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SHIANAN TUGGED AT HIS uniform, assuring himself there were no wrinkles. He felt for the buckle of his dress cape over his shoulder, checked that it was secure, and then went out to face the chaos.
The assembly yard was busy and loud, filled with laughter and shouts and milling soldiers. Captain Torg gave him a harried glance before turning back to a clot of men. Shouted orders rang through the yard as the captains and sergeants noted Shianan’s arrival and called for order. The men moved into their lines, but it seemed achingly slow. “Soldiers!” he barked at three men jesting about their scrubbed appearances as they moved. “Assemble!”
They jumped, looking startled, and Shianan took a breath, cautioning himself. It would be too easy to be harsher than necessary in his agitation, and that could lead to more trouble. Nothing could be permitted to go wrong this day.
But they were gathered now and silent in their ranks. Torg fell into his place beside Shianan. “They’re excited today, sir,” he said softly. “A little anxious, I think.”
Good man, Torg, to recognize it in both his men and his commander, and to warn without rebuke. Shianan was grateful for him. “I see. We’ll try to steady them. Where’s our advance?”
“Already out, sir, and watching for us.”
Shianan nodded. “Any word from the palace?”
“Not yet, sir, but it’s early.”
“Right. Well, let’s be ready. Presentation check.”
Torg averted his head slightly, so that he shouted away from the commander. “Presentation check!”
The sergeants along the ranks faced the troops. “Presentation check! See to your fellow. Is his uniform neat and clean? Is his sword in place? Is his helmet correct?”
The list went on, as each soldier reviewed the next in line. It was faster than requiring an officer to look over each of them, and the pressure kept them cleaner; a soldier who helped another correct a fault was lauded, while one who was later found in disarray brought consequences to both himself and to the one who had checked him.
“Horses!”
Shianan turned and saw the animals approaching. Behind him he heard appreciative sounds from the nearer soldiers.
The foremost horse tossed its head and danced sideways, tugging at its lead. The sun shone on its burnished bronze coat. Shianan felt a quiet awe himself. Beautiful creatures, Ariana had called them. So exotic. He moved to meet them.
General Septime strode toward the horses and Shianan as they converged in the open space before the front ranks. “Good morning, Philip,” he greeted the man standing alongside the horses. “Good morning, commander.”
Philip made a small bow to each of them. “My lords.”
“Which one is mine this year?”
“This one, my lord,” Philip answered, turning to the bronze horse. He reached to straighten its dark forelock, his sleeve shifting to reveal the narrow cuffs on his wrists. “Be still on him, as he’s young and excitable.”
Septime nodded uncertainly. “I’ll behave if he will.”
Two more joined them, and Philip and Shianan bowed respectfully. “My lords.”
Chancellor Washe nodded acknowledgment. “Good morning.” He looked at the horses. “They look good.”
“Thank you, my lord. I have the grey ready for you. And for you, my lord, the chestnut.”
Uilleam, Grand Chancellor of the Realm, nodded stiffly. Shianan supposed privately that the man did not appreciate this part of his office. General Kannan had flatly refused this year to ride, citing a troubling old injury.
Shianan would never decline such an opportunity.
Two slaves stood at the head of each horse. They would walk beside the animals, ready in case of accident and careful to protect the valuable horses from any mishap. Philip was a royal slave, charged with the royal horses. He was privileged, but he carried a great deal of responsibility.
Philip gave an order, and the slaves turned the horses, one holding each head while the other moved to the opposite side to steady the animals. Philip himself offered his hands for mounting, first to the Grand Chancellor, who stepped into the cupped hands with a grimace and heaved himself reluctantly onto the back of the red horse. The mare flicked her ears with annoyance.
Chancellor Washe mounted more smoothly and stroked the grey’s neck as he settled into the saddle. Shianan watched motionless as Septime stepped into Philip’s hands and onto the horse.
One day, he would ride a horse for the review, he vowed. One day, Ariana would see him on a horse.
“Sir.” A breathless soldier jogged to face Shianan and saluted, one arm across his chest.
“Yes?”
“The king and his counselors are ready, sir.”
Shianan nodded. “Thank you. Find your place.” He glanced at the mounted men. “With my lords’ permission?”
Septime nodded. “Go ahead, Becknam.”
The front rows of soldiers noted the runner’s arrival and fell still. The yard quieted as the effect rippled rearward. Shianan walked out to the center of the arrayed front line, feeling hundreds of expectant eyes on him. Nine hundred heads swiveled to follow his movement.
Shianan faced them. “Today we display ourselves to our king, demonstrating our strength to His Majesty, our people, and ourselves.” He paused, looking over the erect, attentive soldiers. He smiled. “Do it well.”
He turned and started back to his place. There was a brief moment of silence as the men waited for the rest of the speech, and then as they realized that was it, a cheer went up. Shianan allowed himself a grin as he reached Torg.
“Quick and neat, sir?” the captain asked cheerfully.
“A long speech is traditional, I suppose,” Shianan admitted, “but if there’s anything lacking, I can’t instruct them in a few minutes. And if they’ve learned it well, they won’t be improved by my lecturing.” He glanced back at the laughing soldiers. “They’re good men.”
“That they are, sir.” Torg straightened. “Ready?”
Shianan nodded. “Spears up.”
“Spears up!” shouted Torg, and the order was repeated down the ranks. The soldiers shifted into parade posture, their weapons displayed proudly. Shianan watched the three horses move out and then followed at a respectful distance. Torg marched on his right, a half step behind, and Captain Alanz on his left. Behind them the first ranks moved forward, an array of trained might.
Their path would take them from the assembly ground to the broad thoroughfare beneath the palace, where the royals could look down upon the army, past the Wheel of the Circle, and then out into Alham’s street, where the people could cheer and buy treats in a festival air.
Nobles, servants, merchants, and soldiers not included in the review flanked their path, calling cheers or jests. A few boys made taunts and then ran, secure in their belief that the soldiers would have forgotten them after completing their parade. They reappeared a moment later, emboldened by their success, and threw a small hail of pebbles.
“Alanz,” Shianan prompted.
“My pleasure, sir.” The captain stepped out of the line and started toward the boys, who yelped and bolted.
Shianan’s gut tightened as they approached the royal balcony, decorated with banners. His men were under orders to keep their eyes forward, but he could not resist the urge to roll his own upward, straining at their sockets, to see what he could of the king’s response.
They were all there—King Jerome, Queen Azalie, the two princes, flanked by solemn servants. Alasdair was pointing and saying something to the others over his shoulder. Shianan ignored him and tried to see the king, less visible behind the railing. He looked sober but pleased, Shianan guessed.
Alanz rejoined them. “Problem solved, sir.”
And then they were past the balcony and marching toward the Wheel. As they circled the round building, Shianan scanned the crowds for Ariana or her father. They should have been easy to pick out, but there seemed to be black and white everywhere that he looked.
Now he could see the advance soldiers a short distance ahead, clearing the streets of over-excited children and indifferent vendors. Beyond them, the gates opened to Alham itself and packed streets of people glad of an excuse for festivity.
Septime’s horse leapt to one side, startled by something, but the two slaves quickly brought him back to a prancing trot. The horses rarely saw real battle, of course, though in war the highest officers might have a horse for rapid movement behind the lines, but they made a good image for the people.
They passed through the gate and into the loud streets. The waving crowd alarmed the horses, but the slaves were skilled and kept them under soothed control. Shianan allowed himself a smile. These were the ones they worked to protect, these people who trusted the king and the mages and the soldiers to keep them safe from Ryuven and invaders. Even the boys who threw stones—all of them, he served them.
The parade marched on, and Shianan relaxed. They had looked good before the king, he thought. It had gone well. Now they had only the public sparring this afternoon, and he trusted that would go smoothly.
There! Ewan and Ariana Hazelrig, dressed in their mages’ robes and waving and cheering from the side of the street. They gave Shianan broad smiles. He felt himself grin in return, and it didn’t fade as he passed them.
The parade march ended without incident back at the assembly ground. Septime and the chancellors dismounted, and the horses were led safely away. Septime came to stand beside Shianan, who straightened. “Sir?”
The general glanced at the departing chancellors. “How’d we look?”
“Very good, sir, I think.”
“I hope so.” Septime looked over the ranks of waiting men, still at attention. “Any reason we can’t release them?”
“None, sir. They’ve earned it.”
“Then we’ll see them in two hours.” He gave Shianan a significant look. “Make sure you eat something this year.”
“Yes, sir.”
Septime departed, and Torg frowned at Shianan. “You missed a meal last year?”
“I was busy,” muttered Shianan. “I didn’t have time to eat. I ended up beside the general during the sparring, with him and me both listening to my stomach rumbling.”
Torg suppressed a smile. Shianan returned a tight smile of his own and turned back to the soldiers. He had indeed been busy last year. He’d also been too nervous to eat. He cleared his throat. “Men dismissed.”
Torg relayed the order, and the released soldiers began to disperse. Shianan sighed with relief. Good so far, and he thought the selected men would perform well in the sparring. He could perhaps eat something after all.
He didn’t pause long, though, simply taking a meat pie to nibble as he went to the exhibition site. He checked the posted matches, confirming all he’d chosen were listed. But then he saw his own name at the base of the sheet.
He turned abruptly and nearly collided with Septime. “Sir! I was just on my way to find—”
“Is it about your participation?” The general glanced toward the list. “You were specially requested, Becknam. You do have something of a reputation.”
Shianan hesitated, surprised. “Requested?”
“Defend us well, Becknam.” Septime smiled and moved on.
Shianan hadn’t planned to fight, but it was no great hardship. He could acquit himself well against the others in the list. But who had requested his inclusion in the demonstration?