Chapter No. 6 Ex unitate vires

And my wrath shall wax hot, and I will kill you with the sword; and your wives shall be widows, and your children fatherless.

The clanging of swords, the slapping of leather, and the grunting of men: these are the sounds that Morton likes to hear in the morning. He relishes standing on a platform above the main weapons training field and choreographing the actions of men as if he were a director of an epic play. It makes him feel like a general instead of the master weapons trainer for a ragtag band of rebels known as the Army of Light.

That's what they call themselves, this loose association of rebel knights and men-at-arms who collectively hate an evil Empire that has ruled over this land for over a thousand years. They're a diverse group of victims dedicated to exacting revenge for the many sins committed against them and their families. The problem with exacting revenge is that it's expensive and requires a lot of sweat. Tedious backbreaking training is the only way to forge an effective army.

The training area is a cacophony of both sound and motion. Men in pairs practice swordsmanship. Some attired in armor hone their jousting skills. Still others engage in archery practice. The discordant sounds of metal and leather, the cursing and yelling, the gritty dust, and the vigorous action are heartwarming to Morton.

He had been a knight of mystical fame, a great warrior who knew no match. Age had relegated him to a training role, but he felt down deep that he could still defeat any man in the Imperial Army.

Age had also relegated his hair to a snow-white cap of stringy hay. Underneath this badge of maturity, his face showed scars of battle and he had a noticeable limp, the result of a hideous wound. Despite this, he still had the strength and stamina of men half his age, a fact of life that earned him begrudging respect.

Morton climbed down from his imperious perch and swaggered over to a handsome young man with curly golden locks who was attempting to learn the finer aspects of swordplay.

"Here, here, young man," he shouted. "You're doing that all wrong." He took the young man's sword and swung it around to demonstrate. "You always set aside to the outside so that you can counter attack with a thrust inside. You're leaving yourself open to grappling of your weapon. If your opponent restrains your weapon you may suffer a pommel to the face."

The young man frowned but he said nothing.

Morton handed the sword back to him. "Here, you try it."

The young man and his sparring partner continued their mock battle.

"Now you're getting it," Morton said, adding an encouraging smile.

His smile turned to a frown. "You must try to avoid slashes from your opponent by moving inside instead of blocking with your sword. You want to upset him before he does it to you."

The young man gave his instructor a dismayed look before returning to the swordsmanship practice.

"All I see you trying is cuts," Morton said. "Thrusts are more effective against an opponent in armor."

He walked over and grabbed the young man's sword. "Here, let me show you a trick. It's called the half-sword technique. You grip the blade and use the weapon to thrust and block."
He demonstrated a thrust. "This is very effective against armor. You use the sword as if it were a spear."

He gripped the sword blade half way up and turned it so that the hilt was toward the opponent. He showed how to thrust the pommel end and use it as a hammer. "This is called the murder thrust. It works well when delivered to the head of your opponent."

He handed the sword back and gave the young man a smug look. He got a hard look in return, but it didn't faze him. He was used to brash young men who thought they knew everything there was about individual combat.

Hilton hated being singled out for correction by the master weapons trainer. Because he was the supreme commander's son, it earned him the scurrilous derision of his fellow trainees, and he hated being taunted. He just wasn't as strong or coordinated as most other men, but he made up for it by trying harder. In a world full of machismo men fascinated with the marshal arts, trying provided little purchase. In such a world, actions speak louder than bravado. Hilton would just have to exceed himself if he hoped to have any chance of success. 

When Morton walked back to his platform, a tall man dressed in black approached him. Strolling with a steady gate, the willowy figure was thin, but his height commanded respect. He had deep penetrating eyes and thin lips, but his short black beard was well peppered with gray.

"How goes it?" the man in black asked in a low gravely voice.

"Your son has not inherited your warrior skills, my lord."

Paladin stroked his beard. "I fear that you are accurate in your judgment. He tries, but he lacks the natural abilities of a true warrior."

"His perceived failure to be of value to the cause is frustrating him. Perhaps, he would be more effective as an archer."

"You may be right," Paladin said. "But, he will not accept the demotion gracefully. Perhaps, an assignment would help in building his confidence."

Morton scratched his short scraggly white beard. "What sort of assignment?"

"We have need of information on the royals. Why not have him spend a few days in Terra."

"The Terrin city is a dangerous place, my lord."

Paladin gave him a rare smile, a curl of the right side of his mouth. "There is little of this despicable Empire that is not dangerous."

Morton nodded but he didn't return the smile. "We have lost many in an attempt to discern useful information on the royals. They are well protected."

"I believe that many of the preceding spies succumbed to the temptations of Terra."

"They lacked discipline," Morton said, spitting. "Your son should serve this cause well with his dedication."
Paladin sighed. "I most sincerely hope so.

When his father approached, Hilton gave him a salute: a quick vertical hand held palm up.

His father returned the salute, but his face was set like flint, a portend of less than favorable tidings.

"I have an important assignment for you."

Hilton's face twisted with confusion. Assignments were only given to men of experience, not knights in training.

"I want you to go to Terra and obtain information about the royals. Their location and activity could have meaning as to their plans for opposing our cause."

"Why have you given me a spy's assignment? I'm certain that you can see that I need more weapons practice."

Paladin stared into his son's eyes with eyes that exhibited both hardness and care. "I need reliability. If I assign one of these other men, he will spend the money on drink and women and then report that he had seen nothing."

"He would be telling the truth, my lord."

The two stared hard faced at each other until Paladin cracked a smile.

Hilton laughed. "What makes you think that I won't succumb to the temptations of Terra?"

"It will be a good test of your mettle. The need for information is critical. We must know if the Empire is preparing for battle. If they are, they will increase their protection of the royals. The signs will be subtle and only someone as educated as you will be able to discern the truth in those signs."

Hilton bowed. "I accept your propitiously shrewd compliment, my lord."

His father laughed, but inside he had serious concerns for his son's safety. If the Terrin authorities found out that they had the son of the rebel commander--

After Hilton left to prepare for his mission, Paladin returned to Morton.

"Did he accept his assignment?" Morton asked.

"Yes, but I question the wisdom of sending him on such a dangerous mission."

"He'll do well, I'm sure. The mission is important to our cause."

Paladin looked over the training field. "How is our cause progressing?"

"Well enough, but we need more men. We are severely undermanned."

Paladin sighed. "Increasing our compliment will be most difficult. We are all men who have suffered loss from the treachery of the Empire. Finding such men has been nearly impossible of late. Most have been destroyed along with their families."

"It seems that the Empire has learned from their mistakes," Morton said with disgust coloring his words.

"We will need to pick up our recruitment pace."

"Well," Morton said with a grin. "I don't know about you, but I'll be busy trying to get the wooden heads we already have here to fight like men."

Paladin returned his grin. "It's your call to glory."

Morton huffed. "What glory? At the rate this training is going, I'll be old and gray before we fight our first real battle."

As he walked away chuckling, Paladin waved a dismissive hand at his crusty old friend. His face returned to a visage twisted with concern. He knew that the rebel cause was not going well, that they had very little chance of overthrowing an Empire with prodigious armies and unlimited resources. Despite the impossible situation, men needed the hope of a better world, and the Army of Light was a dim ray of light to illuminate this hope.