"Your Grace, the new company of one hundred recruits has finished assembling."
"Very good."
The man who delivered the report was Amber Karstark, captain of Gaemon's Order of the Golden Fleece.
Ever since Jon Connington had been shifted over to handle civil administration, Amber had become Gaemon's chief military officer. He still commanded the prince's personal guard, but now he also oversaw the training of every new soldier raised in the domain.
As the population of Wendwater swelled, the original ten members of the Golden Fleece could no longer cover the entire territory. So Gaemon had ordered Amber to pick one hundred of the strongest, healthiest male settlers and turn them into proper soldiers. Their duties would be simple at first: daily patrols, keeping the peace, and serving as an honor guard when needed.
Gaemon wasn't worried about serious threats. Under King Jaehaerys the Seven Kingdoms were unusually stable, and anyone foolish enough to raid a dragonlord's lands would learn the price in fire. Still, a visible, disciplined force projected power far better than a lone prince riding a dragon everywhere.
"How is their training progressing?" Gaemon asked.
"After three months they can drill with spear and sword without fumbling. Archery is still basic—accurate enough at short range, but their grouping needs work."
"That's more than acceptable," Gaemon said, watching the neat ranks. "Turning raw smallfolk who had never held a weapon into disciplined soldiers in three months is no small feat."
The men stood in perfect formation—ten files of ten—each carrying a round shield on the left arm and a six-foot spear in the right. They wore knee-length mail shirts over thick black leather jacks, steel caps polished to a gleam. The sight of one hundred spearpoints leveled in unison was impressive.
"Form them up for drill," Gaemon ordered. "I want to see it."
Amber barked a command. A deep, throaty blast rolled from a war-horn.
"HA!"
"HA!"
"HA!"
The company split smoothly, opening lanes between files. Shields snapped forward, spears came level in a bristling wall of steel. From where Gaemon stood it looked like a forest of spears had sprung from the earth.
Another horn call. The ranks moved as one—thrust, recover, thrust, recover—shields locking into a solid barrier, then pivoting, reforming, changing front. Every motion crisp, every shout in unison. These were still green men who had never seen real blood, yet they already moved like veterans.
Amber spoke with quiet pride. "Their discipline is excellent, Your Grace. Better than most household levies I've seen. They just lack the taste of battle."
Gaemon nodded, pleased. "I see mail and leather. Why no plate?"
"We haven't found iron ore on our lands yet, so every ingot must be imported. But we have plenty of hides and furs. The mail-and-leather harness gives nearly the same protection for a fraction of the cost. I used the savings to buy a few warhorses. I'm forming a small cavalry troop—no more than ten riders—for rapid response."
"Smart," Gaemon said. "You've done well. The day-to-day security of the domain is now in their hands."
"You can count on them, Your Grace."
Satisfied, Gaemon gave his final orders.
"Divide them into two full companies of fifty. Five-man squads, three squads to a platoon, three platoons to a company. The extra two squads will serve as the cavalry section. One company stays here at the Oros docks. The second goes to Snowsalt Town—salt production is ramping up and we need armed men guarding the warehouses and piers."
"Understood. Who will command them?"
Gaemon thought for a moment. "Let the men elect their own squad leaders. The squad leaders will then elect platoon leaders. For company captains, pull two reliable men from the Golden Fleece. The rest of the officers can be chosen by the captains themselves. From now on, the two captains will report directly to me."
The next morning, when Gaemon returned to the training field, the new captains were already waiting.
"Bran? Willem?" Gaemon laughed. "I didn't expect Amber to let you two leave my personal guard so easily."
Bran, the more outgoing of the pair, rubbed the back of his neck and grinned. "We volunteered, Your Grace. Guarding you is an honor, but we wanted the chance to lead men of our own. We've been competing with Jon's side for years—figured it was time to prove ourselves in the field."
Gaemon clapped both men on the shoulder. "Then the companies are yours. Train them hard, keep them sharp. If anything goes wrong, I'll hold you two responsible."
Both captains straightened, chests swelling with pride.
"Yes, Your Grace!"
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