Beneath The Sun II: Lord of Serpents

The sharp clashing of wood against wood snapped him out of his reverie. No matter, there would be enough time to ponder it later. Turning to face the group of men before him, he continued shouting in sequence, his voice ringing throughout the courtyard:

“Shields!”

“Hack and lunge!” “Fall into circle!”

“Draw back, wall!” “The Bite, take forward!”

It was sweltering. Pushing the men to the brink produced heavy rivulets of sweat, like torrential rain on a forest floor. But they knew what they had to do. If anyone faltered, he would be there to ensure – painfully if need be – the man was aware of his place and duty. No reprieve on this day, or any other.

Only a handful of the very best were taken away from their regular units and attached to the new ones he had so recently set up, no regard given to previous fealties and bonds of brotherhood.

Looking the men up and down as he strode in between them, observing their forms, his eyes fell upon a pair of combatants, like a hawk eyeing a scampering hare among empty grasses. One of the soldiers had paused for a quick drink of water. He went over to them.

Thwack! came the wooden shortsword on the soldier’s back. Stumbling forward, but not completely losing balance, the soldier turned around to look at him, eyes wide in shock.

“You do that again, if I ever see a bottle in your hand…this won’t be a wooden one in my hand the next time”

“It’s just a small sip, we’ve been driven since sunbreak…”

Thwack! came another blunt blow on the forearm of the unfortunate soldier. He grimaced and held his arm where the blade had struck, not only skin but dignity as well.

“Don’t…” he said, edging closer until he was staring down at the ridge of the soldier’s nose “ever…” he finished with a hiss.

That was it, and all that needed to be said. The mortification in the soldier’s eyes was not missed by anyone. Swords, axes and shields were temporarily lowered and stances abandoned by the onlookers. Spears were left lodged in hay-stuffed practice targets, no one bothering to go and draw them out. Indeed, the incident would be recounted by those standing by over the next few days, a favourite expression being ‘like a king cobra over a doomed squirrel.’

It usually escaped him that part of training the new men and reforging them into deadlier weapons was to break them in – until something like this happened, when a newcomer, unaccustomed to such severe somatic rigours, would drop a sword, or go down on a knee under a fierce knock, or try to catch a moment’s breath. Oh yes, they might have endured much even under regular training but this was something completely different. Combat was one thing, but what was it without discipline, without cohesion, without cold calculation in the face of a foe’s spears and arrows? Gone were their days of milling around the well, snickering and bantering. They were not regular issue anymore, nor could they ever be. This was no drill camp or provincial barracks. Here, the men training in the courtyard, ensconced in the very heart of power and opulence, were above all others.

The grumbling didn’t affect him. It was natural, soldiers griped. He didn’t care; there was no time to pay heed to trivialities. And he knew they talked behind his back, albeit with grudging respect. Many of those before him had already fought and bled beside him. They saw with their own eyes what he was capable of – those stories had long since drifted beyond the palace walls. Some of them would not have survived had they not been under his eye beforehand, and they knew that all too well.

Swinging his head back, away from the wincing soldier, his eyes held the others with cold regard. There was a collective shuffle before they all resumed their activities. The clangour and heavy grunting soon filled the air again.

The transgressing soldier whispered to his partner, “It was just a brie…”

“Don’t,” replied his partner. “Just stow it, don’t repeat it again.”

“But I don’t get it, what’s the…”

His friend cut him off again, “Look, let it go. Here…” he picked up the wooden sword that had been lying on the ground ever since the soldier had made the mistake of taking that first sip. “Take this and keep it in your hand, even if you give out. And then, you’ll be assured of water. This is how it is. This is how he works, makes us better than ourselves. Don’t take it too hard.”

“Now, are you going to use that or wait for him to come over and smack you again?”

With that, the soldier’s attacks became fiercer. Angry and hurt, but not losing focus or rhythm, the soldier briefly saw what he thought was a nod of approval from the far side of the courtyard. As the day wore on, a new infusion of vigour permeated the soldier, and he could feel it through his sword-arm, parrying, twirling and striking with remarkable cadence.

Within a few minutes, the call went out for formations. Again:

“Lines!” “Form up!”

“Spears!” “Kneel for formation!”

“Wall!” “Hack and lunge!”

At the end of the exercise, the soldier and his partner watched with chagrin as he came towards them. He beckoned the soldier.

“You,” he said, pointing at the soldier. “Yes, you. You shall spar with me.”

v    

Those harrowing images him again, as they had in the morning. As they did almost every day now. Scattered and destroyed wagons, frayed canvasses blowing idly…men…women…children. The light gone out from their eyes, sheer terror still etched on their lifeless faces. Just like that, through no fault of their own.

Everything seemed harder now: eating, sleeping, something as simple as buying dates or a scroll of paper at the local bazaar. Talking to her. He would constantly pace the length of his room, his bed undone, the evening meal left unfinished.

His exterior was one of perfect calm and poise. But inside, a maelstrom raged, twisting his insides, forcing him to leave everything, to go forth himself and…and…

But the Sun and the Serpent banner pulled him back from the edge of disaster. There is work to be done, it whispered sweetly. Bide your time, it added as he beheld the vivid gold and scarlet weaving. Those damned criminals would get what was coming to them, he swore. Patience. There is a way for everything. When that moment came, reprisal would be swift.

Seething, he nevertheless mused on the day’s training as he slowly climbed up the many steps to his quarters, situated on one of the higher levels of the palace. Fine men, all of them, and they would get honed to an ever keener edge. It would not require much from him – in the course of time, they themselves would turn into those weapons. Pit them against any five of the enemy in single combat and he knew who would be left standing. One day, soon enough, they would be at the very forefront, the tip of the Sun’s lance, enforcing its will wherever and whenever it was required – just as he did.

The day had been put aside for training alone and he wasn`t disappointed, even if it wasn’t where he wanted to be right now. The young soldier would learn in time. There was a latent ferocity within him yet to be tapped. The soldier’s skills had never been in doubt. He had done well, but men and women had to be galvanised towards purpose. After all, was he not subjecting himself towards the same thing, every night?

His feet were burning by the time he reached the final landing. He would spar some more with the soldier tomorrow. There had been few words between them, save for the necessary instruction. Tomorrow would hopefully bring more.

Upon entering his room, tired but not yet worn-out, he washed himself and changed. The corner of his eyes gazed longingly at the armour and shield but he made no move towards it. Not today. Taking his scimitar, he went to sit by the fireside, the curved blade resting flat across both thighs, one hand over the leather sheath, the other on the hilt. He stared blankly at the crackling embers, the flames flickering in his greyish-blue eyes, casting dancing shadows upon his face.

Burning wagons…children, mud and ash-smeared faces, buried under splinters…husbands and wives lying side-by-side…blood-soaked grass. One day, I’ll come for you all, he silently raged. Yes, take pleasure from your plunder, your feasting, your drink, your women. Enjoy the adoration of your people. Yes, forget not that day. When our people are ready, when we men go forth, the fields will run red. Remember what you all did, when we plunge our bl…

Then came the knock on the door.

“Come in,” he said. Lessons.

He got up from his chair and turned around, the scimitar’s blade brushing against the loose folds of his trousers. At the door stood a man in a black hood, whip in one hand and blade in the other.

Not wood.

Steel.

Drawing himself fully up before the man, he proclaimed, “I am ready.”