I. DAWN OF A NEW DAY

  The wind howled over the snow-covered plains of northern Sorn, a sea of blinding white that stretched off towards the horizon in every direction; interrupted only by the occasional cluster of barren trees. The smoke of a small military encampment rose lazily as the morning sun cast its impotent light. Men huddled around fires wrapped in thick linens and blankets as they smoked and shivered over coffee. The cooks and members of The Order passed out meals, attempting to keep spirits high during a mostly unexplained two-week halt. Rations were low and several squads had begun supplementing their dwindling supplies with hunting excursions. Results were varied between the roaming Dusk creatures and lack of grazing for any would be game. Morale was waning, and discipline had become lax as the threats of battle and war seemed to be a world away.

  The commander’s tent was situated in the center of the camp, a fire pit roared just outside as officers discussed the day’s schedule. Inside the tent however, the fire had died down and Fiora lay curled up on her cot, bundled in furs and several blankets. The tent flaps opened as a young mage poked her head inside. Her lank brown hair was hastily pinned up with an old barrette of tarnished silver, framing an exceptionally common face smudged with grime from scullery duties. She paused upon seeing the nest of blankets upon the cot, and shivered as the freezing air settled upon her.

  “Pardons Mistress Fiora…” the young woman began, reluctantly stepping into the frigid tent.

  Fiora groaned and the ball shifted slightly, contracting as she attempted to thwart the impending cold. The mage drew a fire glyph, though misspelling the symbols, causing it to explode and fizzle out before her face. She clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream and patted out the flame on her coat. Sheepishly, she glanced around the tent, expecting that someone had seen her faux pas. Confident that no one was indeed watching, she attempted the spell again, succeeding in setting a white-hot rune in the air before her. She drew another for the wind element, to circulate the fire's heat. The task came easier than the fire, but the healthy gusts she set loose were a bit much for the tent, as poles rattled and flaps whipped about. Fortunately, the heat was quickly circulated, and the frosted tent walls gave way to condensation.

  “Mistress, it is already an hour past dawn.” The young woman squeaked in a voice unsure of itself and unaccustomed to speaking to authority. “Your breakfast is prepared and your officers await the day’s orders.”

  Fiora flung the furs and covers from her head, and sat up with a stretch and look of confusion. The young mage looked away blushing fiercely, Fiora had slept topless. Her eyes held the spark of a drunk and her hair had a windswept look, not helped by the mage's unruly wind spell. Fiora scratched her head and she took another deep breath just as the wind spell puttered out with a whooshing sound. The young woman fidgeted slightly, unsure if she should leave or recast the rune.

  “Mind settin’ the heat back this way?” Fiora croaked as she draped the now damp fur over her shoulders. “And why am I just being woken now?”

  The woman hastily obliged before continuing. “Well, Mistress Rowena—”

  Fiora wrapped herself in the fur as she rose, grumbling as she shoved her feet into stiff boots. “This is a military camp, I am Major and she is a Captain.”

  “My apologies mis-Major.” The mage curtsied and bowed her head. “Captain Rowena said not to wake you, but I didn’t wish for you to miss breakfast, and the men of Sorn wished it.”

  Fiora sighed as she pulled on her tunic and a heavy gambeson, looking with dread to the chainmail that hung across from her. Her airy metallic chemise was abandoned, damaged beyond repair in a skirmish with the Sons of Epsilon. It wasn’t so much the fact that the garment would be freezing and tangle in her hair when donned, but the constraints it put upon her bosom. Chainmail was simply not made with women warriors in mind.

  Fiora held out her arms and waited, the mage stood awkwardly, her hair flailing about in the powerful gust. Fiora pointed to the chainmail and cleared her throat, spurring the young woman to help her put it on. The uncomfortable armor wasn’t the true cause of her discomfort, but rather the Xanavien Lieutenant she had acquired from Maleah at this campaign's start. It wasn’t surprising she would receive trouble from one of that woman’s subordinates. She had resolved to nip the issue in the bud at its onset, yet the man continued to thwart her and interfere with her command. It seemed to go beyond simple chauvinistic ideals; he seemed to take personal issue with her.

  “Where is Rowena?” Fiora gasped and swore as the mail tugged at her hair.

  “She is out hunting with Mistress Taryn’s soldiers.”

  Fiora swore again as the mage freed her locks, and the woman took it as displeasure at her slip of the tongue.

  “Apologies Mistress, er, Major.”

  Fiora smiled and laughed to herself. “Where are you from Caroline?”’

  “Northern Aes Sidhe, the land of bogs and endless mists.” She picked up a brush from a makeshift vanity mirror and proceeded to help Fiora with her hair. “A rather dreary place Mistress and I’d rather not bore you.”

  “Do you miss your home?” Fiora asked as Caroline brushed and pinned up her hair.

  Caroline sighed, pausing mid stroke as she stared dreamily to the flaming rune she had left in the center of the tent. “Aye, I’d give anything to go back right now.”

  Fiora allowed the woman to continue with her hair, thinking of a way to address the good Lieutenant. She was relieved that the soldiers of Sorn had rallied to her, not surprising however; Xanavene had few if any friends these days. Fiora was low enough in the pecking order to see and hear what the others had to say about the Xanavien Calvary in their ranks. Whereas the Colby-Nau and General Aichlan mostly directed their hatred at a single man, most others weren’t nearly so discerning. Not to mention Nicolas Arkona lacked the odd charm of his comely commanding officer.

  “What about you mistress? Do you miss your home?” Fiora hadn’t expected the conversation to continue, and was slow to respond. “Forget I asked mistress, I didn’t mean to offend.”

  “No, it is quite alright. I do wish to go home, but doubt it remains.” Fiora subtly dismissed Caroline and finished affixing her hair clasp. “Have a plate saved for me Caroline; I must speak with Master Arkona.”

  Fiora strode past, and stepped out into the cold and comparatively still winters air beyond her tent. Her officers glanced up from their conversations around the fire. They slowly rose or stood at attention as she hurriedly approached, and Fiora brusquely waved her hand for them to carry on. She paused and scanned the vicinity for the horseman or one of his subordinates, to no avail.

  “Where is Lieutenant Arkona?”

  Her men looked to one another, some shrugged others nodded in smug satisfaction, assuming the man would finally be punished. Fiora sighed and continued to search in vain, if her men wanted to see some good old-fashioned military public humiliation, then they certainly would be in for a treat. She brushed a bang from her face and blew out a puff of stream in the chill air, her nose and cheeks already beginning to sting.

  “Where the hell is he?”

  “Major…?”

  Fiora turned to the junior officer addressing her, a young man whose rank she in fact held not even a year ago. “Yes?”

  “The lieutenant took two squads, one of which was from First Sergeant Callas’ platoon, they went after a roaming dusk horde not an hour ago. They gave pursuit--”

  “Gods damn that man.” Fiora swore, shocking the young man with her uncharacteristic display of anger. “I gave explicit orders not to pursue! It’s almost always an ambush!”

  “With all due respect Major, aren’t you giving the fiends a bit too much credit? They are but mindless beasts are they not?”

  “I’ve been fighting these damn things for over a year,” Fiora shook her head, “they are not to be underestimated. I’ve…I’ve lost good friends to these things. We all have.”

  A cry went up on the outskirts of camp, warning bells were rung, and the thundering hooves of panicked horses threw up clouds of powdery snow. Fiora swore again as she shielded her eyes to the glare as she attempted to glimpse what the commotion was about. There were three riders, all visibly wounded and their horses ready to collapse from exhaustion. The most obvious issue was that of the supposed two squads that left, only three men returned.

  “Gather some clerics,” Fiora ordered, “they’re headed this way.”

  “Yes Major.” The man saluted stiffly and turned to carry out her orders.

  Fiora reached out and grabbed the junior officer as he was about to run off, nearly toppling the young man. “Wait, gather a search team as well, there are only three coming in; there could be more in the field.”

  Fiora looked around as her other officers milled about in confusion and spoke in excited tones to one another. It was to be expected, though slightly annoying nonetheless. The unit had been spared much activity as of late, the roaming beast had largely ignored them since they made a semi-permanent camp. Fiora walked over to the bell that was rung to call morning and evening formations and struck it three times. The officers looked up at her and conversations ceased with some of the more oblivious and distracted standing at attention.

  Fiora looked to each of the assembled faces as more warning bells went off and shouts rang out in the distance. “Prepare for battle.”

* * *

  Fiora paced impatiently, shedding her winter over garments haphazardly across the tent, leaving Caroline to scurry about collecting them. Having stripped to her undershirts, trousers and boots Fiora paused to absently examine the glowing glyph that sent forth a warm, gentle breeze. Caroline gathered the damp clothes and hung them up over and around the stove, stoking the fires before setting up another wind charm. While the young mages wind spells had gotten significantly better, and more stable, her fire spells were still not quite up to par. This observation led Fiora to believe that Alice’s boasting was not quite so unfounded after all. She tapped the strange symbol with her finger, it chimed softly and began to spin like a wind chime in the breeze.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Her mind was far too occupied on other issues to marvel at the glyph's strange properties however. Several of her men were lost this morning. In a blatant display of arrogance and insubordination, Lieutenant Arkona gave pursuit to a group of Haunted despite Fiora’s explicit order not to give chase to the roaming fiends. As a result of the foolhardy charge, he was led into a ‘nest’ of the creatures. His stubborn pride prevented him from retreating until it was too late, and because none of the Sorn soldiers he conscripted returned, it is widely believed that he sacrificed them. This only served to escalate the tensions between the Sorn and the loan units of Xanavene.

  Arkona was already poorly received by all, herself included. Particularly as it seemed he was constantly trying to undermine her authority and was often outright disrespectful. Now, he had taken it upon himself to abandon his post and take the lives of twelve out of twelve of the soldiers of Sorn he took with him on his unauthorized patrol, whereas only four Xanaveien’s of thirteen fell by comparison. Rumors that Arkon sacrificed the Sorn to make an escape had already circulated the camp. Talk that Fiora could not simply dismiss as prejudice. Then of course there were the six injured in the rescue attempt. Tensions had finally reached a breaking point and now Fiora was left with a tough decision.

  Fiora broke from her troubling thoughts as the tent flaps opened, sending in a gust of frigid air. She expected to see her erstwhile lieutenant brought before her in chains, but was relieved to see it was only Rowena and a Sorn commander. Rowena shivered before the stove as the commander fastened the tent flaps behind them. Fiora sighed, and ran her fingers through her hair, cutting off the formal introductions with a curt wave of the hand.

  “I am not disturbing you am I Major?” Rowena asked, hesitantly as she doffed her heavy coat.

  “No, not at all. You’re early if anything.” Fiora replied, welcoming them in.

  She circled a small, scratched and dinged wooden table, absently tracing several gouge marks with her fingers. She came to rest leaning against a chair back as Rowena and the commander handed their coats to Caroline. She knew she had seen the man before, though at the moment his name escaped her. Fiora suddenly regretted not allowing them the formalities, hopefully it won’t become awkward.

  “I must admit,” Fiora sighed. “I’ve never counseled another soldier before, let alone one whom I hardly know from another nation.”

  The man sneered, though his contempt was aimed at the Lieutenant, Fiora felt suddenly quite small. “This goes beyond a simple counseling I am afraid, Major.”

  Fiora hung her head and shifted her weight as Caroline brought out a tea service. “So it would seem…”

  “It must be done Major.”

  Fiora looked up to the stern-faced man who accompanied Rowena. The bayonet and two stars upon his shoulder signified him as a first sergeant. His graying hair was buzzed and his face clean shaven, his eyes bore the expression of a career military man. It was a look Fiora had once wished to attain, though now was having second thoughts about. She tried to search discreetly for a name plate, but it was obscured by his folded arms. She knew his name started with a G, but it eluded her.

  “The rank you hold was bestowed upon you by a General and commander of The Orders expeditionary knights, not least of all the son of the great General Garrick. Arkona and his men have shown that they aren’t willing to respect said rank and therefore must be disciplined or expelled. Our mission is far too great—”

  Fiora held up her hand, cutting off his emotional speech, she had no intention of being lectured. “I understand sergeant.”

  The man, Gunther as she recalled, stopped and stood at attention. “Yes Ma’am.”

  “I understand what must be done as well as you do.” She looked up to the man, stiff and avoiding her gaze. “I don’t want this getting back to Captain Miroshnik or Mister Séverin. It could cause issues and I’d rather the problem be resolved and forgotten.” Fiora met everyone’s gaze, even Caroline’s.

  It was no secret that Senka was reporting to Séverin, thinly veiled as harmless correspondence. Though their relationship couldn’t be seen as a sinister one, the exact purpose couldn’t be pinned down. Not many saw a reason for bringing a black mage along, if in fact they did encounter Osric along the way, there wasn’t much she could do. After the disaster at Rhode, Fiora doubted there was much anyone could do against that monster.

  “Um, Major…?” Rowena stepped forward; she had once more adopted shy and unsure of her place in the Army facade. “If I may speak freely…”

  Fiora’s expression softened, though the fatigue remained. “By all means.”

  Fiora smiled wanly, ignoring the sergeant’s look of disgust. She was well aware that many believed she coddled the woman due to a sexual attraction. The common belief was that any woman in the military was either a hardcore bitch, dyke or loose whore. A tragic belief, though deeply ingrained and with enough falling into the stereotype to keep it alive. Fiora tried to be an easy going commander, though still demanded respect the same as any other. So far it was hit or miss. She wasn’t exactly sure if they respected her or her rank. It shouldn’t matter either way, so long as they respected something about her, but surprisingly it did.

  Fiora eyed the sergeant out of the corner of her eye, still standing straight and stiff. “At ease sergeant, this is an informal gathering, at the moment.”

  He stood at ease, and turned to face Fiora, his expression no less severe. “Aye ma’am.”

  “I like many others,” Rowena began batting her lashes as she looked for sympathy and support from the men gathered. “In this camp at least, they are somewhat biased against the Xanaviens. But all prejudice aside, they simply cannot be trusted.”

  Gunther nodded his approval as Rowena raised her slender hand to count the reasons off her fingers. “They regularly disobey orders, only acting or complying when Arkona wishes it. Despite many attempts to make them comfortable, they isolate themselves and speak only in their mother tongue, looking upon all others with contempt.”

  “They jeopardize our entire operation in this region!” Gunther interrupted enthusiastically. “They are the ones who devastated our homeland Major, to think they have any interest or intentions of helping to reclaim it are utterly absurd!”

  Fiora sighed and motioned for them to take a seat as Caroline began to pour the rapidly cooling tea. “I am open to suggestions.”

  She pulled her seat out along with the others, but decided to remain leaning upon its back as they took their seats. Caroline returned the kettle to the fire as Rowena began to stir in a heaping spoonful of sweetened condensed milk straight from the can. Fiora rolled her shoulders, wishing for Clarissa’s Dawn imbued massage, or even Alice’s attempts to replicate it. This was not the first time she had heard these arguments and complaints, not even the second or third.

  “A court martial seems to be in order.” Gunther replied quickly, as he took his tea with honey, a surprise to Fiora.

  Fiora nodded slowly as she chewed her lower lip. She had come to a similar conclusion herself. Out of all of the suggestions it would cover their true motives the best should someone seek to make an inquiry, but there were still complications. She noticed Rowena’s questioning eyes, as if she were confused or perhaps bothered by the suggestion.

  “Um, excuse me,” Rowena asked as if she were afraid to be reprimanded for her questions or suggestions. “What is a court Marshal? Do you mean Count Marshal?”

  Fiora smiled and nearly laughed aloud. “No, it is indeed court Rowena. It is a military trial,” she looked to Gunther, catching his hard eyes with her own. “And unfortunately not a likely course of action. We would need to find an impartial body to represent him, get the commander's approval, not to mention our camp isn’t set up for prisoners—”

  “Not necessarily,” Gunther said quickly with a subtle grin, “the rules change somewhat when in the field.”

  Fiora frowned; those changes often favored death over confinement. “I’d rather not kill him if we don’t have to sergeant, it could lead to a mutiny.”

  “Of course Major.” He replied swiftly. “But these issues do still need to be addressed.”

  “I believe it’s a simple matter of not being used to this level of structure.” Rowena ventured in a mollifying tone, hoping her observation wasn’t out of line. “Captain Miroshnik is, incredibly lax to say the least, and General Aichlan cares only for results for the most part. Perhaps if they see we mean business so to speak, that we mean what we say, perhaps they will straighten up. Perhaps…”

  “And who shall detain them?” Gunther interjected dismissively. “Who will guard them? Their actions warrant years of confinement at a minimum. Do you suggest we march them back to Marquez?”

  Rowena shrunk visibly at his admonishment, though Fiora caught a flicker of something hateful in her eyes that betrayed her meek displays. Or perhaps she was imagining it. Either way, though right, Gunther had no cause to be so rude to the woman. Especially as she was his superior officer. Or perhaps that was cause enough, in the view of the hardline Sorn soldiers, Rowena was tolerated as a Captain at best.

  “I was not ready to count them out just yet Rowena; however, Arkona’s insubordination must be dealt with, as will the likely mutiny of his subordinates.” Fiora sighed gravely, feeling the full weight of command. “Lives were lost,” she continued as she rubbed her hands together for warmth. “And we can debate and justify all we like. That fact doesn’t change.”

  “So you have decided Major?” Gunther asked a bit too enthusiastically.

  Fiora remained silent for several moments as she mulled over the details, her mug of tea quickly losing steam. “We shall have a summary field court martial. Charge of insubordination resulting in loss of life.” Gunther retrieved a notebook and stick of charcoal to write out her edict as she continued. “Punishment is to be death by beheading. We’ve no time to erect gallows.”

  “Of course, Major.”

  “Place the Xanavien Calvary under guard as a precaution, be prepared for opposition, but for Dawns sake don’t instigate it.”

  Gunther nodded as he finished writing up what was essentially Arkona’s death warrant. “Anything else Major?”

  Fiora paused as she tried vainly to think of another way of dealing with the situation, but knew there were none. It was likely that before the day was through, two-thirds of Maleah’s Xanavien Calvary would face the sword or axe, and Fiora would be left explaining why. It wasn’t so much Maleah she was worried about, as it was her brother. There was something quite unsettling about that man; she had sensed it when they first met in Eefrit. Perhaps it was a trait that ran on the male side of her family. It was beyond her why Aichlan trusted the man, or perhaps he didn’t. Wasn’t the saying “keep your friends close and your enemy’s closer”?

  “Major?”

  “No.” Fiora snapped, coming back from her thoughts. “No, that is all, only try and be discreet about it.”

  “Of course, Major.” Gunther stood and put away his notes before rendering a stiff Sorn salute.

  Fiora returned the salute and he crisply turned to leave, filling the room briefly with winter's chill.

  “Fuck…”

  “This isn't going to be a fair trial, is it?” Rowena said at length, a hint of humor in her tone.

  Fiora looked up and regarded her in silence and debated upon her response. “No, but it doesn’t have to be.”

  Fiora considered taking a sip of the now iced tea; but dismissed the thought and pushed the cup away in disgust. The Xanavien’s were a nuisance and she, like the others, would be glad to be rid of them. That didn’t mean she didn’t view her plan of action as distasteful. Her mind was spinning from the thoughts of what would occur if she were found out. Aichlan and Alice would no doubt stand by her decision, as would the people and soldiers of Sorn. In any situation that would be more than enough. But the men in question were countrymen to that coldblooded monster Séverin, not to mention under the command of his beloved sister.

  “If it’s any consolation, I know you don’t mean that Fiora.”

  Fiora turned to face Rowena as she stood and gathered her coat. “But know also that I would have done no different for less noble reasons than yourself were our positions changed. They are animals, one and all. That they should be hunted and slaughtered as the savage beasts they are, it is the only fitting justice.”

  Fiora’s own worried gaze locked with the furor and hatred in Rowena’s, causing her stomach to turn. “Oh…”

  “If you’ll excuse me Major.” Rowena bowed deferentially before she took her coat and left.

  Fiora herself couldn’t say she forgave the Xanaviens for what they’d done to her homeland. She had been able to look past Maleah’s role in the atrocities, and as such was willing to give them a second chance, even now. Arkona was the issue; it was he who needed to be dealt with. Surely the others would fall in line without his influence, wouldn’t they? Fiora sighed as she collapsed upon her cot, knowing such was not the case. Caroline caressed the glowing orb that illuminated the room and the lights dimmed. Fiora took advantage of her gesture and buried herself under several furs. Caroline in turn erected a fire glyph in the center of the tent, it flared brightly before melting, and dripped hungry embers to the floor that she quickly stamped out with a cry of surprise and annoyance.