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„I will make an announcement regarding mandatory service as soon as I return to Taralon“, Anvael promised. They had a war to win after all – a war he didn’t want, but that everybody else insisted on – and you didn’t win wars with such a tiny army.
“And I agree that people from the countryside will be better suited than men who spent their life working in offices and such. I can’t imagine a man that has spent most of his life fighting with a pen becoming a decent swordsman in just a couple of cycles.”
“Of course you have my permission to create a professional army, Daekin Avornmagor. Do your best.” He wasn’t entirely sure whether the provincial army of Sherian would be the Legion’s envy, but he said nothing. He really didn’t want to discourage the Daekin.
“Follow their example?” Anvael wasn’t too happy as his brother suggested that. He had never been particularly good with a sword. His teacher had almost sent him away again after seeing how clumsy he was. He had brought his sword, but it had been intended for display only. He’d never wanted to use it. He wanted to look like he was a good swordsman, but he didn’t actually want to be one!
But refusal was unfortunately impossible, not with the future provincial army nearby and Eyvind watching. What would all those people say if their Governor didn’t want to fight? They’d take him for a coward and lose all their respect for him!
“A good idea, Malkaer”, he said. He even managed to smile a little and fake enthusiasm as he drew his weapon.
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