"It's my own Wings that I want," Galbrey said, hanging the sword upon the training rack. "Gan holds no aspirations, he says, but I know how much he wants it too. He just doesn't want the governor to know. Who wouldn't want to be part of the spearhead? Since I could remember, I've listened to the stories of all the legends of the Wings."
Delger rested his hands upon the hilt of his own practice sword. "Do you or your brother know our history? Of how we came to be?"
Galbrey knew only of the tales he heard as a boy, but was too embarrassed to recite any ignorant childhood stories of the Winged Spears to their captain.
"Given the chance, I choose not to uncloak our past from the shroud of its own legends," Delger said. "I remain ever fond of the legends, and I much prefer listening to them grow like a wild flower each time each blossom-eyed boy reveals his version of the stories. Aye, there is much lore and legend with our order. Truth be told, a form of the Winged Spears dates back much further than you fathom, back before the Republic. We go back to the time of the ancient Empire of Arkromenyon. When Arkromenyon fell to ruin, the lands were ravaged by barbarians and godless savages. The armies had succumbed to disarray. We were descendants of Old Menathinion, not of Arkromenyon, so for blood ties we had none with the Empire. The Empire's soldiers would leave us to die. Our ancestors were left to fend for themselves. Piggers, tillers and cobblers, the lot of them. What did this lot know about war, about the clash of steel upon steel, or the curdling sounds of battle when the hot blooded barbarians crossed the Queensgate into these fields?
"It must have been horrible. There were no canyons or rivers of fire then, just deep green earth. And a long age of terror. How long? We really don't know, for not much of it is written. What we do know is that a group of piggers, tillers and cobblers formed their own regiment, fashioned themselves teeth in the form of spears, mounted their mules and by the Fargod they managed to bite back and push the hot blood of the barbarians back to the veins of the west. The legend tells us that while the barbarians had their armor of raw hide and burnished scale, the Old Menathinions made their coats out of gathered goosefeathers. Perhaps they thought it would make them fly, who knows? Can you imagine how they did this? I can't. With all the graces given to me, hand me now that ancient lot of laborers and I wouldn't know how to ward off a cold. But they did it. And this lot, goosefeathers and all, protected these fields from the barbarians from any further pillaging."
"But Arkromenyon fell over two thousand years ago," Galbrey said.
"Aye," Delger nodded. "Our roots are old, but our formal order is not quite that old. It wasn't until later when Germaint's cavalry won us our independence that he gave birth to the Winged Spears again. He fashioned his cavalry with goosefeathers made of scoured steel and thought the notion of the Winged Spears were authentic to us, and we would rally behind that idea. It's been the King's cavalry ever since."
"I want to be part of that history, Captain," Galbrey said. "I want to earn it. I'm sure you wouldn't have it any other way. I know the stories of Germaint's warhorses and of Edryd's spearhead in the Battle of the Boiling River during the Second Conquest. Here in New Hearth we're so far away from the Gildemanse. But the Winged Spears give me pride as an Aredunian, and I want to be a part of that order to give others that same pride."
"It is not pride that drives us, it is loyalty. And loyalty is just about all we have left to keep us going," Delger said. "It is such a different time than from when Edryd sat in the Gildemanse. They were the Kings of Old then, when people rallied behind these war heroes and it was a great honor to live a life of service. We have our King now, our Golden Padrig. Bless the king but he is just a boy with the weight of our wretched Republic on his young shoulders. These days we scrap together what we can, and try not to lose any Wings to the governors. We certainly can't pay them as well. So if you want to claim a spot in our spearhead, better your riding until it matches your swordplay, learn the lance and we will have a lane for you and your brother. We shall speak when we return to the Gildemanse."
Delger patted Galbrey's arm and inspected the soldiers' forms as he walked through the practice yard. He walked out to the field where a dozen coursers were tied to a hitching post and pages were grooming the horses.
He entered the stables where there was a lone gray and white spotted palfrey. He rubbed his hands across her mane, and over the scar across her flank.
"She seems to be healing well physically, sir," said the page who was caring for the mare. "She still gets nervous around other horses."
"Her master hasn't come to visit her in a while," Delger said. He touched her cheek. "I am sorry that I could not save your master from his fate, but I am blessed you're still with us."
"Whose horse was she, sir?"
Delger fed the mare some oats. "The greatest warrior of our time. Taken and tortured by those who dwell in the forest by the borders. These cruel forest dwellers…they returned him to us in pieces. She feels guilt because she couldn't enter the forest with him, to protect him. She fell when her master had just begun to enter the forest. An arrow cut into her side and she collapsed at the edge of the forest, so she could not continue. But for him, he had to continue. Someone he loved lived in the forest. And that is the last she saw of him. She feels like she failed her master, which is why she is not ready to bear her shame around the other horses."
"How do you know what a horse feels?" the page asked.
"Even a war horse gets scared," Delger said. "For generations they scurried this earth as prey animals, so their instinct is to always fear us. When they connect with a rider, it is a deep bond that buries all insecurities for both man and beast. We know how they feel just as they know how we feel. Be easy with her, lad. This girl has been many places with her master. Beyond these walls there's plenty of war left for us, but none left for her."
Delger left the stables and walked past the soldiers training. The training grounds were on the edge of the city walls. He saw a man on top of the watchtower waving to him, and he waved back. He climbed the watchtower until reached the top, where Gerhart the castellan was waiting for him. Beside him was a spotter, a young man peering through a looking glass into the forest.
"I can't tell if there is activity in the forest," Gerhart said when he saw the captain. "Jerimias swore by the Fargod he saw the trees rustle. Is it still your will to leave New Hearth and return to the Gildemanse?"
"In two days, yes."
"You know I would prefer you here, but I understand your call to duty is more hardened than any steel I could forge," Gerhart said. "Here at the other edge of that steel is our backside of the kingdom. We are often alone. Kienne is mired in politics just as bad as ours and alas will send no aid. We haven't spoken to the Soot in ten years. Our own governors would neglect the rotting of their own left hands if it meant strengthening their right. Your presence these last few months have changed that for us."
"I know Aredun, sir. I am not so sure if anything has changed. You will be fine."
"I always meant to talk to you about what happened," Gerhart said. "About the incident in the Purged Forest. Now that you're leaving I might as well say it. It's not your fault. You did what your duty allowed you."
"Duty is the coward's excuse," Delger said. "I did what I could and it was still not enough."
Gerhart patted the spotter on the back. He motioned to Delger and they descended the long spiral stairs of the tower. "Do you have any children, Captain?"
"I have a son," Delger responded.
"I have three daughters," Gerhart said. "Two of them are married. One of them has even given me two grandchildren. The fattest babies I ever saw. But my oldest daughter is still not married. I swear if I can't find a husband for her she will find herself to be a spinster."
They walked out to the courtyard. "You see Captain, I do what I can, and I know it is enough because I do it for my daughters. I don't mean to offer advice, but it's coming. Do what you can, not for yourself or your country. Do it for your son."
Delger nodded and shook the castellan's hand. When they released hands, the tower horn sounded. Something had emerged from the forest.