being described variously as ‘a silly old ditherer’ and ‘an old maid’, neither of which was particularly fair to the seasoned general. Arman liked the old man a good deal, but his good points admittedly weren’t appealing to the ordinary foot soldier.
Tonight he passed silently through the rows of tents as his men sat around campfires, eating their supper. He heard several soldiers complain they had not kept any food down at all that day. He hoped any effects of seasickness would not linger, for they had a long, hard march ahead of them tomorrow. Most were simply concerned about filling their bellies, too hungry and tired to talk much, but Arman came up in the shadows behind a small group who had finished their food, and were smoking a last pipe before retiring to their tents to sleep.
“I hear them Darshianese got men who can fry your eyeballs when they look at you,” he overheard one say. “I heard they got men who can throw stones through the air bigger than a jesig, and throw fire like the rest of us would toss water from a bucket.”
“And where did you hear this rot, eh, Rokus? Been listening to that woman of yours with her imagination again?”
“She heard it from her sister, who owns a bakery right here in Urshek, you bastard. Them Darshianese are wizards, everyone knows that.”
“Some wizards,” an older, deeper voice rumbled. “The Prij took them over pretty quick, and they don’t fight back hardly at all.”
Not, Arman thought wryly, strictly true, but these soldiers were perhaps apt to dismiss the now-quelled rebellions in some of the minor towns and rural areas, although they were bloody enough at the time.
“Yeah, but look what they did at Kurlik Pass. Blocked it for an eternity. That’s wizards for you.”
His companion cuffed Rokus’s head. “They triggered a landfall, you fool. And that was the lot—they never did anything to get south Darshian back, did they?”
“Maybe they don’t want it. Maybe they’s hoping we’ll cross them mountains and fall into a trap. I heard the desert is full of ghosts, and them desert folk, they can talk without moving their mouths.”
The rest of them scoffed. “You’ve been drinking green beer again, Rokus.” The apparent leader of the group stood. “I’m for bed, had enough of wives’ tales,” he said with a stern look at the unfortunate Rokus. “One thing’s for certain. Them Darshian folk are heathens and the gods protect the Prij, not them. I never seen no ghosts, or people throwing fire and until I do , my lad, I’ll trust my own eyes and no one else’s. As for the rest of it, Lord Niko minds Her Serenity,
Reji growled suddenly and pounced, making it very clear that ‘old’ and ‘bored’ were not words he wanted applied to him any time soon, and in a very short time Kei would feel very ‘abandoned’ indeed.
Chapter : Darshian 5
It was a habit Arman never mentioned to his fellow generals, but he liked to walk through the camps of an evening. Wearing a cloak to cover his hair and his uniform, he passed unobtrusively through the lines to measure the mood of his troops, to see what concerned the common soldier, what were their fears, their hopes, their complaints. Aware he was treading close to actual spying, he made it a point of honour to never hold a grudge against a man he heard grumbling about the generals, or to treat them any differently. He had certainly heard enough comments about his own person to keep his ego in check, although he didn’t mind particularly being considered a ‘tough bastard but fair, mind you’. He’d discovered Jozo was well-liked, and criticised only for his occasional conservatism. Ritus suffered more harshly, being described variously as ‘a silly old ditherer’ and ‘an old maid’, neither of which was particularly fair to the seasoned general. Arman liked the old man a good deal, but his good points admittedly weren’t appealing to the ordinary foot soldier.
Tonight he passed silently through the rows of tents as his men sat around campfires, eating their supper. He heard several soldiers complain they had not kept any food down at all that day. He hoped any effects of seasickness would not linger, for they had a long, hard march ahead of them tomorrow. Most were simply concerned about filling their bellies, too hungry and tired to talk much, but Arman came up in the shadows behind a small group who had finished their food, and were smoking a last pipe before retiring to their tents to sleep.
“I hear them Darshianese got men who can fry your eyeballs when they look at you,” he overheard one say. “I heard they got men who can throw stones through the air bigger than a jesig, and throw fire like the rest of us would toss water from a bucket.”
“And where did you hear this rot, eh, Rokus? Been listening to that woman of yours with her imagination again?”
“She heard it from her sister, who owns a bakery right here in Urshek, you bastard. Them Darshianese are wizards, everyone knows that.”
“Some wizards,” an older, deeper voice rumbled. “The Prij took them over pretty quick, and they don’t fight back hardly at all.”
Not, Arman thought wryly, strictly true, but these soldiers were perhaps apt to dismiss the now-quelled rebellions in some of the minor towns and rural areas, although they were bloody enough at the time.
“Yeah, but look what they did at Kurlik Pass. Blocked it for an eternity. That’s wizards for you.”
His companion cuffed Rokus’s head. “They triggered a landfall, you fool. And that was the lot—they never did anything to get south Darshian back, did they?”
“Maybe they don’t want it. Maybe they’s hoping we’ll cross them mountains and fall into a trap. I heard the desert is full of ghosts, and them desert folk, they can talk without moving their mouths.”
The rest of them scoffed. “You’ve been drinking green beer again, Rokus.” The apparent leader of the group stood. “I’m for bed, had enough of wives’ tales,” he said with a stern look at the unfortunate Rokus. “One thing’s for certain. Them Darshian folk are heathens and the gods protect the Prij, not them. I never seen no ghosts, or people throwing fire and until I do , my lad, I’ll trust my own eyes and no one else’s. As for the rest of it, Lord Niko minds Her Serenity,
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