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"Camael," I said, relaxing. "Most likely."

"Camael. Aye, that was it." He nodded again, then punched me in the face.

It hurt like fury. He'd caught me high on the left cheekbone with his gauntleted fist, knocking me clean off my feet. I felt the ground break my fall and rolled backward, grabbing instinctively for my daggers. There was no room to draw a sword, but room enough for those. I came up hissing, half-blinded, my left eye watering, daggers in both hands.

Gallus Tadius regarded me, hands on his hips. "See, here's the thing, lad. If we're going to beat these pox-ridden Valpetran sons of whores, we're going to have to stand shoulder to shoulder, shield to shield. Every man knows his duty. Every man counts on the fellow beside him to know his. That's what keeps you alive on the battlefield. That's what it means to be an army. I don't know who the hell taught you, but this is war, not a gladiator's arena. You go twirling around like a high-priced whore on an acrobat's stage, you're like to get your fellows killed. Understand?"

I didn't want to, but I did.

"Yes," I grated.

"Good." He jerked his chin at the waiting conscripts. "Next!"

One by one, Gallus Tadius tested the remainder of our company. And when he had done, he arranged us into pairs according to our levels of skill and set us to sparring. He appointed Eamonn to lead our squadron.

"Teach 'em the basics, Prince Barbarus," he said. "That's all I ask. You'll drill here, every day, until you receive further orders. You've got an hour till the next batch comes. Make good use of it."

He mounted his horse and made to leave.

"My lord!" I called after him. Gallus looked over his shoulder. "It's bad luck to dishonor a wager."

He stared at me for a long moment. One corner of his mouth curved with the hint of a smile, and he shook his head. Unexpectedly,

I found myself grinning. Without a word, Gallus Tadius rode away, still shaking his head.

My sparring partner was a young man named Orfeo. He seemed familiar, with a narrow face with wide eyes that gave him a curious, bird-like look. I'd watched his bout and seen enough to guess that someone had taught him the rudiments of swordplay, but whatever he'd learned, he'd forgotten for lack of practice.

"My brother, Giancarlo," he confirmed. "He taught me some before he left."

"Left?" I asked.

He nodded. "To seek his fortune with a mercenary company."

I remembered where I'd seen him. "You were a friend of Bartolomeo's."

"Yes." Orfeo's narrow face darkened. "They cut him down like a dog in the street! I hope they do invade," he said savagely. "I mean to get revenge for him." He paused. "Can you teach me to fight like you do?"

I explored the tender knot rising on my left cheekbone. "Not likely."

We spent the hour sparring. It was difficult. Ti-Philippe had taught me to fight in the conventional manner with sword and shield, but I'd spent so many long hours training with Joscelin. Out of practice though I was, the body remembers. And too, I was fighting without a shield. I tried to keep to a straightforward approach, but without intending it, I'd find my feet moving in familiar patterns, circles within circles, marking and blocking the quadrants with my blade. And Orfeo tried to emulate me, spinning awkwardly, leaving himself horribly open. He had a round buckler, but only a leather jerkin like mine, and I was fearful of injuring him by accident.

Eamonn took his charge seriously. After demonstrating the proper usage of our weapons, he strolled around, watching us all, offering corrections and advice. After a few passes, he returned with a second buckler, having come to some arrangement with one of the other conscripts.

"Here." He handed it to me, his face serious. "Gallus Tadius is right, Imri. At least in this matter."

I shoved my left arm through the arm strap and flexed my hand around the smooth grip. "I know, I know." I tested the shield's heft. It felt cumbersome, but I supposed I'd get used to it. "You're good at this."