Representative Sample

Brochwel arrived first at the stables, hauling a cart piled high with padded barding. Would have been nice to get some kind of regimental colors, or at least a consistent color across all of them so the riders could identify their comrades who they didn't really know yet. But the break-neck production pace, spread out across several workshops, had resulted in a mix of dusty blues, browns, tans, and one dark red.

He looked around outside. What was in bloom ...

"Brochwel!"

Several pairs of shoes pounded along the dirt path and came to a panting halt behind him. He turned to see several of yesterday's recruits gasping for breath. One of them was Duhaan, a sturdy wolfboy on the verge of thirty who Brochwel had first met years ago carrying (with help) a wounded half-giant away from a skirmish in the woods not far from ... here actually. Tarquin had gotten his signature, so Brochwel didn't know yet quite why he had chosen to sign on.

"Good morning," Brochwel replied.

"We're at ..." Duhaan put his hands on his knees and gulped air.

"Take your time. Not sarcastic, actually catch your—"

Another recruit staggered past Duhaan. Izabel was human who had asked no questions before signing up. Short and energetic, Brochwel had taken her swift signature for confidence, but wasn't so sure anymore at the sight of her clutching one of the stable's structural beams to steady her own knees. "We're at war! The western watchtower was razed last night."

Brochwel opened his mouth, then closed it. He had to remember that some of the recruits were veterans, but most were neighborhood of twenty, so their only experience of war had been as children hearing about some border skirmishes with Tragaron that hadn't escalated and soon went to peace talks. Said conflict had been so brief plenty around Duhaan and Izabel's age hadn't signed up before it ended, or were recruited but never deployed.

Something in the air this time, the tension he had seen in everyone's shoulders and eyes the last few days ... they seemed to sense that this wouldn't resolve so easily, even if they hoped it would.

"Thanks for letting me know." Brochwel turned again to scanning the weeds growing near the stable's foundation.

"That's it?" Izabel asked.

"He was Flaxen Order, they were at war all the time. This is like saying it's breakfast time to him," Duhaan said.

"Please don't imply I consider war a meal," Brochwel murmured as he crouched to study a splash of color at the sandy verge between the foundation and the fields beyond.

There a plant with stubby, thick leaves that grew less than a foot high was hurling its flowers skyward. A vivid yellow, the blooms were small but clustered well. Brochwel plucked a few and tied the stems together with a bit of string. Probably wouldn't be available year round, but this flower would do as a field sign now. The rest were trickling in now, led by Tecca stifling a morning yawn.

"Gather some of these flowers to attach to your armor. Oh, and put those on your horses," Brochwel said, pointing to the padded barding on the cart. "Oilskin-side goes on the outside. Below you'll find rain ponchos and warm pullovers."

"How much training are we going to do before we head to the front?" Duhaan asked.

"Depends. Do the packs still teach skirmishing maneuvers and tactics?"

Izabel scoffed at the question. "Every Kirrglosian can ride and use a bow."

"Good. More of a javelin-slinger myself, but bows are excellent. Then we'll do a little formation practice on our way."

"Oh, sounds good." Izabel nodded and began strapping the insulated barding on her horse. She had the saddle on, bridle fitted, and was just getting her foot in the stirrup when she spun around. "Wait, you mean today?"

---

"In THERE?" Izabel stared up at the storm, towering directly over them. The rain's vanguard pattered against her face. "This is preposterous."

"Yes, in there," Brochwel said, ignoring the fact that his horse's hoof had just dislodged a stone, which slid and bounced down the steep sides of the narrow volcanic ridge toward the lake below. "The empire's building a covered road in there, so we have to go in too. Besides, Tecca, Tarquin, and I got out of the empire with two prisoners through the storm."

"So it's not as bad as people say?"

Brochwel nodded.

He gave the reins a twitch and headed onto the plateau. Duhaan followed immediately. There they waited under the pelting rain for the others to cross. Izabel and a few others hesitated, but Tarquin and his horse stood at the back, subtly (and unintentionally) encouraging them by the social pressure of needing to ask him to move before they could run away.

"Keep a tight formation, everyone," Brochwel called. "While this storm isn't instant death like your parents told you, once you're wet you'll be hypothermic, and once you're hypothermic you'll have precious little time to get to the road."

"How are we supposed to find it?" Duhaan looked at the swirling rain. Izabel, who had pulled up alongside, nodded emphatically.

"I've already been there." Brochwel tapped the stone where his cheek should have been. "When I asked Silvester to fix my embedding, he told me it was impossible. And then he rubbed it in by saying that it's supposed to progressively draw a mental map of everywhere I go, on top of the permanently knowing cardinal directions Macsen and the others had. All I get is a squiggly line of where I've been with no map or directions under it that fades after two weeks. But I remember which part of the squiggle was us leaving the road, and we're heading right for it."

Duhaan nodded and pulled back on the reins to let Tecca come forward. Izabel followed him, with words that sounded like the start of an argument: "I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

"But you talked me into it!"

The ride to the road's end took about an hour. Howling wind had set their teeth chattering, but they were still mostly dry as the horses sent the construction crew scattering.

"You there," Brochwel called the few workers who hadn't fled. Time to demonstrate the standards he wanted his recruits to follow.

"Y-yes? Please don't hurt us. We have nothing to steal and—"

"Oh, tell him if we get hurt the emperor will be real mad."

"Why don't you tell him?"

Brochwel cleared his throat. "The empire committed an act of war against Kirrglos last night, and we're here to make sure it doesn't go unpunished. You're free to go."

The workers looked at each other.

"We are?"

"You're not soldiers. But this road you've worked so hard on is military infrastructure, and we are going to do a number on it. Might be a good idea to go home, before the imperial army comes to try and stop us."

Then Brochwel gave the follow-me hand signal and they all set off at a gallop, thundering down the wooden road.

"Are you crazy?" Izabel shouted. "If those carpenters get to an imperial city and warn the garrison, we'll have a whole army on our tail!"

"I'm sure Brochwel knows what he's doing."

"No. Stop it, Duhaan. This whole soldier-act you're doing, it's gross."

"But I am a soldier."

Brochwel led them on until they reached the junction that turned off toward Gorges de Beaulancre. There he had them dismount and tie their horses off.

"Alright, we'll start here. I want this intersection destroyed. Bonus points for leaving it messy. We packed some tools, but feel free to get creative with your casting and summons. Tarquin, stand watch on the Gorges branch. Tecca, watch the main route for a bit." With that, he pulled a saw out of his saddlebag and began cutting the wall.

Some murmuring ensued. This wasn't quite what anyone thought they signed up for. But they soon got to work, and once they heard the first beam splinter with a satisfying groan, enthusiasm set in. They carved a hole in the wall with saws and fire, and a dozen woodpeckers flew through it to attack the roof. A heavy clunk followed a minute later.

"Hey, Brochwel." Duhaan held out a flanged piece of golden metal, tail tracing a hopeful swish. "We found something: the roof has coronadium fittings every few feet. Pretty interesting, right?"

Brochwel turned the piece over in his hands. It was lighter than it looked. "Hollow. Corrosion proof. Probably to protect the roof from lightning. Nice find."

"Oh yeah?" Izabel put her hands on her hips. "Well, my summoned beaver is about to carve through the main support under this whole junction. Beat that."

Brochwel and everyone but Izabel shared a look. "We should move back to the horses."

"Right away, sir."

"Sir? Who are ... right."

After everyone was evacuated to a safe distance, several summons worked together to weaken the columns. Izabel insisted on finishing the job. With a great splintering sigh, the whole intersection and part of the road in either direction came down and settled in the water. Smaller bits floated away with the current, but the main mass had impaled on the stubs of its former supports. To repair the road here, the empire would first have to dismantle a huge tangle in the freezing rain.

"Nicely done, everyone." Brochwel beamed at the troops. "We'll get more practice and do it faster in the future."

"Is the—"

"Look!" one of the recruits hissed.

He pointed out the broken opening toward the southern section of road. There the glow of a torch was approaching the break at a run. It stopped, then a soldier in the new Rhosarian red uniform peeked out into the rain. When he saw Brochwel and company, he vanished back down the hall.

"Let's get him!"

"Wait!" Duhaan shouted, but Izabel had already jumped down onto the wreckage and ran-wobbled to the other opening. Duhaan looked queasy as he lowered himself onto the splintered wood.

"Recruit Izabel. Stop! That's an order." She had already disappeared into the other road, chasing the torchbearer. With a sigh, Brochwel told the rest of the unit to wait with their horses, then he too jumped down and scrambled after Izabel.

They caught up with her, pulling her dagger out of the soldier's back. The torch, still burning, had fallen and bounced to a stop on its side near the wall.

Duhaan turned a pleading gaze on Brochwel. "I'm sorry, sir. I tried to persuade her not to sign up. She—"

"Recruit Izabel." Brochwel stepped past Duhaan, whose tail and ears drooped. "Attention."

Izabel staggered upright, getting her breath back. "I got him, sir."

"I see that." The spatter of blood on her vambraces said it all. "You attested yesterday that you had no real combat experience ..."

"Yes, sir. I don't." Then her eyes lit up. "Until just now."

"Going forward, I need you to stay closer with your unit and mind your footing. Our position being reported wouldn't have been a problem: we wouldn't be here by the time their army arrived. Running across that unstable wreckage carried a high risk of being injured or dumped in freezing water. I want you in tip-top-soldier-stabbing shape, understood?"

Izabel threw a sharp salute. "Yessir!"

"Excellent, let's go back."

Brochwel jumped onto the wreckage and helped them both safely down.

As they picked their way back across the shattered roof, Duhaan tried to implore, "Brochwel, wait. She doesn't actually want to be in the military."

"Yes I do! All you ever talk about is halberds and the sound of arrows whistling through the air and how cool it was when Brochwel misdirected his own comrades while you carried a friend to safety. And you were right. It is cool."

"I only talk about that stuff because you keep asking to hear it again and again."

"... I do? But you like talking about it ..."

Brochwel wordlessly formed a stirrup with his hands and boosted the two of them back up to rejoin the rest of the unit.

"You know what, hey Brochwel," Izabel called with smirk. "If anyone shouldn't be here it's Duhaan. Guy still needs an oil lamp in his bedroom or he whimpers all night."

"Do not." Duhaan struggled for a retort. "My squad was ambushed. At night. While it was dark."

"He has told me about every combat he saw a dozen times and never mentioned night ambush. Don't believe a word of it, people."

Right, it was Brochwel's responsibility to rein in the bickering or allow it now, wasn't it? That had been someone else's call for so long ... he was going to have to get used to this. Judging by the stifled laughter from the others, so far it was going over as harmless teasing.

"Thank you, Duhaan and Izabel. For anyone who may be afraid of the dark, know that we will sometimes have to sleep under cloudy, moonless skies. For now we go home, tearing up more road along the way."

By the time they left the storm late that night, several fifty-foot-long sections of road had been turned into splintered tangles.