7 Chapter 7 (1/2)

The dust swirled in the middle of the training grounds as the two combatants faced off. The day was still young, and the sun had risen to a considerable height. Gerald was holding his training sword while Robard leveled his own towards him. They circled each other for a few moments before Gerald gave up on his head knight trying anything and attacked first.

He opened with a step forward and a quick slash which his opponent blocked steadily. Robard was a rank 3 Sky Warrior. Just a rank below Gerald's Uncle Rudolf. He seemed to be holding himself back, which Gerald both appreciated and despised. He appreciated the fact that he wasn't being embarrassed too much. But he hated the fact that his head knight never attacked. He'd been defending since they'd begun.

”You could try using that thing you're holding. It swings nice,” Gerald chuckled.

It took Robard a moment of looking at his hand then the training sword to grasp the jest. He eyed Gerald and smiled. ”I'm sorry, my lord. I didn't mean to—”

”It's okay. Just don't make it too easy for me,” Gerald said as he braced himself.

Robard nodded then lunged at Gerald with godly speed. Gerald could swear that he saw a snake-like blur instead of a man. He prepared his training sword to block at the expected angle, and all he heard was the clash of metal, then he found himself pushed several steps back.

'I guess I know now why he didn't attack before. He's not good at holding back.'

As Gerald steadied himself and prepared to continue their spar, a voice interrupted them.

”My lord.” It was Arthur's voice that interrupted his thoughts. The old minister walked into the training grounds, stalked by the short Renard who walked with swagger. From Arthur's ugly face, Gerald guessed that the short man had achieved some sort of victory in one of their verbal battles.

”Oh, Arthur!” Gerald smiled. ”We've been waiting for you.”

”My apologies, your lordship. I've been busy with the task you assigned me,” Arthur said. ”I can say that we've succeeded, though.”

”That quickly?” Gerald said as he gestured with his sword for Robard to continue their spar. ”Are there so few of them?” The day before, Gerald had asked Arthur to inform him of the population of the territory. Arthur had brought him the patchments that showed Ard currently having 13 thousand residents. While the surrounding farmlands, villages, and hamlets had about 15 thousand subjects. However, the old minister hadn't brought Gerald any numbers related to the population of the refugees. Gerald had decided that such knowledge was very important for his future plans. So he'd asked Arthur to handle it. He hadn't expected it to be done in a single day, though.

”It was very simple, actually. Most of the refugees are homeless, and they crowd the outskirts of the castle. It was very easy to perform a headcount with the help of the garrison. It took a hundred men of old Han's garrison to get through all the refugees. And considering that they had no homes, it was easy just counting them without having to go from door to door.” Arthur stood proud holding a couple of parchments as he explained. He'd simplified the matter, but it was obvious that he found it pleasant proving his competence so quickly.

”Good,” Gerald said, parrying a thrust from Robard and returning it with a slash of his own. ”How many are there?”

”Too many, my lord,” Arthur said, while Renard stood oddly silent beside him. It felt like he was holding back a sneer for some reason. ”There are fifteen thousand refugees near Ard. We don't know how many lie outside our area of influence. Most of the latter join the bandits or continue farther north.”

Gerald stiffened from his sparring posture. He realized that Renard was probably holding back a sneer for real. He'd admonished him for his refugee comment on their way to Ard. But now he had a refugee problem of his own. It was quite surprising, after all. The refugee population was higher than the population of the whole castle of Ard. And they were probably increasing as they spoke.

'There are way too many of them. My plans don't need that many,' Gerald thought. 'And the only advantage of Ard is its grain. If we run out of that too, then we'll be in trouble.'

He spent a few moments contemplating as Robard relaxed his fighting posture too. ”Well, since we're short on fighting men. Why don't we recruit some more?” Gerald finally said. ”Expanding the army is a wise choice now with all these bandits roaming about and setting camps. Let's recrui—”

”Your lordship, please reconsider,” Renard abandoned his silence in favor of interrupting Gerald. ”The Duke had agreed with your father that the army will not expand any further.”

Gerald was visibly surprised, then he eyed Robard and Arthur who avoided his gaze and looked at the ground. It was true. He'd underestimated the quagmire his father was in. His lands were infested with bandits, and his enemy wouldn't allow him to expand his army. That was aside from the fact that there was a lack of quality among Robard's men. Less than 60 Warriors in the whole army. Considering that a bandit crew like the one in the south was a former mercenary company, their quality of combatants would be much higher than Gerald's army.

What helplessness! The feeling made his anger well up. He couldn't see a solution on the horizon. Trying to wipe out the bandits with his current army was just suicide. It wouldn't be a surprise if they united against him when he starts targeting them one by one. And by then, it would be his army under the threat of being wiped out.

He swallowed his anger and gritted his teeth. He had to keep reminding himself that Lena was still the Duke's 'guest' in Malfi City. ”Alright. I suppose we can delay this matter,” Gerald gave up. ”But,” he turned to the short minister. ”Renard, I understand that you're the Duke's mouthpiece. However, if you ever interrupt my speech again, you'll have no one but yourself to blame,” He stared the short man down and his gaze carried unspoken promises of pain.

Renard met his gaze for just a moment then lowered his head submissively and smiled. ”Please forgive me, your lordship. I've stepped out of line. I just care too much for the relation between the Tellus and Malfi families to stay harmonious.”

”Then watch your step,” Gerald said with an icy voice. He then turned his attention to his sparring partner. ”Robard, I've seen the equipment of the men. I can only say that it's below expectation. Their leather armor is hardly of any quality, and their swords are made of the worst iron I've seen.”

Robard shook his head with a wry smile. ”My lord,” he said. ”I'm afraid we've been living through this problem for years. Our only source of iron is a mine to the southeast. Our supply is considered constant from there, since bandits aren't fond of iron ore. But the quality of the ore is terrible to say the least. And to add to that, our smith is only a Journeyman. We have no master smith in the castle to compensate for the quality of the iron.”

Gerald inhaled. Master smiths weren't common, but most decent nobles had one serving them. They could forge steel, though not in large quantities. But their greatest merit was their capability of making the best of the iron you gave them. They could churn out decent metal equipment in numbers, which was good for any army. A Journeyman was just below a Master and above an apprentice. ”Is he close to becoming a Master at least?”

Robard shook his head again. ”I'm afraid not, my lord. He's already 40 and is still a Journeyman. It would be farfetched to expect more of him.” The head knight cleared his throat and continued, ”as for the armors. The hides we get are the worst out there. We get them from the flatlands' wild animals and some of our cattle. The best hides are in the forests. And those are mostly surrounded by bandits.”

”Bandits bandits bandits,” Gerald growled. ”Nothing is left in peace in their wake.”

Gerald's aides kept their silence until his angry fit passed. Then Robard spoke again. ”There is a hidden talent, however,” he said. ”I believe I should inform you of him.”

Gerald regained his composure and awaited the first good news of the day.

”He is called Kale,” Robard continued. ”He is a young bowyer. He has crafted excellent long bows for the army. Not only that, but he's also succeeded in crafting his first crossbow a few months ago.”

Gerald raised his brows. ”A crossbow?” he said in disbelief. Bows were one thing. But putting together the mechanism of a crossbow and crafting its small, intricate parts wasn't something any woodworker could achieve. ”How young is he?”

”He is twenty-five years of age, my lord,” Robard said as he watched the astonished face of Gerald.