"Well done," David says, patting my back.

I don't particularly think the praise is well deserved after today, but so be it.

Jace and Tim flank him, per usual. Jace has a rat roll, chewing as if his life depended on it. His eyes are closed in ecstasy, and David's arm shoots out to keep the man from running over a potted vine as he almost walks beyond our little group. Jace sidesteps without even opening his eyes, coming to a stop just on the other side of me. He opens his eyes and walks back over to stand by Tim as if nothing occurred, seemingly heedless of two pairs of eyes watching him.

Tim looks anywhere but his friend, his massive frame emanating frustrated bemusement, even as he nods his head and sends me a small smile. But then his hazel eyes flick to Tim, and his lips pull into a grimace of disgust.

"See, this here is the best. Momma Jett's don't look like much on the outside, but she's the myrmecophilous for rolls," Jace says, spewing bites of honeyed meat and bread. He tries to hand Tim a stick.

"Do you even be knowing what that word means?" Tim grunts out, backing out of range of the proffered roll while watching his friend, and especially the sticks in his hands, with disgust.

"What? It sounded good. Baron Jeryld used it the other day. Myrmecophilous. Sounds neat. Flavorful," Jace says, brows drawn together, as if perplexed by why his friend is questioning his word choices.

"You keep using that word. I do not think that word means what you think that word means," David says under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

I almost choke on a laugh.

"Comparing Momma Jetts to ants not be helping you case."

"But—but!" Jace looks confused, but then he looks at the wonderful things in his hands again. "But, you won't even try it!" Jace says around a mouthful, getting bread on Tim.

Tim wipes it away, flicking it back on Jace. The man doesn't seem to notice.

"Rat roll. Why would someone be naming it a rat roll? And why be you comparing it to ant?"

"Because it looks like a rat from how it's fried, not because it's made from rat meat! And what does any of this have to do with ants?!" Jace gestures with the roll, almost slapping David on the head.

David neatly steps forward, out of range. He shoots me a wink, grinning at something he sees on my face.

"If it not having rat meat, then why be naming it such a way?"

"Because it looks like a rat!"

"I not be eatin' it."

"Fine. I'll eat yours." Jace takes a large bite from the second stick he had tried to give Tim, then he pauses. "Tha' ish... unlessh you want it, boss?" he asks around a mouthful.

David looks at the proffered half-eaten stick-meat with amusement. "I'm good, Jace. You enjoy it."

Jace grins, showing brown meat and white bread in his teeth. "Thanksh, boss."

David shoots me a wink while Tim crosses his arms and watches his friend with something like amused exasperation on his dark face.

That's when Jace catches sight of me. His eyes light up and he throws an arm around my shoulders, not noticing the flinches that would've given him a bad day should I have lost control.

"Roland! Are rat rolls not the best thing on the four planets?"

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I look between an exasperated Tim, the begging eyes of Jace, and a highly amused David.

"Roland, this here is General Brackenridge." David gestures to the man walking towards us as the soldiers disperse.

Oh, ho. He just saved you big time.

True that. I just don't know how to take it. Both these men know who I am, and I don't wish to kill them.

We have killed for less.

I don't want to be that man any longer.

Your funeral. And mine.

I hold out my hand while shaking off the internal voice. I examine the straight faced man before me. His eyes are a steely grey and sharp despite the silver of his hair pulled back in a warrior's cue. His skin is weathered and dark from many hours in the sun.

He grunts as he reaches out to shake my hand, calloused grip strong from many hours holding the grip of the sword strapped to his waist. His arms are hard with corded muscle and he stands tall with a spryness from a man half his age.

He squeezes my hand, then drops it, standing back and studying me with the same curiosity I'm pinning him with.

"So you are the Kursk Sir David is allowing free rein with our men," the general says.

I nod.

"Few words, but your actions speak for you, boy. The changes to the drills you implemented yesterday did not go unnoticed," he says, voice as steely and deep as his eyes.

Internally, I wince. I might've swapped around a few things, such as the stretches. Most of the drills I noted to advice David on later... but some things—such as the jumping spin some of the younger men implemented that left their heads open for decapitation—I culled. Some things you just don't do, even if you are trying to impress prospective females.

The general nods. "Well done. I was set to give those young men a word, but you addressed it before it became a habit."

I breathe a near silent breath that could be construed as relief.

"What other things would you change?" he asks, hands behind his back and eyes open and assessing, but not hostile.

I clear my throat. "The drills," I begin with a sigh, feeling the need to rub my aching temples but refusing to show any pain before this predator. "The drills are standard practice, but the men lack the flexibility needed to flourish in a battle."

He looks surprised, an odd expression on his hard face. "Flexibility?"

"General, these forms are cut and dry. If your enemies react in such a predictable manner, then you will be just fine with your current drills."

"Battle is anything but," he says, voice hard as granite.

"Indeed."

"What would be your recommendation?"

I grunt out a sound that's half strangled huff and half whine. I cover it with a cough. This open discussion was not what I expected when David said we'd be meeting the general today.

I see David grinning from the corner of my eye.

"I would implement a manner of forms. They teach barehanded combat which will also help with the flexibility of mind needed with weapons without the pain of sparring with weapons; even wooden swords can break bones."

General Brackenridge nods, his steely grey eyes creasing in a small smile. "Sir David said I'd like you, boy. He was right. Walk with me."

I fall in beside him, watching a set of jousting knights on snorting destriers. The knights have not been training with the rest of the soldiers. They've been through enough battle and have no need of the drills and grunt work of the less-experienced.

"The Empire has a long history, richer than many remember. We weren't like this once, warring with each other and fighting with the other beings. There was peace under the Allfather and his High Kings. But that changed when the nations decided they wanted their own rulers. They left the wisdom of the High King; they chose not to follow who the Allfather appointed. We have been at war since those times. Sir David has been fighting for the return of this peace, and he brought me around some months back. I'm not proud of the things I did in the name of the Empire. No more will I choose such things. We threw our lot in with David when we joined you in saving the girl. We might die, but it's better to die brave than live as cowards." The man stops before a set of doors leading into a hallway leading to the officers' quarters.

"Friends and family are worth fighting for. Peace is worth sacrifice. You, my boy, are fighting for both and yet neither. Why here?"

I sense the question behind the words. Why did I do this? Why here?

His words awaken something deep within. Something I had buried beneath despair and revenge. Hope.

I turn my back to the brick wall of the barracks, gazing out at the men hanging around after the drills and sparring: joking, cutting up, and bashing each other over the head with sticks masquerading as wooden swords.

"By accident," I finally reply.

The man grunts out a sound that takes me a moment to recognize as laughter. "Boy, if there's one thing I know... it's that nothing is an accident. You are here for a reason. Shape up my soldiers and save this town from a premature death and we shall call it even for saving your furry hide."

I choke on a chuckle, then snap off a lazy salute. "Yes, sir!"

He nods, a smile lingering in his eyes, then disappears inside the doors. I hear his confident steps retreat into the distance.

I turn back to the training grounds. Tomorrow, the real training begins for these soldiers. I hope they're ready. I hope I'm ready.