01 - The Burning Shore by Robert Ear - (ebook by Undead) Page A

Sigmari…”
    He trailed off, three words too late.
    “Mad what?” the commander turned on him, eyes as cold and blue as Orbrant’s
own.
    “Nothing, commander,” Florin decided. “But I believe he used to serve his god
and Emperor as a warrior priest.”
    “Believe? Don’t you know?”
    “I asked him, but he didn’t want to talk about it.”
    “I thought you would have pressed him.”
    Despite himself Florin felt a snap of irritation. Ever since the commander
had turned up for an unexpected inspection, he’d done everything he could to
keep Florin and Graznikov off balance.
    “What the man did before he joined up is his own business.”
    “Quite right too,” the commander nodded approvingly.
    The little group lapsed into silence as Orbrant called the men to attention.
    “Well done, men,” van Delft told them. “Glad to see that not everyone on this
ship has collapsed back into civilians.”
    Graznikov wisely ignored the jibe. His own men, all of whom were armed with
the heavy, two-handed axes of their ancestors, had never been much for drill.
Nor did he think that they needed it. As far as he was concerned the main skill
a mercenary needed was to know who, not how, to fight.
    If only the tsarina’s sheriffs hadn’t been so enthusiastic back home he’d
never have signed them up for anything as hare-brained as this.
    “Tell me, Graznikov,” the commander switched his unwelcome attention from the
Bretonnian to the Kislevite. “Exactly why haven’t you been drilling your men,
again?”
    “No room.”
    “And yet the Bretonnians seem to find room enough.”
    “My men, real warriors. With axes. No room for axes here,” Graznikov, who was
at least officer enough to know when retreat would be more dangerous than
staying put, folded his arms sullenly.
    “Well, if you say so,” van Delft shrugged. “But I think that you could do
worse than to learn from Captain d’Artaud here.”
    “Like you say, commander.”
    Graznikov and Florin’s eyes met briefly.
    No affection was lost.
    Commander van Delft, who hadn’t become a commander by accident, pretended not
to notice the hostility.
    “In fact, I’m sure that if you asked him, d’Artaud here might be willing to
take over for a while and train up your men.”
    “No.”
    “Just as you like, captain. We are all gentlemen of fortune, after all. I
wouldn’t presume to put one captain in charge of another’s company.”
    The possibility hung uncomfortably in the air.
    “Well, I’ve seen about as much as I need to,” the commander decided. “You can
dismiss the men, sergeant.”
    Orbrant turned to Florin, awaiting his confirmation of the order. Florin felt
a surge of gratitude for the display of loyalty, although he was careful not to
let van Delft see it.
    “Carry on, sergeant.
    “Dismissed.”
    “Yes, very impressive, your sergeant,” van Delft repeated as if to himself.
“Graznikov, would you excuse us for a moment? Why not take Lundorf here and show
him what sort of exercise drill you’ve implemented.”
    “Yes, commander.” the Kislevite saluted and beckoned Lundorf, happy to escape.
    Van Delft watched the two men clamber down onto the main deck and cross to
the hatch. The two companies lined the gunwales on either side of them. The
Bretonnians, following Orbrant’s lead, were busily sharpening their weapons. The
Kislevites watched them with an idle interest.
    Van Delft studied the two groups thoughtfully.
    “I’ve been thinking about that campaign you mentioned against the orcs. The
duke that led it, he was called d’Artaud too, wasn’t he? Any relation?”
    “Oh, the count you mean. Yes, he was a third cousin. On my mother’s side.”
    “I suppose that he’d have been a knight, being a Bretonnian aristocrat and
all.”
    “Yes, he was,” Florin agreed.
    “Funny people, knights,” the commander mused. “Funny ideas about war. All
that chivalry. Give me a clear shot and a cannon any day. We have one of those
by the