21 - Old Friends and New Blood

  Clang.

  The sound rang out, sharp and rhythmic, metal striking wood with enough force to make the newcomers flinch. Another clang followed, then another. The training yard behind the tower echoed with each new clash, following a relentless tempo that hadn’t slowed for the better part of an hour.

  “Ha!” cried the knights under Bran’s command.

  “Strike! Block! Counter!” the sergeant called out, each quiet command carrying the weight of Garrick’s lingering fury.

  Each strike came in perfect time, each block swift and immediate. Like a dancer’s troupe, they moved in perfected synchronicity and with fluid grace. Garrick watched them from the top of the slope, arms folded. The grit, precision and ruthless finesse each of his men showed had been forged through years of bloodshed and training. They had worked hard and fought even harder. More importantly, they knew each other. Garrick’s trust in them was implicit.

  But there they were. Two new knight units. Garrick frowned, brow furrowed. They stood in formation…mostly. A few shifted in place, watching the drill yard with growing uncertainty. Their uniforms, newly issued with the blues of the Second Order, looked too clean, too perfect.

  “His majesty sends his regards,” Lyndon said, nodding.

  Garrick only grunted. Considering he’d only seen his majesty less than an hour ago, he surmised Fenric had this move planned long before his discussion in the study.

  Sneaky bastard.

  A twitch upward at the corner of this mouth had him turned away in an instant. He grumbled instead, voice gruff.

  “How many?” he asked, holding out his hand.

  “About forty four, plus six officers. And three assistants who will largely be supporting the administration side of things between ourselves and the quartermaster,” Lyndon reported, handing over the paperwork.

  Garrick nodded as he flipped through pages of documents. Lyndon waited patiently, adjusting his spectacles. This had been a habit of his as long as Garrick had known him. That and cleanliness. Lyndon’s own uniform, newly commissioned like the others, also looked clean and perfect, but unlike the others that was not liable to change.

  “It’s like the earth itself is afraid to touch you,” Garrick murmured.

  “Sorry, high commander. I didn’t quite catch that?” Lyndon asked, tilting his head.

  “Nevermind,” Garrick said. “It looks good. Fine.”

  He handed back the papers and then stood again looking out at men.

  New bloods. He dreaded that more than anything. As he rubbed the medallion again between his thumb and forefinger, he couldn’t help but feel nervous. Rhodney would have thought this was a good idea, but then, he and Garrick often got into fights about this. The exclusivity of the Second Order had always been a shield to Garrick. A sword, too, carefully honed and sharpened.

  “Elites get old. Train the young while you can,” Rhodney said once.

  It would have been easier if he were here to help, though.

  Lyndon glanced at the way Garrick played with the medallion, expression impassive. The new knight commander paused, mouth opened a fraction. But before he could say a word, Riven appeared. The medallion quickly disappeared into Garrick’s pocket before the high commander turned to acknowledge his salute.

  “Thank you for being here,” Garrick said apologetically. “I’m sorry to rouse you from your sleep.”

  “For this, sir, I’d go a week without sleep,” Riven admitted.

  Garrick nodded reluctantly. He noted Riven’s squared shoulders, the quiet shine in his eyes. Riven was relieved. Of course. Reinforcements were something he desperately needed to get the Second Order properly working. It was one thing running missions that required skill and precision on the battlefield, but quite another when faced with the prospect of guarding a national secret and maintaining a constant state of awareness and upholding skill.

  Garrick’s dread eased a little. Right. This wasn’t just about him.

  Feeling a little better, Garrick turned and gestured to Lyndon.

  “Captain Riven Hawthorne, meet the Second Order’s knight commander on loan - Josiah Lyndon.”

  “Sir,” Riven said, saluting again.

  “At ease,” Lyndon said easily. “Let me introduce you to your counterparts.”

  He turned and gestured quietly at the formation of newcomers. Two stepped out of line and approached the gathering group of officers on the slope.

  “This is Captain Tamsin Roe and Captain Halver Creed,” Lyndon introduced.

  Tamsin nodded to Riven, expression cool, but next to her Creed looked absolutely pale.

  “It’s an honor, sir,” he stammered, boots shifting. “You may not remember me, but we ran the mission alongside the Second Order in the canyon in Torvverun. Your command skills were nothing short of genius.”

  Riven smiled grimly and shook Halver’s hand.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “I’m sorry, I barely remember Torvverun,” he admitted.

  Then he turned to shake Tamsin’s hand. She smiled more easily, her eyes wrinkling at the corners.

  “You’ll have to forgive him,” she said. “Doesn’t quite know how to speak to his heroes.”

  Halver burned crimson as Riven chuckled. “We’re all just soldiers here. Welcome to the Second.”

  “I hear you’ve been taking care of the order alongside Garrick,” Lyndon interjected. “I do ask that you allow us to pester you with questions as we learn to navigate the new waters.”

  “Something tells me I should charge coin,” Riven said, eyes narrowing.

  Lyndon chuckled. Then, all five of them turned back to the training grounds.

  “You drill them rather hard,” Tamsin said. “I know your methods are sound, and I don’t mean to question your training. You’ve produced quite the reputable knight order. But I’m afraid the newcomers might not be able to handle the same level of expectation.”

  Garrick and Riven exchanged quiet glances.

  “It is not always as difficult, Captain Roe,” Riven explained. “There were…mistakes made. We are rectifying them.”

  The two captains glanced at each other, a quiet understanding settling in their eyes as they nodded. Lyndon for his part made a small note on a slate board he carried in the crook of his arm, his charcoal pencil scratching the surface softly. Below, Bran’s squad had just executed a full round of shield-pivot drills and broken clean into partner rotation. Alright, that was enough. Garrick raised a hand. Bran’s watchful eye immediately caught it.

  “Second Order, halt!” he cried.

  The clangs immediately ceased in an instant. The knights’ fists slammed against their chests in the Adernian salute before falling straight to their sides at attention. Sweat gleamed on their foreheads and exposed arms and their chests rose and fell in a deep steady rhythm.

  “God. They’re barely winded,” Lyndon whispered, a small chuckle escaping his lips.

  His admiration was obvious.

  Garrick barely glanced at him before stepping forward and addressing the knights. His chest still felt a little full, but all he needed to do was remember Riven’s relief. He would make an effort here.

  “At ease,” he commanded his men.

  They relaxed into the parade ground posture. Garrick nodded to them before turning to the newcomers.

  “Welcome to the Second Order,” he said. “You have no doubt heard the legends. Only half of them are half true, and the others mostly likely contrived at the bottom of a half-drunk barrel.”

  Several nervous chuckles sounded from the new knights. Their shoulders began to ease somewhat, though they maintained their parade-ground etiquette perfectly. Garrick noted this with approval - Lyndon always did have a good eye for men. His own shoulders relaxed.

  “I won’t stand on ceremony too long. I hate speeches. I trust I don’t have to spell out why you’re here,” Garrick continued. “There is only one thing all of you need to know - the only reason any of us are here right now is for Adern. Let that fact be the lens through which your judgement is colored. Nothing else.”

  He turned and gestured to Lyndon, who stepped up beside Garrick with a ready smile as he adjusted his spectacles once more.

  “Sir Thomas Lyndon has just been appointed our new Knight Commander. I trust you are all familiar with his reputation.”

  Thud. A salute.

  “Commander!” the courtyard shook with the weight of their shouting.

  Lyndon returned the salute, a smile lingering on his lips. It was that same cat-got-the-milk smile Veylan liked to give on occasion when he was especially pleased.

  “There will be changes,” Garrick continued. “And as my men know, I handle change about as well as a drowning fish.”

  A few more chuckles.

  “Things will shift. I ask all of you to be patient while the changes occur. Sleep will be lost, training will be brutal. You are now part of the Second Order, and with that carry some weight. Your names will constantly be a curse upon the tongues of our enemies. I demand that you act like it.”

  He paused, glancing out over the number of men now standing perfectly still before him. He liked the resolve in their eyes.

  “You have until after noon on the second bell to settle down, relieve yourself of your armor, and familiarize yourself with the interior of the tower. Sir Bran, in lieu of the rest of training, please organize escorts and tours. Uniforms only while off duty. Welcome to the Second Order,” he finished. “Dismissed.”

  Bran turned to his men, voice gruff. “Alright, you sorry excuses for good men. Let’s split up and help these poor bastards figure out which end of the tower holds the privy.”

  “Yes, sir!” came the resounding reply.

  Then, a beat later, a voice rose from the back.

  “Permission to put sir Merrick with the greenies, sergeant?”

  Bran didn’t even blink. “Considering he got lost in his own barracks this morning, granted.”

  A few quiet chuckles rose from both the new knight units and the veterans of the Second Order, Merrick among them. They were subdued but genuine, the tension bleeding off like steam

  As they dispersed, Garrick immediately turned to Lyndon.

  “We should restructure the units,” he said quickly. “Disperse the old unit and divide up the veterans among the new units to build familiarity.”

  “Of course,” Lyndon nodded.

  “Someone ought to let them know where to go,” Garrick said, nodding to the three assistants who lingered near the base of the tower, papers and slates in hand.

  “I can show them to their workplaces,” Riven offered.

  “And we should wait until the monster is stable before we begin rotating the newcomers through. I don’t want any surprises.”

  Lyndon and Riven exchanged a glance. Riven shrugged and gestured.

  “High Commander Voss,” Lyndon said, slowly but firmly.

  Garrick stopped.

  “This is why you recruited me,” Lyndon said. “I shall take care of the daily upkeep and small matters that arise. That includes the integration of the new knights and their roles. With Captain Hawthorne’s help, I am confident we will manage just fine.”

  “I’ll be right here until they get it right, sir,” Riven said.

  Though his words were far less elegant than Lyndon’s prose, Riven’s short reassurance eased Garrick more. He realized with a start that he was doing it again - the very thing that got them into this mess in the first place. He nodded, took a deep breath.

  “Alright,” he said, quieter now. “I trust you.”

  Lyndon nodded, satisfied. “You’ve done more than enough this morning, High Commander. Perhaps it’s time to take that rare advice you give to others and rest. I understand your wife hasn’t seen you in a few nights.”

  Garrick huffed softly through his nose. “Lady Voss would much rather have me out of the house right now than in.”

  Riven gave him a sidelong glance.

  “She says I’m brooding too much,” the high commander admitted.

  Riven mumbled good naturedly, “What’s new?”

  But Garrick didn’t rise to it. Instead, his gaze drifted towards the tower. This wasn’t fully resolved. Not yet.

  “There’s somewhere else I think I need to be,” he said.

  Lyndon nodded respectfully and stepped back. “Then go. We’ll handle the rest from here.”

  Garrick offered a final grunt of thanks before moving toward the tower, his stride steady despite the growing weight in his chest. Indeed, there was one more place he needed to go - one last debt to pay for the cost of his pride.