Reign of Shadows - Deborah Chester [2]
Caelan drew in a slow breath of wonder. It must be the entire eastern force—three legions at least, perhaps more. Eighteen thousand fighting men and their officers. A force larger than the town population of nearby Meunch. Staring at the sight, Caelan’s spirits slowly sank. Was the war over? As long as he could remember, his dream had been to join up and become a warrior in the service of the emperor. Right now the war involved fighting off the heathen Madruns who were overrunning the eastern borders of the empire.
Caelan’s fists clenched on the wall. The war just had to last until he could be a part of it.
But it couldn’t be over. The bells would be ringing if there had been victory. And the standard-bearers on horseback still carried banners and legion emblems, so there hadn’t been a defeat. These men must have been replaced with fresher troops, although none had marched east on this road.
Still, to see an entire army—even a small one—real and entire ... Caelan leaned out farther over the edge of the wall, absorbing every detail of these men who were his heroes.
Silent and grim, the veterans looked battle-worn and tired. They trudged along, crusted with mud and frost. Some of them wore bloody bandages, but not many. He knew army regulations separated wounded men from sound troops.
All the foot soldiers wore winter-rusted mail and tattered cloaks. Few were clean-shaven. Besides the long spears, they were armed with two standard army daggers each—barbed blades that were nearly as long as Caelan’s arm. A regiment of archers passed by next, clad in tunics of imperial red and winter fur leggings. These men were tall and mostly blond. Their longbows were slung over their shoulders, and each man carried four quivers.
Officers and cavalry, however, were the most flamboyant. They wore polished armor breastplates beneath their red cloaks and had leopard skin saddlecloths. Booted and spurred, with mail leggings and armored knee and elbow protectors fitted with wicked spikes, they wore mail cowls, and their helmets dangled on straps from their saddles. Their curved swords had crooked hilts for one-handed fighting. War axes and spiked clubs also hung from their belts. Their massive war chargers—also armored—made ordinary horses look like mere ponies.
The hoofbeats of the trotting chargers on the stone road rumbled like constant thunder, a glorious sound that made Caelan’s heart beat faster.
At that moment he would have given anything to go with them.
“Caelan! Here you are.”
Startled, Caelan slid off the wall and turned around.
For a split second he saw only the long robe of a disciple, and with disgust he knew he was in for more demerits. Then the boy stepped out of shadow.
Caelan let out his breath in relief. “Oh, it’s you. Well met, Cousin Agel.”
Black-haired and blue-eyed, Agel was a slim, handsome boy who always looked neat and well dressed. Unlike Caelan, he never slept in his robe. He never used it to dust his room. He never knotted up stolen apples and cheese in it, using it as a makeshift haversack on outings.
Agel was townbred, unlike Caelan who had grown up in a country hold. His father was a merchant and a wealthy man. As a result Agel possessed a level of sophistication Caelan had always envied. Agel was poised and well mannered around adults, who thought him incapable of the pranks he could think up. When he laughed, he had a pair of dimples and a charming twinkle in his eye. He could sweet- talk any cook into slipping him extra food for a growing boy.
But right now as he stood there with his fists on his hips, he wore a frown instead of a smile. “Are you deaf tonight?” he asked. “The Quarl Bell has rung.”
Disappointment crashed into Caelan. He thought Agel had come to share this moment with him like old times.
“Did you hear the bell?”
“Yes,” Caelan said with a shrug. “What of it?”
Agel blinked. “You know very well—”
“Careful! You’d better run for hall before you get a mark and spoil your perfect record.”
Agel’s frown deepened. “I was upstairs in the