[Chapter 16 - Training]

  “Your stance is awful.”

  I looked over to see Felix grinning from the sidelines, resting his arms on top of his shield as he watched us train.

  Weapon and formation drills now permeated our marches, replacing the only chances for rest we originally had.

  I was in the middle of one myself, practicing thrusts with the gladius I had chosen in order to accustom myself to its handling.

  It was on the shorter side, the sword’s blade only just exceeding half a metre in length, but it was one I found more comfortable to use due to my familiarity with the knife.

  “Practice with the scutum.” Felix grabbed my shield as he stood up, bringing it with him as he walked over towards me. “That is your main weapon. Use it to deflect the opponent with its bulk, or the punch them with the umbo to create an opening. The gladius will finish the job.”

  I glanced at the metal he referred to, a chunk of steel that dominated the shield’s centre.

  Unlike the rounded shapes of their Roman counterparts whose image I could just about recall , these ones were carved into an aggressive spike which menacingly jutted out.

  They seemed to sacrifice defensive utility in exchange for an intimidating offensive purpose, and whilst it would be less useful in deflecting missiles it forgoed this in exchange for the severe pain it would cause when driven into an opponent.

  He passed it to me before donning his own, crouching into a stance as he acted out the moves he described.

  “First hold the shield steady. Keep it tight and distribute the weight evenly across your shoulder, arm and knee.” He gripped the shield close, pressing his weight forwards into the heavy wood. “If you don’t, the enemy can easily turn the shield against you instead.”

  “Your arm should be held ready to your side. It’s annoying if you’re left-handed, but luckily you’re not and there’s not much choice in order to keep formation.”

  Bringing the sword to his side, he quickly thrust it over the shield, a jab that was quickly brought back into position as he readied his arm again.

  “The gladius is a thrusting weapon for the most part, although it’s not bad for slashes as well. Focus on blocking first and let the shield do most of the work. You’ll soon find the opportunity to strike back at an opening.”

  “Against several people you should use your sword for those in front and on the right.

  Use your shield for those on the left, it’s heavy for a reason.” The bulk bearing down on my hands validated his words.

  The shield weighed over ten kilograms, an unwieldy block of metal and wood that I had painstakingly carried with me over the numerous marches we had undertaken.

  “Go for the face. It’s easiest to strike, and even if you miss the enemy it’ll intimidate the enemy. Thrust out hard and fast and then bring it back into position before they can react.” The blade whistled as it was pushed through the air once more, snapping back as Felix set his arm to his side immediately after.

  “Don’t underestimate its weight either, it helps with slashing. A glance with the blade won’t just leave a small cut. It’ll tear through flesh like butter, and a quick strike to the back of the neck,” his thrust now coiled over, circumventing the imaginary shield before him, “is unexpected and effective at bypassing any shields or armour. Make sure its safe though and keep your shield ready as it can leave you vulnerable.”

  “Avoid going for the legs if they have a large shield like you do. It might seem an easy target with the lack of leg armour, but with something like the scutum it’s easy to block.” He swung the shield round a few times to demonstrate, before raising himself up and gesturing for me to take his place. “Now you try.”

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  I copied him, leaning against the shield while I dug my sandals into the ground.

  The iron studs embedded into the soles gripped the earth tightly, and although my centre of gravity had shifted forwards I still felt secure and steady.

  “You learn quick.” he remarked, walking around me to observe my stance. He pressed my arm inwards, moving it behind my shield. “Keep your arm tight when you’re in formation. At that point you’re mostly thrusting than swinging as there’s no real space and you want to avoid making gaps in your shield wall. Try to keep your sword hidden, the enemy will be nervous if they can’t see it.”

  Stepping back, he indicated for me to continue, and I thrust my sword over my shield in a series of quick stabs, bringing my arm back each time in rapid succession.

  “Very nice!” The surprise in his voice clearly indicated his impressed manner.

  This was accompanied by a ding, sounding from my pouch which I had placed to the side.

  No doubt my familiarity of the gladius had increased. To have an audible indication of my gradual progress brought a sense of satisfaction, and I could not help but make a small smile at the sound.

  A trumpet blared out, marking the end of the session, and the two of us stood up as we lowered our weapons to our sides.

  Wiping the sweat from my brow, I looked over at the twins.

  Roxas held a spatha in her hands, panting in obvious exhaustion at the intensity of the training she had just finished. Bj?rn stood with her, his giant Catfolk stature towering in comparison. His proficiency in the blade was unmatched in our group, and so he had relentlessly drilled all he knew into Roxas at every chance he could get.

  Ante on the other hand had paired with Valen, the Norn in our contubernium. The sunlight shone off his metal skin in a manner similar to the armour he wore, and in his hands he held a series of metal pila, the javelins that Ante favoured.

  They could be utilised for spears as well as for throwing, a use that Ante keenly capitalized over the gladius that was also in his possession.

  We hurried back, hastily throwing our weapons into the packs we had discarded as we made ready for the march once again.

  ***

  It was sunset when they struck, sweat still clinging relentlessly to our skin as we trudged our way back to Northgaard that evening.

  Escorting the carriage had been a mindless task, one we had undertaken several times in the past few days, and which we viewed mostly as a marching exercise rather than one to be particularly alert for.

  The territory we were in was surrounded by Atreian outposts after all, and the watchtowers which formed the network of defenses guarding the frontier would alert us of any monsters that had managed to pierce through.

  And so the gladius lay to my side, sheathed in the plain leather scabbard which was slung over my armour.

  The efficiency of the Atreian administration impressed me, having been given this by the quartermaster upon our assignment to our contubernia.

  Brokhir, he had been called. A dwarf of few words, he greeted me with a grunt as I stepped into the camp blacksmith’s.

  “Mail is standard issue,” he had said, “but most,” he gestured to the piles of steel that lay on top of the armour stands, “prefer plate. Mail is much more flexible but the appearance of the lorica segmentata draws them in. We’ve got lorica squamata,” he nodded towards the scale armour that stood at the opposite, “but that’s mostly reserved for specialist purposes such as dragon slaying. On account of its fireproofing. Wouldn’t recommend it, but I don’t really care if you’re willing to pay.”

  Plate was my choice as well, despite its rigidity compared to the chainmail.

  The steel bands would prove useful in hiding ceramic plate, ones that I cannibalized from the ballistic vest I had brought from Earth, and which I had now attached to the inside of my cuirass.

  And this extra bulk was what weighed me down further, bearing upon me with every step.

  “Dex, sin, dex sin.”

  The chant droned on.

  I had long forgotten the chill of the cold air biting at my skin, my legs slogging endlessly forth through the dirt without rest.

  The leather straps which made up the caligae sandals I wore did little to remedy this, my reliance instead placed on the wool padding my feet.

  Some soldiers discarded them the moment they returned to the city, surrendering the traction that the caligae offered in place of lighter carbatinae shoes which covered their entire foot.

  But we had no such choice during the march, and so I made do as best I could.

  “When we get back, take me to where you bought those socks. This fucking frontier is too cold for me.” Felix muttered from the corner of his mouth.

  His had been lost to gambling, a prize Valen had chortled at as he took, and a recollection to which I could not help but find slightly amusing.

  “The vendor’s on the main street, charges six Atreii pe-"

  FWOOOOOOM!

  The blaring of trumpets interrupted me, followed by a panicked scream which rung through the air.

  “AMBUSH!”