‘What’s that over in the desert?’ asked Fred. ‘Is one of the other recruit companies doing an assault exercise?’
Ray looked where Fred was pointing. A line of figures was marching across the desert, less than a mile away. The late afternoon sun glistened on the points of their long spears and their helmets, and reflected very brightly from the metallic thread of the banner that flew above the knot of four or five Denizens on the left flank who were riding Not-Horses.
‘They aren’t recruits,’ said Ray. ‘Or any unit I’ve ever read about.’
To try and make up for not remembering his earlier life, Ray had read all the way through The Recruit’s Companion and had memorised large sections of it.
‘Maybe we should tell Sergeant Helve,’ said Ray thoughtfully. He turned around to march to the orderly office but jerked to attention instead. Sergeant Helve was right there, staring at the desert. He was panting very slightly, which surprised Ray and Fred. They’d never seen Helve out of breath.
‘Stand to!’ shouted Helve, at a volume they’d also never heard before, despite some truly stupendous vocal performances when they’d inadequately polished their brass or whitened their belts. ‘All recruits, Legion dress, savage-swords, and power-spears, on the double! This is not a drill! We are under attack!’
‘Who are they?’ asked Fred as he and Ray sprinted to the barracks, without any NCOs telling them off. There was a torrent of corporals and sergeants going the other way, but they were not concerned with petty infringements like sprinting instead of marching today. ‘Can’t be Nithlings.’
‘Why not?’ asked Ray as they burst inside and rushed to their lockers.
‘That lot out there are organised. Disciplined. Uniforms and banners and the same kind of weapon and everything,’ said Fred a minute later. ‘Here, help tie this up, will you?’
Ray tied the leather laces on Fred’s segmented armour and stood still while Fred returned the favour. They strapped on their savage-swords, with the blades that twirled when you twisted the hilt, swung on their rectangular shields, and picked up their power-spears. The long metal points of these spears started to glow as they were lifted up, and wisps of black smoke coiled towards the ceiling. Many a roof or a companion’s uniform had been set alight by recruits with power-spears.
‘What do we do, Ray?’ asked Florimel. She and the rest of the section were just finishing their preparations. Though no formal recruit corporal had ever been appointed, and both Sergeant Helve and Corporal Axeforth said none ever would be because none of the recruits was good enough, the rest of the section all looked to Ray to explain orders or to tell them what to do. If Ray was unavailable for some reason, they looked to Fred as his deputy.
Ray wondered if it was something to do with his past. He had a vague inkling that he had been someone in authority, which, though unusual for a Piper’s child in the House, was not unheard of.
‘We’re under attack,’ explained Ray. ‘So we’ll fall in here and march out and just follow orders and everything will be fine. Everyone got everything? Theodoric! Where’s your savage-sword? Grab it and catch up with us. Everyone else, fall in! By the left, quick march! Left … left … left, right, left!’
They were just marching out of the barracks when a panting Corporal Axeforth met them. He wasn’t in full Legionary rig-out, having just swapped his hat for a helmet and thrown a cuirass over his scarlet tunic, and he had a clockwork poleaxe instead of a savage-sword. But he was calm enough as he quickly fell in step next to the line of recruits.
‘Good work, Recruit Green. We’re assembling on the parade ground. Recruit Rannifer, march towards that gap to the left of Two Platoon. We’ll be forming up on them.’
Rannifer was the tallest of the Denizens, by a hair over Florimel, so he was always the right marker, the one who the others formed up on and who consequently was first in line when the rest marched in twos as they were doing now. This was not a very good thing, as Rannifer was more easily confused than most of the other Denizens.
This time, Axeforth marched very close to Rannifer, to make sure there was no error. The corporal also marched faster than normal, Ray noticed, though it was not double time. Making sure they got in place quickly, he guessed, while not appearing to be panicked or hurried.
The other recruit platoons were all marching onto the parade ground as well. Some were already formed up, with their sergeants bellowing and shouting. There were even officers present, conferring together nearby. Ray automatically assessed the plumes on their helmets, for all were in Legionary uniform. Four lieutenants, a major, and even a colonel. Ray was impressed. He’d seen the lieutenants but never anyone of higher rank.