The General and the City Guard

"We are doing forms all morning, pick your best man at it and have him lead, then we will break for midday. After that, something new. Each of you, I will speak to you this morning and give your group a task each different from the other that you must accomplish. The goal is to have men in your group stay together under confusion, chaos, to have much going on around them but have them stick to their tasks. Questions."

Thirty voices called out objections, ideas, complaints. Gorum smiled. "Good then, go set your men at forms. Yas, come back and speak to me after your men have begun."

They dispersed talking amongst themselves, taking their time in rounding up their men and having them begin forms.

Yas wondered back eventually, offered Gorum a swig off his wine bottle.

"No thanks. Yas, take your group and have them run laps around the periphery of the square, I will give you rope that you may climb and jump between buildings. Impress upon your men that they must stay to this task no matter what obstacles come in front of them. Understood."

Yas nodded. "Gorum?"

"Yes?"

The man looked pale, "Do you think any of this training is doing any good? I mean, are we becoming soldiers who would do well in battle."

Gorum thought for a moment, "No, not soldiers, something I have not seen before, this cityguard is too proud to be soldiers but yes it will do good. Practice in itself," he gestured to the men moving from fluid pose to pose in the square, "has it’s own merits.

"We will need it, the dragon will run."

"Why do you say so?"

"I just feel it. I’ll buy you a bottle of wine tonight and tell you about it."

"Perhaps, tell Bereson to come to me." Gorum gave each demi commander there own instructions on what to do, then went around to the groups of men and corrected them on forms. Across the square men twirled and crouched, slid forward, jumped back. They did not have uniforms sewn yet, but they all dressed alike in heavy knitted sweaters, black trousers, worn boots and black hair.

Shopkeepers around the square opened up to the familiar sight of the cityguard. They had little business left, and still smaller wares yet opened up daily still. They eyed the men fondly, yelling out helpful, "That wouldn’t hurt a kitten Waller.", "Don’t break a sweat men, we wouldn’t want you stinking up the square." One of the wells was out on the sisters and the stewards had yet to send a crew to fix it, so the public baths were for naught, and the men smelled. Even two weeks ago when they baths were open, the copper to get in was tenfold too dear for most. Gorum calmed his mind from all the thought within and practiced the five positions with a nearby squad. His body relaxed into their rhythm, their unknowable depths, ever deepening into an awareness of bodies and energy and as Gorum crouched into waiting tiger he opened his awareness to the men around him. They moved fluidly, beginning to hear to their own strength and quietness within. The first awareness. Good.

They broke for noonday meal and more thick wine was passed around in thick dirty bottles making the round from man to man. There was no lack of the stuff. A story was going round the men that a well had been spelled somewhere in the twists and turns of Terrace that drew a bottomless supply of wine. Gorum took a swig and wiped his mouth. Or perhaps he thought, the Stewards understand that Terrace on it’s first day without wine would be it’s first day of revolt. His mouth was coated in bits of grape peal and a strong vinegar taste.