Roland de Charney never found war to be compelling. He had seen enough of it to be disabused of the romanticism. There was honor and glory of a sort to be found. But that was found in the soul of man. When the world was at its worst it was the rising above it that chivalry found its calling. In the terrible crucible of fear and violence was where courage and compassion shone its brightest. People called him the paladin of the age. The title sat ill with him. But he would not shirk that mantle. It was the least that he could do.

King Lauric du Elitz-Auburn’s recalling of Sir Edwin Saker had disturbed the royal court. It was not a decision he made willingly. Marquis Turenne, the royal marshal, had unequivocally declared his intention to resign if the Briar Thorn was not reinstated. It was a controversial stance. The diplomatic implications of his return were grim. It was tantamount to an admission that the current conflict could not be resolved without arms. It was ironic that that the Marquis would be the firmest supporter of the Knight’s reinstatement. Their previous political associations had been inimical.

On a personal level, Roland had little love for the Briar Thorn. He made him doubt things he was afraid to doubt. To call him a friend would have been a gross oversimplification. Circumstance had them bear their souls at each other. It was impossible to maintain any illusions when you knew too much. War was coming. The powers he served seemed to be hurtling to that conclusion. He had seen this all before. When the killing started, they would need the Briar thorn. He was no soldier or knight. Not even an officer like the many he had trained. Sir Edwin Saker was an engine of war.

The crown had expected Sir Saker to make landfall on the northern coast and ride south to the capital. It was expected of him to present himself before the court. Instead he made the long journey south through the Dawn Straights. Landing in Apier he had not moved from the port town for weeks. It was an unexpected course of action. Some considered his unorthodox dalliance gross disrespect to the crown. Roland suspected otherwise. The Marquis Turenne too shared his suspicions. Sir Edwin had not just been sitting at Apier doing nothing. There were signs of movement from all around the Kingdom. Dispatch riders came and went from the town daily.

Prior to his dismissal, Sir Edwin Saker previously held Marquis Turenne’s office. There were mounds of maps and papers left behind by the previous incumbent. Though several sensitive documents were destroyed on his dismissal, most of his work had been inherited by the Turenne administration. Amongst the many contingencies drafted by previous staff, Apier was the staging ground of several operations. When Turenne informed Roland of this, he was not certain if he should feel reassured by the discovery. Roland resolved to meet his old acquaintance face to face before anything could happen.

Several days on the road and his blood cooled, Roland wondered what he was doing. His initial flush of irritation had prompted him to write angry words. His letter to Sir Edwin would have probably arrived before he would. It was an unbecoming outburst. What did he hope to achieve in this meeting? He like Sir Edwin were men from a different time. When the late queen passed, he had left the circles of power just like Sir Edwin. They were never officially replaced, they just walked away.

For all of Marquis Turenne’s effort to keep him in the loop, he was effectively an outsider. Bram had done well in the new order. Thoughts of his old friend brought a smile to his face. How uncomplicated the world must be for him. It had been uncomplicated for Roland as well. No. That was a lie. It was never simple. It was just weighed less on him in the past. The burden was the same. Perspective had changed things.

The Lords manor was visible from miles around. It sat on the single patch of hill near the coast. The property was the home and office of the estate steward. Rather than being governed by feudal vassals, the practice of viceroyalties was reintroduced by the late queen. Her large personal holdings were impossible to administer on her own. Ennobling new vassals or parceling it out to existing ones was a loss of power she would not abide. Instead, revocable viceroyalties as something she resurrected from the Old Empire. It was a highly unpopular precedent. The older landed families might tolerate new blood, but this spoke far too much of absolutism. Roland couldn’t help a wry smile. It was Marcus, the Free City mercenary who had first bought up the system. Edwin and Marcus had been the Queens left hand to his and Bram’s right.

Marcus sat on a rocking chair in the courtyard. The afternoon sun was fading, and the chilling air had woken him. It had been a good nap. Nothing better after excellent lunch. He had always been a languid idler. Though these days he found himself wearing faster than he would like. Sleep would creep in a way that would never have taken him in his youth. And the nights! He could never sleep as deeply as he once had. Rising in the odd hours unable to find his way back to restfulness. He was an old stag amongst young bucks. Even the oldest veterans in the crew were younger than he was.

It took a moment for him to collect his thoughts. There wasn’t so much a haze but rather a propensity for his mind to wander. But it was there. His mind and the fog. Marcus willed himself into doing something. More out of habit than conscious thought, he drew a smoking pipe from his gown. It was as he was producing prodigious clouds that a pale rider clattered into the courtyard. Marcus chuckled to himself. He had a bet to win.

‘Ho, there traveler! What brings your lordship to my humble abode?’

Roland halted his mount as he turned to face the voice that addressed him. It was from a wizen old man puffing at a pipe. His horse turned her muzzle from the wafting fumes. Smoking was a habit he did not care for. Evidently neither did his horse. The old man seemed to find this amusing and blew even larger gouts of smoke.

‘The Kings’ business. Tell me good master, does Sir Edwin Saker take lodgings at your house?’

‘Aye, mayhap he might,’ the old proprietor grunted. ‘Who’s asking?’

‘A friend.’

‘S’at right?’

‘It is,’ Roland replied. He was getting irritated at the glee the man took at blowing smoke at him. He was purposefully discomforting his mount. There was something maddeningly familiar with the old man. He got right under his skin. The lazy southern drawl the proprietor affected was almost insolent in its exaggeration.

‘Well his lordship is not seeing guests today. Come around later.’

‘Later?’

Roland made way for another rider who entered the courtyard. He was a courier of sorts. The dusty clothes and bulging leather bag spoke of his profession. He entered the tavern without so much as a look at the old man.

‘Is Sir Edwin seeing them?’ Roland protested.

‘Yes.’

‘But not me?’

‘Yep.’

With an easy insolence he was almost leering at him. Roland had seen the best and worst in men. Despite witnessing the depth of evil man may sink to, petty meanness had always gotten a rise from him. He dismounted his horse. At least he was at the right place.

‘He will be seeing me.’

‘Nope.’

‘Stop me,’ Roland snarled.

He had been on the road for far too long. Fresh annoyance towards Sir Edwin rose in his chest. Whatever game he was playing he would have nothing to do with it. Entering the tavern and storming past several alarmed guests, he quickly found the place to be far larger than expected. People were starting to look at him. Roland had that effect on people. Frustration and self-consciousness made him dart through the rooms. After a while of directionless searching, an audible cough interrupted him.

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‘If you are quite done making a fool of yourself sir?’ It was the old man from the courtyard.

‘Take me to him,’ Roland sighed.

‘Very well then. And your horse?’

Roland blinked for a moment then remembered that he had abandoned his mount. It was a poor thing to do. A knight always looked after his horse before himself. ‘Have her stabled and brushed.’

‘That would be three- ‘

Roland fished into his purse and threw a smattering of heavy gold coins. It was well above whatever would have been asked for. His flash of irritation had subsided when he had made a scene. But the money-grubbing nature of the old man had rekindled that anger.

Marcus chuckled inwardly. Roland had not recognized him. A part of him enjoyed pulling off the ploy. He would be winning that bet. However, a smaller part was saddened by his deception. He enjoyed ribbing Roland as much as Edwin did. But he was not entirely joyous. Had he changed so much that he was unrecognizable?

Ascending a flight of stairs with an incensed highborn in tow, Marcus made for his friends’ door. A set of veiled curtains shuttered the room from the afternoon rays. Still there was a healthy amount of light in the room. The noon sea breeze made the curtains dance on their frames. Gentle notes emanated from the open door. It was a slow plucking of strings rather than a coherent melody. Marcus paused at the threshold. His friend sat absently on an armchair with a harp in hand. It was a beautiful old piece. Age yellowed scrimshaw capped in silver.

An angry Roland sidled past him into the room. Perhaps it was surprise. Or a thousand other reasons of chance. But in that instant Sir Edwin’s hand spasmed, crushing the instrument in his grip. A look of shock then forlorn horror flashed in his eyes. Then his head snapped towards the newcomers. That gave Roland pause. For an instant, the Briar Thorn was looking out of those soulless orbs. Both men knew his killing moods. All three held still for a moment. Sir Edwin’s face remained neutral as it had been. However, an internal struggle was fought then won in a moment. A practiced smile slid over Sir Edwin’s face. He gently rose and carelessly tossed the broken harp aside.

‘Ah, de Charney. You grace us with your presence,’ Sir Edwin greeted. Roland was clearly wrongfooted and stood dumbly at the threshold. ‘I see you have already met Marcus.’

‘I ah… I’m sorry…’ Roland apologized.

Marcus winced. He had just won his bet but felt no pleasure in it. There again was another glimpse of the Briar Thorn at the apology. But his old friend had a firm grip on himself. In a way the pleasant cordiality Sir Edwin affected was harder than any outburst of emotion. Roland turned to him with a look of consternation. Marcus gave him his best apologetic grin. It was more smug than conciliatory. Of all the things that had happened, Roland found this revelation the most striking.

The reunion was reserved. Whatever emotional impetus had driven them had died at their meeting. Roland only half herd Sir Edwin’s words. He was still reeling from Marcus’s changes. Time had its toll. It had been well over a decade since they last met. A blink of the eye for a highborn. Especially for one who had spent that time on the road. A small part Roland had thought that his life at home would have been trapped in amber. Seeing Marcus again bought him down from that ivory tower.

‘So, do you bring any news from the crown then?’ Sir Edwin asked. The final question had broken through Roland’s thoughts. ‘Are you done brooding? Don’t make that face. You look like kicked puppy.’

‘You would know,’ snorted Roland.

‘That is a low blow Sir Knight.’

‘You have done worse,’ grunted Marcus.

Both men laughed at that. Roland sat uncomfortably through the exchange. They shared an off sense of humor that he could never take to. It was true, the Briar Thorn had done worse. Despite the urbane sensibilities Marcus affected, he too was a man of violence.

‘I’ll ask again. Do you bring any orders from the crown?’ Sir Edwin repeated.

Roland said nothing for a while. Did he bring word from the crown? He had received no explicit orders from the court. Yet he did know their desires and will. It was a tricky situation he had landed himself in. To act within an official capacity was to potently subvert royal authority. It could be construed as an act of treason. Yet to assume inaction could equally invite censure for dereliction of duty.

‘Damned if you do, damned if you don’t eh? Sir Edwin chuckled. ‘Oh, yes things are that bad. Our new King is as vigorous as dear Leone ever was. Don’t give me that look. We just happened to be on the side that was doing the purging back in the day.’

‘The King has taken no such measures Sir Edwin. The excesses you ascribe to the previous regime have been wrought by you. And you alone bear the responsibility. The dismantling and rearrangement of past institutions have been heavy handed but are understandable. Internal factional politics have made the termination of potential threats wise if not necessary.’

‘Yes. I agree with your assessment.’

‘Good. Then you can see why you had been dismissed. Why your regiments had to be dissolved.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then why the bitterness?’

Sir Edwin looked at his guest with honest confusion. ‘What bitterness? I hold no rancor towards the throne.’

‘Then why are we having this discussion? Why speak of treason!’

‘Treason?’ Sir Edwin arched a brow.

‘Lese majeste!’

Marcus and Edwin both looked at each other for a moment before once again breaking into uproarious laughter. Saw the growing confusion then outrage on Roland’s face. That bought on a fresh bout of howling mirth. Sir Edwin’s laughter took on a maniacal edge that gave pause to Marcus. Roland gave him a worried look. He had always known that Sir Edwin’s mind was a little touched, but this was something new.

“I think that if the crown were so sensitive, we both would have been hung, drawn, and quartered a thousand times over by now. There would not be a pound of intact flesh left on the either of us. No. Whatever may be true for the court, our sentiments are beyond their interests. The King has it out for us old boy… Now that I think of it, I might be the oldest in this room. I certainly look it.’ Marcus shook his head at that.

‘If the crown was set against you, then why were you summoned?’ Roland protested.

‘We are here because we are here. Let us not get sidetracked. Do you have any orders Roland?’ Sighed Sir Edwin.

He had none. When he explained the reason for his presence it sounded more like self-justification. Marcus shook his head. Roland felt even more foolish of his choices. He had left his weapons and harness at home. He had bought no retainers nor additional funds. When Sir Edwin and Marcus turned their conversation to other matters, Roland realized that he had nothing to contribute. A set of maps were unfurled, and correspondences drafted. Though he was no leader of armies, Roland could understand that an army was being mustered. Lists of old names and past acquaintances were recalled. Then it struck him.

‘You are reassembling the vanguard!’ He shouted. He received a sideward glance from Marcus and nothing from Sir Edwin. ‘Why? You are making a mistake here. Raising your old banners could be seen as an act of rebellion. Your orders were to present yourself at court. Not muster an army.’

‘And then what?’ Sir Edwin sighed. ‘I sit and wait whilst they politic and delay? Do you understand the current force dispositions ready to march?’ Prince Maximillian has the Leibstandarte at Kanitz. Graf Gerber and Parchwitz have already rallied and massed on the border. It looks like all the western markgraf’s and a few eastern ones are mobilizing as well. What allies I have amongst the Tzar’s boyars tell me that an armistice is being negotiated between them and the Reich. We will be feeling the full hammer of the Kaiser. It will take time, but it will come. The Kaiser is getting old Roland. He is still feeling the sting of his past defeats. Prince Maximilian needs a victory under him if he is to be elected the next Kaiser. Peace was never an option.’

None of this was anything new to Roland. It was merely a topic that was avoided. Only Turenne vocally addressed the impending crisis. That had earnt his cause little favor. A collective sense of denial had overtaken the court. Everything felt as if it would be alright. That if diplomacy failed the realm could muster its finest and ride down the impertinent invaders. Bram made that seem possible. His firm resolve and passionate belief in the courage of Auburn chivalry that was reassuring was macabre. Faced with the reems of paper and uncaring statistics the delusion disturbing. Perhaps that was why he was here. He could not buy into fantasy.

Noting Roland’s change of demeanor Sir Edwin continued. ‘The opening months of this conflict will be vital. We must stall their vanguard then destroy it before the flood of eastern hordes overwhelm us.’

‘Short and lively,’ Roland remarked.

‘Yes,’ Replied Sir Edwin.

‘Is that how we win this war Sir Edwin?’

‘No,’ he admitted. ‘This is how I earn time for someone else to fix this problem. We only have two regiments and several knightly orders at our disposal. Calling the men to their colors will take time Roland. The regimental canton system was butchered when I retired. They will have none of the sharpness of the Reich forces. Out of all our immediate assets the Royal Sapper Regiment is the only competent body. No, I am not reassembling the vanguard regiment. You did a thorough job in disbanding it. What I am doing is assembling a force that is at least competent enough to face our eastern counterparts. It just so happens that the men I am assembling were once a part of my regiment.’

‘Then what can we do?’

‘Do? We can hope that I win when the fighting starts. Perhaps the winds of politics will change after a few victories. This is beyond me Roland. We are at a disadvantage in terms of both quality and quantity. There is only a brief window to delay the inevitable. I am out matched as a commander in this fight. Those animals have finally learnt something.’ Sir Edwin chuckled ruefully and shook his head.

“What we can do right now,’ interrupted Marcus, ‘is have some coffee. I must say that all this paper shuffling is dreadfully taxing on the faculties. Why I do believe that we have yet to offer any refreshments to our guest. Anyhow it capital that you are here Roland. Dining with old Edwin has been a dour affair. He has northern pallet. Come, stay for supper. It will be good to have somebody who can appreciate the menus I compose. With four diners I can positively flex my culinary repertoire.’