Anyone who wants to know what it's like to ride five hundred miles can do it themselves. At the end of the first day I was shattered. I'm a good horseman but all day in the saddle was more than I was used to. Everything hurt. I dropped to the ground with a great deal less elegance than I had hoped. My lower body was locked in place and straightening my legs was an agony. I hung on to the saddle horn for a bit, but managed not to groan aloud as I straightened up as much as I could.
It was a good two hours to sunset and the bulk of the army was busy building a fort around us. It was standard practice and good habit to do so, even though we were in friendly territory. Done for the same reason that we had scouts out in front, rear and to the sides of the army. It has only happened twice but the rivalry between patrons can lead to clashes within our own lands. It would be pretty embarrassing to run into an ambush within a hundred miles of the city.
For a while I walked the horse to cool him down and stretch out the rigidity of my own muscles. There was no two ways here. I was going to war and I had to do what needed doing. Primarily get fit enough to survive any fighting I might have to do. I figured twenty-odd days in the saddle would shed a good deal of the fat I was carrying and tighten up most of the muscles that counted. Sometime after these muscles loosened up I would start the morning with calisthenics and upper body exercises. I was looking forward to it, or so I told myself. I passed the horse to one of the men as soon as I figured I didn't need to hold onto the bridle in order to walk.
The camp took shape around us. There were seven thousand men doing the work so it didn't take long. A ditch was dug, the earth being thrown inward to form a rampart. Each man carried a stake which was then rammed home to form a short wall. Inside, a broad space was left clear with designated areas for horses and wagons. Tents were erected in an inner square with another more or less clear space in the center of that. In a permanent camp there would be a few buildings here, a hospital, command and administration building, and so forth. Accordingly, my charges being the battle mages and healers, it was from this clear space that I watched things come together. Our slaves and servants appeared and tents were erected in the place where the field hospital would be located in a permanent camp. As soon as my tent was ready I ordered hot water and ducked inside. I had nothing pressing to do that needed doing and the last thing I wanted to do was sit down so I stripped off the borrowed armor and paced back and forth and fretted while I waited. The other commanders would have duties to keep them busy but I was only responsible for sixteen men, my six men forming the bodyguard for the other ten, and all of them seemed able to look after themselves. In a way I felt pretty superfluous, which normally would have made me fairly happy. I could clean up, which I would do as soon as Meran brought the damn water, pull on a robe and stretch out in relative comfort to read till I fell asleep. It sounded good, but I couldn't help feeling like there was something I should be doing. There wasn't and I couldn't figure out why this bothered me. Perhaps it was just arrogance. A man of my class should be doing something, should be in control. And I wasn't. It was that simple. Damn. My upbringing had obviously affected me more deeply than I had ever suspected. I had the urge to compete with my peers, to shine, to put them in the shade, to blind them with my brilliance, I wanted to gather the reins of power into my hands, I wanted control, I wanted responsibility. I wanted all the things I had been meticulously avoiding my whole life. Or at least part of me did.
Well, I could take control of what I had control over.
Meran interrupted my introspective self-analysis with blessed hot water and fresh clothes. I washed and dressed and, feeling better for it, stepped back out into the dusk of the evening to take charge of things.
Kerral appeared as if by magic as soon as I barked his name.
“Sir!” He had snapped to attention and saluted in mere moments and I had to resist the urge to throw my arms around him and give him a big hug. It was as if he had been waiting for me to catch up, which I guess he had.
“Report.”
I could almost see him resisting the urge to smile. I had done nothing in the way of formalizing relationships with my command, appointed no one, fixed no chain of command. I'd ignored my responsibilities, light though they may be, but that was over now and he knew it. Dammit, I think he was proud of me.
“Our quartermaster has established contact with stores and our supplies of food and other necessities are secured, sir. The men are settled under discipline and prepared for their duties. Weapons and armor have been inspected and the men pass muster. Horses and spare gear have been checked and all is in order. Your charges are secure and their comforts are being attended to, sir.”
“My slave has the war chest. See that it is guarded, Centurion.” First Centurion would have been more pretentious than I could take, but he needed to know what I intended. Subconsciously, decisions had been made. We had needed horses and I had sent Meran back to the city to bring a librarian to my home and sell my library to him. The assessment would have been on the low side, due to time issues, but I needed that money now so now it was. I knew their value and guessed what I would get; enough to buy the horses and leave a good sum over, and that would become my war chest. I was as capable of raising an army as Tulian and to hell with taking his orders and there was nothing anyone could do about it. My soldiers would have to be raised on route but there were several towns between here and the end of our lands and I had five good men to act as centurions and doubtless Kerral could find one more. My men. My army. My command. My life. My destiny. And if I was going to keep my word I needed to do this, though I honestly think I would have anyway. Once the lion smells blood it wants to eat.