Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

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weight of armor on; her knees felt as if they had sand in them.
"I am Centurion Shkai'ra Mek Kermak's-kin," she told them. "I command this troop. Decurion
Bukangkt is provisional second."And I'm provisional Centurion, but let's not get fancy . "This is
Squire Sova Shkai'ra's-daughter Far-Traveller, my aide. Further appointments will be made according to
merit." The pony pranced, feeling Sova shift at her new use-name. Well, it fit as well as
"Can't-take-your-eyes-off-her-for-a-moment" or "Disobedient Little Bitch."
She scanned the line. "At present, all you have is an appointment with the corpse-robbers!" She let the
words sink in. "This is the most undisciplined, shabby, ill-assorted, uncoordinated excuse for a cavalry
troop it's ever been my misfortune to see, let alone try to command! Steel Spirit weep, the thought of
leading you up against Arkan regulars, I don't know whether to laugh, puke, or run!" She hammered a fist
on her saddlebow. "Youwill keep up with line of march, and you will drill at maneuver every
minute of it . You will take care of your horses before your gear, and your gear before yourselves; you
will make a camp the Demarchic Guard would be proud of, and then you will do weapons-drill until you
drop, and then, maybe, you can eat and sleep."
She let her scowl relax into a smile. "And when we meet the Arkans, we will kick their well-reamed
assholes so hard their teeth march off to Kurkas like little wooden soldiers on parade, and we will skin
them of loot right down to their bones."
"Mount!" That wiped out the grins. She drew her sword and took the file-leader's position, forward and
to the right. "Form column of squads, from the left. Walk-march,trot ."
Zaik saw them try. Zaik wept, or maybe laughed. She sighed, and hoped the next battle would be
delayed a long, long time.
I'm never going to be done riding stupid horses, Megan thought sourly. Shkai'ra and Sova were off
doing what cavalry did; Megan kept an eye as well as her rear on the revolting creature she was riding,
while mentally reviewing the technique for using a wire garrote. She'd learned it quite a while ago and
hadn't had much occasion to use one since.Learn the flip/snap till you can do it falling on someone,
Megan , her old master had said,since you're not likely to be able to reach up to a naZak's neck
anyway . So true, that had turned out to be. She'd brought one in her collar, thinking she might need it.
The dust cloud was broadening; trot, walk, trot now rather than just walk.
She was near the head of the main column; far ahead was the vanguard, then a long stretch of open road
curving slightly through rolling hills, then the mounted Elite Demarchic Guard at the head of the main
column, under the great standard of Yeola-e, green mountains, blue sky with seven stars.And I, here
with the odds and sods, as Shkai'ra would say , Megan thought sourly, all the bits and pieces attached
to headquarters. Behind them the Aniah marching on foot, double-bitted axes over their shoulders;
behindthat , the endless column of troops and baggage.
The countryside around them was strange, hotly alien to F'talezonian eyes: terraced hills with vineyards,
olives, apricot trees, oranges, figs, strips of yellowing barley and wheat. The stone cottages were
deserted, no movement off across the hills except an occasional dust-cloud or twinkle of steel from the
outriders. A manor house on a hill was burning, sending a dun club of black smoke and sparks up into
the air. The road lanced across the hills, massive cuttings and embankments; there were poplars along
either side, and the passing strips of shade were more than welcome. Megan took a sip of lukewarm
canvas-tasting water from her canteen and spat.