The 8000 Army

Chapter Two

        Prince Gael and the Kings 8000, reduced to 5622 of which only 3510 reached the gates of Fort Craeg before the moon rose to the zenith. His men were greeted by sleepy guards hovering round the battlements. A far cry from the diligent disciplined soldiers that normally stationed the walls, had Gael been an invading army the guards would have been long dead and the Fort over run in mere minutes. First impressions left much to be desired on his return and he could only hope that it was the wily light of the moon that painted their once immaculate precision army base into the run down relic it appeared to have become. Including the rather unwelcome welcoming committee, which did not include his brother, the King to whom these men had given 10 years of their lives defending and countless brothers of the sword. The King, who would not garner the will to rise from his warm bed to receive his army of  hand-picked prized soldiers and certainly not for his estranged brother. No, they got a fossil of a man servant in his long johns and fur coat. He had obviously been roused unceremoniously from his bed and was not best pleased. The relic gave one of the three boys holding lanterns an unprovoked clout over the head, before informing them to guide the soldiers to the Twelfth Barracks.

"No!"
         The greying hunched man jerked at the authoritive tone directed at him. Prince Gael had no doubt this man was not accustomed to having his command questioned and if he wasn't pleased by being woken in the chill of such a late hour he was definitely chagrined with having his orders disputed. With a spluttered explanation over the 8 prime barracks now accommodating new soldiers, the decrepit man endeavoured to regain his command while tightening the conspicuous coat around his bony frame.
       New soldiers, for what army? The first 8 barracks were for the Kings 8000 and he, Prince Gael, was the Commander of the 8000 standing before these impertinent folk! As the second son it was his right and privilege to lead the 8000. It was the reason he had been taught the art of war as a child. His older brother was born to be King, govern the land and people. He was politics and law. Gael was the defender and enforcer. He was the Force of the King.
     Now here he stood after years of separation, years of struggle to keep these folk free, and this crooked old man had new inhabitants in the place that the 8000 called home. As the original residents of those rooms waited in the dead of night, breath frosting the air of the stone quad while 'new soldiers' occupied the sanctuary of their beds. To add insult to injury his battle weary men were being segregated to the last of the barracks like fresh faced recruits. In shared rooms of 20. It was the Corporal of the First that saved the man servant from Gael's wrath at the pure indignation of the situation.

"It has been a long enough war, Commander. I wager any bed would do. At least for tonight, tomorrow you can whip all the new recruits in to shape."
 
      Gael conceded but refused to follow the grouch of a servant to the Royal Residence. He had not stepped foot in his boyhood room within the royal walls since the day he became a ranked trainee of the Elite Army at seventeen. He would take the trainer Corporal's room till he could claim his rightful place in the Commander's room with his men, in the Elite Barracks.
       The end barracks left much to be desired. They had spent many a day and night resting on gravel riddled grounds, in bogged soggy mud soaking through wool blankets. That would have been preferable to the dank, fusty smelling rooms that had obviously been long forgotten. These neglected beds were supposed to house the youngest recruits to be trained for the Elite. All trained for the Elite but not all advanced, this barracks accommodated 5000 trainees. It was clear it had not been used in some time, there was sporadic drips of condensation trickling down the walls and the temperature was warmer in the nights frigid air rather than this cave like atmosphere. The men would have to sleep in the mildew infested beds with their own thick travel blankets. Lucky they were used to rough climates and if by chance they had managed to procure a form of accommodation it was not necessarily pleasant. Least there was a stable roof this time. However, it was a far cry from the private rooms Gael was sure they had all been dreaming of as they trooped down the Creighton Hills on the borders of the Medtarra's grassy plain and their own highlands.