Drilling the Troops

Along the marching road, three hundred hastily conscripted soldiers milled about in a loose crowd, like tourists out sightseeing.

Some even used the longswords they'd been issued as walking sticks. There were no ranks, no marching orders.

The column stretched on and on. Those at the front trudged along lazily while those at the back had already stopped to rest and rearrange their packs. Some had even left the column altogether, stepping to the roadside to relieve themselves or gaze around curiously.

They chattered and whispered among themselves like shoppers at a market, their eyes full of confusion and fear about this forced conscription.

Rather than an army on the march, they looked more like refugees forcibly bundled together and sent toward some destination against their will.

Or perhaps that was exactly what they were?

Suleiman sat astride the fine horse Raymun Darry had given him, at the head of the column.

As he surveyed the chaotic scene before him, he regretted accepting this assignment.

The road ahead was long, but he feared he'd meet the Seven before he made it to the end.

Was this supposed to be an army sent to reinforce Deepvalley Town? Suleiman felt more like a nursery teacher leading a group of toddlers on a field trip.

Even now, at least they were better off than they had been yesterday.

His thoughts returned to the day before.

Suleiman stood in the military camp at Deddings Town, watching three hundred hastily conscripted soldiers gathered together.

They were dressed in rags and carried rusty sickles, blunt axes, and even crude wooden clubs!

"Damn it... what kind of people are these?" He drew a deep breath. It had taken just one day and night for his boiling enthusiasm to turn to ice.

Or rather, just the few minutes it took to see this sight!

Lady Roslin stood beside him, looking exhausted. Maester Walder stood at her side, his expression calm.

Suleiman stood beside them, head bowed, shoulders trembling slightly.

This is a disaster! He quickly thought through possible solutions.

When Suleiman raised his head again, tears filled his eyes, and his face was stricken with grief.

"My lady, House Deddings is now in dire straits! Though I am young, I am willing to give everything for House Deddings, just as my father and brothers did!"

"Even if I must die, I will die serving you and House Deddings!"

He fell to his knees and clutched Lady Roslin's hem, his voice choked with emotion:

"As the last member of House Foulkeep, this is the only thing I can do, my lady!"

He paused, as if too choked up to speak again, then declared with resolute finality:

"Even in this certain death, I will give my life for House Deddings."

"But... but I'm afraid that with an army like this, though my death would mean nothing, I... I won't be able to carry out your orders!"

Lady Roslin looked at him, pity and sorrow flickering in her eyes.

Life was a play, and everything depended on one's acting skills.

"Didn't I tell you to equip them with weapons and leather armor?" Lady Roslin asked coldly, turning to Maester Walder.

"Maester, where is their equipment?"

"Have you forgotten what this boy has been through? We saved him from the brink of death. Are we really going to send him back to his death with our own hands?"

Faced with the lady of the castle's reproach, Maester Walder finally lost his composure. He sighed.

"I'll have everything ready to hand out before they leave."

The memory ended, and Suleiman returned to the present.

Reality remained harsh. The cold wind whipped at his face.

He had to mold them into a force that, even if it couldn't fight, could at least march without falling apart along the way.

I can't watch this anymore! I can't watch this! What a damn mess!

"Lushen! Roslyn! Get over here!"

Lushen and Roslyn immediately rode up to Suleiman and dismounted to pay their respects.

They were now clad in light armor, longswords at their belts, and seated on fine horses. They held their heads high and chests out. At least they had the look of soldiers.

Suleiman told the two men to mount up again, then faced the rabble.

He shouted to the crowd. His position on horseback and the noble authority of his rank carried his voice clearly to every ear.

"I am Ser Suleiman Foulkeep! I am in command of this force!"

A murmur rose from the crowd. Some looked curious, others numb, unsure what was happening.

He paused, his gaze sweeping over them.

"Everyone, listen up! Divide into squads of one hundred and fifty! Form ranks twenty across and six deep! Each squad will form a square! Fall into formation now!"

He pointed to Lushen and Roslyn behind him.

"Lushen! Roslyn! Form them up! Anyone who disobeys orders will be put to death!"

Lushen and Roslyn reacted quickly, riding into the crowd and shouting at the men.

"Everyone, listen up! Divide into squads of one hundred and fifty! Form ranks twenty across and six deep! Each squad will form a square! Fall into formation now!"

Suleiman sat upon a white horse. Though only sixteen, he sat straight, his features resolute and stern. With the fine horse, black robes and cloak, and sharp sword at his waist, he exuded an air of authority.

Lushen and Roslyn rode fine horses with swords at their belts. Though they had once been farmers, their experiences of late had stripped away their former timidity and given them a newfound sharpness.

At the noble lord's command, the men began shoving each other as they tried to find their places. It was still chaotic, but at least the beginnings of a formation were taking shape.

Suleiman watched Lushen and Roslyn busy themselves with the men, who were finally beginning to form up, however awkwardly. He felt a trace of relief.

Or rather, this was the first time he'd felt any relief in days.

But his relief lasted only a few minutes before a disturbance broke out in the crowd.

Someone shouted angrily:

"Pah! Who the hell are you? You think you can give me orders?"

Suleiman looked over. The crowd quickly opened up, leaving an empty space in the middle.

Lushen stood in the center of it, facing a burly soldier in full leather armor, a longsword in his hand.

The man wore an obvious sneer. Several soldiers dressed much like him stood around him, clearly his companions.

Suleiman recognized them. They were soldiers from House Deddings, some of the few bullies from Deddings Town whom Maester Walder had dumped into the ranks.

He cursed the old bastard inwardly. It was bad enough that he'd given him lousy equipment, but he'd also dumped unwanted trash and troublemakers on him!

Back at the camp in Darry, these men had already shown themselves to be arrogant, convinced that they were better than the conscripted farmers.

Now they were furious that Suleiman had appointed someone else to command them.

The burly man continued to taunt Lushen.

"I'm a soldier from Deddings Town! You know what that means? I've fought alongside Lord Balon Dating!" The man kept waving his longsword as he spoke.

"What are you, anyway? Just a farmer!" he continued, prompting whispers among some of the onlookers.

The crowd's eyes shifted between Lushen and Suleiman. Everyone wanted to see how the noble lord would handle this.

After all, he'd just said that anyone who disobeyed orders would be put to death!

But Suleiman made no move to step in. The crowd whispered and speculated.

Perhaps their lord didn't dare punish a soldier from Deddings Town for fear of offending the ruling House Deddings. Maybe he only dared bully conscripted farmers!

But Suleiman hadn't stepped forward because he wanted to see how Lushen would handle it.

When the burly man saw that Suleiman wasn't approaching, he assumed Suleiman was wary of his status. He grew even more brazen and loudly mocked Lushen with a grin.

"You can't even hold a weapon steady, can you? When I was killing enemies on the battlefield, you were still digging in the dirt!"

"You think you can give me orders? Get lost!"