The men returned an hour later, decked out in their new uniforms. Many men carried the standard longswords and carbines but some decided to opt for the more exotic weapons. He saw one of the men carrying a short-staff, bladed on both ends. Those were the ceremonial weapons of the North Peak warrior monks. A deadly weapon, if you could wield it properly. Another had one of the new repeater rifles. The men in the foundries had discovered a way to pack gears into the firing mechanism to make it load itself. Rook's eyes searched for Elle, when he found her he barely recognized her. In the uniform and heavy cloak she looked just like any other boy. It was just the soft features of her face that gave her away. She had found a new hat, Rook noted. A woollen winter cap favoured by the brushmen from the north. She had her dagger in her belt but had taken a sabre and a pistol from the armoury. She took her place along side the men. She didn't even look out of place.
The men all looked proper in their leather jackets and heavy cloaks. The clean clothes and shiny new equipment made them look very official. Too bad all of them would look haggard after the mission. Trekking through the woods was not easy on clothing.
Rook drew his machete from its sheathe on his back. He examined it and traced the carvings on the bottom of the blade. Ichor, god's blood. They were barely visible with the black finish but Rook knew they were there. And that's all that mattered. The blade was an artefact from when the Empire fought the Daens. The Daenish warriors nearly sacked the Capital fighting with their machetes. The blade was a gift from Rook's grandfather, who had served in the war. He had taken the blade off of a Daenish captain he had killed. Only the officers were granted black blades. Rook left his memories and looked back up at the men.
With his machete in hand he walked up to a man carrying a longsword. He assumed a ready stance in front of him. The man looked confused.
"Fight him you dolt!" Yelled Tucker.
The man came to his sense and swung the blade at Rook. He turned the blow and put the man off balance, sending him staggering forward.
"You can't always make a hit connect but keep your footing so you can follow up with another strike quickly," Rook said, helping the man regain his balance.
Rook walked over to a man brandishing a war hammer.
"Take your best shot," He said tauntingly.
"But . . . sir, you don't have a shield or armour," The man said, slightly perplexed.
"It doesn't matter," Rook said.
The man nodded uneasily but still took a swing at Rook. It was a massive downward arc but Rook easily sidestepped. He tapped the man on the back with his blade.
"Don't let your enemy get around you by swinging in easier to manage arcs or by predicting their movement," Rook said, patting the man on the shoulder.
"Stop showing off Rook, let us have a chance to kick their arses!" Tucker boomed, laughing.
Rook stepped back from the men and let his officers begin drilling. He occasionally stepped in to offer advice or to spar. He like to learn his men, their strengths and weaknesses, so he could use them more efficiently.
The men trained until it was nearly sunset.
"Go get something to eat at the mess hall, then get some shut eye. Tomorrow is gonna be even harder," Tucker announced to the men.
Rook watched as they marched off, nursing bruises and grumbling.
YOU ARE READING
The Hand
Fantasy"It has a firm grip and is attached to a very long arm," - An old saying of soldiers from The Hand. Rook only ever wanted to be a Lawkeeper, but when the rebellion started he quickly became a soldier. Follow him and his men on their adventure to end...
