Whitestone’s Marshal was the textbook definition of a soldier. He was lean with almost no fat on his sinewy body. His face was crisscrossed with a web of scars of varying thickness, giving him a sort of feral look. When Druscilla asked for his name, he said he had none, save for ‘Marshal’.

Currently he was with Druscilla, doing rounds in the camp as the soldiers practiced drills. Well, it less a camp and more of a small town.

“This is our infantry,” he said, as they approached rows and rows of footmen practicing with spears. They wore simple leather armour and a wooden spear was their sole armament. “They are our least trained soldiers but also our most numerous. Most of them were just regular civilians with no combat experience to speak of. They would almost certainly lose in a one on one fight with a soldier who’s been training for only a few months, but sometimes in the heat of battle all you need is numbers.”

A few of them saw Druscilla approach in her tight leather armour covered by a dark cloak. They straightened their backs a little bit and shouted louder with each spear thrust. Druscilla dignified them with a slight smile. “So cannon fodder, eh?”

“Cannon fodder?”

“We’ll just throw them at the enemy?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘throw’.”

“What would you say then?”

“Tactically deploy, depending on the enemy, terrain and situation. With this type of troop you want a wide open area to make full use of their numbers.”

“I’m guessing that the enemy have infantry of their own. How will we combat them.”

“We’re not expecting pitched battles any time soon, but if we were, I’d get my soldiers to higher ground. Any type of soldier, so long as they are trained, can take on several infantry men at once. To counter their numbers I’d look for bottlenecks. If the terrain is against us I would suggest archers and catapults.”

“Huh, you seem to know your stuff, yet there’s been peace for centuries. How come?”

“I fought my fair share of scraps for the Emperor of Vitia. He’s a warmonger, and so was his father before him. There was always a risk they would cross the Sea west to Boshamia. That’s the only reason we have a military at all. Now shall we move on?”

Druscilla followed the Marshal as they made their way through the ranks. Drill sergeants were yelling simple commands at the top of their lungs, which the footmen were all too eager to follow.

Soon the crowded area gave way to an more open area divided into square areas by simple rope. There were more troops here. These ones were drastically fewer, but much more heavily armoured.

“These are our knights,” the Marshal said. “Our most valuable soldiers. Look at that,” the Marshal pointed at a pair going at each other in a melee. Their swords were wrapped in a cloth so as not to deal damage. “Big man in a shiny suit of armour – very hard to kill. Put him on a horse and he becomes a chevalier – as indestructible as one can be on the field.”

“Then why don’t we have more?”

“It’s expensive. And also we can’t go round training random civilians, who would work the fields or the fishing boats?”

“There’s a massive shanty town outside Euwaine. A huge waste of human talent in my opinion.”

“We wouldn’t have the resources to arm them or feed them if they all joined. And most of them are weak bodied, unlike these knights. But some are able to be of service. They are better suited to other roles. Come with me.”

They walked on past the knights. They soon came to more footmen. The difference was that these ones had thicker, more colourful leather armour. They were armed with spears and short swords.

“Pikemen, heavy infantry, light cavalry and skirmishers,” the Marshal said. “Depends on how they’re used. They’re not as effective as knights but are still very valuable. Pikemen in particular can stop any mounted charge, provided they’re disciplined enough not to break the line.”

“All this sounds so complicated.”

“Complicated?” the Marshal scoffed. “That was the shortened version.”

“Then I look forward to learning from experience.” There was a blacksmith’s tent, where the men were taking weapons from racks. Suddenly, Druscilla had an idea. “I want to learn swordplay.”

“Eh? A lady like you? The blisters would ruin your pretty hands.”

“Don’t look down on me, I’m more resilient than I look. Trust me.” She started for the weapons tent. “Come. Help me pick out a weapon.”

There were many, many instruments of death for display. The majority of them were spears and swords sorted into barrels. On the racks, however, the selection was much more diverse. Axes, pikes, lances, maces and swords were all represented.

“May I help you, my lady?” the man at the tent asked.

“Yes, I’d like a weapon.”

“Something small and compact for the woman,” the Marshal interjected.

“I don’t want ‘small and compact’” Druscilla protested as the armourer brought what could only be described as a long knife.

“It’s a dirk-“

“Take it back. Give me something else. Something flashy.”

“I’d advise against it,” the Marshal said down his nose. “You might not be able to wield it.”

“Armourer do as I say.”

“I think I have something that might suit your interests, my lady,” the armourer said as he retreated into the recesses of his tent. Druscilla could see him go behind something that looked like a forge. He came back with a long sword. “A fencer’s weapon: the estoc.”

Simply put, it was perfect. It was a very long and thin sword, but not so thin as to be unable to hold an edge. It looked like a graceful needle. Not too big to be bulky, but not so small as to be written off. The metal gleamed coolly in the morning light. It was a good sword. Druscilla knew it was the one. “I’ll take it.”

“Forgive me,” the Marshal said. “But that is a foolish decision. Fencing is a sport, nothing more. An estoc won’t help you in battle.”

“Whatever. It’s good enough for me.” Druscilla had no sword skills to speak of, but she did have the abilities of a Vampire. Maybe one day she’d train up, but for today she had to guide Gwen down the path of rulership. “It’s been an informative morning, Marshal. I’ll be off now.”

“Shouldn’t have asked me to come if you would disregard my advice,” the Marshal grumbled under his breath. He was oblivious to the fact that Druscilla had sharp hearing.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, my lady.”

Druscilla put her hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes. “Listen carefully. I am the one in charge here.” She reached deep into his subconscious and grafted a phobia of darkness and bats into him. “So let’s try to get along. You wouldn’t want to cross me, now would you?”

“N-no.”

“No who?”

“N-No I w-wouldn’t w-want to c-crosz y-you, my l-lady.”

She released him from his trance. “Good, now I’ll be off then.” Druscilla left to go rejoin Gwen, who ought to be waking up by that time.

In her wake she left a winded Marshal and an armourer who was trying to figure out what on earth he had just seen.