ã€ŠRangers of the Frostscapeã€‹


 Prologue: Beacon in the Blizzard

    Behind Garrot lay an alleyway full of dead men. Ahead of him, a city at its coldest hour.

    Only the snowflakes zipping from darkness into his field of vision assured Garrot he wasn¡¯t flinging himself into a wall. Though he¡¯d lived in Dosken in years past, these streets were foreign to him. Even as sparse as they¡¯d usually be this late, few would risk wandering the streets this night in particular.

    When Garrot stopped to heave in his breath, his hand came away from his chest with a wet, sticking feeling. Droplets landed in the snow beneath him, staining the white snow a crimson red.

    A panicked, whispered prayer interrupted Garrot¡¯s horrific revelation.

    ¡°O-Oh, by Mhira¡­¡±

    Mere yards in front of him, a young alchemical worker had appeared from the darkness, and backed away from him in terror. Garrot inspected the state of his loose chainmail tabard, dark crimson red spattered on royal blue, and spoke without thinking.

    ¡°The blood¡¯s¡­not mine.¡±

    The worker tripped pedaling his legs away, and began a sprint in the opposite direction, kicking up snow Garrot¡¯s way.

    ¡°HELP!!! POLICE! MURDERER!¡±

    Garrot spun, and picked a new direction to flee.

    He was used to the streets of Dosken¡¯s J¡¯halan Quarter, but he¡¯d found himself in the upscale neighborhoods. The street before him was well-lit, which would normally be a sign of relief. After the young man¡¯s call, however, it made Garrot feel exposed.

    Once, he would have assumed the panic of the young man he¡¯d fled from was because he was a klyskin, one of the Frostscape¡¯s residents bearing a yellowish tinge to his flesh. But tonight, everyone was afraid of everyone else. That fear had now manifested itself, through a ruthless attack earlier that night, which had claimed innocent lives in untold numbers.

    Soon enough, he¡¯d found himself out of breath again¡ªadrenaline, piled after so many incidents that night, was taking its toll. He could hear himself hyperventilating even as he pushed on.

    Even after the attack, the killers had come for him by name. Garrot needed to find someplace safe, but going back to his companions could put them in danger. There was a priest he knew in the Mistraal Quarter. Maybe he¡¯d be an option?

    Garrot¡¯s breath froze in his throat as a painful memory shot forth¡ªthat same priest had met a painful and fiery end mere hours ago. His mind had tried, unsuccessfully, to stuff the memory away¡ªhe hadn¡¯t even had time to mourn the loss.

    Even the briefest moment of breathlessness, amid frigid cold and his rising heart rate, made Garrot¡¯s head feel fuzzy and oxygen-starved.

    No ¨C the memory of the priest¡¯s grisly demise from earlier that night shot back through his memory with a panicked surge. He¡¯d barely even been able to take time to mourn the loss in the face of the crippling realities.

    Collapsing against a wall of an alley for a moment¡¯s rest, he felt at his frigid arms, warming life back to himself. The once-warm blood upon him had cooled, sapping heat through its moisture.

    Days ago, it had been enough to worry about facing the Dark Spawn¡ªthe faction of terrorists from his homeland that had perpetually threatened his new home in the Halen Empire for nearly a decade. So often the terrorists had projected cries of abandonment by their new Empire. Garrot, for his own part, had tried his best to understand the feeling all that time, but never felt it so much as now.

    Garrot leaned back against the wall, and saw a light shone in the distance¡ªthe far, far distance in the skies past Dosken¡¯s edge. It was rare for the weather to be clear enough to see across the Egg like this. If his meager geography was right, the constellation of cracked lights was the midland city of Kataria, or maybe Meklade. In their time zone, night was beginning to fall and the city lights had only just been lit.

    Though the cities in his view were hundreds of miles away, it was romantic to picture the individuals across The Egg, the hundreds of varied cultures, and imagine them gazing back at you. But Garrot didn¡¯t feel any of that tonight. Now, like so many others of this city, he just felt alone.

    Over the past weeks, he and his companions had gathered unsavory rumors about the Department of Knowledge, the Adventurers¡¯ Guild, and even the Legion that he himself served. Yet none of them gave hints towards the identity of the powerful enemy he faced tonight¡ªnor did he even know who he could count among his allies.

    Flexing his limbs to restore their warmth, Garrot moved on again¡ªbut found himself stumbling. The initial burst of adrenaline had worn off, and now his body was truly feeling the cold of the night. He had already taken off part of his overcoat while he had been safe indoors minutes ago; and found he was now inadequately dressed for the snowy Dosken night. Now, his legs faltered, shaking against the cold air.

    He steered himself towards a small footbridge over the midtown brook pass, connecting two of Dosken¡¯s sprawling neighborhoods. When Meltwind came, a small river would flow through the city beneath him. But, in Fellwind, it was nothing more than a small, dried-up valley.

    Garrot eased himself down the bank, and sat in the shelter of the bridge. Taking the refuge as an opportunity to ease his mind, he decided on his first course of action.

    He cried.

    The events of the past few days played out like a jumbled puzzle in his mind¡ªthe impossible assignment he¡¯d been tasked with, and all the disparate information they¡¯d gathered. His superiors had thus far taken the burden of resolving the mysteries they¡¯d confronted, but he couldn¡¯t rely on them now. Putting the responsibility on himself to figure it out furthered his stress even farther¡ªhe felt lost beyond all reason, having become entirely reliant on the people around him to make sense of things.

    All he knew was that Dosken had become host to horrors unknown to him. He no longer knew who he could talk to¡ªwho he could trust, aside from the other Rangers. Pathetic, unmanly tears streamed down his cheeks as self-focused thoughts began to override his driven concern for others. He was scared.

    Garrot sat up as a rush of noise assaulted his ears. A motorized sled was passing over the bridge above him, rattling the support beams around him. Time had passed¡ªhe''d fallen asleep in the snow without realizing it¡ªhis body too numb to process the cold earth his head sat against. Were he to fail to devise a plan of action, he could easily freeze to death out here.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    When shifting his posture, Garrot¡¯s side pressed against the small object in his pocket¡ªthe only thing on his person that could qualify as a weapon, should he be attacked again.

    He removed the Conduit of the Third Scion from his coat pocket, and examined it through blurred vision. Its red magicite gemstone shone on a silver ring. The ring was fastened to a leather strap meant to secure the stone to its owner¡¯s finger and wrist. He was holding one of the three most powerful items in the Western Frostscape; but it certainly didn¡¯t feel like it.

    Putting on the Conduit, he closed its clasp around his wrist, and held his hand out. He envisioned the Third Scion¡¯s flames bursting forth from his fingertip. When at first nothing happened, he closed his eyes to focus his thoughts, struggling to envision success.

    For minutes that were made more brutal by splaying his exposed fingers into the cold night, he shot his hand forward, attempting new angles of flexing some unseen muscle in his body to produce flames.

    The only burning he felt was the slow beginnings of frostbite in the exposed tips of his fingers.

    Finally conceding defeat to the small ring, he grabbed at his hand, rubbing warmth back into his fingertips. He could feel the tears bursting forth yet again.

    Most would blame his failures on his lack of talent ¨C inform him with regret that he lacked the magical talents of the Scion bloodlines needed to wield the magic he¡¯d attempted. It was how most citizen of the Empire understood its few magic wielders.

    But Garrot knew the truth. There was no such thing as borne magical talent. Bloodlines were irrelevant. He only needed the Conduit clutched in his hand to set the air before him aflame. The ring, and years and years of practice with it. Years that were easily afforded to the lucky sons and daughters of every former Scion.

    He¡¯d been lucky all through tonight, but it had gained him nothing; his adversaries had what mattered; power, wealth, and friends¡ªand luck.

    He stuffed his palms against his eyeballs, trying to block out his vision, his frustrations, his fears. He fantasized about being someplace else¡ªanywhere to escape the crippling despair of reality, emerged from what should¡¯ve been a night of hope.

    ¡°Goodness! Young man, are you all right?¡±

    An agonizing, guilty realization shot through Garrot¡¯s mind as he realized what he¡¯d done on pure reflex. As an unrecognized voice called out to him, he¡¯d shot his hand out in his visitor¡¯s direction¡ªattempted to use the Conduit to defend himself. He had tried, in vain, to immolate the innocent person that had crept up on him in his state of focus. Mercifully, the result was the same as his many minutes of practice¡ªand the startled face before him remained unharmed, though befuddled.

    Letting out an undignified sob at his own self-protective attitude, Garrot wrenched the Conduit from his wrist, undoing the clasp by force and tossing it into the snow. He thrust away at the tears blocking his vision, struggling to speak through the lump in his throat.

    ¡°¡¯m fine,¡± he whimpered, unconvincingly.

    ¡°Are you sure?¡±

    The sympathetic voice belonged to an elderly woman¡ªhunched and huddled in a large, warm coat, and holding a lantern out to him curiously. She had recoiled in fear when Garrot¡¯s hand had shot out, but stood her ground in honest concern. She peered in at his disheveled uniform.

    ¡°Oh! My goodness! Mister, is that blood?¡±

    Garrot fumbled his reply. ¡°I-! It was...It¡¯s not mine-¡­But-! I-I didn¡¯t¡ª¡±

    The old woman heaved a sigh, and placed a hand on him, assuring the question was not an accusation.

    Garrot was naturally a trusting person. Even from someone he barely knew, he could draw strength from the confidence and caring feelings of the old woman next to him¡ªthough he felt more concerned for her safety than his own.

    ¡°Ma¡¯am, why are you out this late?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Would you believe, an errand?¡± replied the old woman with a short chuckle. ¡°I¡¯ve lived in Dosken my whole life. Nighttime is half the day and it¡¯s not to be wasted.¡±

    Curious, she circled about him to pick up the Conduit he¡¯d tossed aside. After inspecting it curiously, she held it out to him.

    ¡°Oh, sir¡ªYou dropped this ring. You didn¡¯t want it?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± confirmed Garrot.

    ¡°It seems valuable! Are you sure? I¡¯d just say hold onto it for now.¡±

    He felt a gentle motion by his pocket, as she deposited it back into his belongings. Garrot was too drained to react, as she sat down beside him.

    ¡°You don¡¯t mind if I sit down, do you?¡±

    ¡°You need to be getting home, miss,¡± insisted Garrot.

    ¡°Why?¡± she mused quippingly. ¡°I¡¯m in the company of a member of the Empire¡¯s famous Steel Legion, aren¡¯t I? You¡¯ll keep me safe if any of those ne¡¯er-do-wells shows up.¡±

    Garrot momentarily glanced down at the bloodstained blue tabard on his chest, unsure how to treat the woman¡¯s sarcasm¡ªshe could clearly see that he was scared and unarmed.

    ¡°Those-¡­" panted Garrot. ¡°Then...you know about what happened earlier today.¡±

    He wrapped his arms uneasily around himself, remembering the flames and cries of panic that had engulfed the city earlier.

    Those eyes ¨C those sympathetic, heart-wrenched eyes. Something felt wrong about them. Why would this woman invest her feelings into the fate of such a complete stranger?

    Garrot caught the negative thoughts, and winced. The simple truth was, he¡¯d do much the same in her position, even as nerve-wracked as he was. And it had been his own belief in the ideals of others that had carried him this far.

    At least, until tonight. Until he¡¯d seen the longing for brutality in the masses of Dosken, seen people he¡¯d viewed as his countrymen and colleagues raise weapons to the unarmed and innocent. Given her years, Garrot wondered if the kindly woman touching his shoulder could¡¯ve ever borne witness to such malady.

    ¡°Miss, you shouldn¡¯t be out here!¡± said Garrot, finally. ¡°I lost my musket! I can''t protect you!!...I can¡¯t even protect myself-!¡±

    ¡°Ohhh, grow up,¡± growled the old woman. ¡°You haven¡¯t lived in Dosken long, have you, young man? This isn¡¯t the first terrorist attack I¡¯ve survived. I heard the radios. They always tell us to ¡®stay home, lock your doors!¡¯, and I say ''Sure thing, if you¡¯re too scared!¡¯ Locked doors don¡¯t protect us, after all. It¡¯s other people. Our friends. They¡¯re the ones we can count on.¡±

    Garrot found himself silenced. It was the same kind of advice he¡¯d given so many of his friends through his time in the Halehearth. Here he was trying to dismiss the same advice shifted back to him.

    The old woman reached out her hand.

    ¡°Dorris. Or, Granny. If you like.¡±

    I¡¯m Garrot,¡± he replied, loosely shaking her hand.

    ¡°So? This must be a fun story, mustn¡¯t it...?¡±

    She stared him down expectantly with a pleasant expression. Garrot blinked uneasily, confused.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s not your blood, is it? I¡¯ll admit, I find myself curious! See if this compares to one of those mystery Queryman books we read at the club!¡±

    ¡°Ma¡¯am, this-¡­!¡± Garrot shifted away, reminded of the blood covering him. ¡°This is no laughing matter!! People are dead!¡±

    ¡°Oh, I know, sonny! And when you get to my age, you see people dropping off to the Eighth Gate every other week! So pardon me for laughing at it all. Never a bad time to laugh, I say. I laughed at the jokes we told at my husband¡¯s funeral, and I ain¡¯t about to apologize.¡±

    ¡°How can you laugh at-"

    ¡°Because...¡± hushed the old woman, cutting him off. ¡°At the end of the day, we can be grateful that all of us are still alive. The people of The Egg needs to count its blessings sometimes.¡±

    Doris¡¯s sarcastic air faded away, and she addressed him earnestly.

    ¡°Talk to me, son. I¡¯m going to worry for you if I go home without hearing what terrible things lead to finding you crying under this dirty bridge. And I think it¡¯s always easier for you if you share what¡¯s happening with someone else.¡±

    Garrot rolled his hands, trying to determine how to begin. He¡¯d finally given up on asking Doris to leave him alone¡ªeven for her own safety.

    ¡°I was...a friend and I were out behind the City Safety Center when some men just-¡­"

    He reconsidered the opening to his story. The attack minutes ago had been sudden and unexplained, and he desperately wanted to make sense of it in the circumstances of all else.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure why they-...Look, maybe I need to backtrack. I¡¯m a part of a group of Legionnaires called the Rangers. We-...It¡¯s just-...it¡¯s complicated...¡±

    Doris settled her arms across her waist.

    ¡°Go ahead, young man. I have time.¡±

    Garrot took a deep breath, and tried again.

    ¡°It started...about a week ago.¡±

 Old Society, New Warfront

    Year E4320¡ªKlysturn 3rd

    Imbral Industrial Quarter

    Behind Garrot lay a thriving city, its residents rising to meet the bright morning sun. Ahead of him lay the dismal remains of that morning¡¯s carnage.

    He had been slower than his friend to ready his Legionnaire¡¯s tabard and armor at the morning call to arms, and was now shuffling his feet through the deep morning snow, taking a shortcut through one of the open lots on the edge of the Imbral Barrows. By now, the reason for their morning summons had been made clear as he inspected the building in front of him.

    Morabine Foundry No. 8 had had a giant, smoldering hole carved in its side by the reported explosion, exposing collapsed mechanisms inside. The Foundry was normally a source of smoke, but the foul smell of its current emissions evoked a nauseating effect on the senses.

    Near the perimeter of the compound, Garrot passed several of the escaped workers nursing injuries. Mercifully, none of their bruises looked life-threatening. Still, several were applying snow to swollen extremities suffered in their flight from the installation.

    ¡°Are all of you all right?¡± asked Garrot. He lowered his musket to his side.

    The workers simply glared back at him.

    ¡°Why? You a doctor?¡± asked a man holding a snowball to the pit of his knee.

    ¡°Oh-...no,¡± admitted Garrot. ¡°Th-They''ll be along shortly, sir, I promise.¡±

    ¡°Just get the Dark Spawn bast¡¯ds that did this,¡± muttered a bearded man next to him.

    Deserved or not, Garrot decided to accept their ire; anyone was bound to be irritable after a morning like they had had. At least, giving them a target to vent to was likely to help their mood.

    At the entrance to the Foundry, his companion, Private Bran Sternen tapped his foot impatiently in the Imbral morning powder, leaning on his musket. Though Bran was almost unendingly a fighter in Garrot¡¯s corner, on this occasion his impatience shone through, if only slightly.

    ¡°Finally¡­! I was getting worried, buddy,¡± called Bran. ¡°Sergeant already put the rest of the team on the other gates.¡±

    Garrot bowed in apology as he arrived, catching his breath and pulling up his Legionnaire¡¯s scarf to stifle the burning smell from the earlier explosion.

    In the labor yard, a small crowd of workers sat on steelsmithing materials left abandoned from the sudden halt to their shift. They were surrounded by a tall, concrete wall with steel-tipped wire along its rim. The steel production of foundries like this one represented the Empire¡¯s strength itself, that had allowed its centuries-long dominance upon the Western Frostscape, and turned it into a target for the Empire¡¯s enemies.

    ¡°Dark Spawn does a thing like this, and they call in their own kind to dry our fecking tears?¡± cursed one of the idle workers.

    ¡°He¡¯s not Dark Spawn,¡± insisted Bran. ¡°We don''t even know it was them just yet. Inquisitors will be here soon.¡±

    ¡°We all know it was,¡± spat one of his colleagues. ¡°That¡¯s what the foreman gets for hiring their kind.¡±

    The inflammatory colleague, sporting a lopsided, scraggly beard, stood up.

    ¡°Boss either makes them go, or I¡¯m handing in my hammer,¡± he announced. ¡°I¡¯ll find work somewhere else in the capital that has some sense. No overtime pay is worth losing a limb to one of their gzildamn bombs.¡±

    Bran briefly thought about making some remark back to him, but calmed himself, unsure what to say as the worker before him left to rejoin his colleagues. They had a right to be frustrated. He ended up regretting the timing of his cowardice.

    ¡°Our jobs here might be gone anyway. Foreman was looking over the damages. The pressure feed system¡¯s totalled, and parts have to be custom-made from a shop all the way out in Woulstan. They¡¯re looking at a month¡¯s shutdown, at least.¡±

    In the face of the remorse for their destroyed industrial shop, Bran lowered his voice towards Garrot.

    ¡°They¡¯re upset either way, but it probably didn''t help their opinion of us for you to show up late.¡±

    ¡°But we were supposed to give directions¡­! It¡¯s a Legionnaire¡¯s duty, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    At sunbreak, the two of them had headed out together in response to the foundry bombing. But Garrot had chosen to stop for an elderly couple having lost their way ¨C an act of compassion Bran now scrutinized him for.

    ¡°Duty and our asshole Sergeant are two separate concerns, Garrot.¡±

    ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry!¡± protested Garrot.

    He thought better of defending himself. The couple had traveled all the way from Almensk, a city in the Halehearth¡¯s rival empire, Elmira. Now that a period of peace had risen between the two empires, such tourists had become more common.

    Garrot had found the two after they¡¯d spent several hours trying to find someone that spoke Elman for assistance locating their lodgings; and had stopped out of worry of leaving them standed.¡±

    Bran heaved a sigh.

    ¡°You really wouldn¡¯t be able to just forget a person in need like that, could you? You at least get them on the right street?¡±

    Garrot gave an uneasy, guilty smirk.

    ¡°To be honest, I...wasn¡¯t really able to help much with that, either. They knew the street¡¯s name, but it wasn¡¯t familiar to me.¡±

    Bran raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°Then what the hell took you so long??¡±

    ¡°Well, we...the three of us kind of just got into a conversation! About rail travel, about the food they¡¯d been eating here¡ªabout their cousin, who came to the Empire to study before them. She¡¯s studying rail engineering, and apparently even in Elmira they feel that the Halehearth-¡±

    A shrill rebuff came from behind them.

    ¡°How in the FUCK do you two have time to chat like this??¡±

    The two of them snapped a salute on instinct in response to the familiar, overbearing voice, whose owner had snuck up on them from the foundry¡¯s main door, through the soft snow. Their superior officer circled around them, examining their guilty looks. The upturned, disapproving chin of Sergeant Williams was always discernible to the two of them no matter how thickly layered his outerwear. It didn¡¯t help that he held a height advantage over them both. He sneered at them in disgust.

    ¡°If the Dark Spawn pull off another attack out here, I¡¯m going to make sure to let command know it was because the fag and klyskin were too busy gossiping they couldn¡¯t even see their Sergeant walking up behind them.¡±

    Bran winced. Garrot knew from experience his friend was more sensitive about the way their Sergeant addressed Garrot than himself. Klyskin immigrants had more than a hard enough time in the Imperial Halehearth without Garrot''s own superior laying into him.

    ¡°Better yet,¡± continued Williams, peering at Garrot. ¡°I¡¯m thinking of asking the Inquisitors to figure out if this one could¡¯ve been their inside man.¡±

    ¡°Sergeant...?¡± called Garrot, respectfully.

    ¡°What?!¡±

    Garrot paced his answer; giving Williams a moment to breath through his frustration.

    ¡°You and the foundry workers have a right to be upset about this attack. But, sir...I¡¯m frustrated too. There were J¡¯halan workers hurt by the explosion too. They¡¯re all out being treated by the emergency responders. At best, they¡¯re relieved no one was killed. If you haven¡¯t spoken to them, I think they¡¯d be glad to help us figure out the cause of this and track down the bombers.¡±

    Williams¡¯ expression remained nonplussed.

    ¡°You telling me how to do my job, Private?¡± he accused.

    ¡°Of course not!¡± replied Garrot, smiling without missing a beat. ¡°If you¡¯d like, I¡¯d be happy to do it myself and report back to you!¡±

    ¡°Listen here-¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not either of your jobs,¡± interrupted a man in a black trenchcoat.

    Garrot¡¯s attention rose from the newcomer¡¯s shining badge to the sharp tools on his waistcoat, to his look of annoyance at the three of them. The assuming air made even clearer than the badge that this was an Inquisitor - investigators for the Halehearth Empire. While not considered a part of the Steel Legion, the Legionnaires were expected to acknowledge their requests at any time when it pertained to keeping the Emperor¡¯s peace. He too had arrived from inside the foundry; and addressed the three of them with a tired air.

    ¡°Hey. Guardsman. Anyone come in or out since you took point?¡±

    Bran snapped his M2 musket to attention.

    ¡°No sir!¡± replied Bran.

    The Inquisitor shuffled past him out of the foundry¡¯s grounds.

    ¡°We¡¯re not done at the scene, but I need to search the burrows, turn over a few stones. We¡¯re pretty sure he didn¡¯t go to the outskirts.¡±

    ¡°Do we know who we¡¯re looking for, sir?¡± asked Williams.

    The inquisitor grumbled back at him.

    ¡°You are looking for anyone, Sergeant. Man, woman, fuckin¡¯ baby in a sailsled. No one leaves the foundry grounds.¡±

    ¡°I know, b-¡­" muttered Williams hesitantly. Shaking his head, he relented, turning to the two privates. ¡°Fuck it. You two numbskulls heard him.¡±

    As the Inquisitor left to conduct his investigation, Williams marched off to check on the other perimeter guards, leaving Garrot and Bran alone again.

    Bran released a pained exasperation, free from the burden of their Sergeant¡¯s presence.

    ¡°...Three more days. Three more days until Sergeant Dickless finally transfers over to Breaker Company. Then he¡¯ll finally be out of our hair...¡±

    ¡°Oh!¡± remarked Garrot. ¡°That¡¯s...too bad.¡±

    ¡°Too bad?¡±

    Garrot shrugged, unsure how to justify his offhand statement.

    ¡°I just...feel like we¡¯re still not on great terms with the Sergeant. I was hoping to get a chance to patch things up with him before he left the company.¡±

    Bran turned to square himself with his companion.

    ¡°Garrot, you know you¡¯re never going to be friends with everyone in the world, right? Much as you might seem to try. The Sarge is just forever going to be an asshole.¡±

    "I...I don¡¯t like to think that,¡± said Garrot. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°Someday, you need to learn not to apologize so much. You¡¯re Legion, remember. Next war the Empire is sucked into, you¡¯re going to be shooting someone with that musket. Who knows. Maybe today, if that bomber comes back. Don¡¯t have ¡®sorry¡¯ on your lips when that happens.¡±

    Garrot hugged his shoulders inward.

    ¡°Do you...think they¡¯d come back?¡±

    ¡°Maybe...¡± said Bran, noncommittally. ¡°The Barrows¡ªthe place that Inquisitor went to check¡ªthat''s that neighborhood over there, right...? The Emergency Response Agency was bringing their sleds up the main road to put out the fires, so I guess he¡¯d cross that big open field out of the wall.¡±

    Bran motioned out, left of the long road, walled off by fence posts, to what had formerly been a blank, white, snowy field spacing the foundry from the street bordering the Barrows. Now, the bootprints of the arriving squadron had left a long impression.

    ¡°Hm...that¡¯s pretty exposed, isn¡¯t it...?¡± suggested Bran.

    ¡°That¡¯s how I got here, too,¡± admitted Garrot. ¡°I saw there were already bootprints in the snow from the rest of the squadron.¡±Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    ¡°Leave it to you Legion boys to trample the last bit of peace we have!!¡± grumbled one of the workers nearby, having apparently overheard them.

    Garrot turned, bowing in apology.

    ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry for that...! I tried to follow the other footprints...!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re telling him sorry...?¡± muttered Bran. ¡°What...for?¡±

    ¡°...Well, think about it,¡± said Garrot. ¡°You work in a sweltering-hot foundry all day, surrounded by rust and fumes. This place is far enough away, I imagine a lot of the workers don¡¯t have time to go out someplace like Amber Square for lunch on their schedule. So at most, when they bring sandwiches to work, they can at least look out over that big white field of snow, and watch the snowfall. It seems like it¡¯d be calming. But...that¡¯s not as appealing with the mess of footprints, and it¡¯ll take time for those to wipe over.¡±

    ¡°I...guess...?¡± shrugged Bran. ¡°You¡¯d think the explosion would be far more of a damper on their day.¡±

    Garrot shrugged.

    ¡°Sometimes it¡¯s the patterns¡ªthe two things happening at once¡ªthat really makes people¡¯s mood sink.¡±

    Bran wasn¡¯t sure he¡¯d been convinced, but decided to accept Garrot¡¯s judgment. If there was one thing his colleague was far better at, it was seeing things from other people¡¯s point of view.

    The morning silence loomed over them. Bran tapped his feet, his mind processing Garrot¡¯s comment.

    ¡°Hey!¡± he called suddenly to the idle workers. ¡°When did you first see footprints in that big field going to the Barrows?¡±

    The perturbed factory worker blinked twice, caught off-guard by the question.

    ¡°It...Like I said, it was you numbskulls! Even the flakes of white ash from the explosion didn¡¯t ruin that perfect white!¡±

    Bran hefted his musket, turning to Garrot.

    ¡°Garrot...? Can you stand guard here?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    Bran pursed his lips in consideration.

    ¡°Could be just a hunch, but...I think that Inquisitor¡¯s searching the wrong way for that bomber. Neighborhoods along the city rim would call in a suspicious person straight away, and he didn¡¯t take that field going to the Barrows.¡±

    ¡°Oh...!¡± realized Garrot. ¡°Because of the footprints...!¡±

    ¡°He would have had to run before the explosion went off,¡± explained Bran. ¡°But if he didn¡¯t...¡±

    ¡°So you think he¡¯s...¡±

    Garrot put both hands on his musket as he examined the smoking foundry building.

    ¡°I¡¯m just going to do a quick search around the interior,¡± assured Bran, as he trotted off into the building.

    ¡°But we...the Sergeant¡¯s orders-!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t care,¡± insisted Bran. ¡°He¡¯s just a glory hog anyway.¡±

    Garrot realized his motions were going to be ignored, as Bran slipped away, leaving him to guard the front of the foundry on his own.

    It was hard to tell who was more dedicated as a Legionnaire between the two of them. Garrot was dutiful and eager, ready to take on any task put upon him; but his longtime friend went above and beyond¡ªeven when it might differ from his exact orders.

    For several minutes, he could observe Bran through the door, evading the Sergeant as he made his own inquiries. Garrot shuffled nervously under the observation of the beleaguered workers, as the only remaining patrolman watching the foundry¡¯s west gate. After several minutes, one of the factory workers, another klyskin like himself, approached Garrot with a look of concern.

    ¡°Can I help you?¡± asked Garrot.

    The nervous worker pointed cautiously, as though he didn¡¯t want to be seen.

    ¡°Excuse me...can you...ask that man over there who he is? I...don¡¯t think I recognize him.¡±

    Garrot turned to follow the man¡¯s inquiry, but had trouble locating the subject.

    ¡°Who do you mean? We could ask them togeth-¡±

    Garrot suddenly received a hard shove on his back. The world became muffled as his face fell deep into a mound of snow. He floundered helplessly in the unpacked, powdery mix for several seconds. When he finally extricated himself, he was entreated to the sight of the workers gazing at him in curiosity, and his attacker rushing down the lane to the barrows.

    Garrot cupped his hands as he struggled to his feet.

    ¡°HELP!! WEST GATE!!¡±

    In a few seconds, Bran had burst outside, his musket at the ready, and caught sight of Garrot.

    ¡°That way-!!¡± he cried, pointing out in the escaped worker¡¯s direction.

    ¡°That J¡¯halan just let him through!!¡± shouted one of the workers. ¡°The gzildamn immigrants were collaborating on it!!¡±

    Garrot could sense Bran''s anger seething over from the charged comment, having already reached a tipping point from the comments earlier. Before he could say anything he''d regret, Garrot grabbed his arm, shifting his attention.

    ¡°Come on!! It¡¯s our fault he got out!!¡±

    Bran swallowed.

    ¡°I messed up...! I shouldn¡¯t have left you alone at your post...¡±

    ¡°You what??¡±

    The call came from the Inqusitor that had spoken to them earlier. He had just approached them, coming from one of the homes in the Barrows, his notepad in hand. Grumbling, he waved after the unknown figure.

    ¡°That¡¯s our guy? And you let-!...You damn MORONS!! Go!¡±

    Dutifully, Bran and Garrot continued the chase into an alleyway, trying their best to keep up with the frantic figure through the thick morning snow.

    Bran skidded to a halt to raise the sights on his M2¡ª¡®Magazined Musket¡¯ at their quarry. The weapon afforded 5 icy rounds; far more than most firearms in production could accomplish. He could afford to miss.

    However, aiming the shot turned out to be a mistake¡ªtheir target had run out from the other side of the alley into a busy street. As pedestrians caught sight of Bran¡¯s aimed musket, several of them flew into a panic. A reindeer-drawn carriage proceeding down the street skewed into the sidewalk, its wheels shuddering to a halt, as its steeds whined in protest at the sudden obstacles.

    ¡°Dammit...!¡±

    Bran tensed, reconsidering the shot rather than risk hitting an innocent bystander. Garrot was ahead of him, and hadn¡¯t broken stride. A white-clad nobleman staggered out of the stopped carriage, confused about the commotion. Garrot motioned him back.

    ¡°Please, sir...! Stay in your carriage!! He could be dangerous!¡±

    The bomber had already vaulted a collection of barrels facing a fenced alleyway, leaving Bran and Garrot, in their heavy Legionnaire gear, struggling to catch up. Garrot offered a hand back to Bran as he reached the tip of the fence.

    ¡°C¡¯mere...!¡±

    ¡°Stop...worrying about me!!¡± spat Bran. ¡°Fecking hell, he¡¯s gonna get away!¡±

    The two of them eventually slumped into a small yard. Beyond the set of fresh footprints before them, the fence at the opposite end of the empty lot was made of ice links¡ªwater frozen through a special process that hardened it as though it were metal. At its top, razor-sharpened ice glimmered threateningly.

    The bomber had instead chosen to pass through a small gate in the fence¡ªand had hastily slammed its door behind him, thrusting a shovel against it and the snow at his feet, to wedge it shut.

    ¡°Shit...no...!¡± panted Bran.

    He thrust himself against the fence, watching as the terrorist widened the gap ever farther from them.

    ¡°This...it¡¯s my fault he got away...¡± lamented Bran. ¡°I¡¯m-...¡±

    ¡°It was my fault. I¡¯m sorry,¡± said Garrot.

    Then, without warning, the ground fell apart.

    A loud rumbling accompanied the formation of a giant fissure ahead of the bomber. He backpedaled, panicking as a chasm split the city before them in two.

    ¡°Wha-¡­? How...?¡±

    The two Legionnaires lost focus on their objective as destruction reigned before them. The bomber retreated to the fence, removing the shovel and hurtling the door back open.

    Bran and Garrot, still stunned at the sight of the fissure. The urgency of the bomber they were chasing left them, and he slipped past their inattentive fingers.

    Without warning, the wooden fence behind them erupted into pieces from an electrifying blast, cutting off the bomber¡¯s escape. Splinters of wood showered through the yard. In the fence¡¯s place, a towering, armored knight, bearing a terrifyingly large greathammer and a brilliant white beard, stomped into the alleyway.

    ¡°...Giant fissure?¡± teased the knight, directing his attention to a man behind him. ¡°Isn¡¯t that a bit melodramatic, Lord Juuko? You could cause panic.¡±

    From behind the knight, the white-dressed nobleman that Garrot had warned away stepped into the alley, an elegant cane in his hand.

    ¡°You¡¯d prefer a nice, simple brick wall, Lord Klaus? People tend to try to climb walls. Illusions need a bit of melodrama to have their effect.¡±

    ¡°Sir!! It¡¯s not safe!¡± called Garrot in panic. A chasm has opened in-!!¡±

    He stopped himself. The nobleman¡¯s word erupted in his mind¡ªIllusions. He now knew exactly who these two men were.

    The men before them could be none other than two of the Three Imperial Scions¡ªomnipotent keepers of the Empire, wielders of sacred, ne¡¯er-else-seen magical arts said to be bestowed upon none other than the Emperor¡¯s distant bloodlines.

    The old knight was Lord Wallace Leonaste, the latest in his family line to hold the title of the Second Scion: ¡®Lord Klaus¡¯. To the two of them, however, he was ¡®General¡¯ Klaus¡ªkeeper of the Empire¡¯s army, the Steel Legion. Bearing powers of thunderstorms on his own, his very presence had forced entire armies into surrender¡ªor slaughter.

    Beside him, the middle-aged, elegantly-styled man was known as Mikael Wersten, and wielded supreme power of illusion¡ªconjuring even the most impossible images and sounds to the eyes of all around him. Even such eclipsing visions as the chasm that had erupted across the city were well within his power. To the Halehearth Empire, he was known as the First Scion, Lord Juuko.

    The First Scion peered in bemusement at the chasm ahead.

    ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll clean that eyesore up. Sorry to panic you footsoldiers.¡±

    The First Scion ¡®pulled¡¯ at the air with his clean, gloved hand. The rumbling sound quieted¡ªand Garrot looked back to see the fissure ahead calmly and mysteriously shrinking down to a point, before dissipating into the ether. In mere moments, the entire alley ahead bore no more disturbance in its snow than the footprints of a panicked bomber.

    ¡°M-...My Lord!¡± stammered Bran. ¡°L-Lords!!¡±

    ¡°Well, don¡¯t tell everyone,¡± chuckled Lord Klaus. ¡°Mikael. Get the Inquisitors over here, would you?¡±

    Uncurling his hand skyward, Juuko snapped a finger, sending an illusory flare skyward from his bare hand. Its trail formed an arrow down to their position, as a firework in the sky burst into bright, shining letters:

    HE¡¯S OVER HERE, INQUISITORS!

    ¡°Who would have thought our ride to the Emperor¡¯s Hearth would take us past a bit of brief excitement like this?¡± mused Lord Klaus, jovially.

    ¡°Seems like violence managed to sooth you, General?¡± sighed Lord Juuko. ¡°I remember you being somewhat irate at the sudden carriage stop.¡±

    Knowing himself to be hopelessly outmatched, and sensing his captors were distracted through banter, the bomber changed course again, making a desperate bid past Bran and Garrot for escape. No sooner had he taken two steps than a jolt of electricity connected from Lord Klaus¡¯s hammer to the man¡¯s back, causing him to falter into the snow in pain. Klaus grunted.

    ¡°Just a love tap, little fiend. Don¡¯t want these two budding young Legionnaires to get jolted by the static when they grab you.¡±

    Taking it as a suggestion, Bran and Garrot each grabbed an arm of the cloaked figure. Bran threw the hood of his robe off, exposing the man¡¯s klyskin face. Lord Klaus¡¯s jesting manner dissipated as he met the terrorist¡¯s eyes with a grimace.

    ¡°We give your kind a home...and this is how you¡¯ve repaid us.¡±

    From behind the Scions, the Inquisitor that had yelled at Bran reappeared, offering a bow to the two Scions.

    ¡°Your Lordships! I-I¡¯m humbled by your assistance. Please, do not let us bother you further. You can leave this to me.¡±

    ¡°Oh, give him his moment, Inquisitor,¡± protested Juuko. ¡°It''s probably been decades since grandpa here has had a chance to use his magic beyond entertaining at parties.¡±

    ¡°Son, we DO need to be getting to the Hearth. The Emperor awaits us.¡±

    Klaus rolled his eyes, giving a contemptful look to the huddled bomber beneath them.

    ¡°Not...as though a single fleeing suspect gives the same rush of blood as facing down armies on our threesome,¡± he added remorsefully.

    ¡°The thing is, sirs...I have some arrests to make,¡± grumbled the Inquisitor, doing his best to project a polite, but unwelcome atmosphere to the Scions.

    ¡°Arrests? You think there¡¯s others...?¡± asked Bran.

    The Inquisitor shifted his glance determinedly to Garrot and Bran¡ªthen unfurled multiple pairs of steel cuffs from his coat.

    ¡°...Yes. I do.¡±

    Garrot, Bran, and even the Scions were taken aback by the accusing implication. Several of the Inquisitor¡¯s colleagues arrived from the nearby street, and deferred to the Inquisitor¡¯s lead.

    ¡°I specifically remember asking you two to keep watch at that wall. We had a bulletproof perimeter around the foundry. And you expect me to believe this man walked right out without scratching you?¡±

    ¡°I-¡­!¡± stammered Bran. ¡°Well, the field-...there were footpri-...I mean, NO footp-...I-I realized he might not have been at the Burrows as you thought! See, he was hiding inside th-¡±

    ¡°Making it all the more important to keep that perimeter. That possibility had not been lost on me, Private, we were covering all angles. And you.¡±

    The Inquisitor turned to Garrot, and began twirling his cuffs.

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t surprise me that another of their kind made sure to secure that so-convenient escape.¡±

    Garrot glanced fleetingly to the mighty figure of Lord Klaus¡ªwho served as their ultimate superior. The General offered nothing more than an uncertain grimace in return.

    ¡°Il terradvoco krit neha,¡± breathed the bomber. ¡°Sovoca mun rio haya.¡±

    The Dark Spawn will never die, interpreted Garrot in shock. Even if I do.

    Garrot timidly called out to the frustrated Inquisitor.

    ¡°Sir-!...I think-!¡±

    As the Inquisitor approached with his cuffs, the bomber kicked forward amid Garrot¡¯s distraction, then ruffled himself out of his cloak, freeing himself from Garrot and Bran¡¯s grasp. He dropped to his knees, and tugged free a thin, ice-forged knife hidden in his boot.

    The members of the alley took a step back as their enemy brought the knife upward¡ªand centered it upon his own throat, preparing to slam it through.

    Midway through the unexpected motion, the bomber¡¯s arms were caught by a pair of flaming ropes that sprang from the ground, and curled around his arms, producing a hissing sizzle of burning clothing and flesh. The J''halan bomber cried out in howling agony from the heat, releasing the knife into the snow. Even the two Scions recoiled at the apparent intense pain of their victim as he fell to his knees, the sickening implements tugging his arms down.

    ¡°...How many of you blithering idiots does it take to apprehend one filthy terrorist...?¡± hissed a woman on the street.

    Each of them turned in a synchronized movement, to catch the looming appearance of a tall, dominant figure, dressed in dark furs. Her shoulders rose almost a full head over the men around her. Where her face would have been visible, instead a gleaming white falcon mask revealed only her infuriated crimson eyes. The woman¡¯s fingers were curled outward, holding a furious grip upon the air, directed towards the flame-embroiled bomber.

    Her target never even had a chance to turn his head up to see the Lady Phaeriga, third of the Imperial Scions. Still, he appeared all too aware of his woeful impending fate, given the wild, pained, and suddenly deathly-frightened look in his eyes.

    The Lady Phaeriga stepped past her colleagues in irritation.

    ¡°Juuko...I would have thought all your gzildamn work as Foreign Minister would help you accidentally learn a fucking word of Elman.¡±

    ¡°S-Sorry, miss...¡± stammered Juuko. ¡°I didn¡¯t learn the phrase for ¡®Excuse me, I¡¯m about to bleeding kill myself.¡¯ ¡°

    Phaeriga knelt down before the bomber, never deigning to make eye contact with the other occupants of the small yard. She lifted his chin up, causing a small gasp of pain from him as the flaming ropes dug in again.

    ¡°You die...when I say you get to die, klyskin filth.¡±

    The flaming strands dissipated, and Phaeriga lifted the cowering man up by his robes, hurling him into the street.

    ¡°My Department will take him. Consider it my repayment for wasting my time coming all the way out to the fucking capital on ceremony.¡±

    ¡°Y-Yes, ma¡¯am...!¡± said the Inquisitor. He jabbed a nod towards Bran and Garrot. ¡°I''ll just be bringing these two to the Red Quarter for-¡±

    ¡°The Legionnaires...? Have the Inquisitors fallen this far?¡± sneered Phaeriga. ¡°Desperate for scraps and scapegoats? Your failure was your own, Inquisitor. If I had even the slightest suspicion that these two hopeless saps were his cohorts, they¡¯d have already been cremated. Far more likely that his Lord Klaus is simply incapable of beating them into shape.¡±

    Several of the other approaching Inquisitors wrapped shackles around the bomber, under the Third Scion¡¯s watchful eye.

    ¡°We only need one of their kind to answer questions, after all.¡±

    She stepped back out through the destroyed fence to the street, wary of any further motions of the bomber¡ªthough he had become completely docile, petrified in fear of the towering woman above him.

    Hesitant about rejoining her, Lord Juuko let out a sigh.

    ¡°It¡¯s...never going to feel how it used to, did it...?¡± he lamented. ¡°The three of us, heroes against the bad guys of the world.¡±

    Klaus dropped his greathammer to his side, shaking his head.

    ¡°...Not since Francis left her to us, Mhira rest his soul. Juuko...we¡¯d better get going. His Highness expects us.¡±

    The Lord Juuko flipped a smile to the two Legionnaires behind him as he followed Phaeriga out.

    ¡°Sorry, Privates. No autographs today.¡±

    Timidly, Garrot and Bran exited the yard, and observed the receding chaos from the street they had just chased through. Already, traffic was resuming as Inquisitors cleared the area and pedestrians worked to upright scattered belongings.

    As they surveyed the scene, a shadow cast over them. Garrot realized it was the Lady Phaeriga herself¡ªshe had been looming out of sight before walking back towards her own carriage, when she¡¯d caught sight of his klyskin flesh.

    Garrot, meekly, offered a smile. Even through her mask, the Scion was clearly not amused by it.

    Bran elbowed him.

    ¡°Garrot-¡­!¡± he whispered. ¡°You sh-¡±

    Too late, Garrot realized the problem. Bran had adopted the two-fisted salute of the Empire. Garrot, meanwhile, had acted too late. The Scion marched past them, irritated.

    ¡°You¡¯re supposed to salute, caveman.¡±

 Breakers and Chasers

    ¡®Caveman¡¯.

    The word had been in use for decades to refer to the J¡¯halan immigrants flooding the Halehearth Empire; introduced at a time when there was a low certainty that those residing in caves were even capable of ¡®civilized¡¯ speech.

    Garrot''s homeland held many living communities enclosed in such city-sized caves, earning them the none-so-respectful term. By now, its inflammatory meaning was almost completely divorced from its origins, being nothing more than a personal stab¡ªa declaration of superiority by birth.

    It was easy enough for Garrot to pass the slur off when the remarks were delivered from denizens on the street, or drunken patrons at a bar protesting about their severance. But Lady Phaeriga, as well as the other Scions, represented little less than the voice of the Emperor himself. She had spat the word at Garrot with barely a glance¡ªand not even covertly under her breath.

    Any day Bran patrolled together with Garrot, or even traveled the streets of Imbral off-duty, they¡¯d run the risk of some anti-J''halan sentiments passing them by. Bran still felt guilty that he hadn¡¯t defended Garrot from the ire of the steelworkers at the foundry. At the time, he¡¯d resolved that the next person to make his friend feel unwanted would find themselves crammed facefirst into a snow bank. Needless to say, he had not held this resolution upon the Third Scion¡¯s remark.

    Lowering his salute, having raised it too late for the Scion to notice, Garrot patted Bran¡¯s shoulder¡ªhe had already sensed the internal conflict of his patrol partner.

    ¡°Bran...! Don¡¯t worry! I¡¯ve told you so many times before. Those problems are for me to deal with. Besides, it doesn¡¯t bother me.¡±

    ¡°It should bother you, though,¡± muttered Bran.

    ¡°Bothers ME.¡±

    The cutting jab had come from their Sergeant, who had stomped his way up to them after observing their disrespect of a superior officer.

    Williams looked them up and down with a sneer.

    ¡°Hathorne! Sternen! There¡¯s snow on your coats. Clean it off.¡±

    Bran sputtered in protest. ¡°We were just...chasing-¡±

    ¡°NOW.¡±

    Frustrated at the invented excuse to humiliate them, Bran started patting off the snow on his friend¡¯s shoulders. Williams raised a finger.

    ¡°No - He can do it himself. You too. Take your coats off, you look like delinquents that got in a damn snowball fight.¡±

    Begrudgingly, the two removed their outerwear, feeling a chill through their tunics. Under the Sergeant¡¯s eye, they endeavored to find every last speck of snow on their clothes lest they give their Sergeant further excuses to berate them.

    When the Scions¡¯ carriages had returned to the road and exited earshot, Williams continued.

    ¡°You don¡¯t give a shit about those three, do you? The whole reason your kind invaded the Halehearth was to sit under their protection. They¡¯re the very heroes that make this country safe for your kind, and you can¡¯t even deign to salute them?¡± said Williams, bending down to Garrot¡¯s level.

    The Sergeant was speaking loud enough to be within earshot of the heroes he was referring to¡ªmaking Garrot think he wasn¡¯t really the subject of the remarks. Williams made it sound like being a Scion was a wholly sacrificial affair, but any person in the street would have gladly traded places with them.

    Few knew about the process by which a member of the three Scionic families became one of the Emperor¡¯s chosen Scions. But the fact of the matter was that the positions had afforded each of them great benefits¡ªthough beholden to the word of the Emperor himself, few else outranked them. With the Emperor becoming far more reserved in recent years, all three held some of the strongest influence in the Western Halehearth. Besides possessing wealth beyond imagining, each held an office of no small renown within the Empire. Though it was dangerous for either of the ensigns to reply to Williams, one could hardly consider their heroism altruistic.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t thinking, sir¡± insisted Garrot, swiping at the back of his coat. ¡°It won¡¯t happen again. I hold them in the highest esteem, sir, I promise.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t seem like it when you were smirking at the Lady Phaeriga. Were you fucking staring at her tits? Worthless hellspawn. Shits like you are the reason I¡¯m transferring out of Chaser and its fucking pansies. Her Lady shoulda just fucking torched you. I¡¯m sure besides this worthless faggot, no one would miss a cave worm like you.¡±

    ¡°You KNOW-¡­!¡± started Bran.

    Garrot held a hand to his side, anticipating and cutting off Bran¡¯s advance. He straightened, looking Williams in the eye.

    ¡°Sergeant? Is something bothering you today?¡±

    Williams blinked.

    ¡°You mean, besides you??¡±

    ¡°Yes. Is anything the matter?¡±

    Williams stared back at Garrot, having no retort at the ready. Garrot shrugged.

    ¡°We caught that bomber in the end, sir. We¡¯re both sorry for letting him get out of the foundry¡¯s grounds. But since you still seem so upset, it...feels like there¡¯s something else that¡¯s troubling you. Is it about your transfer?¡±

    ¡°Are you f-¡­? The fuck do you know??¡± bellowed Williams, his threats gradually losing luster.

    He huffed and turned away from them.

    The squadron¡¯s motorsled, a klysten-driven steam vehicle, arrived on the street, tied to a slick trailer-sled; with a wooden seat for each squad member.

    Outside the Steel Legion, few were afforded the privilege of motorsleds, thanks to the Legion¡¯s privatization of the technology. Their engines boiled snow to steam using the radiant heat of its klysten-ore battery. Even in the city center, supplying its snow tank was never an issue.

    Williams took his seat in the sled¡¯s front car next to their Corporal in the driver¡¯s seat.

    ¡°Just for that, you two get to walk back. Enjoy the cold, you back-talking...cave-...¡±

    Williams trailed off, power from his verbal lashing fading into confusion after Garrot¡¯s question. The two Privates watched as the rest of their patrol squadron drove off down the street, leaving them alone.

    ¡°Ohhh nooo,¡± lamented Bran, in a high pitch. ¡°You mean we have to converse with ourselves, instead of spending a sled ride listening to our Sergeant?¡±

    ¡°Sounded like he had something on his mind. Maybe he¡¯d...just prefer to talk it over with someone else, instead,¡± suggested Garrot. ¡°Someone he trusts a bit more personally.¡±

    Bran raised an eyebrow dubiously. It took Garrot several seconds to process.

    ¡°OH. It-...that...you were being sarcastic,¡± he realized. ¡°Sorry, it¡¯s...a vocal inflection I don¡¯t-¡­"

    ¡°Right...yeah, sarcasm¡¯s one of those things that doesn¡¯t translate well,¡± admitted Bran, deciding to withhold his mockery. ¡°Honestly, aside from the accent, I sometimes forget Imperial¡¯s your second language...¡±

    The two of them strolled back in the direction of the Steel Legion¡¯s home base at Fort Ortmeyer, knowing there was little they could do to avoid being marked late upon their arrival.

    ¡°I have to work on that, though. Someday I need to be a respectable Imperial...work out how to fix my accent, and-¡±

    ¡°Hey...¡± remarked Bran. He stopped on the sidewalk, forcing Garrot to turn and face him. ¡°You ARE a respectable Imperial. More than assholes like the Sarge. Rhile would back me up on that.¡±

    Garrot smiled. It was true¡ªBran¡¯s husband Rhile had quickly taken a liking to Garrot when he¡¯d stayed at their residence in the Scholars¡¯ Quarter for Salute Week.

    ¡°Even Rhile needed a bit of time together to warm up to me, remember!¡± remarked Garrot. ¡°You could think about that next time we¡¯re talking with the Sergeant.¡±

    ¡°I-¡­!¡± Bran stuttered. ¡°Don¡¯t compare Sergeant Asswipe¡¯s months of degrading you to Rhile¡¯s one-time reaction...!¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡± insisted Garrot.

    Bran didn¡¯t have an answer ready. Garrot patted his shoulder.

    ¡°Bran, I¡¯m not trying to make you feel bad for your husband. I just mean...don¡¯t be afraid to acknowledge things about yourself, or the people you care about, that aren¡¯t so perfect.¡±

    Bran growled in frustration.

    ¡°Even he shouldn¡¯t have had that reaction when he first met you! I mean...I shouldn¡¯t be warning him beforehand! What, do I preface this idea of a house guest with ¡®Oh, and by the way, he has dark yellow skin, so hide the valuables in your sock drawer first¡¯?¡±

    ¡°That one was sarcasm,¡± recognized Garrot, attentively.

    Bran stepped out across the street, and Garrot trotted to catch up, unsure of their direction.

    ¡°Is Market Street the fastest way back...?¡± he asked.

    ¡°No. It¡¯s not. I¡¯m just giving us a short detour.¡±

    ¡°But-¡­!¡± protested Garrot. ¡°Aren¡¯t we already running late?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. And they¡¯re gonna chew us out anyway, which is why I¡¯m not bothered about taking another minute or two.¡±

    ¡°That...seems a bit dishonest,¡± concluded Garrot, lumbering along anyway.

    Market Street was still occupied with the morning bustle of traders from the surrounding farmlands offering their wares. A minute later, Bran had spent one sen coin, the Empire¡¯s smallest currency, on a pair of Steelfruits for the two of them. The oblong, seedy fruit was not so sweet, or as tough as its name implied, but served as a satisfying, crunchy snack as they walked.

    ¡°Our Sergeant is dishonest. But anyway, now that I have you as a captive audience...¡± muttered Bran. ¡°Garrot, you do know why Williams was transferring, right...?¡±

    Garrot shook his head. As Bran continued, he picked some snow off a wall, and used it to scrub at some juice that had bled onto his glove.

    ¡°There¡¯s a few rumors going around that Breaker Company is going to be...at the forefront, so to speak. When the Dark Spawn decide to show their faces, or we locate their main force, Breaker will be the ones stepping in to annihilate them.¡±

    He paused to pat the hide of a stopped reindeer, its harness fastened to a cart behind it. Garrot stepped back, pleading him.

    ¡°Bran, we have to be getting to Fort Ortmeyer. We¡¯re late as it is.¡±

    ¡°Just...listen, Garrot. We still have to throw the pits out anyway before we show up to the Census Officer, and I know from experience all they do the week after Salute Week is remedial lectures.¡±

    He let out a sigh, leaning against the idle beast.

    ¡°I¡¯m not trying to prescribe how you deal with racist assholes like him. Hells know that...I never even realized how many klyskins deal with every day until I started hanging out with you. But you''re a soldier. Your life is dedicated to hunting down the worst of the world.¡±

    Garrot shook his head.

    ¡°Williams, and all the rest of Breaker Company...they¡¯ve had your ¡®I know you don¡¯t mean that¡¯ treatment a hundred times. A hundred chances for them to be the better guy. People like that just...aren¡¯t going to change. Even if they spend time around you.¡±

    Garrot tugged at Bran¡¯s hand, removing it from the reindeer¡¯s coat, then rubbed at it in the opposite direction.

    ¡°Stroke with the fur, not against it. It bothers him when you go that way,¡± he instructed.

    The reindeer gave a dissatisfied grunt, curling its neck to shake them away. Taking the motion as a dismissal, Garrot stepped back to address Bran as they continued walking.

    ¡°How well do you know the Sergeant?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I know him as well as I need to.¡±

    Garrot pointed accusingly.

    ¡°He¡¯d probably say something very similar if you asked him about me, you know...?¡±

    Bran rolled his eyes, and continued moving in the direction of the Fort.

    ¡°...Now you¡¯re comparing me to him? Just because I want him to stop calling you a ca-...to stop treating you, his own Private, like that?¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    Bran slammed the pit of his steelfruit into a nearby bin to emphasize the point.

    ¡°Everyone is how they are for a reason. Everyone,¡± emphasized Garrot fervently. ¡°Even the Lady Phaeriga. I¡¯d rather believe in that, than invent reasons to hate people.¡±

    Bran shook his head.

    ¡°Just...make sure the day WE get called to fight the Dark Spawn...you can find reasons to pull the trigger on that musket.¡±

    ¡°Late! And...late!¡± announced First Sergeant Grazey, as the two Privates . ¡°This isn¡¯t Salute Week anymore, you cold-toed pansies, Emperor needs you doing more than lollygagging around.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, ma¡¯am!¡± whimpered Bran. ¡°Our Sergeant left us out in the city with no transport. We had to walk.¡±

    After arriving at Fort Ortmeyer, the two of them had been intercepted by one of Chaser Company¡¯s senior officers. They remained at a tense salute, their eyes distant to the far wall of the entryway, unable to shake the snow from their boots. The First Sergeant snarled at him.

    ¡°Whose pace were you walking at, a glacier on crutches? Any Chaser Company reject of mine woulda sailed back in here not 3 minutes after the rest of 25<sup>th</sup> squad did.¡±

    Grazey was an older veteran; one of the ¡®grannies¡¯ trusted by most of the ensigns. She seemed to respond almost more pleasantly to insults than she did to compliments; and doled them out in equal measure.

    ¡°Hathorne. You¡¯re scrubbing down the entry course tonight before you get any grub.¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am!¡±

    ¡°But first, both of you are reporting to the Command Building. Sternen here doesn¡¯t have time to sweep ice shards from the musket range.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t...have time...?¡± confirmed Bran, holding his salute.

    ¡°CAN IT,¡± shot Grazey.

    Settling her gaze, Grazey let out a sigh.

    ¡°We¡¯re doing a cycle of promotions now that Salute Week¡¯s done. Lieutenant needs to see you at the command building. Act surprised when you get there; the decision was made earlier, so you¡¯d best hope they¡¯d rather get your reassignment over with, rather than find a replacement that¡¯s not perpetually tardy off his ass.¡±

    ¡°Yes...ma¡¯am...?¡±

    ¡°And Hathorne. Before Mr. Bad Influence here becomes Sergeant, I think Lieutenant Kendall will want to hear why a bomber walked straight through your arms. A word from you on what happened today could keep your friend¡¯s advancement from getting vetoed at the last minute.¡±

    ¡°Understood, ma¡¯am,¡± agreed Garrot.

    ¡°Dismissed. Get your skinny asses over there,¡± concluded Grazey.

    As the First Sergeant continued on past them, Garrot raised his eyebrows expectantly at Bran.

    ¡°Bran, are you...getting promoted?¡±

    Bran shrugged.

    ¡°If I¡¯d known that, I wouldn¡¯t have let us be so late...¡±

    ¡°You know...!¡± called Grazey. ¡°On second thought, it¡¯s obviously a mistake...! I think Officer Millings needs-¡±

    ¡°Sorry, ma¡¯am! We¡¯ll get going right away!!¡± said Garrot.

    As they hurried off, Bran flashed him a dissatisfied look that said Oh, and of course with her, you recognize sarcasm.

    Bran stammered, examining the state of his uniform before heading in the direction of the multistory command building.

    Ortmeyers¡¯ grounds were a wide-open space, with room for training regimens, vehicle pass-throughs, full cafeterias and even classrooms for infantry training. The command building sat at the back, and Bran was left with a myriad of thoughts stirring as he went to go meet his sudden appointment.

    There had been rumors rising that the Legion was preparing for a full offensive against the Dark Spawn¡ªbut the how, and where, remained unknown to infantrymen like himself. Grazey¡¯s remark about a ¡®cycle¡¯ of promotions suggested he was hardly the only person being put up in the ranks, to account for new formations.

    When he finally arrived at the steps to the command building, the sentries, Legion Police, or LP¡¯s, in dark protective leather vests, stopped the two of them with an eye of suspicion.

    ¡°Has someone summoned you?¡± they asked.

    ¡°Um...yes! The Lieutenant,¡± answered Bran.

    ¡°Lieutenant. Which Lieutenant?¡±

    ¡°Uhhh....¡±

    Garrot stepped forward with a smile. ¡°It was Lieutenant Kend-¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t ask you. Asked him,¡± rebutted the LP.

    Bran, resisting his own retort, proferred an apologetic hand.

    ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry...I heard there was a...¡¯promotion cycle¡¯ being conducted today?¡±

    ¡°Those have already concluded,¡± said the sentry.

    ¡°I¡¯ll handle this one,¡± came a voice from nearby.

    A young woman at the edge of the nearby barracks was giving Bran an accusing look. Garrot could see Breaker Company¡¯s insignia on her uniform. She had been biting on a toothpick; a common method of holding off tarbark cravings.

    ¡°Private Ellewright. Sorry, LP. You need a bit of context. These two fucked up a patrol duty that lead to a Dark Spawn bomber running free from the scene. Our Sarge was telling us about it as soon as he came back.¡±

    Bran grimaced. Apparently Ellewright was one of Williams¡¯ friends from Breaker.

    ¡°Yes...¡± admitted Bran. ¡°And I intend to apologize-¡±

    Ellewright cut him off, cocking her head at him mockingly.

    ¡°NOW, I only imagine he¡¯s running to command to see if he can give his version of the story first before he gets thrown out of Ortmeyer.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s this?? Ran free-¡­?¡± came a meek call from an officer inside the Command Building.

    Through the iceware door, a small, ruddy-faced officer exited the compound with a hefty clipboard in hand. He paused to adjust his iceware spectacles, staring in concern at Ellewright. Bran, Ellewright, and the two sentries snapped to attention.

    ¡°Lieutenant-General Kendall!¡± stammered Bran. ¡°Sorry to disturb you, sir! Just a...disagreement.¡±

    Though he kept up a humble, studious appearance, complete with a pencil stuffed behind his ear, the bespectacled man before them was the direct subordinate of the Second Scion, Lord Klaus, himself. Though not much older than Bran or Garrot, he was the highest representative of command their company ever hoped to see when receiving new orders.

    The arriving Lieutenant gave a casual, dismissive wave.

    ¡°At ease. Please¡ªI just need to understand...¡±

    He lifted his glasses, peering at Ellewright.

    ¡°Private? Did you say that one of the bombers got free??¡±

    ¡°W-Well, yeah...!¡± shrugged Ellewright. ¡°I mean, it was just one bomber, wasn¡¯t it...?¡±

    Kendall shifted his glasses back down to the clipboard. ¡°The...report we''re stamping said that one bomber fled from the grounds, but was ultimately brought into Red Quarter custody. Was there a second?...Am I wrong...?¡±

    ¡°N-...No, just the one, I mean, eventually, they got him-¡­But only because-"

    Kendall sighed, and held up a cautioning hand, as he let tension ease from his shoulders.

    ¡°I...don¡¯t need to hear blame games, Private. That the capital¡¯s streets are safe is the only remaining fact of importance to me.¡±

    ¡°Yes sir,¡± acknowledged Ellewright.

    ¡°Excuse me, young man, did you need something...? General Klaus may be needing me. If not, you are both dismissed.¡±

    On the word ¡®dismissed¡¯, Ellewright took the opportunity to slink away across the grounds, eager to be outside of the Lieutenant¡¯s attention.

    ¡°Oh! Um...¡± Bran steadily called to mind his original task. ¡°No, sir! I mean...I¡¯m supposed to be meeting with some Lieutenant about a promotion...¡±

    Kendall flipped some pages on his clipboard.

    ¡°I thought we already...ah, yes! There were two or three absences. Are you...Baker? Sternen? Quentin?¡±

    ¡°Sternen. That¡¯s me, sir.¡±

    ¡°Ah, yes! Best to have this taken care of. Uh...and did you need something, Private...¡±

    Garrot snapped to attention, offering his salute.

    ¡°Sir! I¡¯m...a part of his squadron, I¡¯m just here to help conclude the report on the bomber. P-Private Sternen is a close friend of mine, sir.¡±

    The LP next to the Lieutenant shook his head.

    ¡°We don¡¯t need you here, Private. Move alon-¡±

    ¡°Officer,¡± snapped Kendall.

    ¡°S-Sir!¡±

    Kendall beckoned forward to Bran and Garrot gently.

    ¡°The report I got was brief, so I wouldn¡¯t mind confirming a thing or two. We can keep it short, then. Right this way.¡±

    The two front guards stepped aside to let Bran and Garrot through. They each snapped a salute, then quickly followed after the officer.

    ¡°Thank you, Lieutenant-General Kendall!¡±

    Kendall smiled back, waving his hand dismissively.

    ¡°Just Lieutenant is fine. Or...even just ¡®Ken¡¯ works for me. No officer worth their station needs people to announce it every time.¡±

    The three of them walked through the command building¡¯s corridor, passing administrative secretaries and warrant officers all poring over logistical logs.

    ¡°Lieutenant...?¡± opened Garrot, as they reached the staircase to the second floor. ¡°I just want to say...I¡¯m sorry you need to mediate arguments like that.¡±

    ¡°Please understand, Privates,¡± stressed Lieutenant Kendall, ¡°The other two Scions are visiting the capital today for a War Meeting together with the Emperor. Doesn¡¯t do to look like bickering schoolchildren today¡ªor ever, for that matter.¡±

    ¡°I...Yes, believe it or not, both of us heard about the Lords¡¯ arrival...¡± chuckled Bran to himself.

    ¡°Did you...?...That...was supposed to be classified...¡± muttered Kendall.

    They arrived at an office, marked on its door with a shining glassware plate bearing the Lieutenant¡¯s name. For all the times they¡¯d seen the Lieutenant heading speeches over the Ortmeyer grounds, his office was cozy, unassuming and tidy. Kendall swiftly unlocked it and motioned the two of them inside. Bran stood forward of Garrot, who looked on in admiration.

    ¡°Now, before we get to rank adjustments...¡± lamented Kendall, sitting down. ¡°I suppose this is something we need to clear up. This business that that woman from Breaker was talking about.¡±

    Bran swallowed. Apparently, he wasn¡¯t totally out of the woods from upper command just yet. Kendall let out a sigh as he collapsed into his chair.

    ¡°Your Sergeant reported to me that both of you...decided to abandon your post to pursue your own investigation at the Foundry. He believes this act was what allowed the attacker to exit the grounds.¡±

    ¡°Not...quite, sir,¡± announced Garrot, stepping forward. ¡°Bra-...Private Sternen was worried that the Inquisitor had missed the bomber inside the grounds, when he went to investigate elsewhere. He left me to cover his post. I...I¡¯m the one that failed to secure that exit.¡±

    Kendall raised his eyebrow, as though first noticing Garrot¡¯s presence in the room.

    ¡°...Your Imperial is...quite good, klyskin. What was your name?¡±

    ¡°Hathorne. Private Garrot Hathorne.¡±

    Kendall leaned back, contemplating with a smile on his face.

    ¡°Garrot Hathorne. Hm...always good to see your blood on our side.¡±

    Kendall clucked his tongue, returning to the topic at hand.

    ¡°Well...The paperwork for your promotion had already gone through. In the end...I respect that earlier today there was a leap in initiative, and a lapse in judgment. While I might respond to such petitions from your Sergeant most days, in this case there¡¯s no risk of professional confrontation; as Mr. Williams is transferring out of the company shortly. And so...I¡¯d just ask that you be wary of how you show initiative in the future.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir...¡± agreed Bran. ¡°So...I suppose this means-¡±

    ¡°Ah-! I wasn¡¯t finished,¡± continued Kendall. ¡°That in mind...the Steel Legion is pleased to present to you a promotion to Sergeant, effective immediately.¡±

    Bran sprang up on his heels in surprise, aware of Garrot¡¯s beaming, congratulatory smile behind him.

    ¡°I-...Thank you, Lieutenant!! Thank you!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve shown dedication to the Emperor, Sternen. We¡¯re currently a bit too pressed for clever officers with the reorganization to pass you up over one lapse¡ªespecially one willing to go out on a limb rather than slack on the job.¡±

    Kendall took an envelope from a small pile at his side, and slid it to Bran.

    ¡°Take these reassignment orders to Quartermaster Molsey for a new uniform and sidearm. You report to Barracks L4 for a new bunk. Find First Lieutenant Grazey for your first session of officers¡¯ training.¡±

    ¡°Understood!¡± said Bran, with a sharp salute.

    ¡°There. Kept it nice and fast,¡± celebrated the Lieutenant. ¡°Did you have any other questions for me before you go?¡±

    Bran glanced back to Garrot¡ªwho immediately shook his head.

    Now¡¯s not the time. Just take the promotion, thought Garrot.

    ¡°...I...don¡¯t suppose the Legion is considering klyskins for promotion?¡± said Bran.

    Both Lieutenant Kendall and Garrot winced marginally at the question.

    ¡°Well...skin color should have little to do with it,¡± answered Kendall. ¡°The main question is whether he appears fit for the task.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m ready, sir,¡± interjected Garrot. ¡°My...failure to stop a dangerous criminal today is proof of that. I...need to be better.¡±

    And it was true. Garrot still wasn¡¯t close to imagining himself in such a role. He wasn¡¯t sure he¡¯d ever put himself into the Legion with any hope of advancement¡ªjust a regimen, a duty, and a place to belong; a place that would make the people of the Halen Empire feel safe. The Halehearth would be ill-served by an ill-prepared Sergeant.

    Kendall flapped his arms over the heavy sound of Bran¡¯s sigh.

    ¡°I...don¡¯t think we¡¯d be considering him for Sergeant until he considers it himself. But...could we say that merely being in the Steel Legion could be called a celebratory accomplishment for his kind? I think it¡¯s a wonderful mark of accomplishment that klyskins are even considered in the Steel Legion these days! It¡¯s a tremendous improvement from the days they¡¯d hardly be respected as imperial citizens.¡±

    Bran shrugged in Garrot¡¯s direction, unsure if he should be feeling so despondent so soon after a promotion.

    Garrot could sense his heart racing. He couldn¡¯t bring himself to agree with the Lieutenant.

    ¡°Sometimes it feels like we haven¡¯t come that far...¡± mumbled Bran.

    ¡°No. He¡¯s right,¡± said Garrot resolutely. ¡°Anyway, sir¡­I have a training course to clean.¡±

    ¡°Hey, can you pass me that brush...? And a shot of rum?¡±

    Garrot dutifully passed over the smaller of their shared brushes. After Bran¡¯s promotion, any celebration they¡¯d like to conduct would have to be postponed until his colleague had administered the basic duties of the station. Meanwhile, Garrot¡¯s assignment for the past hour, as amend for his late arrival, had been to cleaning the climbing rungs, crawl pits, and various hazards of the Ortmeyer training course. It had taken half that time before he¡¯d finally caught on to the strange sense of humor of the energetic private doing the work with him.

    With the both of them assigned to the janitorial job as punishment, the woman beside him had started with a whining demeanor, before finally relenting to the task after seeing her colleague proceed so dutifully.

    ¡°Auggh, it¡¯s in my eyes...my hair...¡± she lamented. ¡°What do you want to bet, next they¡¯re going to have us clean our uniforms¡ªand everyone else¡¯s - next?¡±

    ¡°Well, that''s not so bad, is it....? I mean, someone has to do it...!¡± said Garrot hopefully.

    The private next to him, whose name he¡¯d yet to learn, rolled her eyes.

    ¡°Maybe that duty should go to whoever peed their pants on the live-fire part of the course...¡±

    ¡°I remember being pretty scared the day we first ran that...¡± remarked Garrot.

    ¡°Scared, huh?¡± teased his colleague. ¡°Guess we should be glad they don¡¯t have us re-run it as punishment. Or worse, transfer to Breaker Company.¡±

    Garrot paused midway through scrubbing down the monkey bars, and leaned out, looking in the direction of his cleaning partner.

    ¡°Worse...? Because they¡¯re going to be the first fighters against the Dark Spawn?¡±

    ¡°I mean...yeah,¡± she insisted. ¡°Maybe less to you; they might let you live cause you¡¯re one of them. But you see those articles the Owls¡¯ Eye puts out about what Breaker Company does to the ones they capture? Walk ¡®em out into the frozen wastes, make them kneel in salt, carve out their eyes...!¡±

    ¡°Taking people ¡®snowbound¡¯...¡± remarked Garrot.

    ¡°...Yeah. That¡¯s the phrase, I guess.¡±

    The horrific practice of snowbinding people hadn¡¯t started with Breaker company. Both the Ilma Delgado Unidedo and Unider J¡¯halaga Perido, the two warring governments of his home country of J¡¯halaga, had adopted the cruel practice to make examples of their political rivals¡ªand their families. Such barbarism had prompted many to escape to the relative safety of the Halehearth. Yet, the practice had continued within the Empire by those who readily blamed their new neighbors for all of society¡¯s ills. To them, they were a festering leech hanging on the great Empire¡¯s safety.

    Garrot deposited his cleaning rag, pondering to himself, recalling his friend¡¯s words.

    Make sure the day WE get called to fight the Dark Spawn...you can find reasons to pull the trigger.

    It was his weak point, and he knew it; part of the reason he¡¯d deflected Bran¡¯s recommendation he apply for Sergeant. Each time he¡¯d joined in the lineup drills, thrusting and pivoting his M2 musket¡¯s bayonet, enduring the harsh, boisterous voice of the drill sergeant¡¯s orders, the emotions flowing through him were more of a sense of cheerful camaraderie¡ªa connection with his nearby colleagues¡ªthan the expected sense of brutality.

    But he knew; this was his role. This was what little he could do for the Empire that had taken him in when he had nowhere to go. He was no icesmith, or steelsmith, or engineer. He¡¯d been lucky enough to find someone willing to teach him the Imperial language after he¡¯d immigrated. To continue having a home, and ample wage, was a blessing he couldn¡¯t ignore. To know that his people¡¯s plight, the asylum of klyskins like himself, had lead the Empire down its own path of misery and fear, was a debt that weighed heavily on him.

    ¡°Excuse me. Would you mind finishing up for me?¡± asked Garrot. ¡°I think the training spears just need a polish, and then it¡¯s all done.¡±

    ¡°Whaaaaat?¡± remarked his partner. ¡°...Eh...fine. You started before me, I guess...¡±

    ¡°Thank you very much, miss!¡±

    Garrot¡¯s stomach rumbled from a missed lunch, but he''d decided he had another priority first.

    After asking directions from an LP, he was pointed to one of the officers¡¯ lounges. After rapping on the door, First Sergeant Grazey greeted him. In her hand was a mug of warm blackbark¡ªa rich, dark, bitter concoction made from the boiled bark of the eponymous blackbark tree. Its earthy aroma called out to Garrot¡¯s weakened senses after his grueling outdoor work.

    ¡°Hey. I¡¯ll be back in a few rounds, fellas,¡± she called behind her. ¡°Marksy, you¡¯re watching my take from these vultures¡ªI remember how many chips I had.¡±

    She stepped out, shutting the door behind her.

    ¡°Finished with the course, Hathorne? I¡¯ll be the judge of that,¡± she grunted.

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± acknowledged Garrot with a salute. ¡°The two of us were just applying what you¡¯d call...finishing touches. But I wanted to talk to you about something else.¡±

    Grazey was midway through stepping past him, when she sensed a gravity to his gaze. She squared herself to him, affixing her hand to her hip.

    ¡°Talk.¡±

    ¡°...First Sergeant...I want to officially request my transfer into Breaker Company.¡±

    Grazey¡¯s eyes flickered, as her elbows jostled in agitation. What most would interpret as anger, Garrot could read further¡ªpast her wrinkled, stony exterior, Garrot saw the unease in her eyes. The officer sipped at her mug to calm herself.

    ¡°...No, Private. No, you don¡¯t.¡±

 Career Paths

    Garrot was on the third-to-last question of a remedial class session on urban infiltration methods when he noticed his quarry; a signature silvery-white hairbun through the polished ice of the study hall¡¯s window.

    He scribbled out some guesswork answers and fumbled his paper onto the stack at the front of the room. The instructor¡¯s rebukes echoed back as he dashed out the door, chasing the hairbun through the gleaming wooden halls of the intercompany Barracks.

    ¡°First Sergeant! Miss Grazey!¡±

    The First Sergeant slowly pivoted to face him, maintaining her stride. ¡°Your class seems to be missing you, Private. Were you dismissed?¡±

    Grazey consistently maintained an erect posture in her stride, but even by leaning into a jog, Garrot had trouble matching the officer¡¯s pace. It almost felt like she was speeding up.

    ¡°Well, no, ma¡¯am - I just...I¡¯ve done as you asked.¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± mused Grazey, her eyes forward. ¡°You thought over your transfer to Breaker Company. The meat grinder that¡¯s going to get blown up by railside bombs when the Dark Spawn begin their fight in earnest. The company that even to a cranky old hag like me, is known to be full of upstart racists eager to find their next snowbinding victim.¡±

    ¡°...Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± said Garrot. ¡°I¡¯ve thought long and hard about it.¡±

    ¡°And, now that you¡¯ve reconsidered it...you¡¯ve come to me to rescind the application.¡±

    ¡°No, ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°Fuck¡¯s sake, Private Hathorne...¡±

    Grazey at last turned to face him.

    ¡°Y¡¯ask me personally? I don¡¯t think you¡¯d even be doing anything fruitful for the Empire by volunteering as punching bag for those pig-brains. This is a waste of my time, and a waste of your life.¡±

    Garrot maintained his gaze, fully expecting the dissuasion.

    ¡°And...I think you¡¯re wrong, ma¡¯am. I...I think it goes without saying an officer shouldn¡¯t speak about the Legion in such a way. You shouldn¡¯t assume such things about anyone.¡±

    Grazey gritted her teeth.

    ¡°Private, they¡¯re not assumptions. I know I certainly ain¡¯t no saint. Offer no apologies for the crap in my own record. I laugh at all the jokes that officers make over drinks about dirty migrants, even the ones that aren¡¯t funny. But even I know that Breaker Company¡¯s full of a bunch of racist fuckwads. That¡¯s probably why they were picked. They won¡¯t hesitate pulling the trigger.¡±

    ¡°...I won¡¯t hesitate either, ma¡¯am. These people are terrorists we¡¯re facing.¡±

    Grazey sneered at her. ¡°Think anyone will remember you for it? If you¡¯re expecting cameras and journalists to praise your unmarked grave, think again.¡±

    Sensing she was still producing no reaction, Grazey sighed, conceding that her warnings were having no effect.

    ¡°Come to the officers¡¯ building, 2200 hours. I don¡¯t know your division¡¯s training schedule - If you can¡¯t make it, you can¡¯t make it, and that¡¯ll probably be for the best. Dismissed.¡±

    Garrot thanked the First Sergeant for her time, and sprinted back over to the classroom, whereupon he was ordered to recite parade procedure for his unsanctioned leave from class.

    The remainder of Garrot¡¯s day blurred by. He¡¯d filled his minds with plans on how to make his first impression to the next Sergeant in Breaker Company¡ªhow he might alleviate any concerns from Sergeant Williams if the two ended up together again.

    His years in the Empire had made him accustomed to the many differing personalities of the Empire, and how to appeal to new audiences. Tired workers, confused or experienced travelers, the broken and disillusioned; these were all personality types he¡¯d become familiar with, and he¡¯d found ways to make each comfortable around him. By now, it was as simple as being himself, listening and appreciating their unique experiences.

    The reportedly angry and hateful disposition of Breaker Company was going to be a new situation for him. Still, he¡¯d kept a token of faith that it was only an outward appearance¡ªthat each of them was far more trusting and open with those they felt familiar with. Before long, he¡¯d arrived a half hour early for Grazey¡¯s appointed time.

    ¡°I¡¯ll sign off on a transfer order with the clerk, but you¡¯re on your own with making introductions in the morning.¡± instructed Sergeant Grazey. ¡°You¡¯ll get a new C.O. in Breaker, and it¡¯ll be up to you to resolve any problems.¡±

    She was leading Garrot to one of the frontal buildings of the compound, the Clerks¡¯ Office¡ªoften a destination for brand new recruits. Garrot smiled and nodded to her, knowing it was taking the officer a certain degree of patience and sympathy to do any more than throw paperwork at him to handle himself.

    ¡°One thing I do very well is make friends, ma¡¯am.¡± said Garrot. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I''m sure they might take time to adjust, but I think I can make myself familiar to them.¡±

    ¡°Certainly hope so...¡± replied the First Sergeant, measuring dubiousness in her voice.

    ¡°Garrot!¡±

    A call came from a nearby stairway. Bran was making his way down to meet them, sporting his complete new Sergeant¡¯s coat.

    ¡°Bran! Good to see you!¡± called Garrot. ¡°First day as an officer! How have you been?¡±

    ¡°Eh.¡± Bran replied, hesitantly. ¡°I feel like I should be over the Umbra! But¡­has me thinking about whether I¡¯m even satisfied with an officer¡¯s life.¡±

    Garrot quietly nodded in understanding. Bran¡¯s first choice of career had been as a Queryman¡ªa member of the Guild that investigated crimes and mysteries across the Egg. Though his penchant for mystery stories had romanticized the idea for him, the difficulties and impracticalities of the career path, mixed with the responsibilities of married life, had forced him to settle upon the Steel Legion for the foreseeable future. Perhaps advancing his military career came as an admission that his dream was dead.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure there¡¯s plenty of people that make career moves from the Legion to the Guild,¡± advised Garrot quietly. ¡°Just¡­don¡¯t quit on your first day. You can make a real impression.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well¡­¡± moaned Bran. ¡°I wish my first impression was better than letting a bomber get loose into the city.¡±

    Garrot sulked. Part of the reason he¡¯d let Bran seek out the Morabine Foundry bomber on his own had been to inspire his friend¡¯s investigative mind. Maybe this time, his supportiveness had backfired.

    ¡°Forget my promotion,¡± concluded Bran. ¡°Can you just tell me what the two of you are doing?¡±

    Garrot glanced over at the First Sergeant. She was checking her pocket watch, and exuding impatience.

    ¡°Tell him, kid.¡± she muttered nonchalantly.

    Garrot ruffled his hair, wondering how best to keep the explanation brief. He¡¯d hoped to only be telling Bran once the papers were signed.

    ¡°I¡¯m transferring over to Breaker Company. I-¡±

    ¡°Oh, come on. Garrot-!¡± started Bran.

    ¡°Just...listen, okay?¡± Garrot interjected. ¡°Long patrol nights have been one thing. But this is what I''ve always wanted. To do something to show my gratitude to the Empire. To show them we¡¯re not all these...horrible savages attacking our trains.¡±

    ¡°I really hope you¡¯re not suggesting that J¡¯halan terrorists are somehow your responsibility,¡± Bran said with a sobering stare. He rubbed at his temples. ¡°First Sergeant, you can¡¯t really be okay with this?¡±

    ¡°My advice, Sergeant, is don¡¯t get involved,¡± replied Grazey.

    ¡°Even so, what if-¡­" Bran¡¯s thought process trailed off as his eyes gazed out across the grounds. An idea was coming. Garrot raised a finger.

    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± he insisted.

    ¡°Wha-¡­"

    ¡°You¡¯re thinking about coming along with me. Don¡¯t. You¡¯re a married man. This...is the sort of thing people like me exist for.¡±

    ¡°People like me?! Fuck¡¯s sake, Garrot! That turn of phrase belongs to morons like Sergeant Williams!¡± yelled Bran in exasperation. ¡°I know I¡¯ve talked to you before about standing up for yourself, but that''s to assholes in the street, not terrorists out for your blood! This...this isn¡¯t your fight!¡±

    ¡°This shouldn¡¯t be anyone¡¯s fight! Bran, just...give me some credit. I¡¯ve thought about this. Look, we¡¯re keeping Grazey waiting. If you¡¯re so concerned, you can come along and hear out who I¡¯m getting for a C.O.¡±

    Unable to convince his friend, Garrot moved on, and Grazey followed. Reluctantly, Bran eventually came trailing behind them. His silence remained as far as their arrival in the clerks¡¯ office, as he observed Garrot putting pen to page on a neatly printed form letter, under the monotone clicking of nearby clerks at their typewriters.

    ¡°Just tell me you¡¯ve at least *visited* the Breaker Company barracks? Gotten a sense of what the hell you¡¯re getting yourself into?¡± inquired Bran, who was becoming increasingly irate at this development.

    ¡°Nope,¡± replied Garrot nonchalantly.

    He was sitting at one of the cubby desks in the large receiving room, scribbling out brief fields in the form he¡¯d been handed. He spoke to Bran with his eyes firmly on the paper.

    ¡°Nor do they get the chance to shake hands with the townspeople they¡¯re going out to protect.¡±

    Bran grimaced. ¡°Garrot, I get how you see this as a very brave effort you¡¯re putting forward, but it doesn¡¯t feel that way to me. It feels stupid. At worst, you¡¯re going to hurt your squad¡¯s effectiveness as a sudden newcomer¡ªespecially if a deployment is coming soon.¡±This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°I¡¯ve tried telling him the same thing, Sternen. It¡¯s a wasted effort,¡± said Grazey.

    Garrot had finished with his signature, and stood up so that Grazey could apply her own. ¡°Who knows? Maybe then they¡¯ll just assign me something simple like scouting.¡±

    ¡°Idiot,¡± spat Bran. ¡°Scouting is one of the most dangerous jobs in the...¡± He trailed off, as he realized he¡¯d passed the limits of their attention.

    Grazey stepped forward with Garrot to introduce him to the clerk. ¡°Evening, Barmet. Kid¡¯s got a company transfer request.

    The clerk glanced up past her fashionably professional iceware glasses. ¡°Name?¡±

    ¡°Garrot. G-A-R-¡±

    ¡°Last name first, private.¡± snapped Grazey.

    ¡°Sorry! Ma¡¯am- Uh, Hathorne. H-A-T-H-O-R-N-E.¡±

    ¡°Company?¡± The clerk produced a large binder and began flipping through pages.

    ¡°Chaser Company, transferring to Breaker.¡±

    The clerk raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°Chaser...into Breaker. Sure you didn¡¯t get that the wrong way around...?¡±

    ¡°No, ma''am!¡±

    She smiled, impressed. ¡°...Into the fire! Wow. You¡¯re a brave guy.¡±

    ¡°Hah. I don¡¯t know about that...¡± mused Garrot.

    ¡°You can call it ¡®stupid¡¯ if you¡¯d like.¡± added Bran. "Both of us already have.¡±

    The clerk ignored the comment, as she appeared to be fixated on a page of the binder. The three of them turned away to ease feelings of impatience and exhaustion from a long day. Finally, the clerk signaled out to them.

    ¡°Excuse me? Private, could you spell your name again for me?¡±

    ¡°Sure. H-A-T-H-O-R-N-E, G-A-R-R-O-T.¡±

    She traced her hand down the long series of names as Garrot repeated the spelling. Her brow twitched quizzically.

    ¡°Hath....Hath-¡­.Um...I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m not finding anything.¡±

    ¡°Not finding anything...¡± inquired Bran. ¡°meaning what?¡±

    The clerk shut the binder, apparently fed up with having already spent several minutes reexamining the same page. ¡°Meaning, so far as I can prove with the documents on hand, this man has never been a part of the Steel Legion infantry.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Garrot was perplexed.

    ¡°Your documents are bunk,¡± spat Bran. ¡°He¡¯s gotten salary, rank, and everything for YEARS.¡±

    ¡°You mind checking the other company ledgers?¡± offered Grazey. ¡°It¡¯s not impossible he was mis-filed.¡±

    The clerk slapped the cover of the binder she¡¯d been examining. ¡°This is a copy of the universal Fort Ortmeyer infantry roster. It¡¯s updated weekly. If he were a specialist, signed on somewhere else, or if he¡¯d only been recruited in the last week, he might be missing, but I understand that¡¯s not the case.¡±

    Garrot waved his hands dismissively. ¡°Look...Ma¡¯am, maybe there¡¯s a mistake here, but it doesn¡¯t matter. There¡¯s remarkable in my service record, so could I just¡­start over? Pretend I¡¯m an unremarkable enlistee picked off the street?¡±

    The clerk scratched the back of her head, tempted by the option. Perhaps without an officer staring her down, she might have tempted the thought. Bran, meanwhile, shifted uneasily, addressing Garrot with a cold stare.

    ¡°Garrot, we¡¯re not letting them erase two years of service just because the secretaries here toss every other amber-skinned person in the trash.¡±

    ¡°Hey!! That has nothing to do with this!!¡± the clerk yelled indignantly, having overheard the hushed comment. ¡°I have plenty of J¡¯halan friends-!...Look, in the five years I¡¯ve been here, we have never had an issue like this! I¡¯m serious¡ªthese things get double checked! I just¡­I can¡¯t figure out how he¡¯d be nowhere¡­!¡±

    ¡°Bran...stop. I¡¯ve told you before not to-¡± Garrot trailed off, rubbing at his forehead.

    Sergeant Grazey, realizing they were beginning to attract attention with the dispute, lowered her tone to the clerk. ¡°Young lady, is there anything you can think of here? Can we just make a note to fix this later? We¡¯re just trying to get the kid into Breaker Company.¡±

    Before the clerk could work out a reply, a deep voice from a nearby hallway called out, though it sounded like its owner was doing his best to lower his pitch.

    ¡°Breaker Company needs to practice killing cavemen. We take one on, we risk having some accidents.¡±

    Garrot could hear the low growl of disapproval from Bran¡¯s throat, as he recognized Williams¡¯ voice. Their former Sergeant had entered the clerks¡¯ office while they¡¯d been busy looking over the form.

    ¡°Evening, Sir- Oh! Sorry, I mean asshole,¡± started Bran. ¡°My mistake. I forgot we¡¯re the same rank now, no more mandatory politeness.¡±

    ¡°Tenure matters, fag,¡± sneered Williams. ¡°Watch your mouth. And your pet still has to call me Sir, either way.¡±

    ¡°You erased him, didn¡¯t you?¡± accused Bran.

    ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    Bran stepped fully into Williams¡¯ personal space, sneering at him.

    ¡°Is this how you show your new company you¡¯re a big man? Turn away a man whose skin looks scary to you?¡±

    ¡°Enough." blared Grazey. ¡°Sergeant Williams did not ¡®erase¡¯ anyone. So put your failure of a Queryman¡¯s brain off of it, Sternen. If you pre-schoolers are going to antagonize each other over this, I¡¯ll leave it to you to figure it out. I¡¯m not overriding a Breaker officer on a transfer order. And kid...¡± she briefly grasped Garrot¡¯s shoulder, and lowered her volume. ¡°He¡¯s a poster child for what you¡¯ll be dealing with in Breaker. So, buyer beware.¡±

    Grazey stormed out the door, headed back to her office. Garrot sighed, rubbing at his eyes, and gave Bran a familiar, disappointed glance¡ªone that said ¡®I told you not to fight my battles for me.¡¯ He stepped forward to Sergeant Williams, who raised his chin with a smile and loosed his hand from his hip. His posture was inviting, as though hoping for Garrot to attack him.

    ¡°Sergeant?¡± nodded Garrot, saluting. ¡°Am I to understand that Breaker Company officers would have input on whether applicants are accepted?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± boasted Williams.

    Bran¡¯s eyelid twinged in doubt.

    ¡°Wow. With them for a whole day, that¡¯s some tenure.¡±

    ¡°And besides, we don¡¯t take mutts from off the street,¡± boasted Williams, ignoring Bran. ¡°It sounds to me like you were never even Steel Legion to begin with...? What, you steal the uniform like you steal everything else?¡±

    ¡°Are you fucking kidding me?¡± blared Bran. ¡°You¡¯ve got the memory of a herd boar now? He''s been in your squad for months! Both of us can vouch that!¡±

    ¡°Can you?¡± dared Williams. ¡°Because frankly, I think most people would agree that cavemen all look the same.¡±

    Garrot let the harm from the comment show plainly on his face, and paused before replying. ¡°Sergeant...all the time we¡¯ve been assigned to you, it felt like you never liked me very much. Why is that?¡±

    Williams gave off a defensive sneer, unsure how to react; not unlike that of a mugger who had just been politely told that taking someone else¡¯s property was against the law, and that an upstanding citizen should really know these things.

    Williams made several half gestures before choosing his reply.

    ¡°You¡¯re a thief. Impostor. The clerk said so herself.¡±

    The clerk, eagerly avoiding the conflict, had turned her head away from the conversation and was whispering consultations with another, bespectacled officer behind the desk to try to figure out what to do next.

    Bran unconsciously clenched his fist. Garrot could hear him quietly counting to himself¡ªmeaning he likely only had until nine to calm the disagreement. Exhaling, Garrot kept his earnest gaze fixated on Williams.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s why, Sergeant. I think that you just took what you overheard, and used it to validate your feelings towards me. But I still don¡¯t understand where it¡¯s coming from. I want to work with you¡ªto help your Company. So, what can I do to gain your trust?¡±

    This time Williams was truly taken aback. He appeared to start testing out one or two comebacks in his mind, before falling silent and beginning to lose the staring contest he and Garrot were in.

    ¡°May I interject¡­?¡± came a call from the bespectacled officer peering over the clerk¡¯s binder.

    ¡°None of your concern, old man!!¡± shouted Williams, the fragility of his ego faltering.

    ¡°...Old man??¡± replied the officer, astounded.

    Williams paid the officer a glance, finally breaking eye contact. His eyelids spread open, and his steely stare transformed to a pearly gaze of shock. ¡°L-Lieutenant-General!!¡±

    Garrot and Bran both turned to see that the officer behind the desk was, in fact, Lieutenant Kendall, who had finished quietly poring over Garrot¡¯s transfer request form. The three opposite him all raised salutes. The Lieutenant let out a bemused sigh as he raised the small gate to exit the clerks¡¯ desk block.

    ¡°I thought I¡¯d get another eight or ten years before I''d be ''Old Man¡¯!...It really is the glasses, isn¡¯t it?¡± he called back sarcastically. ¡°Well, I apologize for my eyesight...!¡±

    To punctuate the joke at Williams¡¯ expense, the Lieutenant picked up a cane he¡¯d left leaning against the wall, and sauntered over to them, putting only as little weight on the cane as he needed.

    Williams stammered out an apology. ¡°S-sir!! I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t see-¡­"

    ¡°Didn¡¯t see.¡±, echoed Ken comically. ¡°So¡­which of us is ¡®old man¡¯ again, hm?...In all seriousness, Sergeant Williams, I hope you won¡¯t be this choosy with your colleagues when we assemble the team for that assignment we talked about.¡±

    ¡°Of course not¡­sir,¡± confirmed Williams.

    ¡°You¡¯re dismissed, Sergeant. Now¡­let¡¯s figure out this paperwork scuffle.¡±

    Garrot privately sulked at having their exchange bested by seniority, rather than calm heads. Williams¡¯ face still bore a mountain of unresolved tension to Garrot. He wordlessly bowed out of the conversation, but not without flashing Garrot an accusing stare - ¡®how dare you humiliate me''.

    The Lieutenant turned to face Garrot.

    ¡°Hathorne? If this is your name I¡¯m reading on the request, it sounds like you¡¯re a great deal more ambitious than I thought. When Mr. Sternen accepted his promotion, he mentioned that he believed you¡¯re officer material.¡±

    ¡±Th-thank you sir,¡± said Garrot, still unused to handling authority.

    ¡°Could I ask, sir, what happened to your leg?¡± asked Bran. ¡°I didn¡¯t see you using a cane yesterday.¡±

    ¡°Please, don¡¯t bring too much attention to it...¡± sighed Ken. ¡°I need to walk it off as soon as possible; the Second Scion can¡¯t inspire much confidence with me limping around next to him.¡±

    He felt at his calf with a tender touch.

    ¡°Training accident. Entirely my fault. Would you believe it was a woman that did this, though?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve got some hard-hitters in the ranks, sir,¡± chided Bran resolutely. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t recruit a lady that couldn¡¯t deal a pole strike like that.¡±

    ¡°But enough about the ¡®Old Man¡¯ and his cane,¡± joked the Lieutenant, eager to move the conversation onward. He glanced at Garrot¡¯s form. ¡°While I¡¯d like to ask Ms. Barmet here to just scribble your name in somewhere and be done with it, for waste¡¯s sake¡­ Lady Phaeriga has been asking us to tighten our paperwork. Probably come burn down one of the command buildings if there¡¯s a single Legion recruit she doesn¡¯t know about. Though¡­I suppose the same can¡¯t be said for milord¡¯s side project...¡±

    Garrot craned his ear. The Lieutenant was muttering to himself, formulating some idea. At last, he snapped his finger in satisfaction.

    ¡°...Hathorne. You¡¯re here with this form eager to prove yourself to the Steel Legion, yes? You may yet be wasted in Chaser¡¯s patrol positions, but I dare suggest there may be a more suited position than Breaker Company. Now, you speak the imperial tongue superbly¡ªBut of course you¡¯re very fluent in J¡¯halan, aren¡¯t you...?¡±

    ¡°Um...¡¯J¡¯halan¡¯?¡± asked Garrot. ¡°Do you mean Elman...?¡±

    The two men looked at each other quizzically. Bran broke the silence.

    ¡°Uh, sir¡ªthere''s no such language. They just speak Elman.¡±

    The Lieutenant slapped his forehead. ¡°Yes-yes! Hah...I just meant the...J¡¯halan dialects of-...ahem!¡± He blinked away the embarrassment of his cultural ignorance. ¡°My lord and I have been looking for a military translator on short notice¡ªand you could be perfect for the role.¡±

    ¡°A translator?¡± Garrot felt the weight of responsibility overblow his evening¡¯s meager ambitions. ¡°Sir, I...don¡¯t know if I¡¯m qualified for that.¡±

    He had practiced hard to learn the language of his new home, it was true. But he could only envision himself in an embassy meeting hall, repeating phrases between diplomatic leaders at such a slow pace that they start antagonizing him¡ªor worse, that he would somehow twist a simple comment into an offense that would prompt the next war of the Western Frostscape.

    The Lieutenant gave a despondent grimace. ¡°Frankly, my friend, you are the first and perhaps only candidate we¡¯ve had for this position. I sent Williams here hoping we¡¯d find some record of past translators, but it appears we may not even be logging such expertise, at least among the infantry. Actually, I can¡¯t say too much here, but for the candidate to be J¡¯halan themselves is beyond perfect. We wouldn¡¯t even have to worry about fixing up your records then.¡±

    Bran clapped Garrot suddenly on the back. ¡°Buddy. You wanted to be useful? You wanted to make a difference? Just say yes. This sounds a hell of a lot less dangerous than signing on with the Breakers¡ªoh, and, y¡¯know, that whole fighting the Dark Spawn on the front lines and likely dying in a ditch thing.¡±

    ¡°I...well, all right" said Garrot, relenting. ¡°I can¡¯t very well say no when both of you are egging me on.¡±

    ¡°I believe that¡¯s a yes!¡± declared the Lieutenant. He crumpled the form he¡¯d been holding, and tossed it to a bin, then nodded to Bran. ¡°Sergeant Sternen? I hope you¡¯ve been finding your new quarters agreeable. Your associate is now in capable hands¡ªI wish you a good night, and congratulations on your promotion.¡±

    Ken nodded at Bran, and clasped his free hand onto Garrot¡¯s back as he headed towards the front door of the office. ¡°Now, I know it¡¯s already getting late, but we might very much like to get an early start on this¡ªif you could come with me, the General and I can give you the synopsis.¡±

    General?

    Garrot considered that he must have misheard. But they had seen Lord Klaus entering the capital recently¡­

    Bran watched as Garrot slid into the passenger seat of Ken¡¯s motorsled, and they eased off along the open campus of the fort. The Lieutenant¡¯s proposition had been a sudden sense of relief. Maybe now he could part ways from his friend for the next year without constantly worrying something was going on with him. But something had bothered him about the Lieutenant¡¯s choice of words.

    He eyed the sled tracks that snaked off ahead of him in the direction of the command building, and decided it wasn¡¯t all that late for a nice brisk walk.

 Threes a Gambit

    Since few recruits had the chance to see the inside of the Officers¡¯ Building, expectations had been built high. Most would foresee each man¡¯s quarters bearing a spacious desk, a wide spotless window that overlooked their peons on the training grounds; walls filled with hidden liquors, grandiose leather treatises on the theory of military strategy, and a high-seated chair that spun one-hundred-and-eighty degrees whenever its owner wished to greet an esteemed guest. The dour realities Garrot saw for each of the offices he was passing were markedly more cramped. Simple chairs, barely enough space to seat one guest, little view of the outside thanks to reinforced walls, and shelves filled with dull-colored ring-bound binders of military protocols.

    ¡°It¡¯s early hours for me, but if you¡¯re tired, let me know if our secretary should pour you some blackbark.¡± explained Lieutenant Ken, as he lead Garrot down the Command Building¡¯s hallway. ¡°The pots are always full for us officers.¡±

    ¡°That does sound good, sir, but I could get it for myself if-¡±

    ¡°Terise!¡± exclaimed the Lieutenant, as a ruddy face emerged in a cross hallway ahead. ¡°Are we all set? Do we have all three?¡±

    The officer in question gave a casual half-salute to the Lieutenant, suggesting he was perhaps just barely outranked.

    ¡°Evening, Ken. General already picked out a briefing room, and managed to find the Enforcer you found¡ªapparently her whole squadron tends to take ¡®lights out¡¯ hours as a loose suggestion...¡± His eyes swiveled to take in Garrot¡¯s footman¡¯s uniform, and looked him up and down as though inspecting a crooked painting. ¡°I see you found the cave-...the, ah, J¡¯halan.¡±

    The officer made only the barest of efforts to steer away from derogatory language. Garrot pretended not to notice.

    ¡°Well, yes,¡± confirmed the Lieutenant. ¡°Native speaker, too! Count us lucky! And yet you could swear he grew up here; it¡¯s rare to have such bilingual qualities. Can you imagine this young man wasting away on some simple guard post?¡±

    Encouraged forward by a pat on the back, Garrot instinctively offered a smile and extended a hand. ¡°Officer...Terise? A pleasure to meet you. I¡¯m afraid I still don¡¯t know what it is I¡¯m being volunteered for, though.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll be getting to that,¡± explained the officer in a dull tone, ignoring Garrot¡¯s offered hand. ¡°Let¡¯s not keep milord waiting. Shall we?¡±

    Garrot felt like he was expected to already understand the situation, but the mention of other parties suggested they were simply reserving explanations until then. The Lieutenant and Sergeant walked off towards a nearby stairway, apparently expecting him to follow. As they did, Garrot thought he heard a faint rustle of covert movement coming from the corner nearest him.

    They at last arrived in an evenly spaced room around a large table . It didn¡¯t appear to be one of the main war rooms, having only about enough room for ten people. Two people were already seated at the table. Ken gestured to one of them, a young woman.

    ¡°Private, meet the first of your colleagues. This new unit¡¯s frontline brawn¡ªLancer Division¡¯s Sarei Adamel.¡±

    Sarei was fairly muscular for her small size. She bore a Legionnaire¡¯s blue and white tabard decked with small scratches and pockmarks of dirt from training, though she had folded down the top flap for comfort. Either her Sergeant was less strict than Garrot¡¯s about uniform regulations, or she had insistently made her own rules about self-presentation. In spite of the overwhelming number of senior officers around her, her arms were calmly relaxed behind her head, and she was loudly chewing on something. Garrot had never had the fortune of getting to know any people from the far-off kingdom of Solsend, but could recognize their native deep-brown skin shade, referred colloquially as ¡®barkskin¡¯.

    ¡°Pleased to meet you!¡± exclaimed Garrot, extending his hand.

    Sarei responded only by looking Garrot up and down, her mouth hanging open lazily.

    ¡°Hm,¡± she remarked at last.

    On the left was an old, bearded man who appeared to be resting his eyes, or possibly even sleeping. Garrot decided not to disturb him. Ken patted the back of a chair, which Garrot initially presumed to be for the officer with them. Terise appeared to be casually leaning against the door, so Garrot accepted the seat.

    ¡°All right. I believe all are present, sir.¡± announced the Lieutenant.

    ¡°All except the local guide, correct?¡± asked Terise. ¡°I believe he¡¯s being briefed on location, or so I heard.¡±

    As the Lieutenant seated himself at the far head, a question arose in Garrot¡¯s mind. Who, exactly, would a man of Lieutenant-General Kendall¡¯s rank would ever refer to as ¡®Sir¡¯? He re-inspected the bearded man who was now quickly resuming his faculties.

    ¡°Mr. Klau-...I-I mean...General Leonaste??¡±

    Garrot bolted upright from his chair, forcing a quivering salute to the sleepy-eyed old man.

    ¡°See, milord?¡± said Sarei, gesturing casually. ¡°I knew someone was gonna salute on my behalf.¡±

    ¡°And yet you really should be saluting as he did, Lancer...¡± muttered Ken, before raising his voice to address the General. ¡°Sir, I¡¯d like to introduce you to Private Hathorne. I can¡¯t claim we were able to scan the entire registrar for perfect candidates, but I have a good feeling with him.¡±

    ¡°I think...we¡¯ve met, as it turns out,¡± joked the General, still comfortable in his restful posture within the small chair. ¡°You learned to salute this time.¡±

    ¡°...This time, sir?¡± questioned Lieutenant Ken.

    The general chuckled as he patted Garrot¡¯s side from his seated position.

    ¡°Let¡¯s¡­let that one go. You¡¯re among friends with the Legion here, Hathorne. The worst you¡¯d get is a nice, brisk jog around the grounds. No one gets¡­immolated for failing to salute their old man.¡±

    ¡°Ahh...¡± sighed Ken, with a touch of anger. ¡°Lady...Phaeriga can be like that, it¡¯s true.¡±

    It was uncommon to see General ¡°Klaus¡± Leonaste in such a light-hearted attitude, though currently hidden beneath the effects of some weary late nights. Garrot was meeting his less public face.

    ¡°You can sit, son,¡± he announced in a fatherly tone. ¡°As you may be gathering, this is not a process we¡¯d like to spend days and days on. Lieutenant? Why don¡¯t you start them off.¡±

    Garrot gently sat down, trying to avoid magnetizing his gaze to the overwhelming presence nestled in the small chair across from him.

    ¡°Gladly, sir.¡± The Lieutenant raised a few documents he¡¯d been scanning, adjusting his glasses. ¡°As you know, the emperor has begun a large-scale Search and Destroy deployment of installations manned by the Dark Spawn. At the same time, the General and I have been tracking rumors of a separate movement among J¡¯halan communities, specifically in one area.¡±

    He unrolled a map of the Halehearth territory across the table. The core hearthland filled the space between the two Turgian Mountain ranges to the North and South, and maintained its own border along the West edge, at the end of the two ranges. The capital, Imbral, sat along the southern edge of the map, from which small railway lines sprawled outward to cities spread along the major routes¡ªmost notably, Westbell by the border, Dosken at the Northern edge, and Duskpeak by the coast on the East. The Lieutenant traced a finger south from the border city of Westbell to a spot near the southern Turgian range.

    ¡°This is the mining village of Cheranol. Supposedly occupying a ''peaceful¡¯ faction of J¡¯halan immigrants called the Shaded Paw. So far, all we¡¯ve heard has been through public channels. Like the Dark Spawn, they appear to be dissatisfied with treatment of J¡¯halan immigrants¡ªbut we can recall that at one point, the Dark Spawn themselves claimed to be ¡®peaceful¡¯ in their movements - before firebombs, industrial sabotage, and assassinations started catching us off guard. Local troops in the region have been unable to offer us much in the way of details, but we feel their input has been at best unhelpful, and at worst...somewhat uncooperative. We don¡¯t know where they¡¯re quartered, how large they are, only that the name has come up in several places.¡±

    ¡°We are hoping that by employing a smaller, dedicated unit, we can gather some specifics¡ªhow large the threat is, whether they ARE a threat, and perhaps even prevent them from acting altogether should the occasion arise.¡±

    ¡°Having us take down an entire terrorist group by ourselves?¡± asked Sarei. ¡°Nice. I like the challenge.¡±

    The General laughed. ¡°Exactly the sort of response I would hope for from one of the lancer units. And I¡¯m sure you could manage it, Ms. Adamel.¡±

    ¡°Eh...no.¡± sighed the Lieutenant. ¡°We don¡¯t expect any kind of live fire. We just need each of you to be able to respond if antagonized. But in terms of how to proceed with the investigation¡ªwe will be granting you full control. You will decide what leads you pursue, or even what information you aim to gather. We only ask that you avoid escalating any conflicts. The Sergeant has been instructed that you will only be calling for backup if the Shaded Paw turn out to be dangerous, and will disengage at that time.¡±

    ¡°Sergeant...?¡± echoed Garrot. He eyed the barkskin woman¡¯s uniform, where the simple curled insignia of an iron girder indicated a private. Maybe the stars hadn¡¯t been sewn on yet. ¡°Are you a recent promotee, Miss Adamel?¡±

    ¡°Nah. Never cared for being an officer,¡± she replied. ¡°Private, Devil Company. As green as you. Well...maybe not quite as green.¡±

    The Lieutenant motioned to Sarei. ¡°Ms. Sarei Adamel is serving as Enforcer¡ªprimary frontline combatant for this operation¡ªshould such a need arise. The good news is, you may already be familiar with your CO.¡±

    He stepped over to the large doors, and tapped his knuckles on them. ¡°Sergeant? Your unit has been caught up to speed.¡±

    The doors swung open, and a familiar and somewhat annoyed-looking face entered.

    ¡°This is it? Just the two of them?¡± questioned Sergeant Williams. He dedicated a full second to looking down upon Garrot in disgust.

    Garrot stood to greet him, saluting. ¡°Sergeant Williams...? It looks like we¡¯re still staying together! But-...Believe me, I didn¡¯t plan this-¡±

    Williams scoffed. ¡°Ohh, you¡¯ve gotta be shitting me. I gave up my spot in Breaker Company for this assignment, and now I¡¯m still stuck with this-!¡±Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    ¡°Sergeant!! Watch your language around His Lordship.¡±

    Williams¡¯ eyes widened as he realized the gravity of his company, examining the bearded figure in the far seat.

    ¡°SIR!¡± said Williams stiffly.

    Ken nodded. ¡°I was a bit worried about your earlier altercation at the Clerks¡¯ office, but you two are familiar with each other. I would expect better. Rest assured, your position in Breaker Company remains-¡±

    ¡°Williams!!¡± came a call from out in the hallway.

    Bran had only been standing against the wall with a cup to his ear long enough to hear something about a fact-finding mission; but he could recognize Sergeant Fuckface¡¯s attitude through a bunker in a blizzard. He decided this was time to act, even if it cost him a night sweeping floors. He rounded the corner of the hallway to the meeting room¡¯s entrance, and saw Williams about to shut the door behind him.

    ¡°Williams!!¡± he called out, interrupting the Lieutenant in the room.

    He jogged over, edging past pedestrians in the hallway, their attention drawn curiously to his loud callout. He covertly slipped his wedding band off his finger. Rhile would have to forgive him for this one¡ªor perhaps they¡¯d laugh over it together on their next night out.

    He chanced a brief moment of eye contact with Garrot, who was giving him a very familiar look of Don¡¯t do this, Bran¡ªit''s really not the time.

    Fuck you, kid. This one isn¡¯t even for you. This is because I gzildamn feel like it.

    Bran rushed straight up to the bewildered Williams, who was raising his arms in defense. Good. Bran lunged forward, and grasped both Williams¡¯ wrists.

    ¡°I¡¯m so glad I found you!¡± he gasped in theatric exaggeration. ¡°I...just had to find you before you deployed-!...Listen to me, Sergeant...!¡±

    Williams looked left and right, unable to wrest his wrists from the man invading his personal space, but no immediate protest was arriving from the Lieutenant or the older officer standing near him.

    ¡°Sergeant...I know you act tough towards me, but I¡¯ve always adored that about you...And I can¡¯t let that go like this! Sergeant Williams!¡±

    Bran dropped to a knee, and raised the ring with great gravitas to Williams¡¯ eyeline, and raised his voice to a poetic cheer. ¡°Do me the honor of becoming-¡±

    Mid-sentence, Williams swatted the ring out of Bran¡¯s hand onto the floor, recoiling out of his grasp, as though he¡¯d just been offered a writhing mudworm.

    ¡°Hells-! Get that gay shit out of my face, you fucking faggot!!¡± he yelped.

    Bran smirked reflexively. Jackpot.

    No one else in the room or the hallways behind him had reacted yet¡ªwith the small exception of Garrot, who was already covering his face with his hand. The scene that had unfolded before them was still a bit difficult to parse to everyone else. Bran¡¯s smile disappeared instantaneously, and he shrugged with all the regret of discovering an expired coupon.

    ¡°Oh. Okay,¡± he lamented sarcastically.

    Before anyone could reprimand him, he bowed in apology to Kendall.

    ¡°Sorry, Lieutenant. I had thought that the Sergeant was familiar with simple teasing.¡± he continued, kneeling down to pick up his ring. ¡°Didn¡¯t expect you to be so scared, though, Williams? I, uh...don¡¯t want to venture ¡®projection¡¯, but...¡±

    Ken eyed Bran with a disapproving glare. ¡°Sergeant Sternen, what are you doing here...?¡± he hissed.

    Bran flipped a cheesy smile to the Lieutenant. ¡°Throwing my hat in the ring? I happened to be passing, and couldn¡¯t help but overhear mention of a special assignment.¡±

    Bran followed the Lieutenant¡¯s gaze back over to his superior officer.

    ¡°Sir, I-¡­"

    Bran coughed past a sudden wave of spittle. He¡¯d only just realized that the man he¡¯d just enacted a fake marriage proposal in front of was none other than the second Scion; who was now eyeing him with a stare that could carve through mountains. Even without his signature armor, Lord Klaus commanded intimidation beyond measure.

    Screw it. No going back now.

    ¡°Sir, I can¡¯t help but express that Sergeant Williams¡¯ aptitudes would...not be fit for a mission of this caliber.¡± Bran said, maintaining Lord Klaus¡¯ eye contact as best he could. ¡°As I believe I¡¯ve demonstrated, he would not perform well on a task that would primarily concern communicating with locals.¡±

    Williams was already silently fuming at him, but was visibly hesitating, unsure of how to act in the presence of superiors. Bran continued.

    ¡°I¡¯d like to propose my own involvement¡ªto assist in any way I can for this venture.¡±

    The other officer, Terise, clapped a hand onto Bran¡¯s shoulder, motioning him outside. ¡°That is quite enough, Sergeant. Eavesdropping on war meetings is a high offense.¡±

    Bran returned the officer¡¯s steely gaze. ¡°Sir - in this case, is that not exactly what you were recruiting for?¡±

    The comment lifted the Scion¡¯s eyebrows in curiosity.

    Good¡ªmaybe this¡¯ll work after all.

    Bran cleared his throat. ¡°Correct me if I¡¯m wrong, but it seems to me like this squadron is a bit of an experiment for you. ''Full control'', ¡®You decide the leads¡¯. I think you¡¯re aware that the skillset you¡¯re trying to achieve is beyond that of normal infantry training, but you¡¯re not familiar with what it needs. Sir, what I¡¯m trying to demonstrate to you is that I have that very skillset.¡±

    The Lieutenant, too, grabbed Bran¡¯s arm. ¡°Let¡¯s go, Sternen. You''re not going to-¡±

    ¡°Let me ask the boy a question.¡± Lord Klaus spoke for the first time in a full minute. Even at a low volume, his voice gave the room pause. ¡°If you were to conduct a meeting like this someplace away from eavesdroppers like yourself, where would you go?¡±

    Bran¡¯s mind raced under the pressure for a perfect answer. ¡°I would...a-a park. Somewhere open. Talk while moving, and anyone close enough to listen would be obvious.¡±

    The room remained silent for a few seconds. Lord Klaus smiled.

    ¡°Officer Terise, would you mind stepping outside with Sergeant Williams for a moment...?¡± he asked, closing his eyes and seeming to enter a calm, meditative state.

    Williams'' startled reaction suggested he hadn¡¯t been reading the room. Every occupant became the victim of his offended gaze before he finally decided to relent and sulk through the door.

    Lord Klaus stood from his chair, turning to the window¡ªwhich offered a view of nothing more than the dark night and the occasional snowflakes flicking by. His Lieutenant stepped over to him, removing his eyeglasses.

    ¡°Sir. I¡¯d really like to not go off on any whims here.¡± professed Kendall quietly. ¡°We¡¯ve made preparations on the Sergeant¡¯s behalf, and he-¡±

    ¡°And his record speaks higher volumes than Sergeant, erm...Lovestruck over here. I understand.¡± the General admitted in reply, motioning to Bran. "But you said yourself that what we need here may go beyond what¡¯s in records. Hell, we couldn¡¯t even find bookkeeping on what damn languages our recruits speak.¡±

    ¡°Right, but...sir, I¡¯ve worked directly with Sergeant Williams. I¡¯m quite confident in-¡±

    ¡°But we won¡¯t be working directly with them much at all. Independent investigation, right? Look, it¡¯s just like he said¡ªthis is all a trial anyway. I think a man like Williams belongs at the front, don¡¯t you? He seemed quite irked to be away from his company.¡±

    The Lieutenant finally gave in. ¡°I...fine. I think I can make it work. Need to get our typists working on replacement papers if we¡¯re to head out early...¡±

    Ken exited the room unprompted. After so many occasions politely awaiting dismissal by an officer, his curtness with the Lord Klaus clearly indicated how well-regarded he was. The door closed, leaving Bran, Garrot, and Sarei alone with the Scion.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you sit down, Sergeant...?¡± he nodded to Bran.

    ¡°Sternen. Bran Sternen.¡±

    Bran took the chair next to Garrot. His friend snuck him a measured look of apprehension¡ªsilently reprimanding him for the risk he¡¯d just taken on to get in the same room. The Scion strolled to the opposite end of the room, where a small tray awaited with a ceramic pitcher and some mugs. He flipped open a small pocketwatch.

    ¡°Jeez. Oh-two-hundred already. Anyone else for some blackbark...?¡± he asked, facing away.

    Bran and Garrot gave weak declinations, uncertain what would be most polite.

    Sarei gave an emphatic shrug. ¡°Never liked the stuff. Way too bitter.¡±

    Lord Klaus¡¯ hand hovered next to the pitcher, before flopping to his waist as he started walking back towards his seat. Sensing his disapproval, Garrot spoke up. ¡°On second thought...I wouldn¡¯t mind a cup, sir.¡±

    Klaus smiled as he returned to pour out two mugs. ¡°You kids probably need it¡ªyou''re out way past your bedtimes.¡±

    He returned with two steaming cups, passing one across to Garrot. Bran briefly reflected that he was glad he hadn¡¯t added in his own request¡ªhe wasn¡¯t sure how it would¡¯ve worked out asking an old man to ferry a third cup in his hands.

    ¡°So - ¡° began the General, collapsing to his seat again. ¡°You¡¯re very perceptive, Sergeant. The Shaded Paw is something I¡¯ve wanted to find out about sometime this year, time permitting. But what worries me is the possibility that someone does know about them...and just isn¡¯t sharing.¡±

    ¡°Sharing...?¡± asked Sarei. They were each sharing quizzical glances.

    ¡°Tell me,¡± continued the General, taking a sip from his mug. ¡°Have you been hearing any rumors about a new imperial intelligence network?¡±

    ¡°...You¡¯re talking about the Department of Knowledge.¡± said Garrot.

    Bran had heard the name too, often under its abbreviation ¡°DoK¡± - but had doubted that Garrot would keep up to date with such morose rumors.

    The General gave an affirmative nod. ¡°The one in charge there is my own sister-in-arms, Lady W-...Phaeriga. Ah...¡±

    He put down the mug and removed a leathery glove, inspecting the hue of the small, sleek ring fitting beneath it¡ªthe ¡®conduit¡¯ he bore on his finger, wrapped in place by a wrist strap.

    ¡°Never said as much, but I¡¯m pretty sure she¡¯d have Juuko or I by the balls if we ever shared her identity around. We¡¯re supposed to be a team¡ªalways been an unwritten rule for the Scions to have a public face. And yet she insists on that mask of hers like a banshee hiding from sunlight. And it¡¯s not just on personal matters that she¡¯s secretive.¡±

    ¡°You think she already knows about this...¡¯Shaded Paw¡¯...?¡± asked Bran. The woman, Sarei, had leaned her chair back and crossed her arms behind her head, apparently happy to let someone else ask the questions¡ªbut her ears were still perked in interest. Garrot was momentarily considering slapping her feet off the table in the presence of a Scion.

    ¡°The Paw, the Elmira Kingdom...hell, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if she knew what color underwear the Queen of Solsend wears.¡± The sarcastic comment appeared to be aimed at provoking a reaction from Sarei, but her posture remained bored. ¡°I don¡¯t think she even gives us everything she knows about the Dark Spawn¡ªbut the Legion has been forbidden from our own investigations for fear of ¡®interfering with sources¡¯ - whatever the hell that means.

    ¡°Lady Phaeriga is powerful, and effective at what she does¡ªand that¡¯s before she even flicks her finger to set a mountain on fire. Ironically, I think that magic might even be the least threatening part of her. But...I¡¯d be remiss if I were to make her out as some sort of villain. I''m just worried about the degree to which secrets are kept among each of our divisions¡ªI don¡¯t think she trusts the Legion¡¯s command structure. And so...you could say The Rangers are an idea the Lieutenant and I came up with to try to address that. Prove to her that whatever she might have seen when she served in the last Elman war, we¡¯re not just a house full of lugnuts.¡±

    ¡°Rangers, huh?¡± Sarei glanced across the ceiling, sounding the name in her mind. ¡°And I suppose if this goes well, we¡¯d just be the first ones.¡±

    ¡°Sir, a question...?¡± asked Bran. The General nodded for him to continue. ¡°If I¡¯m being honest, I followed my associate here because something had bothered me¡ªearlier tonight, we found that Private Hathorne was missing from the ledgers, and when trying to correct it, the Lieutenant said this assignment would mean we ¡®wouldn¡¯t have to worry about fixing his records¡¯. I didn¡¯t think much of it at first, but...¡±

    The General smiled. ¡°Not much escapes you.¡± He considered the unspoken question, before adding, ¡°...So, you two know each other?¡±

    Bran stammered, realizing this was new information to the General. Garrot interjected. ¡°I¡¯d say we¡¯re both generally the types that get along well with a lot of people.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s good¡ªespecially for the Rangers. I¡¯m almost sorry we were considering that jarhead Williams for commanding officer. Well...as for the records, I can see why that would be preferable to Ken. The whole point is to have a detachment we can play close to the chest, away from the eyes and approvals of the command structure¡ªwhere I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if at least one of those desk monkeys makes regular reports to Ms. ¡®Firefingers¡¯. Just so you''re aware¡ªthat means you¡¯re not going to be getting much in the way of support. It also means your official status within the docket is going to remain as ¡®On extended leave¡¯ until such time as we can schedule a debrief.¡±

    The increasing implications of secrecy were a souring topic¡ªBran could tell Garrot had tended to have strong faith in the idea of the Steel Legion as a composed, unified force, undivided by race or politics. It dawned on Bran that even though this assignment seemed safe, he might be leaving the capital without being allowed to tell Rhile where he was headed.

    ¡°...Do you really call her ¡®Firefingers¡¯?¡± asked Sarei, breaking the moody silence.

    ¡°Hahaha! Only Lord Juuko and I get to say that, and only because she¡¯s the youngest of the three. You try that within earshot of her, which is to say, anywhere, and you¡¯d be lucky to get away medium-rare. Again, I don¡¯t intend to sow any mistrust of her. She can actually be a very pleasant person sometimes.¡±

    ¡°She did save us from that Inquisitor that wanted to bring us to the Red Quarter¡­¡± observed Garrot.

    ¡°She also spit daggers at you for missing a salute.¡± retorted Bran.

    The General let out a chuckle, turning to Sarei.

    ¡°Did you hear about this, Private Adamel? Not my sister¡¯s kindest moment, for sure.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I heard,¡± sneered Sarei. ¡°So salute the Third, share blackbark with the Second¡­what¡¯s the protocol for Mr. Rabbit-in-Hat?¡±

    ¡°Dunno. What do you think, Sir?¡± asked Garrot. ¡°How does Lord Juuko react to salutes?¡±

    ¡°Oh, never salute him,¡± said Klaus gravely. ¡°He¡¯d probably enact brutal punishment.¡±

    ¡°By what¡ªengaging you in conversation?¡± suggested Sarei.

    The General slapped his knee quietly guffawing to himself, and stood up to imply their business concluded. ¡°I think this group is going to work swimmingly together. Sergeant Sternen, Private Hathorne, and Private Adamel, once you have linked up with Private Petterson, you will represent the first, and hopefully not last, unit of the Steel Legion¡¯s Rangers.¡±

 Cold and Alone

    Year E4319¡ªChillsturn 20th

    (1 Year Ago)

    Silence was Rainant Kells¡¯ best friend. Though he¡¯d been a recruiter for the Dark Spawn, that too was a quiet task¡ªrelying more on his ears than his tongue. He knew each struggle, each burning motivation, behind every refugee living in Imbral¡¯s southern quarter, thanks to his patience and silence. His capture eight weeks ago had come at one of few moments he¡¯d broken that silence.

    Now, locked in the chains of a cage of a windswept dungeon, silence was again his only friend.

    He had been silent each time the officer had yanked him from his quarters and strapped him into a finger press. Silence had not been the officer¡¯s friend¡ªmade clear through Kells¡¯ firmly gritted teeth, which held through each ignored question. What the officer hadn¡¯t realized was that, during his ¡®interviews¡¯ as he had called them, Kells much preferred the moments of pain. They allowed him to feel and focus his mind on a goal. The periods of listening achingly to the officer¡¯s constant droning in the bloated Imperial tongue were the real torture.

    We know you provided meeting houses for the Dark Spawn. Where is the next one? Talk. Talk! Just talk, damn you! Dammit.

    The officer, worn by his efforts, now believed time to be the key to breaking him. He was brought no food, and left to rot. Kells had protested heavily and begged against the punishment, to further encourage them to leave him in his new home. Here, where his captors only took the time to tighten the chains as his arms grew thinner.

    The days blended. Kells stopped himself from observing the tally marks scratched by other prisoners each time they caught the faint glint of the sol crossing the Umbra. They may punish themselves by witnessing the passing of their brief lives, but time would not be his prisoner, for as long as the silence held, he was free within his own mind. Like as not, the captors would conclude their failures by allowing his eventual expiration¡ªthis he had accepted. Unlike the Department that had taken him prisoner, he was at peace.

    One night, the silence broke.

    ¡°Let me GO! You-!...You can¡¯t do this!!¡±

    The voice belonged to a middle-aged woman. Stranger, the voice was speaking Imperial.

    ¡°You haven¡¯t read my rights¡ªyou''re no Inquisitors, you¡¯re no soldiers-¡­! Who are you all?¡± she shouted, her indignance betraying the depth of her situation.

    Kells kept his head locked, not wishing to show interest, but couldn¡¯t deny curiosity. He at last caught sight of their arrival as she was introduced to his block, pushed ahead by a single black-hooded jailor bearing a savage mace. Kells imagined that if she¡¯d known what awaited her, she might have sought escape more desperately. Her dress, clean as though fresh-bought from the Imbral markets, bore not a single scratch.

    The excessive number of chains strapped to her wrists and ankles weighed her down, forcing her into a hunch. Her posture made her into an object of voyeuristic humiliation for the black-hooded jailor behind her.

    The newcomer looked over the cell block¡ªat the dried bloodstains and bare hay floors that Kells had become affectionately familiar with over the weeks¡ªand she screamed.

    ¡°Nono-¡­PLEASE¡ªNO!! Oh Mhira, oh saints-¡±

    ¡°DID I SAY STOP??¡±

    The jailor grabbed at her hair by the roots, and yanked her forward, met by further protest and screams.

    The cell next to Kells had been empty for weeks. Kells had never bothered to learn the name of its former occupant¡ªonly given a silent prayer for his soul when he had failed to return that evening. The jailor threw open the uncleaned cell, and tossed his prey into the haystack that his old neighbor had oft soiled after an evening¡¯s torture.

    ¡°Wait!....Wait, just-¡­Th-The chains!! Sir, you HAVE to at least take the chains off!!¡± pleaded the prisoner. She spoke hesitantly, unsure whether to demand or plead for her request to have effect¡ªstill believing she held some power here.

    The jailor stopped, and exhaled audibly enough to be heard over the woman¡¯s shrill rebukes. He attempted¡ªand failed¡ªto catch Kells¡¯ gaze, as though commiserating: At least your kind shuts up.

    He reopened the cell, and withdrew his mace.

    The new prisoner spent her first night huddled in the corner of her cell, wincing in pain at the jailor¡¯s strike, and shrieking at regular intervals at her situation¡ªas though every few minutes, she was shocked to find she had not woken from her nightmare. A frantic stream of panicked murmurs fell from her mouth every few hours.

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t trust them¡­I knew it, I knew¡­I couldn¡¯t have trusted them¡­!!¡±

    Kells almost took some pity on her as she took in the horrifying state of the cells in the block. His sympathy faded when he came to realize the object of the woman¡¯s terrors was not the brutal actions of her jailor, or her surroundings, but the complexion of her cellmates. Kells grunted in disgust. Only a generous individual would attribute such fears to their unfed appearance¡ªrather than their skin color. He knew how Imbralites acted around klyskins.

    ¡°¡­said¡­I couldn¡¯t¡­trust¡­but I still¡­!...Now I¡¯m all¡­it¡¯s all wasted¡­¡±

    The next morning, Kells gained some relief from her muttering. The newcomer was brought to the interview room¡ªa punishment Kells was spared from now that the interrogators saw him as a waste of time. When she came back each time, she was steadily rewarded for her cooperation, and released from the chains on her ankles, then her wrists. Kells realized, with some morbid humor, that in the daytime hours between each of her exchanges, he¡¯d remained completely motionless. Someday she may end up just like him.

    Kells learned that the snowskin¡¯s name was Janice Friederick¡ªand that she was likely little more than a housewife. As the days passed, she would demand a lawyer; or politely beg for information on the whereabouts of her husband. Time passed, and she swallowed obedience even as her regally white outfit became tarnished and torn. By the fourth day, she was responding to the guard¡¯s orders without a word. But on that day, she had a visitor.

    Kells knew the sound of the guard¡¯s steps, accompanied by the jangle of their keys, by heart. The smooth clack of the dress shoes outside didn¡¯t seem like any uniform attire, but it also withheld the staggering, sliding shuffle common of new prisoners, not to mention the loud sound of clanking chains. Kells grew curious¡ªenough to finally tilt his atrophied limbs to observe the source.

    His limbs creaked out of his meditative, resigned stance as he tilted his view past Janice¡¯s cell. The gentle sound of conversation came from the steps.

    ¡°Whatever you like, pal,¡± huffed the jailor. ¡°But I¡¯m keeping an eye on you two the entire time.¡±

    Through the cell block window, there was a civilian draped in a black suit, complete with a colorful tie. Janice¡¯s attire hadn¡¯t even been as spotless on her arrival.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that won¡¯t be the case,¡± replied the man in the suit, momentarily unnerved by the unsanitary conditions about him. ¡°The Lawyers¡¯ Guild is quite firm about the repercussions of invasion of Attorney-Client privileges. She is an Imperial Citizen and has her rights.¡±

    The guardsman approached his guest, sneering his nose upward at him.

    ¡°She¡¯s suspected of collaborating wi-¡±

    ¡°Suspected?¡± snapped the lawyer. ¡°I fail to see how that changes the law.¡±

    His stance had barely shifted against his invasion of privacy. He gently panned his hand out to Kells¡¯ neighbor as he continued, in a droning, dismissive voice.

    ¡°Now, I will be speaking with my client, Sergeant. If you fail to remove yourself from the premises, that privacy violation would be grounds for dismissal even of a plain confession. That motion would go to your name and not your facility. I would advise you that my presence here signifies your cooperation is currently expected by your superiors.¡±

    Kells raised an eyebrow halfway. It was pleasantly unexpected to see anyone disempower the guardsmen that had ruled his torturous existence for the past several months, even if it was just by words.

    With some reluctance, the jailor opened the block door, and motioned towards Janice¡¯s cell. The lawyer stepped in, momentarily taken aback by the state of the cellar. He offered a glare of dismissal to the jailor, who departed with a cluck of his tongue. The lawyer finally dropped his air of dignity as he rushed to his client¡¯s cell.

    ¡°Miss Friedrick. Michel Hansford, legal retainer. Are you hurt? How are you doing?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Legal¡­Y-You¡¯re a lawyer!?¡± gasped Janice, still hesitant to believe any sign of hope.

    ¡°An old representative of your husband. I-¡°

    ¡°Get me OUT of here!!¡± shouted Janice, abruptly. ¡°Get me out right now!! This place is HELL!!¡±

    ¡°M-Miss Friederick. Stay calm. It¡¯s not so simple. First, I need to know; Are you hurt? How are you doing?¡±

    ¡°How the...fffuck do you think I¡¯m doing??¡± replied Janice. ¡°They took me from my home¡ªput a bag over my head! They never even read me any charges...!!¡±

    Kells closed his eyes, hoping to appear asleep¡ªconvince the two of them that their conversation was private. He never knew when some detail may become critical to himself.

    ¡°I know, miss. I know,¡± replied her lawyer empathetically.

    ¡°This...can¡¯t be legal!! None of this can be-¡±

    The lawyer gently shushed her.

    ¡°That¡¯s exactly why I¡¯m here, miss. I¡¯ll try to be expedient. I knew your husband, and I¡¯d be happy to represent you. I¡¯ve just been speaking with the commander in charge here. Legally, she has no grounds to hold you here¡ªbut...getting the motion to release you through to a judge¡¯s signature could take a long time.¡±

    ¡°What...? E-Even though they haven¡¯t charged me...?¡±

    ¡°...I¡¯ve been negotiating. I may be able to get you out of here sooner. But...they¡¯d need you to sign something. It¡¯s a¡­note of allegiance. Saying that you can never speak to anyone of this facility, or you¡¯d be facing treason against the Emperor.¡±

    ¡°...Treason...? A-after...?¡±

    Friedrick backed away, slumping against the back wall of her cell.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t even gotten a change of clothes...they¡¯re treating me like dirt¡ªas badly as those immigrants...! And you want me to-?¡±

    ¡°...I¡¯m just giving you options, ma¡¯am. I know how that must make you feel.¡±

    With a surge of interest, the middle-aged woman rushed back to the bars, the fury from her first day returning.

    ¡°...My husband!...Have you found him?? Have they taken him too?¡±

    The lawyer hung his head.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, miss. They¡¯ve only dismissed my questions about him thus far.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s just a doctor...! A pathologist! He was just looking into the causes behind the Hellpox! ...What reason would they have to-¡­?"

    Kells raised his eyebrow at the last statement¡ªabout the Hellpox. Gently, he returned to his slumber, his ears finely attuned.

    It had always been a constant rumor¡ªthat the Empire had in some way engineered the contagion of decades past, cleaning its own hands of their intent to wipe out the Halehearth''s undesired immigrant population. If some evidence of it existed¡­

    ¡°Ma¡¯am...¡± continued the lawyer. ¡°They have that agreement ready. We fight this...and I don¡¯t even know for sure if I¡¯d ever be able to get you out of here.¡±

    ¡°I...¡± stammered Friedrick. ¡°I want to fight what these people have done...but I can¡¯t do anything from in here...¡±

    The lawyer shrugged. ¡°...These are powerful enemies, ma¡¯am. Just getting the chance to live out your life...you may have to consider if it¡¯s what he wanted for you.¡±

    ¡°...Fine,¡± she relented. ¡°Please, I¡¯ll...sign their damn papers. Just...¡±

    The lawyer bowed.

    ¡°Understood, Miss. I¡¯ll be back as soon as I¡¯ve negotiated your release.¡±

    The lawyer gingerly stepped back, and tapped on the door leading out of the cell block. The door swung shut with a collapsing thud.

    Miss Friedrick began pacing, chewing on her thumbnail, muttering out loud to herself with an audible quiver in her voice.

    ¡°...could do-¡­..newspapers...? But I don¡¯t.....I-¡­.what if....hire Adventurers...from the guild.....¡±

    Kells inhaled graciously, clearing his throat and vocal cords from months of silence.

    ¡°The Adventurer¡¯s Guild would report your contract directly to the Emperor,¡± he announced. ¡°We¡¯d be neighbors again within the week.¡±

    Friedrick, having heard naught from him in her entire stay, jumped back in fright. It was the first time she¡¯d heard his voice, and the first time he¡¯d spoken in weeks long before her arrival. His vocal cords strained to recall the process.

    ¡°Don¡¯t¡­! D-Don¡¯t talk to me, J¡¯halan!¡± she stammered.

    ¡°Mmm,¡± Kells rolled his eyes. ¡°What makes you think I¡¯m J¡¯halan? The skin? My treatment as though I¡¯m last night¡¯s soil? You¡¯re speaking from the same pit, milady.¡±

    ¡°You...you speak Imperial?¡±

    ¡°I am an Imperial, miss. As are you.¡±

    The newcomer settled her guard and shied her gaze off to the wall, no doubt ashamed of her colored remarks.

    ¡°Do you know who these people are...?¡±

    Kells pondered simply leaving the clueless prisoner to figure things out as she went. He decided to be blunt, at the very least to spare himself hearing her muttering.

    ¡°It''s as your lawyer friend described to you. These are not people you can fight, Janice Friederick. Not alone.¡±

    ¡°...Tell me who they are!!¡± she demanded.

    Kells rolled an eyeball at her, its shine piercing her shy exterior.

    ¡°Do you truly want to know, Miss...?¡± he dared.

    Friedrick opened her mouth to reply, but found herself faltering, and swallowed. After a lengthy pause, Kells continued regardless.

    ¡°Have you ever heard of an organization called the Department of Knowledge?¡± Kells continued.

    ¡°W-what is that...a library system...?¡±

    Kells almost chuckled. Almost. A quick laugh might have been nice. The distance this poor woman had from his compatriot¡¯s war on the empire was perhaps far greater than he¡¯d realized. Maybe she deserved better.

    ¡°The Halen Empire has kept its place in the Frostscape by ruling all forms of combat. Now, they¡¯re trying to run wars a new way, and it¡¯s their worst kept secret. Information warfare. Propaganda, misinformation, spies, interrogation...not to mention torture and fear tactics. They even found a lieutenant of the old secret police to run it.¡±

    ¡°Secret...police?¡±

    That one brought a laugh. However, given the state of Kells¡¯ lungs, it came out as more of a pained wheeze. It seemed the sheltered elite of the capital still treated such topics as mere rumors and fairy tales.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    ¡°Word of advice, young woman. If, before your release, they decide you are to be questioned by Commander Wysp...you should start searching for fast ways of ending your own life. Some fates are worse than death.¡±

    The confused woman recoiled in fear.

    ¡°I...I¡¯ve never heard-¡­This is...¡± she sputtered . ¡°But what does any of this have to do with me? My husband...? I only came to the Steel Legionnaires because he was missing, and they...!¡±

    Kells sighed in sympathy, hanging his head.

    ¡°Ah...a shame. If they came for you separately, it meant they made a mistake. You had a chance to get away¡ªleave your home, change your name. I...suppose you couldn¡¯t have known any better. Had my friends and I learned of his abduction first, we might have sought you out and protected you.¡±

    ¡°Friends...?¡± repeated Friedrick to him, breathlessly. She crawled closer to his cell, wrapping her hands around his bars. ¡°Do...do people know you¡¯re in here?? Who are you talking about?¡±

    Kells gazed upward, considering his response.

    ¡°Your husband.¡± he mused. ¡°You said he was a doctor.¡±

    ¡°I...yes.¡± said his neighbor quietly. ¡°He...specialized in Hellpox cure research.¡±

    ¡°The Hellpox has already been cured.¡± noted Kells.

    ¡°Not...reliably. My husband said the current treatments address 80% of symptoms, but there¡¯s still a high danger due to contagion. And there are still sometimes outbreaks...¡±

    Kells grimaced. ¡°They say your brain more or less turns to mush...I¡¯m lucky I never got that damned disease...and you¡¯re lucky that it only affects klyskins.¡±

    His neighbor shrunk down, even deeper in sorrow than her first night in the cell.

    ¡°He...cares for the J¡¯halans¡¯ plight. Everything that¡¯s happened through the crisis. That¡¯s why I stand by him...He¡¯s a good doctor. I...¡±

    Kells respected her maturity. He decided to rip off the bandage.

    ¡°...in short, he discovered something about that disease. About why it only affects the nation¡¯s undesirables like myself. But ¡®Knowledge¡¯ is not for everyone. Ma¡¯am, your husband...I have no doubt he was a good doctor."

    The woman opened her mouth to respond¡ªto yell something back defiantly. Kells held his gaze upon her, mournfully, and nodded. Her eyes flickered aimlessly as her face crumpled, now understanding his meaning. She turned away, and as Kells closed his eyes he could hear the poor woman next to him sobbing.

    Kells took the time to glance up and down the cell block corridor. He lowered his voice to a more private volume.

    ¡°I''ll answer your question.¡± he said. ¡°You asked about...us. About my friends. There are others who feel just as you do towards the veneer of justice that covers that sickening empire of Halen. Not only the J¡¯halans, but everyone like your husband¡ªpeople who are silenced at the whim of the Mhira-Damned Emperor Neral. That said...you might be apprehensive about choosing to help us. After all...the nation has taught you we¡¯re ¡®Terrorists¡¯.¡±

    A flash of understanding finally rose his neighbor from her catatonic state of misery.

    ¡°Dark Spawn...y-you¡¯re one of them...¡±

    Kells chuckled.

    ¡°A name not invented by us. A journalist seeking to demonize us once referred to our people as ¡®The darkest spawn spewed from the depths of J¡¯halaga.¡¯ Until we gain the Emperor¡¯s ear, we accept that name. And you may hear mine. Rainant Kells.¡±

    He bowed his head as he introduced himself, and extended his hand. Janice extended no hand back. Calmly, Kells withdrew it.

    ¡°I run recruitment. It¡¯s a careful job. One day they caught me mentioning an attack by my brethren that¡­that they¡¯d washed from the morning¡¯s newspapers, and it was the last day I saw the sun. I know my friends cannot risk even providing me a quick, early grave. Still, you...¡± he trailed off, a pondering look sitting on his face through the gloom.

    She grimaced at his protruding hand as though it were infected. ¡°I heard about a leak of Sapfluid in the industrial quarter; that the bodies were flooded in frostbite. They said you claimed responsibility...¡±

    ¡°Did they now? By the empire¡¯s prized propaganda network, the Owls¡¯ Eye, wasn¡¯t it? You should be careful what you believe in the papers.¡±

    The woman nodded her head. It seemed like this was something she could agree with. In spite of public trust, the Eye no longer had a reputation for thoroughly vetting its sources. It wouldn¡¯t even take true corruption for them to print words out of someone¡¯s agenda.

    ¡°They¡¯re everywhere, then.¡± sighed the woman. ¡°The empire my husband devoted his life to. To think so much of what I knew could be turned upside down in a night. How does no one notice...?¡±

    ¡°People do notice. They just don¡¯t believe.¡± said Kells, his voice rising in momentous intent. ¡°Our people are not trusted in the capital¡ªnot even among the workers¡¯ quarters. We keep to ourselves to prevent conflict. But we trust that our allies are out there.¡±

    A silence descended between them.

    ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry, I don¡¯t...¡± she whispered. ¡°I should be careful talking to you, shouldn¡¯t I...? They might execute me if they...think...¡±

    Kells turned away from the bars separating their two cells and returned to a meditative stance.

    ¡°Then, don¡¯t talk. Just listen. I wonder, Miss Friederick¡ªHave you thought about what you¡¯ll do if you manage to return to your normal life after this hell? Will you pretend the Empire is a place of safety, and carry on as though your husband never existed...? Or, might you decide to use your skin, your voice...as a thing of power?¡±

    After an uncertain pause, Friedrick muttered back to him.

    ¡°Do I look powerful...?¡±

    Kells shrugged.

    ¡°Do I...? And yet, they hold us with their strongest steel. You, milady¡ªnot only are you a witness to perhaps one of the more egregious crimes of the empire¡¯s Department of Knowledge, but the people of the cities are most likely to trust a snowskin like you.¡±

    Friedrick shook her head.

    ¡°They¡¯re the...bleeding Halen Empire! How long can someone expect to survive after betraying them??¡±

    ¡°Months? Years?¡± mocked Kells. ¡°You¡¯re talking to someone who has done so for the better part of a decade. Friends change everything.¡±

    Friedrick shuddered, angling her body away.

    ¡°I don¡¯t...I don¡¯t want to be friends with a...a terrorist! ...Give me one reason I should trust you!!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d prefer to be friends with the Empire you trust,¡± said Kells. ¡°And yet they don¡¯t trust you. That is what makes us friends. What has made my people all friends in arms. Or, ¡®terrorists¡¯ as your empire calls them.¡±

    Friedrick slowly uncrossed her guarded arms.

    ¡°If...IF I were to consider asking for your help...what...would you have me do?¡±

    Kells nodded empathetically.

    She may be my best chance yet.

    ¡°Swear it. Swear you stand with the Dark Spawn. In their plight for an Empire free of cruelty.¡±

    Friedrick grimaced, looking out to the door.

    ¡°You...really think my husband is...is gone...?¡± she asked. Kells could feel that there was a solid lump forming in the back of her throat.

    Kells gave a grave face.

    ¡°They...would have no reason to keep him alive for what he knows. The truth, Miss Friedrick, is that people like myself may now be your only friends.¡±

    Friedrick squinted into a pointed expression. When she opened her eyes, there was a fire in them.

    ¡°...I swear it.¡±

    Kells heard distant murmurs from the floor above them. He lowered his voice, and beckoned her closer to him.

    ¡°Listen closely,¡± affirmed Kells. ¡°If you do survive, and ever find yourself back on the capital¡¯s streets, then locate a tavern in the workers¡¯ quarter called the Drowned Monk. Ask three times for a man named Jowd. Tell him that Rainant Kells has resigned his post honorably, and¡ªthis is important¡ªtell him that ¡®My soul has hatched, but I retain my shell as a shield.¡¯ They will shelter you. Tell him everything that you know about your husband¡¯s research. They will do all in their power to see him avenged, and the Empire dishonored for his death.¡±

    ¡°My soul has...hatched...?¡±

    ¡°The codephrase from before I was captured. It will have to do. Many of them derive from the holy texts from the Condemned Passages of the church.¡±

    ¡°Hm...thank you...that¡¯s very helpful.¡±

    There was something inspiriting in her tone. Her mood had changed markedly with this new instruction.

    ¡°I...think there should be some copies of those passages maintained by the Scholars¡¯ Guild...I¡¯d have to obtain permission, but it may be possible to work out the other codephrases...¡±

    ¡°You have my assurance you won¡¯t need it. Just be sure to arrive there, in person, within the next month. And make sure you¡¯re not followed.¡±

    ¡°O-oh...I likely wouldn¡¯t be going myself,¡± said Friedrick. ¡°I have agents for that.¡±

    "Agents...?¡± Kells felt something had triggered an energy in the woman¡¯s voice. She was...eager. Ready. Perhaps the panic of her predicament had only briefly hidden a resourceful young woman beneath it.

    Friedrick stood, and walked calmly to the gates of her cell. She swept an arm into one of her sleeves, and withdrew a long, pointed object. She expertly rotated it into the lock of the cell, and pecked at the lock.

    ¡°Wait!! Not now!¡± called Kells. He had become intimately familiar with the guards¡¯ shift cycles in the months of his imprisonment. ¡°Wait until nightfall, when-¡±

    A pattern of realizations was finally reaching Kells¡¯ malnourished, sleep-deprived mind.

    ¡®I have agents for that.¡¯

    The blood drained from Kells¡¯ extremities, as he helplessly watched the four-day occupant of his neighboring cell block finish unlocking her cell with the key hidden in her sleeve, and calmly exit her unlocked cell.

    One of the jailors had caught on to the noise in their block, and charged down the cell corridor.

    ¡°HEY! STOP WHERE YOU ARE! GET BACK TO YOUR CELL-!¡±

    His target nonchalantly raised a hand, ambivalent to his aggression.

    ¡°You can stop, we¡¯re clear,¡± she announced to him, with a tired, uncaring air. ¡°Misson¡¯s over.¡±

    No sooner had she said these words, than the jailor ground to a halt mid-stride.

    He snapped a salute.

    ¡°Oh, thank the saints! That means no more briefings held in that damned interrogation room, right? I¡¯ll go and get you a change of clothes.¡±

    The two of them settled their gaze upon Kells. His catatonic muscles lurched reflexively, and he found himself shuddering back against the far wall of his cell, locked in a stare with the woman he¡¯d called Miss Friedrick.

    Those eyes¡­

    ¡°...He talked?¡± asked the jailor.

    The escapee nodded.

    ¡°He talked.¡±

    Kells realized he hadn¡¯t breathed in the past minute. Only a failing wheeze fell from his mouth. Silence¡ªhis old friend. He¡¯d betrayed that friend, again¡ªand likely for the last time.

    What have...I just said to her?

    As the jailor retreated out of the cell block, the woman before him stepped back to his cell, and stood before him outside his door. Though Kells had only ever seen her curled up in her cell, or hunched as she¡¯d been lead by the jailors, now her poise had straightened. The full figure of the woman before him was at least the height of most men; the black curls of her hair now giving her a distant and menacing appearance. Her shining eyes were almost hidden behind a face draped in a shadow of eerie confidence. She appeared nothing like the meek prisoner that had been dropped in the cage two weeks ago.

    ¡°Just to make a few things clear,¡± she began - ¡°Now that you¡¯ve set down the path of a turncoat, there¡¯s no turning back in your brothers¡¯ eyes. Should they realize what you oh-so-eagerly gave us without even the slightest fucking mark of torture, they¡¯ll find anything¡ªor anyone¡ªhalfway sacred to you and violate it, burn it, blow it to the gzildamn corners of the Frostscape.

    She grasped at a far bar of the cell, and tilted her head at him in a sickening way. Her cold eyes seemed self-lit in the dark cell.

    ¡°It¡¯s their way,¡± she emphasized. ¡°The way that you signed up for when you became part of a society of murderous, child-smothering, bloodthirsty FUCKING psychopaths.¡±

    Kells found himself scampering back in his cell on pure instinct. The woman squatted down in front of him, like she was taunting a small child, and continued.

    ¡°Now, you still have one avenue open to you; and that¡¯s to spill anything further you have that we can use. We¡¯ll be moving on the Drowned Monk within the week, but I think we can agree not to use that codephrase if you can give us something to implement a bit more...subtly. Perhaps even wipe away the fact that it was you¡ªthe loyal Rainant Kells - who doomed every single one of your comrades that makes that their home.¡±

    Four days. The calm, methodical woman before him had endured a mere four days of imprisonment and abandonment to get those words out of him. He¡¯d thought himself a pariah, far beyond even the most extreme torture, and yet the bored look in the eyes of the woman before him had addressed this moment as a foregone conclusion. He''d felt himself buy the story about a murdered husband down to its last detail¡ªfelt the emotions of the woman beside him crumbling. But that ¡°person¡± simply didn¡¯t exist. His body fell even more chill than the outside wind as he came to realize just who this woman was.

    Satisfied with her threats, his former cellmate rose to her feet, addressing Kells sidelong.

    ¡°So...the man who¡¯ll continue your questioning is Colonel Herris. He¡¯s a blooming idiot, so I¡¯ll need you to use small words with him, if you can.¡±

    She rapped her knuckles once on the cell bars, and flicked her eyebrows upward.

    ¡°Welcome to the big leagues, Rainant Kells. I¡¯ll make sure you get upgraded to a nicer cell as reward for your cooperation. After all you just gave us...it looks like I¡¯m your only friend.¡±

    Kells buried his head in his palms, scratching at his face in shame for his mistake. Her inflammatory persona exposed, the stories he¡¯d been told did not do the woman outside of his cell justice. Her dismissive remarks echoed down the hall.

    ¡°¡­Knew I couldn¡¯t trust them¡­not to handle a simple interrogation like that¡­¡±

    ***

    Staff Officer Erron Gandor sat at the corner of the work room, anxiety biting at his mind. He¡¯d finished his job for the night, and was awaiting relief orders from the base commander. Only a few other officers and radiomen remained at their desks, silently judging him for his idleness.

    ¡°Hey! You got a guest pass?¡±

    The call had come from a member of the base¡¯s indoor security team; a concept that was still hard to get used to. Each of Gandor¡¯s other postings had only kept security at the front door, allowing officers to roam freely on the inside. To himself as well as the colleagues he¡¯d spoken to, the lack of trust was far more dispiriting than the inconvenience.

    Gandor reached in his dark suit jacket, and fished out a laminated card. Cameras were still an uncommon invention even within the Empire, but in this department, each ID card embedded a photo print of its owner¡¯s face. He displayed the card to the guard.

    ¡°Huh¡­officer? Where¡¯s your uniform? You here to resign?¡±

    Gandor paused before replying. He had, in fact, thought about doing that before.

    ¡°The Commander wanted me to help with a play. I¡¯m¡­a lawyer coming in to arrange her release from a cell. If the jailor comes and tells me it doesn¡¯t work, I need to go back down there with a second go-¡±

    A stern woman¡¯s voice interrupted him.

    ¡°That¡¯s enough. You showed him ID. Don¡¯t say anything more.¡±

    The base¡¯s commander, dressed in filth-soaked rags, marched in from the hallway leading to the cellar stairs. The security guard, momentarily confused by her outfit, snapped a sharp salute. Commander Wysp strode uncomfortably into Gandor¡¯s personal space, consuming his field of vision.

    ¡°Never volunteer information that¡¯s not need-to-know. Security is only here to find intruders, not make small talk. Do you understand?¡±

    Gandor wished he¡¯d stood up to salute, so he wouldn¡¯t become victim of the Commander¡¯s looming height.

    ¡°Y-Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°Got a change of clothes ready for you, Miss.¡±

    The jailor had come from the same hallway, bearing a bundled shirt and trousers.

    ¡°Leave them by the bath. I¡¯ll be there soon.¡± The jailor trotted off dutifully. ¡°Gandor. Write an order to Colonel Herris to take over Prisoner J14¡¯s account, and move him upstairs to a suite. He¡¯s cooperative.¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± said Gandor.

    He quickly stepped up to be out of the Scion¡¯s sight.

    ¡°Before you go, Officer. The suit.¡±

    Gandor froze mid-rise, unsure whether to turn around. The Commander¡¯s voice resonated in his ear.

    ¡°Overall, satisfactory. But your persona had just arrived at the facility. The prisoners can tell when there¡¯s snowfall, there should have been a light dusting on your shoulders.¡±

    Gandor swallowed.

    ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry, ma¡¯am. I¡¯m not actually an agent, I w-wasn¡¯t trained-¡°

    ¡°Don¡¯t make excuses. Just learn.¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°Dismissed.¡±

    No sooner had Gandor written the memo to Colonel Herris, and deposited it at reception, than he scattered out of the facility¡¯s front door, eager to be out of the Commander¡¯s presence before she descended on him with more orders.

    Back at Fort Ortmeyer, he¡¯d been fine with the occasional night of late work, straightening supply orders and drafting requisitions. Diligence in service to the Empire, preserving the safety of its people was a rewarding job to him. Allegedly, his reassignment to this remote office in Smolensk maintained this same goal¡ªand was considered a privilege when the position had been announced.

    But, it was hard to see it that way. The Department of Knowledge kept its workings so deeply obscured from even its mid-level members that he¡¯d yet to count any worthwhile, tangible successes in his several months on the job. All he might do in a day was distill a detailed, 300-word report down to the 30 words their colleagues in the Steel Legion were ¡®permitted¡¯ to hear. It was the same ¡®need to know¡¯ principle the Commander had just chastised him for.

    He could see why so many in the Department respected her. She carried an air of confidence far more earned than many officers, whom he¡¯d known to be victims of nepotism. But there was a coldness to her that was unpierceable. Gandor considered the case of prisoner J14¡ªin the past few weeks, multiple senior officers had been assigned to his interrogation, and concluded there was no circumstance in which he¡¯d talk. The case escalated, and Commander Wysp only took charge of him for a matter of days. Thinking about what she did to force his words out chilled his blood even more than the biting coastline winds of Smolensk.

    Though the sky was starkly overcast, the sun left behind a thin semicircle of red at the edge of the Umbra. Its last emanations before the full dark of night were just bright enough to highlight the silhouette of the large manor behind Gandor. It had apparently once belonged to a wealthy family that owned a fishing business. The Department had chosen it for its headquarters, not for the sen on the gilder that it had sold for after that family¡¯s fall, but for its isolated location, far along the Duskpeak coast. Open white snow extended for miles past the edge of the small forest leading up to their cliffside location.

    The walls at the edge of the manor compound were the Department¡¯s addition. There was a mid-sized gatehouse ahead, from which motorsleds entered. There, the lone gate guardsman was in conversation with an elderly woman, each drinking a warm beverage to fight the night chill. Still ruffled by his interaction with the indoor security, Gandor marched to meet them.

    ¡°Ma¡¯am? Got a badge?¡± he called to the old woman.

    The guard saluted to the approaching officer, responding in a chipper Elman accent.

    ¡°I¡¯ve checked her, sir! She¡¯s one of our contractors¡ªjust here on standby.¡±

    The old woman patted him on the shoulder. Her voice was warm, making the meager gatehouse feel like a small home.

    ¡°This nice young man-! He was so apologetic that he couldn¡¯t let me wait inside! Of course, all our work here is quite hush-hush, of course, so I quite understand!¡±

    ¡°May I ask who or what you¡¯re waiting for, ma¡¯am?¡±

    ¡°Er-!...Well, depending on your clearance level, maybe you can¡¯t, good sir.¡±

    Gandor slumped his shoulders. She had a fair point.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name, miss?¡±

    Before she could answer, the guard interjected.

    ¡°Gusvelt, sir! With a U, and-¡°

    ¡°Not an ¡®ooh¡¯!¡± chimed the old woman jovially. ¡°You remembered!¡±

    Gandor sorted his mental notes¡ªand felt his brow furrow reflexively in concern.

    ¡°¡­Are you here for¡­case J14?¡± he ventured.

    Gusvelt nodded enthusiastically.

    ¡°Uh¡­I think I can at least tell you that case is closed for now.¡±

    ¡°Ooooohh, drat!¡±

    Gusvelt shook her head, making a dramatic showing of collecting her thermos as she readied the descent of the hill.

    ¡°Ahh, and I¡¯d been needing something to keep my hands moving. Oh well. There¡¯s a tidy room at the Oasis, suppose I¡¯ll just tuck in there for the morning train. You¡¯ll let Miss Wysp know, in case she needs me, right?¡±

    ¡°Sure¡­¡± said Gandor.

    As she trotted down the forest path to the town below, Gandor examined the guard. Frost had collected on his scarf and goggles, leaving the outfit¡¯s occupant perpetually shivering through his attentive posture. Most of the Department¡¯s security remained indoors, playing card games in anticipation of alarms¡ªleaving sole sentries like this one to suffer the frigid cliffside winds. Already, Gandor was starting to think about heading back inside himself¡ªhe couldn¡¯t easily compare to the younger man¡¯s resilience.

    The outdoor security guards were recruited from available squadrons in the Steel Legion¡ªthe Department¡¯s faint attempt at demonstrating inter-office cooperation. Feeling a nostalgic sense of camaraderie, Gandor prompted him to conversation, sensing a kindred spirit.

    ¡°Talk to her about much?¡±

    ¡°She was very professional, sir. Didn¡¯t gossip about any Department work.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡±

    ¡°Very nice woman, though! It sounds like she¡¯s resisted retiring quite a few times just out of pride for her work. She said the Commander has been so accommodating for her¡ªlike it¡¯s easy for other people to forget she exists.¡±

    Gandor winced at the compliments directed to the Commander.

    ¡°¡­Do you know what she does, exactly?¡±

    ¡°Well, she was vague. Uh¡­information handling.¡±

    Vague was probably better. Secrecy protocols prevented him from explaining that Gusvelt was the Department¡¯s torture expert. Commander Wysp had apparently kept her available in case the ¡°Miss Friederick¡± act had failed.

    Gandor¡¯s careful acting as a lawyer for the ears of Rainant Kells had been driven by mercy. He only knew a part of the rumors of Madame Gusvelt. The Department¡¯s contract required that she be allowed to conduct questioning in her own way.

    She offered ¡°patients¡± a deal. She laid out her instruments in a private room, and asked them the question the Department wanted answered¡ªonce, and only once. If they answered, she would pack up and leave. If they didn¡¯t, she began. They would always answer, always¡ªusually before the second day of live dissection¡ªbut even if they did, she would continue her procedure. Rumors said her record was a full week before the patient¡¯s heart stopped.

    Every guard that had ever been assigned to the door of her interrogation room had gone on leave for therapy and counseling¡ªsome had become permanently mute. Gandor shuddered as he watched the gate guard next to him wave back to the elderly woman at the edge of the forest below.

    Out here, everyone has secrets. Here, you don¡¯t know anyone well.

 Travel Companions

    (Present Day)

    The past few hours of Garrot¡¯s whirlwind briefing and rushed deployment had gone by so quickly, during such red-eyed morning hours that he could barely remember much of it. But what snapped him awake wasn¡¯t even the inhalation of some warm blackbark, but the incredibly well-timed view of the sun peeking out from beneath the east side of the Umbra. Their express train was just coasting the tip of a snowy hill along one of the Imbral suburbs when their conductor had walked the halls to draw back the smoking car¡¯s curtains and call attention to the picturesque scene.

    Garrot could tell that Halehearth Rail had to have planned not just their rail lines but their schedules for moments like this. He hadn¡¯t been so fortunate as to observe this same view when he had moved to Imbral, but he was sure the vista before him was one that had enticed thousands of migrants arriving for their first time. He could see across to the downtown region dotted with towers of ice, fields of wooden homes, and even open parks, whose fields of white snow reflected the morning sun. Even in the distance, neighboring towns¡¯ snow-covered wooden rooftops stretched on miles and miles away, far enough to begin to see the Egg¡¯s gentle upward curve in the distance, as though those houses were leaning on a hill. Garrot had been scanning the cityscape for some of his more well-known landmarks; St. Teri¡¯s steeple, Fort Ormeyer, and the Scholars¡¯ Quarter library, which he recalled as the closest landmark to Bran and Rhile¡¯s home.

    ¡°Ahhhh...*what* a start to our vacation!¡± exclaimed Sarei.

    His new Lancer colleague had been hogging the closest view, bending almost perpendicular to the window to absorb the sites.

    "Can¡¯t even argue,¡± agreed Bran. He couldn¡¯t muster the energy to berate Sarei a tenth time for referring to their assignment as a vacation. ¡°And to think, so many of these businessmen heading out to Almensk just pass by this hill every few weeks...¡±

    He made a cursory examination of the room around them. Most of the well-dressed nobles of the smoking car had afforded the picturesque view from the window a few glances, but had otherwise become absorbed once again in their newspapers or black arm mugs. One or two were fingering cigarettes, but were waiting to light them until the family of children near them had left.

    ¡°Papio, papio!¡± came a small, excited shout near them. ¡°Los ve neke Imbralo!¡±

    To Garrot¡¯s right, a mother and her two children gazed out over the landscape in awe. Garrot listened in as the small girl, held in her mother¡¯s arms, and her older brother loudly broke into conversation; prompting a short chuckle from the Private.

    ¡°Wonder where they¡¯re from,¡± pondered Bran.

    ¡°Well, they¡¯re not J¡¯halan, but they¡¯re speaking Elman. So I¡¯d guess they came from somewhere in Elmira.¡± said Garrot. He lowered his voice. ¡°The boy¡¯s just making fun of his sister because she said ¡®Look! We¡¯re almost in Imbral!¡¯¡±

    Bran shared the chuckle. ¡°Ah, our translator getting his ropes in.¡±

    Garrot refocused on the conversation across the car. He¡¯d mostly internalized even his thought process in Imperial, but on Bran¡¯s suggestion, it felt as good a time as any to flex between languages.

    ¡°Now she¡¯s, uh...saying she wanted to see that big building¡ªthe palace - and her mother¡¯s telling her they already did.¡±

    ¡°Let me guess, she wanted to go up the big tower - the Emperor¡¯s Hearth?¡± asked Sarei.

    ¡°Basically - haha. Aaand, she just looked at the beverage card and since the one imperial word she recognizes is Cocoa, she¡¯s begging for that.¡±

    Sarei bolted up from her perch at the window, knocking Bran¡¯s chin back.

    ¡°Oh shoot, they serve cocoa on these? Man, I missed all the amenities of express trains!¡±

    Bran stared her down, nursing his chin. ¡°We¡¯re less than ten minutes out of the capital and you¡¯re already spending pocket money?¡±

    ¡°No I¡¯m not,¡± retorted Sarei. ¡°They explained we can report food as an expense, right?¡±

    They had, in fact, been told as much by the Lieutenant, since they¡¯d be operating alone around civilian areas rather than on military grounds, but Garrot doubted over-marketed confectionary was what he¡¯d had in mind. Bran groaned, clearly contending with the worry that his new subordinate¡¯s sweet tooth was going to be an issue.

    Bran, and the nearby mother of two, shared an exasperated glance¡ªhaving both encountered the same problem.

    ¡®Kids, right?¡¯ Bran mouthed.

    The mother failed to stifle a small laugh. ¡°You are...soldiers, yes?¡± she asked, in delicate Imperial.

    Bran offered a quick two-fisted salute. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. Steel legionnaires.¡±

    The mother¡¯s face fell into the look of fear and confusion that tended to be solely associated with language barriers. ¡°Steel......lee...jun-¡±

    Garrot interrupted to explain. ¡°Se itendei...¡¯Legionnaire¡¯ ke voco perdonte pon Halen ¡®Soldier''.¡±

    She nodded, smiling warmly¡ªGarrot could remember the level of pressure he had felt when still learning the language, and the relief on occasionally finding someone familiar with his home tongue. It felt good to pass on the torch.

    He began explaining to her in Elman that, while the Steel Legion kept many models of trains specifically for troop deployment, since it was just the three of them on a separate assignment, they were travelling by commercial train.

    ¡°Mhira¡¯s sake...¡±

    The utterance had come from an older gentleman in a booth across the car. He made a visible show of scowling at Garrot and ruffling his newspaper in frustration.

    ¡°...too much to ask the cavemen to learn to speak Imperial...?¡±

    ¡°Perdo-!...Excuse me, sir!¡± the mother called over accusingly, momentarily flubbing the dialects.

    The mother¡¯s two children had been startled into silence. Garrot could tell they regularly associated this raised voice to parental punishment.

    ¡°Oh- Ma¡¯am, it¡¯s fine, I didn¡¯t mean to bother you or your sweet little kids,¡± the gentleman replied, flashing a smile to the two of them. He dropped his smile towards the Rangers.

    ¡°Just...Sergeant, does your...man speak any Imperial?¡± he asked, directed at Bran.

    ¡°Ask him yourself,¡± shot back Bran, turning away to face the window.

    ¡°Sir-!¡± interjected the mother. ¡°I was saying-...asking, for s-speak Elman!¡± She seemed to be dividing mental energy between translating with grammatical clarity, and conveying frustration. ¡°He was just...telling why...¡¯L-Legionnaire¡¯...¡±

    She threw up her hands, abandoning the sentence. ¡°Why do you...be...rude?¡±

    The man slammed the newspaper onto his ashtray, with all the impact that could be achieved with a half-folded sheaf of paper.

    ¡°I am not the one being rude!! This car is supposed to stay quiet!¡± he seethed.

    Sarei leaned back against the window. Her smile had only widened during the exchange. ¡°So I suppose you¡¯ll want to ask the kids to be quiet first? Hathorne, you want to help him translate ¡®Be quiet, you two brats¡¯?¡±

    Garrot rubbed the bridge of his nose, motioning his palm down for Sarei not to intervene. ¡°Miss Adamel, please don¡¯t escalate this. He¡¯s right, this car-¡±

    Sarei ignored Garrot, and stepped around him to meet the surprised stare of the businessman. He was glancing at Garrot, having only just associated the voice speaking Imperial from earlier to the klyskin-colored man he¡¯d insulted.

    Sarei leaned in towards him. ¡°Or, given that you assumed my associate was in charge at a glance, is it just too scary to speak to anyone that isn¡¯t as snowskin as you are?¡±

    ¡°SAREI. ENOUGH.¡±

    Garrot spat the rebuke before he¡¯d thought. Setting aside the eyes falling upon him, Garrot stepped over to the two children and knelt down before them, adopting a reassuring smile to confirm they weren¡¯t in trouble.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°Kindentos? Mio espaldo vite pon escal ie vocado. Se pastao selo intendei: Escul se vocado ve carron.¡± he explained, in an apologetically hushed voice.

    The boy kicked at the ground, avoiding Garrot¡¯s gaze. ¡°Le esculde ru vocado tambeb.¡±

    Garrot laughed, hanging his head with his hands up. ¡°Terre vite, kindento! Terre vite. Espaldo.¡±

    Garrot stood, and paced back to the businessman, who recoiled defensively.

    ¡°And, sir? I¡¯m sorry for disturbing you while you were reading your paper¡ªand for my colleague¡¯s comments. The conductor invited us to see the view in this car, and we¡¯ll be leaving now that the view¡¯s gone.¡±

    ¡°I...¡±

    The traveler sat tongue-tied. Though Garrot spoke politely, he appeared to desire no involvement in the conversation. He spoke in a hushed voice, as though aiming not to offend.

    ¡°What were you saying to them just now?¡±

    ¡°I said to them, I was sorry for raising my voice¡ªand that you were just directing us to lower our voices in this car. The young boy here pointed out that I raised my voice too, and I just said ¡¯Terre vite!¡¯, which means ¡®Very true!¡¯¡±

    Garrot enunciated the phrasing more slowly and carefully, for the sake of teaching a novice. It was a trick he¡¯d learned - people¡¯s moods often improved after they¡¯d learned something.

    ¡°A-All right. Fine then.¡± the passenger muttered. ¡°Carry on.¡±

    Sarei nonchalantly opened her mouth, prepared to make a remark, but decided against it when Garrot flashed a stare at her. She settled for rolling her eyes instead.

    Bran motioned them out. ¡°Come on, he¡¯s right. The view¡¯s gone now.¡± He let out a sigh. ¡°Mhira¡¯s sake...what a start to our ¡®vacation¡¯.¡±

    A few minutes later, they¡¯d settled into a dining car, finding themselves a late breakfast. Halehearth Rail had long prided themselves on grandiose, luxurious dining on their express network, and where they were seated was no exception. The car was about as tall and wide as the rail network allowed, and its brass decorations glittered around them. Each booth sat in its own sunken alcove, making it feel even larger once seated. Even the lighting was routed through electrical lightbulbs running from the engine¡¯s generator, saving the conductors from frequently refilling oil lamps.

    Bran and Garrot had each polished off a simple tenguin breastmeat sandwich, and were now haplessly watching Sarei gulp down a stack of pancakes and a mug of cocoa.

    ¡°Are...you sure that¡¯s enough for you?¡± asked Bran, his face a mess of incredulity.

    Sarei shook her head. ¡°You wanted your own, should¡¯ve ordered it. Heck, you still could.¡± She forked another slice of the stack deep into her cheek. ¡°¡¯Fore you guys know it *munch* you¡¯ll be back to the nasty stuff they...*swallow* feed you at Ortmeyer.¡±

    ¡°Chew. Swallow. Then speak.¡± said Bran. ¡°So, Private Adamel, I have to ask, am I going to have to chaperone your eating as WELL as your conduct around civilians?¡±

    Sarei leaned back to digest, feeling unthreatened. ¡°Well, that depends. Hathorne.¡± she turned to Garrot. ¡°How often are situations like that last one going to happen with you here?¡±

    ¡°Garrot is not at fault here,¡± returned Bran. ¡°Your conduct with that man was excessive.¡±

    ¡°And so was his,¡± said Sarei. ¡°Didn¡¯t even surprise me seeing he was an Owls¡¯ Eye reader. If you need me to cut down an eldmoose I can do that. Being a Scion¡¯s own personal Querywoman, sure, I¡¯ll give it a go. But letting the squad serve as punching bag for racist assholes? Sorry, no.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t need you speaking up on my behalf,¡± said Garrot.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t speaking up to defend you. I was just sick of that bastard swallowing all the air in the car walking all over you. I mean, you were being a wimp, no offense - didn''t even call him out for calling you a caveman. Let people walk all over you like that, and I¡¯m worried that we''ll have more than terrorists to worry about just walking around on investigation, and worse, we¡¯ll be down one translator.¡±

    Bran opened his mouth, but hesitated. Garrot could guess why; what Sarei was saying was simply an echo of his own concerns.

    ¡°Nevertheless...¡± he said finally, still planning his words. "Private Hathorne prefers to deal with conflicts of that kind on his own. Next time, if you can¡¯t take it, I¡¯ll just ask that you walk away. Are we clear?¡±

    Sarei pondered into what remained of her pancakes. ¡°Buy me a bottle of King Panther when we get to Westbell and it¡¯s a deal.¡±

    ¡°Private.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, sure. Fine. Whatever.¡± She swallowed the last portion of what had previously been a giant stack. Her fork clinked to the empty plate, and she reached for the cocoa mug.

    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure I stopped drinking over-sweetened train sweets like that when I was seven years old...¡± mocked Bran. ¡°If the blackbark wasn¡¯t similarly overpriced, I wouldn¡¯t mind some...only got one cup before we headed out...¡±

    Garrot held up a finger, and reached into his bag, producing a screw-sealed wooden mug¡ªpouring a measure of warm, aromatic blackbark out into each of their cups.

    Sarei observed the two of them across from her with a curious look. ¡°So - you two know each other, do you?¡±

    Bran shrugged. ¡°Garrot and I met in basic. We ended up in different squadrons, but since he didn¡¯t really have a place to stay during Salute Week, my husband and I let him sleep in our guest bed. It¡¯s only since the last reassignments that we¡¯ve even been in the same squadron.¡±

    Sarei nodded. ¡°Mmmm. Right. And does your husband know you¡¯re deploying together?¡±

    Bran shot her a stare. ¡°I¡¯m hoping you didn¡¯t start blabbing around on this. I don¡¯t claim to know their reasons, but both the Lieutenant and General were both clear that this assignment is not to be discussed outside secure channels.¡±

    Bran had privately admitted to Garrot that he had wanted to inform Rhile that he¡¯d be leaving the capital¡ªbut the element of secrecy behind their deployment as Rangers had caught him off guard.

    ¡°Mum''s the word, of course.¡± said Sarei. ¡°So if you guys decide now¡¯s the best time to start your affair, I¡¯m not gonna mouth off about it.¡±

    Bran choked on a gulp from his mug, and quickly grabbed a napkin to dab out a hot black stain left on his trousers.

    ¡°Ehm, s-so...¡± ventured Garrot, ¡°I felt pretty sure I knew what the imperial word affair meant, but just to be clear-¡±

    ¡°What the fuck are you talking about??¡± blared Bran.

    ¡°Aw, come on.¡± teased Sarei. ¡°You burst into that meeting room with a ring, wetting your pants in front of a Scion, to try to get yourself into Garrot''s assignment. And let me guess¡ªyou''re the one who bought him that mug?¡±

    She hooked her arm lazily around the table to stealthily grab Garrot¡¯s wooden flask, admiring the craftsmanship on it.

    ¡°Oh man...copper lining and taurmawood heat insulation. Can you imagine keeping mulled corecider warm in a treasure like this? Quite a generous gift. I¡¯ve seen them go for half a gilder before.¡±

    ¡°He bought it himself, he has a salary,¡± rebutted Bran.

    Sarei raised an eyebrow. ¡°Did he?¡± she mocked.

    She spun the mug to show the engraving tailored into it.

    ¡°G. H.? No one buys something this ostentatious for themselves.¡±

    ¡°Fine. Then I have no idea where he got it,¡± insisted Bran. ¡°Maybe if you were polite enough to ask, you¡¯d find out.¡±

    ¡°Y-yeah, I don¡¯t...¡± Garrot was catching his brain up, feeling thoroughly incapable of handling Sarei. ¡°Bran and I are...not-¡±

    ¡°You sure? Eh, guess we don''t need to complicate sleeping arrangements then.¡±

    She stood from her chair, stepping out of the sunken seating. ¡°I¡¯m gonna check the smoking car to see if they have any books to read or anything, then I¡¯ll be in our compartment. Let me know if we get any other good views out the window.¡±

    She stuffed her hands in her pockets and strode away to the next car. Bran made no motion to stop her, his hand still glued to his face in frustration.

    ¡°Wow. So that...huh.¡± Garrot was scratching his head. ¡°Sarei Adamel, Devil Company¡¯s Lancer Unit. She seems really-¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not as though she doesn¡¯t have a point,¡± remarked Bran, sipping on his water.

    Garrot tensed his shoulders, sensing a confrontation.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Bran sat back, swirling the mug of blackbark Garrot had provided him. It almost seemed like he hadn''t heard the question.

    ¡°You remember me talking about all those Queryman Haingen stories, right?¡±

    Garrot nodded. Bran and his husband Rhile had long had an affection for the stories of the Queryman¡¯s Guild, whose work was frequently fictionalized. But they¡¯d had particular fondness for stories told of Queryman Haingen. He was a slightly older, fictional character who would always make it to the heart of a mystery¡ªbut always find reasons to conceal the truth and ask the Guild to archive the case. Sometimes, a young boy had stolen money from a miser to pay for his mother¡¯s treatment, or a victim of murder would turn out to be an evil monster, or find that the killer had acted in self defense.

    Bran shrugged. ¡°This...might be one of those moments. Except Haingen gets to go on to the next case, while you and I stay colleagues forever, long after I¡¯ve solved enough of your mystery to leave you alone. And while I¡¯d like to assure Private Adamel that I have you figured out...first I¡¯d like to make sure I do.¡±

    Bran began counting on his hand.

    ¡°You left J¡¯halaga long after the U.J.P.¡¯s ¡®purge of undesirables¡¯. When you did, you arrived with no family in tow, and spent most of your first year volunteering at a church before joining the army.¡±

    Bran shrugged, considering his ¡®clues¡¯.

    ¡°A lot of people on the run from loan sharks, or their old gang in the P.R.U., would keep to themselves. But you almost go out of your way to be as outgoing and inviting as you can with every person you meet.

    ¡°Initially, that kind of background made me curious. But...I stopped thinking about it when I realized, whatever your story is, whatever trauma you deal with; the way you act around other people¡ªit''s how you ¡®process¡¯ it.¡±

    The guilt was coming back to Garrot under Bran¡¯s scrutiny. Maybe he knew. Maybe his silence about life in his homeland had only made things harder for his friend.

    Bran sensed his unease, and leaned back, giving the impression he was finished laying into Garrot.

    ¡°...What I want to impress on you is that...I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever experience what you did leaving your home. But if those challenges taught that you should never confront people¡ªthat even morons who assume you¡¯re an illiterate serving boy deserve your full respect...then I think you took the wrong lesson out of it, and it hurts us to see it.¡±

    ¡°Us?¡± asked Garrot.

    Bran gave a smirk.

    ¡°Since I met you, I¡¯ve learned to appreciate the different ways people show it¡ªbut Sarei seems to get along with you pretty well. I think cursing up a storm at that businessman was just her way of showing it.¡±

    Garrot shared the smile.

    ¡°Hah. I¡¯d say you¡¯re probably right on both regards.¡±

    Garrot set down his mug, gazing into its swirling contents.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I know I don¡¯t act like most people¡ªeven like others who came from the same places as me. I had to decide very early in my life what sort of person I had to be,¡± he protested. ¡°...Had to be...¡±

    Even considering the topic of his homeland caused a burning pain in his heart, making it difficult to explain his own thoughts.

    Bran and his husband were both inquisitive minds; it was likely that if the Sergeant were given a week with a library¡¯s newspaper archives, he''d learn what had instilled the subservient mindset that had guided much of Garrot¡¯s life, even more so than most others thankful for their lives in the Empire.

    But he hadn¡¯t; as a show of respect for Garrot¡¯s hardships. Maybe even as a show of appreciation for the things Garrot had taught him; that behind every man and woman in the street, lay a mystery of their own makings.

    Bran steadily rose out of his chair, careful to avoid the shudders of the train under their feet.

    ¡°If it¡¯s okay...I think I need to go make sure Private Adamel hasn¡¯t gotten herself into another fight on the way back to our cabin.¡±

    ¡°Oh, come on...!¡± laughed Garrot. ¡°She¡¯s not-¡­!...¡±

    Garrot tapped his finger on the table, reconsidering.

    ¡°...Welllll...¡±

 Westbell

    Like yesterday, the Rangers spent the early morning in transit. Unlike yesterday, they spent that time asleep. The Rangers were awoken by the full morning sun as the conductor awoke them for their arrival to Westbell Station. From there, a sizable number of passengers exiting the train filed into queues to process their inspections to continue on into the outer Halen territories of Aichrol and Woulsta. Garrot and the others, however, were turning Southward, to catch the next local train going out to the small town of Cheranol.

    ¡°Alright. I hope you two are rested from that overnight ride,¡± said Bran, returning with their next tickets to where Garrot and Sarei were waiting. ¡°Once we¡¯re on site, we link up with Private Petterson and start our game plan.¡±

    Sarei arched her back, stretching out. ¡°Rested? More like restless.¡±

    Garrot pointed an accusing finger. ¡°That might be because you ate half the sweets from the service cart when they came around.¡±

    Bran avoided a smirk. If Garrot was able to poke jokes at their new companion, maybe they could set aside the disagreement from earlier.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure everyone¡¯s legs are cramped up from being stuck on a train for a full day,¡± said Bran. ¡°So why don¡¯t you two take your tickets, and we¡¯ll all meet at platform 4 for the train in thirty.¡±

    ¡°Thirty?¡± asked Sarei. ¡°Awww, but...the viewpoint that lets you see across into Aichrol is about 25 minutes walk...!¡±

    ¡°Well, my heart aches to hear that our sightseeing tour is subpar, Private Adamel.¡± mocked Bran. ¡°Please leave your review with tourmaster Klaus.¡±

    ¡°Fine, fine.¡± said Sarei. She noted a tourist board posted near them. ¡°There¡¯s a market pretty close to the station. Might be worth checking out.¡±

    ¡°Just don¡¯t be surprised if your CO decides your overpriced souvenirs are not a military expense.¡± warned Bran.

    Though souvenirs were present, Westbell was far from simply a tourist destination¡ªdown some long paths they could see the downtown and residential regions of the city they¡¯d be soon leaving. The market was primarily packed with foodstuffs¡ªimpressively grown gourds, fruits, and vegetables of all sizes, taken from the vast farmlands they¡¯d been passing all through their train ride. Only a fraction of the varieties of trade came all the way through to the markets Garrot was familiar with in Dosken and Imbral.

    Garrot explored the market stalls, past the main streets of the market found various persuasions of craftsmen, showing off impressive shows of woodworking and iceware; everything from housewares, to jewelry, and even some weaponry for self-defense. Behind the shouting apprentices looking to make sales, their masters were hard at work crafting new pieces. Most of their time was of course spent in their own workshops; but presenting their process from tents on the snowy streets served as an alluring draw for the passers-by.

    Garrot decided to avoid getting into any lengthy conversations with merchants, for fear that it would lead to hopes of a purchase. Eventually, he broke his own rule, complimenting the remarkable appearance of a set of ornamental daggers made by an elderly local. The owner admitted they were more of an imitation than the real thing, and that he ¡®only hopes that they may one day save a customer¡¯s life¡¯. Checking the time on the nearest bell tower, Garrot found himself struggling to explain his need to leave, and decided his fastest way out of the conversation was the purchase of a short, glistening iceware scimitar, adorned with shimmering, diamond-shaped holes in its blade, for a mere 3 marks.

    After securing his new weapon in the scabbard he¡¯d been given, Garrot returned to the station, and was relieved to see that he wasn¡¯t the only one who¡¯d made a dubious purchase. Sarei held a paper bag with a bottle of liquor in it¡ªlikely the ¡®King Panther¡¯ brand of core-cider she¡¯d mentioned. Bran spared him a greeting and beckoned Garrot to follow¡ªapparently he was late.

    Since their destination, Cheranol, wasn¡¯t a common destination, their local train was nowhere near as regal as the overnight Express. It was furnished simply with rows of wooden seats facing forward. They were separated from the engine by several freight cars, loaded with produce and sundries, to return with klysten ore deliveries.

    Once the train had set off, the three of them gathered in one of the byways of the traincars, shut off from any eavesdroppers by closed doors. Unrolling his map of the village, Bran held it up on the wall for a level of context as he launched into a re-briefing.

    ¡°Cheranol...mining village. Population of about 400. A good fifth of that are now immigrants.¡± He opened.

    ¡°Huh. People call J¡¯halans cavemen out of ignorance,¡± said Sarei. ¡°I guess hurtful labels didn¡¯t stop so many of them from turning to mining work.¡±

    ¡°First order of business, we¡¯ll be linking up with PFC Petterson,¡± explained Bran. ¡°He¡¯s providing us lodging for the area, and has explained to the local patrol force that we are acting as reserve reinforcements, able to act as we see fit. As the Lieutenant has mentioned, mission objectives are not to be discussed with any locals unless absolutely necessary.¡±

    ¡°I know there''s many ways to go about it,¡± asked Garrot. ¡°But, how exactly will we be ¡®investigating¡¯ them?¡±

    ¡°From what I gather, the Shaded Paw¡¯s presence among the village is no secret. They¡¯re legally classified as a nonprofit political movement, but at least to the Steel Legion, their inner workings are unclear. Might be a good start just to join in with any community discussion, and see what the local opinion of them is.¡±

    ¡°I take it that¡¯s not all, though?¡± said Sarei. ¡°I feel like the Lieutenant¡¯s gonna be pissed if we come back and just say the locals feel they¡¯re ¡®pretty good¡¯.¡±

    Bran nodded, turning back to the map. ¡°Well, from there, we have the options of asking the local Sheriff, as well as going right to the source¡ªtrying to find a chance to speak with the movement¡¯s spokesperson, an older immigrant by the name of Jes¡¯qel Remire. Runs a kind of community-owned Temple of Mhira, over round the corner of the mountain here.¡±

    Bran tapped on a corner of the map, then rolled it up to conclude his presentation, stuffing it into a coat pocket.

    ¡°If we get lost on our progress, though, we¡¯ll still be reporting directly to the Lieutenant¡ªcallsigned Nest, every few days from the local telephone office as we discover details about the Paw. We¡¯ll go over our investigation itinerary each morning, otherwise.¡±

    ¡°Man...¡± Sarei leaned back against the wall of the coach. ¡°From how much it costs just sending a letter across the empire, I don¡¯t want to imagine what the phone rates must be.¡±

    ¡°Hah. For military use? Probably nothing,¡± said Bran. ¡°More expensive paying off the lancer division¡¯s total lack of inhibition for souvenirs.¡±

    ¡°I enjoy the finer things in life, and I ain¡¯t ashamed to admit it,¡± announced Sarei with pride.

    ¡°I¡¯m curious, though,¡± Garrot said, "Was there a plan for how long we¡¯d be here? The mission objectives are a bit unclear. How long do you imagine we¡¯ll be out here?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s up to Nest,¡± said Bran, shrugging. ¡°We may just be filling in some of the simple blanks for command before the Inquisitors or Department of Knowledge takes over for us. Honestly, if we¡¯re here a while, we might hear about the war on the Dark Spawn in the same newspapers as everyone else.¡±

    Bran began picking his way back towards his seat, as the other two followed.

    ¡°Guess you won¡¯t be stabbing anyone with your new toy as soon as you thought,¡± said Sarei, poking at Garrot¡¯s new scabbard. Garrot gently slid the short scimitar partway out of the sheath to examine it. Its bluish transparent hue and the polish on the blade gave it a remarkable appearance.

    ¡°Your unit-issue M2 musket, and field knife, weren¡¯t enough for you?¡± asked Bran, resuming his seat.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    ¡°I-...well.¡± Garrot stammered, not wanting to admit how much he¡¯d been pressured through puppy-dog eyes into the purchase. ¡°The salesman reminded me about how much lighter iceware knives can be, even if they¡¯re not as sturdy. And even if I don¡¯t use it, it was little to pay for an ornamental piece.¡±

    ¡°So are you going to go out and buy a carved stand for it to sit on your desk...? And a desk?¡± Bran asked, his eyelids drooped in incredulity. It was true¡ªthe sum of Garrot¡¯s possessions and furnishings consisted of a footlocker in his barracks, and a duffel bag on a shelf back in his guest room at Bran¡¯s house.

    ¡°Alright, fine. I felt bad, okay?¡± admitted Garrot, as he slumped down into his seat. ¡°He says now that steel is mostly taking over, it¡¯s harder to make sales on works like that. And the older generations of craftsmen like him can¡¯t really afford building forges hot enough to work steel. For most people, the only choice is moving someplace like Imbral or Dosken for the factories, and learning a new craft from scratch.¡±

    ¡°He probably didn¡¯t want to say it to you, but...¡± Sarei rolled her head towards the window, hiding a guilty look. ¡°There¡¯s a LOT of J¡¯halan craftsmen come in that have driven down prices to make competition for them. It¡¯s tough on everyone who used to work with ice now.¡±

    Garrot examined the weapon again.

    ¡°Well, I was happy to tell him that it¡¯s more beautiful than any blade I¡¯ve seen back home.¡±

    ¡°Really¡­? Even though it¡¯s melting?¡±

    Sarei pointed at a flash of light on the blade¡¯s surface. Droplets of water were falling from a gap in the blade to the train¡¯s floor.

    ¡°Well¡­he was making these pieces fresh, so he said that might be normal,¡± assumed Garrot. ¡°It''ll just be the thin outermost layer. It should stop in a few minutes, I think?¡±

    Sarei stood her chin on her fist, studying the suspicious object. ¡°Let me see it.¡±

    Garrot gently handed Sarei the glistening transparent blade. She turned it over in her hands a few times, pointing the blade away from her. Then, she raised her knee, and with only a small amount of force, brought the sword''s flat midpoint down against it.

    The entire sword snapped effortlessly in two. The remaining blade in Sarei¡¯s hand slipped to the floor off of its slick moisture, leaving water dripping from her fingers.

    ¡°What the?? How did-¡­" Garrot was in shock.

    ¡°Garrot...it wasn¡¯t iceware. It was just frozen water. White ice.¡± explained Sarei. ¡°No salt, no binding oils, nothing. Maybe just a dye to give it the blue tinge.¡±

    ¡°I...but he had me do the same thing when he was showing it to me!! It wouldn¡¯t even bend!¡± whined Garrot. ¡°How did it get so brittle?¡±

    Bran felt horribly sympathetic. ¡°Did you keep your eye on it when you were counting out payment? Did you tell him you were getting on a train? He may have swapped it for another.¡±

    Garrot couldn¡¯t reply. He felt mortified at how easily he¡¯d been deceived.

    ¡°I...I¡¯m sorry, guys.¡±

    ¡°No need to apologize. Your loss,¡± said Sarei, offering a shrug. ¡°There¡¯s a lesson in trust for you. Don¡¯t.

    She briefly held up the bottle she¡¯d championed off her own market trip. ¡°I didn¡¯t even haul this off without sampling it.¡±

    Bran glared at her, judging the quantity missing from the bottle¡¯s lip.

    ¡°Private...¡± he growled.

    ¡°Hey, the one sip was wasted, though!¡± Sarei professed. ¡°This stuff¡¯s bitter - supposed to be served on Yetiberry juice.¡±

    Bran snatched the bottle off her, wordlessly. Garrot had finished feeling sorry for himself, and knelt to pick up the remaining pieces of his 3-mark purchase, only to find one had already been taken by another passenger.

    ¡°Melting Salesmen, they call ¡®em...¡± said the passenger. ¡°Even their stalls seem to melt away when someone wants to find them.¡±

    The older gentleman sitting in the seat behind them bore a body that was thick and hardened by labor, wearing a set of overalls suggesting a lifetime of manual work. He adjusted a pair of iceware spectacles to examine the piece of the former blade.

    ¡°I am so very sorry about that, young man. I can assure you any of the tradesmen in Cheranol would sooner send a man to Solsreach without a sled than let him get away with tricks like this.¡±

    Garrot offered the man a smile. ¡°Thank you for your concern, sir-¡­"

    The gentleman handed back the decrepit piece. ¡°Here. If that isn¡¯t just a puddle by the time you get to Cheranol, tell you what. Show it to Mr. Evans - owner of the Canary Elevator, and tell him you¡¯ve had a bad day, and Foreman Tallow sent you. He should set you up with a round on the house. Times have been hard on all of us, but that¡¯s never been a reason for us to turn on each other, even our newfound neighbors.¡±

    ¡°Tallow?¡± repeated Garrot, extending a hand for a shake. ¡°A pleasure to meet you, sir. Thanks for the offer, but we¡¯re out on assignment¡ªwe''re probably not going to be doing much in the way of drinking.¡±

    ¡°I will!¡± exclaimed Sarei, as she snuck the ice shard from Garrot¡¯s hand.

    ¡°Did you say Foreman?¡± asked Bran.

    ¡°Aye. My son¡¯s been taking over for me while I made a visit to the city, but thankfully most of the workers know their job well enough. I just handle the odd dispute. Somewhat glad I left when I did¡ªsome of the news lately made Dosken a less than happy place at times.¡±

    ¡°I lived in Dosken for a while,¡± said Garrot. ¡°I guess most everyone did after immigrating.¡±

    ¡°Well, it is right on the border,¡± shrugged Tallow. ¡°...which you¡¯d think would mean more people would speak Elman, at least. But the way the J¡¯halan Quarter seems to be out there, it¡¯s just ¡®Their world, and Our world¡¯. *sigh*..tragic. Oh, but your Imperial is excellent, by the way.¡±

    ¡°Thank you! It was good enough to land me a posting as a ¡®translator¡¯, apparently...¡±

    Bran cut in abruptly. ¡°Aw, come on, Garrot¡ªBoth of us believed you about getting that job, but plainly something happened to get you fired, or you wouldn¡¯t be doing dead-end routine patrols with the two of us.¡±

    Garrot tried to parse out what he had missed with Bran¡¯s comment. ¡°...Uh?¡±

    ¡°Seriously,¡± said Sarei, slinking downward in her chair from boredom. ¡°Why do they even send us out to these places? Nothing happens out here. Best you can hope for is saving some cute guy from a raging tenguin and have a night of fun, but...anyone fun has already gone out to the real cities.¡±

    Tallow smacked the back of Sarei¡¯s seat.

    ¡°Believe you me, never have I had closer companions than down in the mines. A couple near cave-ins help you learn who your friends are in this world. You¡¯ll find we¡¯re a friendly sort.¡±

    Bran stood up. ¡°Well, for one thing, it might be nice to get away from the big cities for a while. On that point, I¡¯m going to head to the coach and see what the views are like.¡±

    Bran made quick eye contact with Garrot as he passed him, and nodded to the rear of the train.

    ¡°Uh...I guess I¡¯ll join you,¡± responded Garrot.

    The tracks were winding the train through the hilly regions of the west side of the core Hearthland. In the distance, the Southern Turgian Mountain range, the Empire¡¯s own geographical wall, loomed before them. The train¡¯s path was mostly surrounded by snowy trees, cascading down the hillside the tracks followed.

    Garrot located Bran inspecting his new firearm, a mid-sized handgun with six chambers for specially made small-caliber ice bullets. Responding to Bran¡¯s covert nod, Garrot closed the cabin door behind him. The passenger train wasn¡¯t traveling at a tremendous speed, so while they couldn¡¯t whisper, they didn¡¯t quite need to shout over its rattle.

    ¡°I think I figured out what I missed there. Our story when we arrive is that we¡¯re just simple patrol reinforcements, like you said. So¡­telling him I was a ¡®translator¡¯ was going to lead to questions, and then-...¡±

    He flapped his arms in admission of his mistake.

    Bran nodded. ¡°Yeah, more or less. Don¡¯t be hard on yourself about it. I know that lying and deceiving people isn¡¯t something that comes naturally to you.¡±

    Garrot faced him with a flat stare. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±

    Bran chuckled. ¡°Like I said¡ªI wouldn''t take it so hard. From that talk we had with General Klaus the other day, he¡¯s sort of the same way. Doesn¡¯t like the idea of warfronts where people are always skulking about, hiding their intentions. When he fought the Elmans, it was all upfront declarations of war, musket lines, and trenches.

    ¡°I mean, look at the weapons now.¡± He rotated the pistol in his hand, examining its craftsmanship. ¡°They make our guns smaller, rather than bigger, so a guy can¡¯t even tell it¡¯s on my belt. It¡¯s like carrying a knife rather than a spear or a musket.¡±

    Garrot sighed. His night vision was slowly adjusting, and he struggled to make out the details of Bran¡¯s expression¡ªattempting to determine to what degree he was disappointing his friend.

    ¡°Bran...can you promise me that you¡¯ll be honest with the Lieut-...with Nest?¡± he asked. ¡°That if I¡¯m not the right person for this assignment, you¡¯ll say as much?¡±

    Bran was startled by his forwardness. Sensing no reply, Garrot continued.

    ¡°You and Ms. Adamel...you were in sync, covering my mistake with that foreman without missing a beat. It¡¯s just not so natural to me-...¡±

    Bran attempted a smile.

    ¡°I was surprised Sarei managed that, actually. She caught on pretty quick. But if I could be honest? Garrot...Rhile and I read a LOT of Queryman novels. I mean, heck, we¡¯d write encoded notes to each other back before I came out to my dad as gay. Maybe I¡¯m just enough of a fan of that kind of thing that I¡¯d wanted to try it out myself.¡±

    ¡°But even so¡ªwe''re not even fully formed up, and we¡¯ve already run into trouble just because I''m here.¡±

    "Hey.¡± Bran¡¯s tone was sharp. ¡°Hold up. You¡¯re not trying to apologize for the color of your skin, are you?¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Garrot said, picking his words out carefully. ¡°I just...if the mission comes first, and I¡¯m causing problems for it-¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t cause problems on your own, Garrot. Each person is responsible for their actions¡ªand their actions alone. Besides...¡±

    Bran rolled his shoulder, considering his words tentatively.

    ¡°I think Nest made a good pick with you. I know I¡¯ve gone so far as to openly criticize your...lack of wariness of the world around you, but I still think you offer something important. All of us want to feel at home with our fellow neighbor, but when it really comes down to it, we don¡¯t. But, Garrot, you trust people more than anyone. Maybe it¡¯s an issue, on occasion. But I wouldn¡¯t ever ask for that to change. We¡¯re going to need that sort of shared faith from people to finish our mission. I¡¯ve known you for only a year or two, and already I¡¯d...I-I mean.¡±

    Bran stammered.

    ¡°There are people I¡¯ve known my whole childhood, and¡­I still think I trust you more than them.¡±

    Garrot blinked, taken aback by the admission. Finally, he gave a cheeky smirk. ¡°Can I maybe suggest...you don¡¯t give speeches like that when you¡¯re commanding a full squadron, Sergeant?¡±

    Bran grimaced, and reached out to give an aggressive ruffle of Garrot¡¯s loosely-kept hair. ¡°Shut up. We¡¯re going to arrive soon¡ªlet''s make sure Sarei¡¯s still watching our bags instead of dipping into her liquor.¡±

 Monsters and Marksmen

    The J¡¯halan Quarter of Cheranol was an overlapping stairway of slipshod-construction shacks, assembled from wood scraps and occasional iceware sheets. The shelf of the small mining town was exposed to the nearby tundras, and the wind whipped past relentlessly, breaching in through the crack in the wall of the small meditation room Amal Remire sat in.

    His fists were closed calmly against each other, over his crossed legs, his eyes turned inward as he gently inhaled the steely, cold air. The drafty room, no bigger than a closet, had been offered to him as a courtesy by a miner named Klethan Stuyr, one of his loyal followers, upon his arrival from the J¡¯halaga border.

    He¡¯d declined his father¡¯s nepotistic efforts to house him within the family¡¯s temple up the hill. Besides a sense of nepotism, Amal knew that the reasons for the offer could range from shame of his son¡¯s conduct, to the need to indoctrinate him on how to appease their Halen masters.

    Rather than feeling homesick, being deprived of the comforts of home felt right - it reminded him that here was a place with work to be done. Older generations of J¡¯halans might use rooms like these for prayer to Mhira, the most commonly-accepted goddess of The Egg. To Amal, a meditation room was simply a room for task-oriented focus. His was not a generation that believed in prayer to effect change.

    The door opened briefly, prompting a surge of wind, as his host, Klethan, returned. The interruption did little to his concentration¡ªa twig in his river of thought.

    ¡°Boss,¡± called Klethan, his voice bearing a distinct Imperial accent to his Elman. ¡°I¡¯m only stopping in briefly on lunch break. Asked my coworkers to cover for me if anyone asks.¡±

    The miner hadn¡¯t hung up his simple cloth coat on entering the small abode, and still wore his mining attire¡ªoveralls and a reinforced wood-leather hat.

    ¡°You have news,¡± remarked Amal calmly.

    ¡°A man I know at the train station came in to tell me about an arrival. The capital''s sent in some additional patrol to reinforce the local garrison.¡±

    More soldiers. Certain doors in his mind closed, but as he pondered the development, others opened.

    ¡°How many?¡± asked Amal.

    ¡°Only three or so. Seemed odd for it to be so few¡ªthey were taking a passenger train rather than one of their troop transport cars.¡±

    ¡°Was anyone else on the train?¡±

    Klethan shrugged. ¡°The foreman came back from some personal errand. Can¡¯t imagine they were together.¡±

    Amal relaxed his hands, resting them on his knees, considering the options.

    ¡°We still have a Hellpox outbreak.¡± he stated, plainly. ¡°And they send us soldiers. I suppose one way or another, dead klyskins will always be a good thing to them.¡±

    Klethan¡¯s face wrinkled in frustration. ¡°He also said one of those soldiers was J¡¯halan. That was a surprise...to think that one of our own would-¡±

    ¡°Forget him, Klethan,¡± said Amal. ¡°That there are cowards betraying our cause should be no surprise. Save your anger.¡±

    ¡°Surely, something like this is enough to convince your father, or at least his more stubborn holdouts?¡± said Klethan, anger giving way in his voice. ¡°The empire will only respond to us with violence, even when we try to act without it¡ªthat much is clear. They have to accept that fact.¡±

    ¡°It is more than enough evidence for the calm¡ªfor the logically-minded,¡± said Amal. ¡°My father and his ilk are just too afraid to accept that evidence. He needs to be shown that fear can also be a reason to fight.¡±

    Amal rose to his feet¡ªcausing Klethan to take a step back and bow to him. It wasn¡¯t an act of reverence he¡¯d taught.

    ¡°You can lock up¡ªI¡¯ll be heading out too,¡± said Amal. ¡°I need to check on a few things. I think we have our opportunity.¡±

    Garrot, Bran, and Sarei had scarcely been in Cheranol for a half hour before they felt they had seen all there was to see of the town.

    Views of vast treelines and snowy mountains were a welcome sight to them¡ªthough, one they had gotten all too used to during their long cross-Imperial train ride. Nevertheless, the snow-covered log roofs, the small cottages with smoke rising from each chimney, and the well-worn marks of aged, hardy construction, all provided a cozy atmosphere.

    It was easy to remember Cheranol¡¯s status as a mining town even when far from the mine¡ªas they traveled to the Sheriff¡¯s office, they saw a minecart track connecting their arriving railyard through the town to the mines, leading out to the more industrial, sooty sheds at the back of the town where the klysten mine¡¯s entrance lay.

    They met briefly with a Deputy that had been alerted by Lieutenant Kendall prior to their arrival¡ªthere, the three were granted an old disused storehouse, to be used as their lodgings within the town. Cheranol was small enough not to have anything in the vein of inns. When the three of them had first arrived, they¡¯d been overeager to stretch their legs¡ªbut in less than an hour, their interest waned and hunger had caught up to them. They decided to reconvene at the sole local establishment recommended to them by the Deputy.

    The Canary Elevator was easily picked out from the unremarkable town square, even without its loosely painted yellow sign, which depicted a canary descending a mineshaft. Its prominence within the square had clearly been a forefront intention of the town¡¯s planners. Inside, a few older patrons were loosely scattered among the bar seats, with a commendable selection of ciders and various tempting fermentations bottled behind the bar.

    Before Bran could introduce them, Sarei had slid out the pieces of Garrot¡¯s shattered dagger onto the bar, and equipped herself with a dramatically despondent face.

    ¡°Can you believe my luck?¡± she sighed. ¡°They say icesmiths are dying for work, and here I am trying to be a patron of the arts when I get some Melting Salesman pawning this off on me.¡±

    The barkeep, a middle-aged and well-built man, looked her up and down¡ªas did Bran. He was partially awestruck she had held onto the ice shards so long in the slim chance of a free drink. Garrot took a step back, deciding to remain complicit in Sarei¡¯s sudden inheritance of his sob story.

    ¡°My condolences, out-of-towner,¡± the owner said, with some dishonesty. ¡°Now can you get those ice shards off my clean bar? Most people start with ¡®Hello¡¯.¡±

    ¡°O-Oh...¡± Sarei scooped the pieces up. ¡°Sorry. Wanted you to see that before it melted, in case it got me a round out of sympathy. Foreman Tallow says you guys hate cheaters like that.¡±

    ¡°...Pot calling the kettle black?¡± came a remark from one of the bar¡¯s other patrons.

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± blared Sarei.

    The barkeep chuckled, swiping over the dampened bar with his towel. ¡°He¡¯s just saying the Foreman¡¯s a few marks behind on his tab, and not for being unable to cover it, either.¡±

    ¡°Like the owner said,¡± interrupted Bran. ¡°Why don¡¯t we backtrack to ¡®Hello¡¯ before my enforcer starts racking up her own tab...?¡±

    Sarei shrank back, her mock despondence traded for genuine anguish as she surrendered the possibility of a free drink¡ªthe best-tasting kind. Bran extended a welcoming hand to the barkeep.

    ¡°Mr. Evans, is it? Sergeant Sternen. We might be seeing a fair bit of each other¡ªwe''re a relief patrol assigned to the village. If there¡¯s any trouble, we¡¯ll be on hand.¡±

    Evans shook Bran¡¯s hand, wordlessly¡ªbut his gaze was elsewhere.

    ¡°Trouble?¡± said the other patron, beginning to exhibit a few signs of inebriation. ¡°Might¡¯ve brought it in with you, you know. May have to watch yourself...¡±

    Bran eyed the gentleman as he sauntered towards the door for the restrooms.

    ¡°What did he mean by that...?¡± he asked.

    Evans waved it off. ¡°He just tries to rile people up when he¡¯s had a few. Give me a moment and I¡¯ll get you some clean glasses.¡±

    Evans walked out through the kitchen door, while Bran reached out a hand to stop him.

    ¡°We¡¯re not-¡± he started, fruitlessly. Sarei had already slid onto one of the chairs. ¡°Garrot, is drinking against your religion? It might just be how locals make acquaintance.¡±

    Garrot shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not as devout towards Mhira as a lot of people¡ªand I think even the pastors can drink once a month. Normally, I just don¡¯t like the taste.¡±

    Sarei glanced about.

    ¡°Sarge...? Hathorne...? Where did everyone go?¡± she said, in a hushed voice.

    Observing the silence, the three of them realized that they were currently the only occupants of the bar¡¯s main room. Their position felt exposed from all angles, in direct view of the front door.

    Garrot was still relatively at ease, taking in the sights of the bar. Bran and Sarei, however, were suspicious of the sudden egress. Bran fingered the holster on his pistol. Sarei''s lance had been with the equipment bags they¡¯d dropped off, so any confrontation might be on the Sergeant.

    Their attention was called to movement coming from the bar¡¯s entrance. Bran momentarily shifted his eyes to his peripherals in the case of some type of distraction against the barkeep, but when the door opened, his attention was drawn entirely to the looming figure that was shambling into the threshold.

    Some barely humanoid figure had hauled itself across the lip of the door, and now shuddered along the floor towards them. Bran¡¯s breath had frozen.

    What had unwelcomingly ushered itself into the uncrowded room was an unwordly, unseemly, unnatural man, whose mangled mandibles managed a manifestation of monstrosity that was mealy, unclean, morose, and pretty darn ugly. Its teeth seemed to stretch well below where a human¡¯s mouth should go, with eyelids thrust open as though by clenched nerves, presenting a ghastly, bloodshot appearance. Its arms and fingers jutted out in unnatural directions, its muscles spasming every few seconds. Its clothes were ripped and ill-fitting, exposing burn marks amid skin stretched to unnatural limits.

    Bran was frantically fumbling with the latch on his holster, refusing to take his eyes off the creature for fear of it lunging at them. Sarei was similarly transfixed.

    ¡°What the f-...what the fu-¡± she exclaimed.

    ¡°Oh my goodness...!¡± came Garrot¡¯s voice, from next to him. "Sir, are you all right...? What happened to you?¡±

    Garrot stood from his position at the bar, and walked calmly in the direction of the monstrosity, placing a hand on its hunched shoulder to examine it. Its eyes swiveled, absorbing his appearance and mannerisms.

    ¡°Garrot-!!¡± hissed Bran. A click signaled that he was considering readying a shot.

    A small, silent light flashed behind them. ¡°A...camera?¡± thought Garrot, once he realized it hadn¡¯t been a gunshot.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    The monster relaxed its arms, revealing the hunch and spasms to be an entirely falsified motion. It appeared to be staring at Garrot in incredulity and disappointment. From behind them was a hushed burst of laughter.

    ¡°Hahaha! Sorry, Trev!¡± called the bartender. He had returned at the bar, and was fiddling with the bulb of a large personal camera. ¡°I was pretty sure I wasn¡¯t going to get a better shot than that.¡±

    ¡°¡¯Shirrr, are you all right?¡¯¡± came a slurred voice, mocking Garrot¡¯s polite mannerism. Bran took a moment to realize it was coming from the twisted mouth of the creature in front of him. ¡°Eithea¡¯ someone al¡¯eady told him, or...that HASH to be a neww...one.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s...that¡¯s a mask? Some kind of costume?¡± asked Sarei.

    She was still catatonic on the barstool. The unnatural motions of the gaping mouth before them were like no mask they¡¯d ever seen, and even after relaxing its posture the creature didn¡¯t look entirely human.

    ¡°Noo masshk. Jus¡¯ what yew can wook layk aftah too mutch klithen ladyyyeshun.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡ªwhat you look like after¡­too much...what?¡± asked Garrot, straining past not only the slurred mouth motions but his understanding of Imperial.

    ¡°Klysten radiation,¡± came a raspy elderly voice.

    From outside the door, a white-bearded, snowskin Legionnaire had been leaning on his musket with amusement. He hiked up the weapon and trotted inside, clasping an arm around the monster Evans had called Trevor.

    ¡°Trevor here¡¯s a senior at the Cheranol Mining Co. He¡¯s one of the lucky ones, when it comes to radiation poisoning. This was back when safety standards around klysten ore mining existed, but only as a ¡®recommendation¡¯. Now, Trevor''s an assistant training instructor for the mine¡ªteaches the rules around shielding equipment. And thanks to his ugly mug, people pay a lot of attention.¡±

    Bran reexamined the corpselike husk standing before him¡ªreevaluating whether the old man could be telling the truth about his humanity.

    Yellow klysten rocks naturally gave off heat for something close to a year after being mined, but with it came imperceptible degrees of harmful radiation that made the substance dangerous to handle. Most vehicles, home appliances, and other tools were engineered to shield their users from their radiation, while making use of the heat for steam generation and venting off excess into the air when not in use. The Inquisitors and army even had special clothing for handling damaged vehicles and machines, so as not to expose anyone to the raw klysten.

    If Trevor had survived direct exposure for more than a few minutes, he really was one of the lucky ones¡ªwhen it came to radiation poisoning, the unlucky ones were dead.

    The old man behind Trevor peered around at Bran and Sarei¡¯s astonished faces, and noted the gold button sewn onto Bran¡¯s uniform, extending an open palm to him.

    ¡°Sergeant Sternen? PFC Emil Petterson, Specialist Marksman Division. I¡¯m your fourth, Sergeant.¡±

    Bran tentatively shook Emil¡¯s hand. He still wasn¡¯t quite commanding enough to demand salutes from his subordinates.

    ¡°That thing was-...is human?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Sergeant!¡± hissed Garrot. ¡°Don¡¯t call him a thing! Of course he¡¯s human!¡±

    Trevor laughed¡ªor, at least, it sounded like a laugh.

    ¡°It¡¯sh fine, cabeman. I''m pwetty bad¡ªaulways haff thesh owd clothes awound jusht to shcare out-of-townahs.¡±

    Trevor gestured to his torn clothes. Admittedly, they had contributed to the grotesque appearance that had frightened them. The tall monstrosity lumbered past Garrot to the bar.

    ¡°Hey, Ebans! Got my ushul?¡±

    Evans nodded to Trevor. ¡°Bishops¡¯ Wing, Trev? Doc said core cider ain¡¯t good for you, you know.¡±

    ¡°Ahh, doc doesn¡¯ haff ta¡¯know. Aaii ain¡¯t goin¡¯to lib tah a hunded layk Emil.¡±

    Emil leaned past Bran, raising a fist at Trevor.

    ¡°Oh, fuck you, Trevor!¡± he yelled. ¡°Still - I did ask him to dress up in those rags, you can put that cider on me.¡±

    ¡°No, don¡¯t worry,¡± Evans replied, as he poured out a mug of frothing core cider. ¡°Letting Trevor spook the newcomers is just a local tradition. It¡¯s on the house. But that picture of the klsykin guy trying to help him¡ªlike he¡¯s a frostbite victim? That¡¯s gonna be an interesting addition to the wall if we develop it.¡±

    ¡°I, um...¡± said Garrot meekly. He felt like he should be embarrassed of his reaction to the old miner.

    ¡°Evans?¡± called Emil. ¡°My colleagues and I are grabbing a table.¡±

    As they moved to follow Emil¡¯s indication, Garrot noticed Bran¡¯s stillness.

    ¡°You all right?¡± he asked.

    Bran shook his head in dismissal.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think they knew I was armed before pulling that prank. If you hadn¡¯t been in the way¡­I probably came all too close to shooting that poor guy. Dammit¡­¡±

    ¡°Which makes me glad that thing is in your hands and not someone else¡¯s,¡± concluded Garrot.

    Once seated, the Rangers each received their choice of drinks¡ªGarrot sticking to simple blackbark while each of the others elected to try the local cider variations.

    ¡°It was pretty weird getting sealed orders marked Top Secret for me alone,¡± said Emil. ¡°Even the Duty Sergeant only got the loose particulars. So¡ªyou must be Sergeant Sternen. The lady here is...Adamel?¡±

    ¡°Oh, please don¡¯t call me a lady.¡± remarked Sarei.

    ¡°And that must make...huh.¡± Emil grunted with apparent dissatisfaction, looking at Garrot. ¡°You¡¯re one of...eh.¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡± asked Garrot.

    ¡°Nothing. ¡®Hathorne¡¯ sounded like a native name. Didn¡¯t really expect...¡± he muttered. ¡°Anyway. As for our C.O., the Lieutenant. He wants us to call him Nest?¡±

    Bran deposited his drink. ¡°From what I gather, Private, Nest is worried that the Shaded Paw will make themselves scarce if they know that the Steel Legion is looking for information about them. We can¡¯t ask questions too directly, but we do have an Elman translator, and we have plenty of time.¡±

    ¡°Plenty of time?¡± asked Emil. ¡°I haven¡¯t heard particulars, but there are rumors that Breaker Company will move on the Dark Spawn in the next few weeks.¡±

    Sarei drummed her fingers in disappointment. ¡°From what I gather, we might miss that deployment entirely. Months of my Lancer Division training are going to go to waste.¡±

    Emil chuckled at her. ¡°Lancer Division? Well, now I don¡¯t feel like a relic anymore. Suppose the benefit of Marksman Division is that we don¡¯t just kill the opposition, we live to see the next war.¡±

    Sarei sipped at her cider, the ire dripping off from her neutral, uncaring expression. ¡°Dark Spawn offensive is going to be entirely urban warfare. Good luck lining up your musket sights in alleyways and dark buildings.¡±

    ¡°Luck¡¯s got nothing to do with it, girl.¡± snarled Emil.

    ¡°The next person to add to an inter-division rivalry gets banned from this establishment for as long as we¡¯re stationed here,¡± said Bran in furrowed resolution. ¡°I will gladly inform the owner.¡±

    Taking a moment to ensure his air of command would be recognized for once, Bran took a moment to ensure they were the only ones within earshot, and continued.

    ¡°As Miss Adamel has pointed out, this entire investigation is disconnected from the Dark Spawn offensive. As of yet, we have no reason to suspect the Shaded Paw are working with them¡ªif anything, indications are that even they consider the Dark Spawn to be a violent extremist movement. Still, we¡¯re to be the ears of this town to determine just how far this group is willing to go.

    ¡°That said, while admittedly, Private Hathorne and I have known each other from before this assignment, it seems we¡¯ve gathered from several different divisions. So, seeing as we¡¯re going to be working together, and it¡¯s proceeding past noon as it is, why don¡¯t we introduce ourselves over lunch?¡±

    The topic of food always being one of agreement, Bran called to the tavern owner for an order to be placed. Before long, they were sampling some of the meaty dishes recommended to them by Emil through his time there¡ªhot, aromatic platters of stew-like broth they referred to as Hearthland Plates. Once they¡¯d warmed their stomachs, Bran gestured for Sarei to continue with introductions.

    ¡°Sarei Adamel, Lancer Division. In spite of my appearance, I grew up in Halehearth, not Solsend. Made a few attempts to help with familial obligations way down there, before eventually deciding I would rather be shoving ice spearheads up people¡¯s butts. Got a commendation for the Legion, and ended up getting a fast track through basic.¡±

    She glanced at Garrot, signaling his turn. He instead took it as an offer for questions.

    ¡°So your family is still Solsendian? Do you still visit them?¡±

    ¡°Nnnope,¡± replied Sarei resolutely.

    Emil nodded to Garrot. ¡°What about you, kid?¡±

    ¡°I''ve been living in Halehearth for about...eight years? I joined the army in ¡®17, not in time to join the war with the Elmans.¡±

    Emil nodded. ¡°You were lucky, then. Kid like you might not have lasted out there.¡±

    Garrot took the comment in stride. He may have been right.

    ¡°Br-...I mean, the Sergeant and I met in basic, and we¡¯ve both sort of bounced between patrol posts at various parts of the Hearthland. But so far, neither of us have seen active duty. The biggest responsibility I¡¯ve had has been this assignment¡ªthe Sergeant was only promoted a day or two before we left.¡±

    ¡°So they¡¯re promoting without active duty already,¡± said Emil. ¡°Wonder how desperate this makes them for that ¡®Dark Spawn offensive¡¯ - or if all their bright minds had their brains blown out by the Elmans before the war ended.¡±

    Bran pondered the comment, curious. ¡°How about you go next, old man?¡±

    Emil exhaled towards the ceiling, his face hard to read behind his scraggly beard. ¡°Gladly. Might be the only one of us four with combat experience, then. Served in both wars with the Elman Kingdom. Nest wanted to call this little party the Rangers - and I think that makes me the original. Some 40 years back, Rangers were the ones using longbows from the hilltops when those muskets of yours were still clumsy bombs in a tube. Over time, muskets got more accurate. Those of us that could shoot, shot, and became Marskman Division. Others, well...¡±

    He waved his pipe in a vague motion.

    ¡°A lot of this country¡¯s out of work. Old icesmiths, unlucky farmers. I guess the old Rangers would be no different.¡±

    Bran gave a low whistle.

    ¡°Not to smash my own horn, but...I¡¯m a little surprised Nest didn¡¯t make you our officer.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s quite the record!¡± said Garrot. ¡°You¡¯re...still a private? After all that service?¡±

    ¡°I was a Specialist-Major. I retired. Then, well...things happened.¡±

    ¡°What...things?¡±

    Emil recrossed his legs, wincing at the best way to reply.

    ¡°My son, Richard, sort of fell in with the wrong noblemen. Made some enemies he didn¡¯t mean to. The guy he pissed off was Legion, said the only way he could set himself right was for a family member to enlist.¡±

    Garrot could see Emil¡¯s fists tightening on his armrest. The Legion officer he was talking about obviously wasn¡¯t someone he''d restrain a punch against.

    ¡°Rich tries to be a good dad, but he¡¯s a damn coward. Wouldn¡¯t have lasted through basic. I¡¯m pretty sure what his recruiter wanted was my grandson, Gilliam; ¡®spite the boy being barely enlistment age. But Gilliam was a smart kid, headed to college and all, and I was gonna be damned ¡®fore I let nobility set my grandson¡¯s career choices. N¡¯...over the years, my wife had passed on, so I figured, fuck it. I¡¯ve already got one foot in, may as well bite this bullet too for my kid. He felt guilty as sin for it, but I just said he needed to promise to take care of Gilliam, and we¡¯d be square.¡±

    Emil picked up his fork and pawed at the remains of his meal.

    ¡°Talked for a bit about taking up post of Major again, but I didn¡¯t want it. Just wanted to sit in a watchtower with my old musket, take the odd potshot at night vermin. Kept up with that for a few months. And then I get this strange mailing about meeting up with you lot. So here we are.¡±

    Sarei nodded towards the rifle. ¡°You a good shot with that thing, old man?¡±

    Emil raised his chin, balancing offense and pride at the question. ¡°I did say I was Marksmen Division, sweetie. Some circles, that¡¯s all I need to say. I was popping heads off Elmans at 400 yards before you kids learned to suck your mom¡¯s titties.¡±

    ¡°How did...What do you feel?¡± asked Garrot, uncertainly. ¡°Taking a life like that?¡±

    Emil turned his head slowly towards Garrot. He¡¯d become acutely aware of the slight reluctance the old man had in making eye contact with him.

    ¡°Well...it hurts, sometimes. It really does. But, then they enhanced the muskets with leather shoulder pads, and now the recoil is much more manageable. Could shoot all day, given the ammo.¡±

    ¡°No, but I meant-¡±

    Garrot caught himself midway. Idioms and jokes were sometimes the harder part of the language for him to interpret.

    ¡°You don¡¯t think about the life you¡¯re taking? The...people, friends, family, they might have known?¡±

    Emil¡¯s mouth widened into a smile beneath his beard. He shrugged.

    ¡°Nah. I just think about the friends and family of the idiots following them. See, the division always taught us to save our shots for the officers¡ªlike Sergeant Sternen here.¡±

    Emil flicked a finger ¡°gun¡± at Bran¡¯s head.

    ¡°One shot, pop, and some dozen or more men are more likely to retreat or surrender than they are to pick a field promotion and lead a new charge. I saw plenty of engagements where officers on both sides were more than happy to inspire their whole damn squad into some kind of pointless fucking meat grinder. So for my own part: Conscience secured. I¡¯m keeping more jarheads out of the fire.¡±

    Garrot couldn¡¯t help but feel impressed at his insight.

    ¡°Take one life to save a dozen, huh?¡± he said, stroking his chin.

    Sarei sipped at her mug. ¡°Sounds like one of those toboggan problems.¡±

    ¡°Come again? Toboggan-?¡± asked Bran.

    ¡°Toboggan problems? Ah, I guess it''s only my family that called them that,¡± she explained. ¡°In Halehearth it¡¯s the Sled Problem. You¡¯re standing on a hill when you see a runaway sled loaded with cargo that¡¯s going to plow through a crowd of five people, and likely kill them. You barely have enough time to kick the sled out of the way, but if you do, it¡¯ll go another way and hit one poor sap on its new path.¡±

    ¡°This is a puzzle of some kind?¡± asked Garrot. ¡°Like a trick question?¡±

    ¡°No - more like a philosophical question. No hidden meanings to it¡ªjust your own morality.¡±

    "Kick the sled,¡± said Emil. His eyes were closed, and he¡¯d shown no signs of active listening. ¡°One dead man is better than five.¡±

    ¡°Might matter to me who¡¯s at the bottom,¡± said Sarei. ¡°For some people? I¡¯d jump on the sled myself and ride it straight at them.¡±

    ¡°What if you stood in the sled¡¯s way to stop it?¡± asked Garrot.

    ¡°It¡¯d probably run you over and keep going,¡± said Bran.

    ¡°...Oh.¡±

    ¡°Well, in the meantime, don¡¯t leave your cargo sleds on the top of a hill.¡± joked Emil. ¡°And on the note of cargo, might be time to get you three settled into our new sleeping quarters.¡±

    As Bran got up to pay for the meal, Garrot made a detour towards the looming figure of Trevor, who was midway into a second mug.

    ¡°Hi, Trevor. Is that a good brand?¡±

    ¡°¡¯Ai, cabemun. Vhis? It¡¯s Bithop¡¯s Wiung. Bittuh, but the betht thtuff if ye got da stomik faw it layk me. Ifh yer¡¯not a haawd drinkaa, vey got a wightew gwape wine vhat mai wayf layks.¡±

    Garrot struggled a bit to interpret him, motioning for him to slow down a few times. When he¡¯d caught the full statement, he raised his eyebrows.

    ¡°You have a wife?¡±

    ¡°Dooon¡¯ worre¡ªsheeeain'' freek layk mee.¡±

    Trevor reached into his torn clothes and fished a small, worn photograph from his wallet. Within was a happy-looking family posing in front of a photographer¡¯s sheet¡ªhis wife really did seem stunning. Remarkably, though Garrot could see other photos in the wallet from prior to his radiation, he happily preferred showing one that included his current face in it.

    ¡°She must be quite a person to stand by you! Well, we¡¯re going to be going now. At some point, maybe you could tell me a little more about the town. And...if you could, maybe you could call me ¡®Garrot¡¯ instead of...¡¯caveman¡¯?¡±

    Trevor chuckled, giving Garrot a pat on the back. ¡°Aii don¡¯ mean nuffing by it. Yew know dat, wight?¡±

    Garrot flashed him a smile. ¡°Yeah, I do. See you around, Trevor.¡±

 Army of Crickets

    ¡°So, nothing¡ªno events happening out of the ordinary?¡± asked Garrot. He fervently hoped his pleading demeanor and native Elman accent might convince the old woman to divulge some secret.

    ¡°No. Sorry I can¡¯t help you, sir¡ªMy husband gets back from mining in the evenings. You could ask him.¡±

    ¡°I-I understand! You said that. I wasn¡¯t just asking for him, I-¡­¡±

    Garrot once again reconsidered being more forward with his inquiries¡ªseeing whether the name Shaded Paw meant anything to her. He peered past her through the small crack she had opened in the door, into the small wooden hovel she lived in. Most homes had at least oil lamps, but from what he could see, even iceware windows were a luxury to the homes he had been knocking on. It had barely gotten dark, but already the interior felt shadowed and isolating.

    Garrot sighed¡ªdeciding he had taken up too much of her time already. ¡°You have a good day, ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°You too. And...just a warning. You should avoid the man that lives two doors that way.¡±

    She pointed to her left, along the row of tightly-knit houses.

    ¡°He has the Hellpox. I hear the coughing at night.¡±

    Garrot nodded, thinking about how many doors he¡¯d knocked on before receiving such a warning.

    ¡°Thank you. I will.¡±

    Garrot unfolded a small notebook, and added to the scribbled marks of disappointment across his pencil-drawn map of Cheranol¡¯s J¡¯halan Quarter.

    He¡¯d hoped that perhaps another J''halan face might have been the perfect way to loosen lips about any juicy rumors, but each time he¡¯d knocked on a door, the occupant had given only a cursory look to his smiling face before noting his uniform and musket over his shoulder.

    On the first day, he¡¯d brought his flask of blackbark with the intent of sharing, but had realized offering a drink out of his own taurmawood mug to families in their homes became more of an awkward proposition than a kind one. On the second day, he¡¯d resolved to simply cover more ground rather than improve on his approach¡ªbut had realized late in his patrol he¡¯d picked a time when most residents were out. Today was the third day, and he¡¯d tried for a more haphazard approach, finding different regions of the district to find the most curious-looking house to ask at.

    Sergeant Sternen had told him they¡¯d be reporting in with the Lieutenant that evening, and he was afraid to admit he¡¯d been coming up bunk for information. If this was his inroad to a career as a Queryman, it was going poorly. His legs aching, he decided to report in, and perhaps follow up on any leads any of the others had been finding.

    When returning from the J¡¯halan Quarter, the sudden shift in architecture of the surrounding buildings was dramatic. Many of the homes were still wooden, but were solidly carved and treated to survive decades rather than the hasty construction of a displaced community. The residents closest to the Quarter had even built a fence¡ªan uncommon addition otherwise. Garrot arrived at the Canary Elevator and stepped inside, briefly wondered whether the Sergeant was going to berate him for returning early. His concerns faded upon noticing Private Adamel, who had quite comfortably settled herself sideways upon a barstool.

    A fresh pitcher of water stood invitingly on the bar next to her. Garrot briefly considered doing something quite cold and cruel, before deciding that he would likely lose more than just a fight to a drunken lancer division member.

    ¡°Miss Adamel...?¡± he called to her. ¡°Miss Adamel......? SAREI!¡±

    ¡°mmmWha? Do it again¡ªI missed it-¡­.oh.¡±

    Her eyes spun about the room, her consciousness lost in some prior conversation, before noticing Garrot.

    ¡°Oh. Hey, Hathorne.¡±

    ¡°You going to try and tell me you just got here?¡± asked Garrot, tapping his foot.

    ¡°No. I¡¯ve pretty much been here all day. We agreed we¡¯d each cover our own ground.¡±

    Garrot took a moment to count the glasses on the bar before the owner cleaned them up. A moment wasn¡¯t long enough.

    ¡°Uhuh,¡± he stated plainly. ¡°And your ground is the one with 20 different ciders to try out.¡±

    ¡°26. Yeah. And? If you¡¯re looking to chew me out, that¡¯s your boyfriend¡¯s job.¡±

    ¡°Will you-!? We-...I¡¯m not-!¡± started Garrot. ¡°Look, it¡¯s getting late-! Let¡¯s just get to the telephone office already. Sergeant is going to be expecting us.¡±

    ¡°Fine. Let me just finish this mug.¡±

    The telephone office was a simple set of rooms managed by a clerk. Only the more wealthy homes had their own telephones installed, but the local rate of one sen for a 5-minute call in the privacy booth seemed more than reasonable for their distance from the nearest city. As Sarei predicted, the two of them were early for the squadron¡¯s first report meeting. Emil and Bran arrived some 20 minutes later, moving at a casual pace. Garrot came to realize he might have been the only one with an antsy, uncertain feeling about how their behavior in the last few days would be assessed.

    Greeting the switchboard operator, Bran explained they were placing a military call. The operator produced an old speaker-phone from below an old cupboard, then withdrew a small pack of cigarettes from her purse and stepped outside.

    ¡°Just dial 4 for Imbral¡¯s military office, and then give them the name of your recipient,¡± she droned, then closed the door to grant them privacy.

    They waited patiently while the connection established, and then the familiar voice came on the line.

    ¡°Rangers! It¡¯s a pleasure to hear from you. Already feels like it¡¯s been a while.¡± said Lieutenant Ken, his voice arriving slightly muffled and tinny through the small loudspeaker.

    ¡°Evening, Nest.¡± announced Bran. ¡°No trouble on arrival. We¡¯ve already started our investigation.¡±

    ¡°Good, good. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll need to micro-manage this little band, will I?¡±

    Emil stepped forward. ¡°You¡¯re the General¡¯s errand boy, then?¡±

    The indignant sigh from the other end of the line was poorly disguised.

    ¡°...Well, I¡¯d like to think I¡¯m a little more than that. Private Petterson, I take it? I doubt that you¡¯ll be speaking with the General himself much on this assignment, but I¡¯ll be sure to keep him appraised.On that note - Would each of you care to discuss what you¡¯ve found thus far?¡±

    ¡°Well, I suppose I¡¯ll go first,¡± said Bran. ¡°In terms of potential misconduct, I¡¯ve elected to look over some of the shipping manifests. From what I can tell...it¡¯s a bit of a mess. There¡¯s very little in the way of record-keeping when the mine imports explosive material for excavating. I can¡¯t point to anything suspicious or missing, but...I could imagine terrorists could take that as an opportunity to make small quantities go missing. That¡¯s it for me.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± said Ken. ¡°Best we could do there is start putting the spurs on their shipping office to follow procedures, and see if anyone starts complaining. Who¡¯s next?¡±

    Garrot swiveled to Sarei, who¡¯d been leaning against the wall behind them, resting her eyes.

    ¡°Oh...I think Ms. Adamel would like to go next.¡± he chided.

    ¡°Hm?¡± grunted Sarei, still partly asleep. ¡°Sure. I¡¯ve been pretty much at the bar.¡±

    Garrot blinked at the unexpectedly forthright admission. She continued.

    ¡°There, I¡¯ve made a few drinking buddies, and a name that keeps coming up is the new deacon at the local temple¡ªguy named Jesh-...quayl Raymeer? Came from some rich J¡¯halan immigrant family, and put a large chunk of his own fortune into renovating the temple. Apparently a while back, worship of Mhira had deadened to nothing in the area, and he bounced it back with a mid-size contingent.¡±

    ¡°Interesting...¡± said Ken. ¡°I...admit, I don''t actually have much familiarity with the nobleman families of J¡¯halaga. I might have to look for that name.¡±

    ¡°I was gonna talk about that temple, too,¡± said Emil. ¡°I elected to keep going with my usual watchtower spot to help the local Duty Sergeant a bit¡ªbut this time, brought some binoculars and watched the town instead of the treeline. Today was Umbersday, and the temple had morning sermons¡ªbut in the afternoon, they had another small gathering come in. I looked into it on the way here, and far as I can tell, it¡¯s not even on their schedule. Made me curious.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s quite the lead.¡± said Ken. ¡°A prominent J¡¯halan having meetings out of his schedule...? I know it¡¯s not a lot, but that¡¯s more than I expected in three days.¡±

    ¡°Well, the people he was meeting with were snowskin,¡± admitted Emil. ¡°I think it might not have been anything all that suspicious.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± agreed Sarei, though her voice kept her usual intonation of sarcasm. ¡°Snowskins, never suspicious. Klyskins, of course, would be a different story.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re after a klyskin terrorist cell.¡± growled Emil. ¡°Rewrite that story, you¡­b-¡­ullheaded Lancer.¡±

    Bran sighed, in vein hope that his team¡¯s tensions wouldn¡¯t become apparent to Nest. He nodded towards Garrot, who had made himself visibly eager to stop the altercation.

    ¡°Garrot¡­? You have anything to update us on?¡±

    Garrot flinched, his demeanor upset by Sarei and Emil¡¯s unexpectedly thorough reports. Compared to his own efforts, it felt like everyone else had had more luck than himself.

    ¡°Uh...w-well...I¡¯ve been going to the J¡¯halan Quarter to try to ask questions about anything unusual.¡±

    ¡°All right. But, Private, you haven¡¯t been exposing details of the operation?¡± said Ken, probing. ¡°Any signal from them that they¡¯re being investigated may cause them to go into hiding.¡±

    ¡°N-nonono, sir, of course not!¡± said Garrot.

    Except, that had been the problem. He¡¯d been about to ask for permission to ask residents directly about the Shaded Paw, but the Lieutenant¡¯s direct demeanor told him that wasn''t likely to happen.

    ¡°So far, I-...well, I don¡¯t know if people just don¡¯t want to cooperate, or if they really don¡¯t know anything, but...they haven¡¯t said much to me. I¡¯ve made friends with a local mascot named Trevor, who¡¯s really-...uh...¡±

    Garrot glanced about at the faces around him nervously. He sensed his current subject was of vanishing relevance.

    ¡°O-overall, I...haven¡¯t found much, sir. Sorry.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± said Ken. The brief pause implied a gently disapproving look from beyond the other end of the speaker. ¡°Well, you haven¡¯t been there long. I could recommend pursuing the lead based around this temple, perhaps.¡±

    ¡°Yes...sir.¡± sighed Garrot.

    ¡°That¡¯s everything we have for you, Nest,¡± said Bran. ¡°We¡¯ll keep in contact for any developments.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Sergeant. Oh, but...would you mind letting me have a few words with Private Hathorne before you go?¡±

    Each of them exchanged a look of sympathetic alarm towards Garrot.

    ¡°Sorry, pal...¡± whispered Sarei.

    ¡°Nest has high expectations, it seems,¡± muttered Emil.

    ¡°Just, uh...tap that switch when you¡¯re finished, Garrot,¡± explained Bran.

    The three of them exited the small room, leaving Garrot alone with the small speaker.

    ¡°Sir-¡­" started Garrot. ¡°I really must apologize. Even ahead of time, I wasn¡¯t sure if I was-¡±

    ¡°Private, you¡¯re doing fine,¡± said Ken. ¡°I¡¯m not singling you out for trouble or anything. You may be overestimating the impact of a few days¡¯ work. I just sensed a, ah¡­a slight lack of confidence.¡±

    Garrot breathed a sigh of relief. ¡°I¡¯m...really not familiar with this kind of work, sir.¡±

    ¡°Well, can I be honest?¡± said Ken, in a more social voice. ¡°Neither am I! Nor is the General commissioning you four. That¡¯s why it¡¯s something of an experiment. But, on that regard...I still think that you¡¯re a very important part of that experiment.¡±

    ¡°I still wonder if I should be helping to fight the Spawn, though. I just want to be sure I¡¯m somewhere helpful.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be,¡± said Ken. ¡°You¡¯ll help plenty right where you are. I think it¡¯s sad to say we haven¡¯t truly given our J¡¯halan service members a proper role, and I wouldn¡¯t want you dying someplace it won¡¯t mean anything. For that matter, do you feel safe where you are?¡±

    ¡°Safe?¡±

    Garrot considered the word¡ªsafe. Normally, it was used in more ¡®personal¡¯ conversations. Perhaps he was still unused to the tendencies of the Imperial language.

    ¡°I¡¯m perfectly fine, sir. The locals are all very friendly. The worst danger that might be out here is a small Hellpox outbreak in the J¡¯halan Quarter.¡±

    ¡°Hellpox?¡± asked Ken. ¡°Hm...we didn¡¯t know about that. Do you have any idea on numbers of affected?¡±

    ¡°No, sir, but I could go back there tonight and try to find out-¡±

    ¡°No, Private.¡± said Ken flatly. ¡°In fact, I think I''d like to ask you to stay out of that district if your reports are correct. One of the others can investigate the need for us to send a pharmacist out there.¡±

    Garrot wanted to protest. True, Hellpox affected klyskins far more than snowskins, but that seemed like the kind of natural risk and danger that the Legion was prepared for - though, risk normally came in the form of knives and bullets rather than germs.

    ¡°Sir, I really don¡¯t think-¡±

    ¡°Simple biology, Private. You¡¯re klyskin, after all. And that¡¯s an order I¡¯ll have you relay to the Sergeant. I¡¯ll let you risk your life for a worthy cause, but not for doing a silly medical census. Don¡¯t forget, you¡¯re part of a team. Your whole squad is there for you.¡±Stolen novel; please report.

    Garrot could hear the sense of finality in his conclusion. He¡¯d had a pent-up need to be useful to people, and here he was not just causing burdens but being protected. He decided to drop the matter.

    ¡°Yes, sir. I¡¯ll let Bran know.¡±

    ¡°Hey, chin up, kid¡ªit''s better than your last posting, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    The following morning, Garrot found himself saddled with what would normally compose routine chores for living elsewhere¡ªlaundry, cleaning, and collecting food from the market. All of it was normal for a guard posting, but in the given context, it felt increasingly pedestrian¡ªlike they really were only a few marks off from the ¡°vacation¡± Sarei had labelled it.

    And yet, each of the others had been innovating their own discoveries over time in that small, unremarkable town¡ªhe tried to internalize the remarks of positivity and encouragement relayed to him by Bran and the Lieutenant, but still struggled to sort out his feelings of discomfort¡ªof being out of place.

    When he had learned Imperial, many job prospects opened to him. What had driven him to join the military, he¡¯d realized, was the lack of decision-making. A good soldier could stand, salute, follow orders, and grit through the pain. Now that he was being given freedom to pursue a broad goal, however he saw fit, it felt overwhelming and baffling.

    Returning to the storeroom that had become the Rangers¡¯ barracks, he found Sarei sitting on her bunk, inspecting her lance. It was made from reinforced darkwood, with a long sword-like iceware blade affixed onto the end. Garrot had seen the lancers use the weapons in training¡ªthey were much faster to swing than a musket¡¯s bayonet; up close, he imagined the odds going pretty heavily in her favor, and it was easy for combatants to underestimate their full reach.

    ¡°Hey, Hathorne. You¡¯re on chore duty today, right?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, so it seems. Just here to grab the produce basket. Today¡¯s Cheranol¡¯s market day.¡±

    ¡°As long as you¡¯re going out there, would you mind doing me a favor?¡± she said, standing from her bunk. ¡°See if you can find me a good flint sharpening stone. I didn¡¯t bring one with me.¡±

    She was poking at the tip of the polearm, testing its sharpness.

    ¡°Will do,¡± said Garrot. ¡°Glad to see you can at least take some responsibilities seriously.¡±

    Sarei froze mid-motion. ¡°Pardon?¡±

    Garrot shrugged, not quite sure what could cause offense given Sarei¡¯s brazen behavior in the days he¡¯d known her.

    ¡°Ms. Adamel¡­Do you call spending all day at a bar an important responsibility? I just meant, I was starting to worry about how helpful you were going to be. Granted, I''m not doing well either, but at least with me, it¡¯s not for lack of trying. Sorry if I¡­¡±

    Sarei shrugged. ¡°Oh, no offense taken¡ªI''m lazy as fuck, won¡¯t lie about that. But I¡¯m not abandoning duties¡ªjust doing the absolute bare minimum of them. I¡¯m not lifting a finger until I know that finger¡¯s going to do something good. First time we came to the pub, I could tell: If this town has secrets, this¡¯ll be the first spot I hear them.¡±

    She shrugged, emphatically.

    ¡°So I stayed there. Got plastered, and overheard more info than you did. Lazy butts like me attract kindred souls.¡±

    Garrot raised an eyebrow at her.

    ¡°You don¡¯t think we could be doing more? Most of the Steel Legion is out there gearing for war. After sitting in a bar all day, do you think our efforts compare at all to theirs?¡±

    She took a swig from a cup of water. ¡°I don¡¯t think our orders compare at all to theirs. In fact I didn¡¯t expect we¡¯d have anything to report. You do realize, this whole assignment seems to have received about the level of planning of a weekend pub crawl?¡±

    ¡°How do you mean? I thought Ken¡¯s been very helpful...¡±

    ¡°If Nest wanted to learn about what¡¯s going on out here, all they had to do was hire the damn Querymans¡¯ Guild. The pros would already be reporting back by now.¡±

    ¡°Well, the Emperor and the Guild aren¡¯t on the best of terms...¡± ventured Garrot. ¡°It might...not be a good look for the army to hire from them.¡±

    Sarei rolled her eyes. ¡°Making our entire presence here superficial political posturing. Hence, my do-nothing attitude. Sorry to break it to you, kid. We¡¯re not going to make a difference."

    She set down her weapon, relaxing in her bunk. She was being blunt, but Garrot felt there was a degree of truth in her words.

    ¡°What about a sled problem, though?¡± he suggested. ¡°If you WERE given an important decision like that...? You said earlier, you wouldn¡¯t kick the sled. You¡¯d let five people die. Is that really out of laziness?¡±

    ¡°Of course not,¡± mumbled Sarei from her laid back posture. ¡°Even my inaction is calculated. You see six people, and you think you can prevent four deaths. But you¡¯ll never know for sure. Maybe five people pushing back, together is enough to stop the sled before it runs anyone over. Maybe the sled¡¯s second path actually has more people on it that you can¡¯t see. Maybe you¡¯ll be arrested for murder for kicking a sled at someone, and it¡¯ll turn out that all six of the people you wanted to help are fucking jackasses that weren¡¯t worth it.¡±

    She rolled over to glare at him.

    ¡°And what¡¯s more, I¡¯m not the one letting five people die. That goes to the moron that left a cargo sled loaded on a hill without a brake.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯d get caught up in who¡¯s to blame for it?¡±

    ¡°No. But someone would.¡±

    She rolled back over to face away from him, presumably gearing up for a long nap.

    ¡°Don¡¯t go looking for sled problems, Hathorne. It¡¯s not worth it. Most people just want to chill out and have a beer. You can¡¯t hurt anyone by doing the same.¡±

    Garrot stood in thought as the lancer completely tuned him out from her presence.

    ¡°For someone so passive, Sarei...sometimes I wish you wouldn¡¯t shut people down so much.¡±

    The only reply that came was a feigned snore.

    ¡°I mean it!!¡± called Garrot. ¡°Yesterday, Emil was trying to give his report and you just...scoffed at him! Yeah, I thought what he said was assumptive too, but do you know what that tells people? It says the best way to avoid your snide attitude is to just not say anything!¡±

    ¡°...Hm. True enough,¡± mumbled Sarei from the far side of her bunk.

    ¡°Is that what you want? A team where everyone¡¯s speaking on tiptoes around you rather than saying their mind?¡±

    Sarei rolled back, glaring down Garrot.

    ¡°If their mind is that klyskins are suspicious...it¡¯s pretty fucked up that YOU didn¡¯t say anything, Hathorne.¡±

    Garrot reflexively stepped back as Sarei¡¯s hand shot out past his shoulder to a nearby table. It calmly withdrew, once the Lancer had retrieved a pack of gumweed snacks she¡¯d purchased from the general store.

    ¡°I get the picture you don¡¯t want people speaking up for you,¡± mumbled Sarei between chews of her candy. ¡°Saints know the Sergeant has spat that often enough. But I know I¡¯ve met a dozen J''halans that have dealt with enough heartache back during the Charitors¡¯ Act that they¡¯d consider it their civic duty to remove a few teeth from PFC Petterson on his way back to the barracks.¡±

    Garrot tensed unnaturally. The Charitors¡¯ Act was an unspoken term on everyone¡¯s lips any time the discussion of J¡¯halan racial treatment arose. Sarei was far braver than most to put voice to the oft-unspoken topic.

    But Garrot couldn¡¯t claim to be a direct victim of that legal measure. He had immigrated in the year following its momentous repeal¡ªwhen many Halens were aiming to distance themselves from the law and show fairer treatment to their immigrants.

    Garrot kneaded his hands uneasily. ¡°There are enough people in the world that fail to resolve their issues by getting into fights. That¡¯s...not how I solve things, Sarei.¡±

    ¡°So tell me¡ªhow often has speaking passively to people ¡®solved things¡¯? Or do you just not care about your countrymen that were too lazy to join the Legion? Countrymen afraid to face the three square meals, soft bed, and all the dangers that accompany an Empire in its longest period of peace for centuries?¡±

    Garrot¡¯s eye twinged. Before speaking to Sarei, he¡¯d had to pretend to be upset to make a forceful impression. Now, he was doing his best to hold back real fury. He heaved an agitated sigh.

    ¡°It sounds like we¡¯re both bad at what we do, Adamel.¡±

    Garrot left the lancer to her nap, proceeding to his next task of collecting groceries for the team. He spent a brief time searching the local markets. Cheranol had few farms nearby, but the freight trains frequently delivered a healthy spread of food before returning with their shipment of klysten ore.

    After some brief searching, it seemed the better deals lay out within the cramped J¡¯halan Quarter of the town. Garrot learned through some inquiries that several local J¡¯halan vendors had been bullied out of the main market street by the local members of the Merchants¡¯ Guild. Now, their prices had fallen, in a struggle to obtain what sales they could from their neighbors, as well as the rare passing snowskin.

    Garrot returned in the direction of the barracks, the basket loaded with fruits and vegetables; his mind having gradually absorbed the layout of Cheranol¡¯s streets.

    As he came past a street that faced the drop-off point for the local mine, he heard a low rumble of commotion¡ªventuring down the pathway, he could see a large crowd that had politely gathered beneath a raised wooden stage. Bran and Emil had already joined the crowd.

    ¡°Sergeant!¡± called Garrot.

    Bran turned and casually waved. ¡°Hey, you finished at the market?¡±

    Garrot deposited the basket on a nearby barrel for a moment, looking around at the assembled crowd. ¡°Did something happen?¡±

    ¡°Apparently, the miners got part of the day off so they could hear out some big announcement. No one here seems to know what¡¯s coming.¡±

    Ahead of them, a heavyset miner proceeded around the crowd, shaking hands and absorbing attention. Looking closer, Garrot realized he recognized the face.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that Foreman Tallow?¡± asked Garrot.

    Garrot recalled the stout figure from the train they¡¯d taken into town. After finishing a very brief greeting with another member of the crowd, the Foreman adjusted his spectacles, spotting the three of them.

    ¡°Ah, my fellow passengers! Welcome!¡± said Tallow. ¡°Still waiting on the last dive team to come out of the mine, but we¡¯ll be starting soon.¡±

    ¡°Good day to you, sir!¡± said Garrot warmly. ¡°Sorry I haven¡¯t stopped by to say hello.¡±

    ¡°You know him from somewhere, kid?¡± asked Emil.

    ¡°Like he said: Fellow passengers. But that¡¯s all,¡± replied Bran, privately to Emil. ¡°Garrot...forms lifelong connections pretty quickly.¡±

    ¡°I certainly hope our small town has been treating you three well! I-...Oh. There was a...barkskin woman with you, wasn¡¯t there?¡±

    ¡°Sarei is...preoccupied,¡± said Garrot, envisioning her midday nap.

    ¡°Maybe for the best, too.¡± said Bran. ¡°She was a bit annoyed to find your bar tab wasn¡¯t good for your favor.¡±

    ¡°Eh?¡± Tallow looked confused. ¡°I-I hav-...Oh. Well, y-yes, misunderstanding with the owner. Haven¡¯t been back there since I returned. But please stick around! I¡¯d like you in particular to hear this announcement!¡±

    He pushed a friendly finger towards Garrot.

    ¡°Maybe you three could help spread the news and get some impressions, even.¡±

    Tallow flashed them a dorky smile, and moved on before Garrot could ask any questions.

    ¡°What is that about? Did you ever catch up with him after our train ride?¡± asked Bran.

    ¡°Honestly, I haven¡¯t the faintest,¡± admitted Garrot. ¡°I did hear a town election is coming up. It sounded like he might be running for Mayor or something?¡±

    ¡°So what does that have to do with the kid?¡± asked Emil. None of them could divine an answer.

    As the crowd filtered into the town square, each of them shared curious looks. A short stage had been arranged  Joining the three of them, Sarei stumbled in, still only half-awake, together with several other denizens of the Canary Elevator. She rubbed her eyes.

    ¡°Anyone know what this is about?¡±

    ¡°Everyone¡¯s just been taking guesses¡­¡± replied Bran. ¡°Apparently something Garrot would be interested in?¡±

    Garrot was unable to reply to Sarei¡¯s quizzical stare with anything more than a shrug. Mercifully, not long after her arrival, Foreman Tallow clambered up to the stage.

    ¡°Good evening, CMC! Now, I¡¯m sure you¡¯d all like to know what we¡¯ve assembled you here for,¡± announced the foreman, taking the stage. ¡°Of course, the primary reason is to celebrate a half day of work, and go get a round at the Elevator.¡±

    The opening joke caught a decent few chuckles.

    ¡°The secondary reason, for any of you who haven¡¯t already scarpered, is to talk about the next candidate for Mayor. Mayor Ilwen has been doing an excellent job maintaining the peace in Cheranol for over a decade, but whether we like it or not, the winds of change are upon us. Halehearth Rail¡¯s network now stretches into Solsend, and while klysten devices pervade the Egg¡¯s markets, the price of the commodity we work for every day has inevitably fallen. As the town faces these modern challenges, as well as continuing to support our J¡¯halan neighbors, the empire¡¯s shifts in trade demands, and of course keeping the town alert for potential threats, we have been looking for a community leader to make that key difference.

    ¡°I¡­regret to say to you, my friends and colleagues, that I come to you dissatisfied with Mayor Ilwen¡¯s unremarkable plan for modernizing the Cheranol region. Instead¡­I¡¯d like to introduce a challenger to this upcoming election; a man familiar with the challenges of growth amidst social conflict.¡±

    ¡°...me,¡± whispered Emil as a joke.

    ¡°Introducing Pastor Jes¡¯qel Remire!¡±

    Confused looks were shared all around, as an elderly, bearded klyskin man in ceremonial robes ascended to the stage from a shaded hiding spot around the corner. His face was kindly, with endearing wrinkles and beard; but Garrot could sense that the religious attire didn¡¯t strike an immediate chord with the miners around him.

    ¡°Ohhh, boy...¡± muttered Emil. ¡°Here we go.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Foreman,¡± announced the pastor. ¡°I¡¯m not sure how many of you know me¡ªit''s true that my family has, at times, lived somewhat reclusively here in your amazingly pleasant community. A few faces in the crowd are merchants, local patrolmen, community members who have attended some of my after-hours chats and tea gatherings. I also tend to be something of a liason with the J¡¯halan Quarter here in Cheranol.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean, ¡®here we go?¡± asked Bran quietly. He decided he could risk whispering¡ªhe wasn¡¯t the only one muttering to their neighbors during the pastor¡¯s speech.

    Emil shook his head. ¡°It won¡¯t happen. I¡¯ll admit, I misjudged this foreman¡ªbut a klyskin politician? This leap isn¡¯t going to go well with them. Watch.¡±

    The pastor continued. ¡°To some, I believe my reputation, my sole role in this humble community, has been one of saving my people¡ªthat is a role I won¡¯t deny, but of which I will deny the implication that saving anyone would come at the cost of our society at large.

    ¡°As one of many who survived through the turmoil caused by this Empire¡¯s darker periods¡ªthe Charitors¡¯ Act most of all¡ªI see those divisions cause harm even to those not targeted by it. My vision for the future of all of the Westbell region is as a community that works together, helping each other in turn through strife. Even after the Act¡¯s repeal, and violence between snowskin and klyskin has died down over the past decade, we still live separately¡ªdividing our boroughs, never learning each other¡¯s language. I want each of us to see what we can gain from each other¡ªbe it a doctor, a teacher, a new favorite customer, a friend.¡±

    ¡°He sounds so inspiring.¡± said Garrot. ¡°What has you so riled up about him, Emil??¡±

    Emil shook his head. ¡°You¡¯ve got it wrong, kid. To me? He seems like he honestly might be a good guy. But with everything these people deal with, the last thing they¡¯re gonna want is a politician that puts klyskins first.¡±

    ¡°But that¡¯s not what he-!¡±

    Garrot quieted himself. He didn¡¯t want to raise his voice to the point he was interrupting the speech.

    ¡°And so,¡± continued Jes¡¯qel, ¡°I accept Foreman Tallow¡¯s nomination. We¡¯ll be arranging debates between myself and the Mayor this week. At my temple, I¡¯ll be sharing some draft proposals for community projects aimed at bonding the two communities in this town¡ªand the surrounding villages we, directly or indirectly, are responsible for. And come the election at the end of this month, I would be honored by your considered support for the position of Mayor!¡±

    Jes¡¯qel bowed to the crowd of miners before him. Foreman Tallow emphatically began a lead of applause.

    ¡°And now we hear the wind whistle,¡± whispered Emil sympathetically.

    The crowd erupted into applause.

    A few of the miners closer to them were surprised by the general crowd¡¯s reaction, but all around, men were enthusiastically cheering for the candidate. Garrot joined the clapping naturally, but Emil and Bran quickly felt pressured to join in.

    From behind, a yelp of enthusiasm cried out¡ªthe Rangers turned back to see the crowd had even expanded behind them since the speech had started. Other passersby had come from their homes to wave small flags for the candidate.

    ¡°Thank you all, so much!¡± announced Jes''qel.

    Garrot could see a twinge of pain on the man¡¯s face¡ªmaybe he had worked hard for this moment, and they were only seeing the end of his efforts.

    ¡°I think I just heard the wind...¡± remarked Bran, in reply to Emil. ¡°The wind of change.¡±

    Emil was incredulous¡ªhis eyelid twinging.

    ¡°Wha-...they-...What the fuck just happened?¡±

    ¡°I will be away for a part of this month, but I will see you all on our election day!¡± the pastor concluded, turning to leave.

    ¡°Hold on just a moment,¡± hissed a sudden voice.

    A middle-aged woman in a tie thrust her way through the crowd, and rose onto the stage.

    ¡°Foreman Tallow has somehow managed to arrange this audience without me knowing¡ªor having a chance to respond. I¡¯m sure somewhere in the Imperial ordnances, we will find it¡¯s a breach of conduct to campaign for elections with a captive audience like that. Thankfully, I¡¯m lucky enough to be present to respond to ridiculous accusations.¡±

    The Rangers examined the pointed expression of their new host.

    ¡°I guess we never did meet the mayor, did we?¡± remarked Bran.

    Mayor Ilwen adjusted her glasses, assuming a forceful command of the assembled workers.

    ¡°Let me assure you; while certain falls in klysten ore prices have taken a hit on towns like ours, these are merely as a part of the Egg-wide markets feeling their way into the new generation. Prices for klysten ore have already stabilized at 3 sen an once, and will inevitably return to normal. Moreover, I suspect Pastor Remire¡¯s election bid has far more to do with forcing the integration of temporary J¡¯halan residents into our community¡ªdividing our town¡¯s room for growth even further. I have enough to deal with these days without the people of Cheranol pointlessly considering a change in political track. I will address-¡°

    ¡°YOU¡¯D RATHER THEY JUST STARVE AND DIE, WOULDN¡¯T YOU?¡± came a violent, accented shout from the crowd. ¡°WELL, I AT LEAST WON¡¯T MAKE YOU STARVE!!¡±

    Amidst the confusion of the crowd, no one could discern the exact origin of the voice, until it was too late; a hooded figure had thrown a bottle, wrapped in a ragged cloth, onto the stage.

    ¡°BACK, BACK!!¡± shouted Bran, pulling members of the crowd around him away from the throw.

    Mayor Ilwen stumbled backwards as the bottle shattered onto the stage, spilling sapfluid across it. The stage¡¯s wooden planks froze into brittle shards, splintering and shuddering violently. Ilwen panicked, crossing her arms over her body for fear any of the droplets might splash onto her.

    Without thinking, Garrot leapt onto the stage, adrenaline prompting him to ignore any tinges of cold that one would feel if touched by the sub-frigid substance, and yanked Ilwen back by her collar, as the last few bursts of unsettled fluid erupted from the bottle. Garrot seized Ilwen¡¯s boot, where sapfluid had already begun eating through the leather, and yanked it off, throwing it to empty ground.

    ¡°Are you all right?¡± asked Garrot.

    ¡°WHERE IS HE?!?¡± called Sarei.

    In the midst of the panic, the hooded figure responsible for the throw had slunk through the crowd, and was now impossible to locate.

    ¡°I saw him!¡± called a member of the crowd. ¡°He was a J¡¯halan!¡±

    Bran gritted his teeth.

    ¡°Pastor Remire¡­!¡± he called. ¡°Can you-¡±

    He trailed off. Jes¡¯qel Remire was nowhere to be found.

    ¡°Fuck¡¯s sake!¡± remarked Emil, his musket at hand. ¡°You think a man who encourages stunts like THIS can become mayor?¡±

    The others were about to respond to Emil, until they saw what he had indicated; the flopping rag that the bottle had been wrapped in, now frozen onto the stage by the spiked, icy mass created by the sapfluid splash. It was a doll; haphazardly put together, as a facsimile of Mayor Ilwen¡¯s appearance. The doll¡¯s chest bore a creed written in jagged letters with bright crimson ink.

    EXILE WASN¡¯T GOOD ENOUGH