Isaac's eyes opened. He sat up and looked around, trying to get his bearings, confused as to where he was. His heart was racing, the cries of dying men and the impact of cannonballs still echoed in his ears.

After taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, Isaac rose and made his way over to the men on watch, seated around the low-burning fire.

"What watch is this?" he whispered.

"Start of the fourth." One of the men replied, gesturing at the sandglass that was still mostly full at the top.

"Does one of you want to switch places with me? I won't be getting back to sleep tonight."

The two men whispered quietly among each other for a few moments before one got up and made his way back to his place to sleep. The caravan was in the walled yard of an inn on the outskirts of the capital city of Wolleton but Commander Frederick insisted on there always being two men on watch at all times. No matter where they were camped there was always the threat of thieves and even less savory sorts skulking about, looking for any opportunity to enrich themselves at the expense of others.

"Not tired?" the remaining man on watch asked quietly. Isaac believed his name was Mark, a former soldier from Osterval.

"Oh, I'm quite tired," Isaac replied, rubbing his face. "Nightmares."

"Ah." Mark said. A few silent moments passed, interrupted only by the occasional pop of an ember in the fire or snoring. Occasionally a man would turn over but otherwise the group was still and quiet. The druids were all asleep at this moment, one of the few breaks the guards got from the endless chanting and singing. The three women slept off on their own, each taking turns watching over her companions. Bryrja was sitting upright when Isaac awoke. He had never spoken to her, she could understand Frederick's commands but would only speak her own language and only with the other two women, not even the other northmen.

"I have them too," Mark said eventually. "Nightmares. Sometimes it's airships dropping bombs, usually I'm trying to run while bullets are flying past me but I can't get anywhere or only move very slowly."

"Same." Isaac replied. "Not the airships, but getting shot at. Or trying to warn my brothers-in-arms, stop them from marching into your guns but no one listens and I see them torn apart by cannon balls and bullets. Dying men begging me for help but there's nothing I can do."

"How long did you serve?" Isaac asked after a short pause.

"Eight years, you?"

"Twenty-two."

"You don't look old enough to have served for twenty-two years."

"I'm thirty-seven years old, almost thirty-eight. I don't know how things work in Osterval, but in Wollema a boy can join the army at fifteen. Camp work only and half pay but at sixteen you can begin training and then fight at seventeen."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Ah. In Osterval you can only enlist at seventeen. Well, technically a boy can work as a page and then as a squire at seven and fourteen, possibly a knight at twenty-one but that's only for the upper classes. For us common folk joining the infantry is the only option. The knighthood is more symbolic now anyways, largely replaced by the regular army in actual battle the last few years"

Another pause in the conversation. Isaac was tired and part of him wished he hadn't taken up watch duty but he also knew that his mind was being calmed by speaking with Mark. Left alone he wouldn't be able to sleep, the memories would intrude on his mind and keep him awake as they had always done.

"Did you serve in the west? When the Tarids invaded?" Mark asked after a while.

"I did." Isaac replied. "I was initially on campaign to drive the northmen from the northeastern shores, hamper their ability to launch raids along the rivers. We received word that Tarid legions landed in the west. We had to pull forces away from the siege, by the time we made it past the mountains they had already destroyed many of our garrisons and their engineers had broken through the defenses at Visiford and they were using the city as their base of operations, sending smaller forces out to secure resources and disrupt attempts to organize the smaller militias."

"Is that when you encountered their guns?"

"Not at first. In the beginning it was all proper fighting. Shield wall to shield wall, our spears and crossbows and pikes against their swords and javelins. We outnumbered them but their organization and discipline put ours to shame. A few skirmishes but nothing decisive, at least not where I was involved. I know a few battles elsewhere resulted in heavy losses on both sides."

"The first time we met their guns came a month after we arrived." Isaac continued, staring into the fire. "The scouts reported a Tarid legion on the move, we set out to meet them. By the time we arrived they had already dug in and set up a fortified camp. Palisade wall, ditch with stakes all the way around. We should have held off, brought proper siege engines to bear on them but the commanders decided we could handle it with crossbows. Stay out of range of their javelins, rain bolts on them."

Mark chuckled. "Wouldn't be the first time impatient commanders decide to throw bodies against an obstacle."

"No, and it wouldn't be the last either. We encircled their camp and began closing in. We could see their guns but had no idea what they were. We thought they were spyglasses at first. Dozens of men armed with guns manned the walls, four wooden platforms with cannons mounted on them. Just before we got into range they loosed their guns on us. Bullets whistled overhead, targeting the crossbowmen and the pikemen since they didn't have shields. The cannons turned shields into splinters, I saw them punch through one soldier and kill the man behind him."

Mark was silently nodding as Isaac continued. "A retreat was called and we pulled back, continuing to take losses. A bullet struck my shield, left a good dent in it. I'm sure if we were closer it could have punched a hole through it. Hundreds of us fell in a minute. The wounded were crying out for help but none of us dared rescue them. Of course, we didn't know it at the time but if we had just held firm for a minute longer their guns would be exhausted. Their tanks only held enough air to effectively shoot twenty or so bullets."

"I remember hearing stories from soldiers who first encountered your guns," Mark said quietly. "The terror in their eyes telling about strange weapons that killed men by the dozen. Many of us were opposed to them when we began building our own, said it was dishonorable. But no one could argue they were effective and if we didn't start using guns our whole nation would be destroyed by them."

The conversation turned more pleasant after that. Isaac and Mark shared stories of their childhoods, what life was like in Wollema and Osterval. Eventually, the sun rose and the others awoke to prepare for the day as the heat quickly became unpleasant yet again.