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—apparently 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—Lancer 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—most 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—but 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—how 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—we 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—primary frontline combatant for this operation—should 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-!”
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“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—or 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—it'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—with 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—to 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—maybe 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—which 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—this 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—silently 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—you'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—he 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—the ‘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—always 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—but 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—but 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—and 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—I 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—earlier 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—especially 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—where I wouldn’t be surprised if at least one of those desk monkeys makes regular reports to Ms. ‘Firefingers’. Just so you're aware—that 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—Bran 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—engaging 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.”