New Orders

Kameutsu arrived at the Eastern Operations Room three minutes before noon and immediately wished he had arrived five minutes earlier.

Not because he was late. Three minutes early was early. Sergeant Roake had once told him that soldiers who arrived ten minutes early were either frightened or trying to impress someone, and Kame had never found much use in either habit.

The problem was that everyone else was already there, and he didn’t want to be noticed as the last, either.

Colonel Varren stood at the head of a long table beneath a wall map of Engrassia's eastern approaches. Sergeant Tern had taken a place near the far end, broad arms folded loosely behind his back. Specialist Fen was bent over a leather satchel that appeared to contain twice as many objects as its dimensions should allow. Privates Pell and Ellis stood together, both making visible efforts to look as though they had done this many times before.

He wasn’t sure what he should have expected of Lieutenant Miuki.

Kame had heard the name “The Butterfly Aegis” in barracks stories, during his previous posting in the eastern theatre. Stories rarely interested him until they involved weather, roads, or mistakes that could be learned from, but the tales around the appearance and achievements of the Lieutenant were difficult to ignore. Yet, here she sat near the table. No luminous wings. No glowing shield. Nothing theatrical. She sat with the stillness of someone who wasted no movement and wanted no attention. Just a young officer watching the room as though she had already measured every door and window.

Then there was the captain.

Lord Sandore Greycastle looked exactly like someone named Lord Sandore Greycastle ought to look, which Kame decided was unfortunate for him.

His uniform might have survived inspection by a jeweler. He was younger than Kame had expected, though not as young as some of the rumors made him sound. The Greycastle name carried enough weight in Engrassia that people tended to add or subtract years from its bearer depending on whether they were impressed or resentful.

Kame knew better than to judge a trail from one footprint.

He stepped inside and saluted.

"Corporal Kameutsu reporting, Colonel. Captain. Lieutenant."

Greycastle returned the salute with precise economy. "Corporal."

No name. No easy familiarity. Kame had not expected any. Officers who became friendly too quickly usually wanted something.

Tern's eyes passed over the captain, paused for half a heartbeat on the silver bars at his collar, then moved on. The expression was so slight Kame might have missed it if he had not spent years watching animals pretend not to watch danger.

Raised eyebrow. Not contempt. Evaluation.

Fair enough.

Varren waited until the wall clock clicked to noon.

"Captain Greycastle. Lieutenant Miuki. Corporal Kameutsu. Sergeant Tern. Specialist Fen. Privates Pell and Ellis." Her gaze moved around the table, naming each of them in turn. "As of this hour, you are Near-East Field Intelligence Detachment Seven. Captain Greycastle commands. Lieutenant Miuki is second."

She did not waste time asking whether anyone had objections.

Rain had faded to a gray mist beyond the windows, leaving the city roofs slick and shining. Varren opened a field case on the table. Inside were folders, a cloth packet, lengths of clipped wire, fragments of splintered wood, and a black-glass ampoule no longer than Kame's smallest finger.

She began with the villages.

Dunmere. Bell's Ford. Orrow Fen.

Eleven attacks over eighteen days. Livestock killed. Travelers mauled. A patrol driven back. Two people missing. The attackers were local predators behaving in ways local predators should not behave.

That was the first thing that interested Kame.

He waited until Varren paused.

"Colonel," he said.

Her eyes found him at once. "Corporal."

"What kinds of creatures have been involved in the attacks?"

"Wolves, primarily. There have been unconfirmed reports of larger predators."

Kame looked at the red circles on the wall map.

Wolves.

Wolves could be dangerous. Hungry wolves more so. Rabid wolves worst of all. But wolves did not usually make three separate settlements afraid enough to generate this much fuss unless something else was very, very wrong.

He glanced toward the ampoule.

The captain had done the same.

Varren continued.

The attack frequency was increasing. They were happening in daylight. The animals ignored easier food. More than one witness claimed entire packs had withdrawn at once, almost as if called away.

Kame felt the room narrow around that detail.

Wolves could flee together.

They could charge together.

They did not often change their minds together.

Not without a reason.

Varren let that thought settle before she said the word that changed the room.

"The Strategic Office considers Remnant involvement probable. Not confirmed."

• • •

Miuki had known Colonel Varren long enough to recognize when she was choosing each word as if she was placing stones in her sand garden.

Probable. Not confirmed.

That distinction mattered.

So did the way Varren did not look at her when she said it.

The other instruction had come earlier, behind a closed door and without paperwork.

Keep the captain alive.

That much had been expected. Protection assignments were what Miuki did, and Sandore Greycastle was a newly commissioned officer bearing a surname that made him both valuable and visible.

The rest had been less ordinary.

“Keep the detachment intact. Especially on the first mission. He should learn that command does not have to mean watching people die for him, before he learns that sometimes, it does.”

Miuki had studied Varren for several seconds after that.

"You think highly of him."

"Don't be absurd," Varren had replied.

Which, from Colonel Elise Varren, had answered the question.

Now Miuki watched the captain across the briefing table while pretending not to.

He listened without interruption. Good posture. Controlled expression. Attention moving logically between Varren, the map, and the physical evidence rather than fixing on whichever detail made him look most informed.

Young, certainly.

Very young for the rank.

But observant. Intelligent enough to understand. Humble enough to ask questions when he didn’t know.

Beside her, Sergeant Tern was doing much the same evaluation. Miuki knew the type. Old enough to have buried officers both better than the one standing in front of him and worse than the one standing in front of him, and wise enough not to decide which kind this was before lunch.

Varren described the region's history. This section of the eastern districts had been a frequent Remnant target since the war's end. Old strongholds sat beyond the settled roads. Broken terrain and wide tracts of forest made meaningful patrol coverage difficult. Smugglers, raiders, deserters, and organized cells all used the same empty places.

Greycastle's hand rested near one of the reports.

"What clues have been discovered that indicate the Remnant is involved?"

His tone was formal, not skeptical.

Varren touched the black ampoule with one finger but did not pick it up.

"Nothing conclusive. The attack pattern is unusual, and the area has a long history of Remnant operations for the reasons I just described. This was recovered after one of the incidents." She indicated the vial. "The markings may be research codes used by Remnant technical facilities. We do not yet know what it contained."

Miuki looked more closely at the glass.

Black, but not completely opaque. Tiny markings cut into its neck. The sort of thing most people would just pick up and toss into the trash.

Specialist Fen leaned forward almost imperceptibly.

Varren noticed.

"The recovered ampoule, wire, and cage fragments may be connected to the attacks," the colonel continued. "Or they may not. Your assignment is to find out.”

She laid out the detachment's objectives with the clarity Miuki appreciated in orders: confirm or disprove Remnant involvement; determine what was causing the attacks; protect civilians where practical; capture an operative if feasible; bring back intelligence useful enough that Engrassia could act on it.

No speeches. No promises that the situation was under control.

Then Varren opened a different folder.

"There is one civilian name that appears several times in the region’s activity reports. Leon Aster. Freelance adventurer. Several months ago he cleared an abandoned imperial survey complex called Harrowdeep, located between the affected settlements."

She slid the file toward Greycastle.

"He reported ordinary predators exhibiting ordinary territorial behavior, and sealed lower workings outside the scope of his contract. Find him. Ask what he remembers. If he is useful, hire him."

Greycastle opened the folder. "Where can we find Mr. Aster?"

"He lives in the Low Lanterns. Details are in the file."

The captain accepted that without irritation, which Miuki marked in his favor.

There were questions about support, supplies, and timing. Varren answered what she knew and did not decorate what she did not. A larger force would be conspicuous. Reinforcements would take time once they left Engrassia. The villages were already frightened enough without a column of soldiers arriving to prove it.

When the formal briefing ended, Varren closed the field case.

Then she looked at Greycastle.

Not at Miuki. Not at Tern.

The room changed even though no order had been announced.

Colonel Varren was still the senior officer present, but the detachment belonged to someone else now.

Miuki turned her attention fully to the young captain.

He met her eyes.

For just a moment, she saw the effort behind his composure. Not panic. Not uncertainty exactly. Calculation. The small internal pause of someone who understood that everyone in the room was about to remember what he did next.

Good, she thought.

He should understand that.

Greycastle's gaze lingered on her a fraction longer than it did on the others.

Miuki gave him nothing.

Not approval. Not concern. Not the private knowledge that Varren trusted him more than she intended to admit. Not the order Miuki had accepted hours earlier.

If he wanted confidence from his lieutenant, he could earn it the same way anyone else did.

By making the next decision well.

• • •

Sandore had rehearsed first orders in classrooms.

Not these orders, precisely. The academy preferred hypotheticals: establish a perimeter, dispatch scouts, secure a bridge, allocate reserves. Every exercise came with maps, constraints, and instructors waiting to explain afterward which mistake had been obvious all along.

This was different.

Tern watched him.

Miuki watched him.

Kameutsu had gone very still in the way attentive people sometimes did.

Fen was failing to conceal how badly she wanted the ampoule.

Pell and Ellis looked as though they were waiting to discover what sort of captain they had been assigned.

Sandore heard Colonel Varren's voice from that morning.

They are the command.

He stood.

"We head out at first light tomorrow."

No one moved.

Good.

"Sergeant Tern, I'm putting you in charge of travel preparations. Plot our route and ensure we are adequately provisioned. Privates Ellis and Pell are at your disposal."

Tern's eyebrow rose again, though this time Sandore caught something different beneath it.

Not surprise.

Approval, perhaps. Mild and provisional, but there.

The sergeant gave one short nod. "Yes, sir."

Sandore turned to Fen.

"Specialist Fen, the ampoule, wire, and the other clues and files from the attacks are yours. I want to know everything you can discover about what was in that vial and what you can reason about the attacks. No destructive testing is permitted. Keep my clues intact."

Fen's expression moved through enthusiasm, offense at the final restriction, and professional obedience in less than two seconds.

"Yes, Captain."

He had the distinct impression the last sentence had been necessary.

Then he faced Miuki and Kameutsu.

"Lieutenant, Corporal, you're with me. We need to locate Mr. Aster in the Low Lanterns." He looked to Kameutsu. "Perhaps you can be our guide, Corporal. I recall from your file that you live around there."

Kameutsu blinked once.

"Yes, Captain. I know the district."

Sandore inclined his head. "Good."

That was it.

No grand address. No invocation of House Greycastle. No assurance that he would bring everyone home, because promises made before danger revealed itself were usually lies wearing polished boots.

Tern began moving before Sandore had fully finished, already collecting Pell and Ellis with a gesture. Fen gathered the physical evidence with almost reverent care, though Sandore noticed she held the ampoule up to the window before wrapping it.

Miuki remained where she was.

Sandore looked at her again.

Her face was composed enough to make stone seem expressive.

He tried to read something in it—approval, skepticism, irritation, anything that might tell him whether the orders had landed well.

Nothing.

The failure bothered him more than it should have.

"Lieutenant?"

"Captain."

Not a question. Not reassurance.

Simply acknowledgement.

He decided he would take it.

The room began to empty.

Private Ellis made it almost to the door before stopping so abruptly Pell nearly walked into her.

She turned back.

"Captain?"

Sandore looked up from Leon Aster's file.

Ellis stood with one hand gripping the strap of her pack. She was trying very hard to stand at attention without looking as though she were trying very hard to stand at attention.

"Yes, Private?"

"I just wanted to say—" She swallowed. "It's an honor, sir. To be assigned to your detachment."

The words caught Sandore unprepared.

He had heard compliments about his family his entire life. He knew how to receive formal praise, ceremonial praise, political praise, and praise designed to remind him of an obligation.

This was none of those.

"Thank you, Private Ellis." He closed the file. "Tell me about yourself."

Her eyes widened slightly.

"Sir?"

"Your file tells me you’re adept at handling scheduling, funds, inventory, and records. It does not tell me very much about Sara Ellis."

That was apparently all the invitation required.

"Well, sir, I'm from Northgate—not the district itself, just outside it, my father keeps accounts for a mill and my mother teaches letters at the parish school, and I did very well in quartermaster training, third overall actually, except I suppose that's in the file, and I've never been east of Bell's Ford but I have traveled south once with my aunt, and I—"

From the doorway, Sergeant Tern cleared his throat.

It was not loud.

It did not need to be.

Ellis stopped as if a cord had pulled tight around her spine.

"Right. Yes. Travel preparations." Color rose into her cheeks. "Sorry, Captain."

Sandore suppressed a smile.

"No apology necessary, Private. We'll continue another time."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

She hurried after Tern.

The sergeant gave Sandore the faintest nod before following her into the corridor.

Then they were gone.

Fen left next with the evidence case held against her chest. Pell followed the Sergeant wordlessly down the hall. Somewhere farther away, Ellis was already asking Tern a question too quickly to make out.

Sandore looked at the two people who remained.

Lieutenant Miuki, the celebrated protector, whom he could not read.

Corporal Kameutsu, the scout who knew the Low Lanterns and had asked the first useful question of the briefing.

Leon Aster's file lay open beneath Sandore's hand.

The page listed taverns, employers, old contracts, and several addresses with notes beside them suggesting that Mr. Aster's relationship with fixed residence was mostly theoretical.

However, one establishment appeared more frequently than the rest. Much more frequently.

The Broken Pike.

Sandore tapped the name.

"Corporal."

Kameutsu leaned slightly closer and a slight grin came across his reptilian face.

"Mr. Aster keeps rowdy company. I know the place, sir." he said.

Sandore looked toward the door.

Three hours earlier, six names had been ink on paper.

Now they had voices. Expressions. Habits. Opinions he could not yet see and expectations he could already feel.

The weight had not grown lighter, but he appreciated that it had begun to take shape.

"Lieutenant. Corporal. Let's go find Mr. Aster."