Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) by Damien Lake

could.  Using it during a fight was why he had pestered Colbey
into teaching it to him.  It would be a better option than the strength
working, which consumed his energy reserves far too rapidly for his taste.  He
couldn’t count on finding the opportunity to drop the working and replenish in
the midst of an all-out battle.
    Dietrik opened his eyes.  “No good, I’m afraid.  I
can’t feel a bloody thing.”
    “Keep at it.  It takes awhile to get the knack for
it.”
    His rapier in hand, Dietrik promised, “I will try
later.  Let’s train like honest, traditional chaps meanwhile.”
    For the remaining daylight, the two traded blows. 
Dietrik scored more often than usual.  Marik’s prediction had been dead on the
centerline.  With so many demands on his time for the winter already, he now
needed to add re-training in basic sword technique.
    In the barracks he picked at his meatloaf.  It was
less appetizing for having been kept warm in its pan since noon.  Luiez’s
meatloaf never survived until dinner as well as his other dishes.
    They sat alone at one table.  The depressing solitude
weighed on them.  Last year they would have been lucky to find two seats
together at this time of day.
    The conversations around them were muted.  What little
Marik overheard centered on the morrow.  The men were wondering how many new
recruits the Ninth Squad would receive.  It was during this hushed meal that
Fraser entered the barracks, two people accompanying him.
    Their former sergeant had been promoted officially to
Lieutenant of the Ninth, leaving Marik to wonder ever since who would be the
new Fourth Unit sergeant.  On Fraser’s left, Sloan glowered, dower as ever. 
His features clearly expressed an opinion that his time was being wasted.  To
Fraser’s right waited a women, unusual in that few were ever seen around the
town.
    Marik recognized her for what she was.  A Fifth Squad
warrior woman, one apt to kill you with her eyes as easily as her weapon.  Her
hair fell in straight lengths to her shoulders, framing hawk-like features, but
otherwise her figure was only slightly less masculine than his fellow Ninth Squaders. 
Tunic, breeches, boots and a leather vest…the same attire as any other fighter
in the Kings.
    She wore her attitude bare on her sleeve.  That also
fit with the other mercenary women.  The few conversations he’d tried to
initiate with them had all ended with them walking away without acknowledging
he so much as spoke.  He knew they could not all be from the same mold. 
Still, any current Fifth Squad women sharing common natures with Caresse had
yet to make themselves known outside their barracks.
    Fraser called over the nonexistent crowd noise. 
“Everyone stop flapping your lips!  I have news for the Ninth as a whole!”
    The men had already stilled at his entrance. 
Ordinarily, sarcastic calls or responses would have been forthcoming.  Not
tonight.  Everyone wanted to know what future the band had in mind for them.
    “First off, the command building has decided that the
Ninth will receive no new recruits this year.”
    “What?”  The exclamation rang in unison from over
twenty men.
    “If the Kings try to spread the new recruits over all
the squads that lost men last year, every squad would still be short. 
Since the Ninth is one that took heavy damage, we won’t be getting anybody.”
    Cries of, “What the hells kind of sense does that
make?” filled the air.  Marik spoke low under his breath.  “We can thank the
Noliers and that idiot Balfourth for that.”
    Dietrik nodded while Fraser shouted over the indignant
men.  “They’ve decided to fill up the squads with lightest damage first so they
are fit for regular duty.  The rest of us get broken up for guard duty next
summer at the Arm of Galemar tournament.  They always want experienced men for
that duty anyway, so it fits.”
    The men who had been riled all stopped, frozen for a
split instant, then rallied