“Everyone! We move the second our full squad gets here! Make sure your gear is up to snuff and take a final trip to the Infirmary. Get topped up on health and stamina.” Fennel barked out from the middle of his squad hall, making sure that his squad heard him over the sounds of the alarm bells.

Official training times ended two hours ago but most of his squad stuck around for an extended period, working on some group attack plans and such since they missed out yesterday. The squad rushed around, each member throwing away training weapons, replacing them with their true equipment.

Fennel’s head itched uncomfortably as he slid the whetstone down his sword blade. He hadn’t had time to properly maintain it with all of the recent chaos in his life as of late. Yet that wasn’t what truly bothered him, it was the fact that his squad had all of two days of official training. Along with the fact that it had barely been two weeks since the last raid. And a break-in in between. And of his whopping four new additions only one was a veteran legionnaire, two were total rookies that ran off as soon as training ended, and the last was a complete wildcard that nearly none of his squad trusted.

He looked up at the weapon rack, a brand new spear sat with daggers hanging on each side. Weapons that had been delivered today expressly for that wild card. To the average soldier, the spear looked nothing of note, a bland full metal shortspear, but Fennel grew up running in and out of the family forge. He could always tell quality, and that spear definitely fit the bill. A true master smith made that black iron spear. The daggers were the opposite, shimmering faintly in the dim light of the squad hall braziers. Faint ornate designs ran along the sides of the daggers, excessive for raid weaponry. Fennel recognized the luster. “Mithral.” He said to himself. He’d only held the foreign material once in his life, after his father returned from Denndrun with a caravan filled with ore.

Fennel shook his head, suppressing the mounting curiosity to inspect them further, and then held out his blade, checking the edge. While his blade wasn’t nearly as extravagant as Liam’s weapons, this basic longsword had actual battlefield experience. And Fennel knew it wouldn’t fail him. As he scrutinized his work on the blade, Lukans walked up to him, a worried expression on his face.

“Cap, do we have an ETA on those last three. You know where they went, right?” He asked, fiddling with some arrows in the quiver at his side.

Fennel sheathed his blade and placed his shield on his back. It clanged against his plate mail armor. “Yes, shouldn’t be more than thirty minutes. Are you set?” Fennel asked, picking up his helmet and hoping he wasn’t lying. Lukans followed after him.

“Yes, the whole backline is good to go sir!” Lukans said with a salute, attempting to stifle his obvious worry about the impending battle. A feeling Fennel shared, but wouldn’t dare speak of in the midst of his team. He needed them to be sharp and that started with him. His uncle's words echoed in his head. Yer the head. If the head starts shaking, odds are the whole damned body will too.

“And shaking gets you and them killed.” He finished the teaching underneath his breath. He grabbed the handles to the large double doors leading outside. Fennel closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then undid the clasp and pushed the open.

Afternoon light poured into the squad hall. Fennel rubbed his eyes to readjust to the light. He watched as dozens of soldiers dressed in casual clothes flooded into the different buildings that made up the Fourth Legion’s Barracks.

The sound of hooves and wooden wheels filled the air at the far end of the cobblestone road. Fennel turned and saw a number of transports making their way to the camp. The wagons are here? Already? He looked back up at the other squad halls. None of the other squads were even close to ready. Not a single ready sign hung from the squads. The alarm bell only rang out five minutes ago. And it was only struck when the raid was approximately two hours away.

“Why?” He asked aloud.

“Maybe the scouts messed, cough, up. Raid’s closer than we think.” A raspy feminine voice said to his left.

Fennel shook his head. “No, they don’t mess up.” He said to the wonderful feathered woman at his side.

“They did last week.” She said, a strange severity in her words. Fennel wasn’t sure how to respond to them, so he defaulted to the old faithful changing of subject.

“Does the squad look alright?”

“Yes. Though I can’t account for all of them.” Gloria whispered as she avoided straining her throat, her words almost disappearing amongst the raucous sounds of preparation.

“Right, those three shouldn’t be too long. And I’m betting they’re fine.”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“But is the squad fine?” She asked, turning around.

Fennel followed her gaze; the squad seemed so small. He joined A5 back when there were a full twenty soldiers. It had halved and he knew he was responsible for it. His knuckles popped as he closed his fists, the sounds hidden by the wagons that sped on by.

Each member now sat by the door, fully geared up and readily waiting for their final members to show up so they could head out. Fennel’s focus shifted to the large Minotauran who leaned up against the door, back turned away from the outside. Fennel’s eyes moved to the top of the man’s head. Only one of his black horns remained, the other grinded down, stopping just above the skin. Zaner surprisingly hadn’t said much today. No outbursts during the training as he usually had. Maybe he finally got some sense knocked into him. Might have to thank Liam for that. If he’d show up to training that is.

One of the wagons slid to a halt behind Fennel and Gloria, drawing Fennel’s attention away from his problematic frontliners. They turned and saw a man with short black hair and two tusks jutting out of his mouth hop off the stopped wagon, his chainmail armor rattling as he landed. Fennel and Gloria saluted the man. Cade Barnz, a lieutenant of the Fourth. A real hard ass but an effective and strong leader. But Fennel didn’t know why he stopped at his squad hall. Daila was his direct superior, not Barnz.

“Lieutenant Barnz.” Fennel said, straightening out his back. “Is something amiss, sir?” Fennel glanced behind the man. The wagon he came in on was turning around.

Barnz stopped in front of them, hands behind his back. His dark eyes scanned Fennel and Gloria, then on to the rest of their squad hall. They fell back on Fennel. The large tusked man scoffed. “Why is your sign not up Blines.” His eyes hard and voice firm. “Your squad seems ready to go.”

“We are still waiting for three members, sir. Guild business.” Fennel answered.

“Hmm. Too bad. Gather your men. You are to move out on the double.”

Fennel reached out. “Sir they will only be a few minutes. I won’t leave any of my team.” He told the lieutenant.

Barnz head tilted and popped, his eyes squinted at Fennel. “Are you disobeying a direct order? Get your team on this wagon right now. Or will I have to reprimand your entire squad?” The man rubbed one of his tusks while staring at Gloria. “I heard Tiamantis is terrible this time of year.”

Fennel bit back a retort. Barnz might not be who he answers to, but he still had to respect the officer. And his orders. He wouldn’t get his whole squad punished over something like this. He’d have a chance to speak with Daila before they hit the field anyway.

Turning around, Fennel yelled out the order. “A5, load up. We’re moving out!”

The members of the squad looked around at each other, surprise painting their faces. It didn’t last long as they each lined up outside the hall, heading for the wagon that just lowered its back.

“Quickly!” Barnz shouted to Fennel’s squad. “Is your squad always so slow, Blines? Dreadful.” He said before returning to the front seat of the wagon. Fennel followed him, but was stopped by the lieutenant. “Ah ah ah. In the back. With the rest of this squad, if you can even call it that.”

Fennel shoved the rising anger down. “Yes sir.” He said through gritted teeth as Barnz climbed up.

He walked around the wagon, making sure everyone got in before he himself jumped in. Once he confirmed it, he got inside and pulled the wagon’s back door up with the help of Lukans.

“What’s going on Cap?” He asked.

“Not sure. But I don’t like it.”

——

“Okay you two, be good for Mrs. Guntha. You know the drill, you do what she says no matter what.” Ingrid said, patting the two kids' heads.

“But Griddy, where are you going? You always stay with us on raid days.” Macie, Ingrid’s young sibling, said to her.

“I know, but I have some important business that can’t wait. It's for that new job I told you about. The one letting me buy you those tasty cakes from the baker.” Ingrid said as she laced up her boots and tied her new cloak.

“Ooo, I love those. Can you bring us some more tonight?” Her little brother, Kende asked, eyes filled with the hope of future sugary bliss.

Ingrid chuckled. “Only if I hear praise from Mrs. Guntha. Now off with you.”

Both of the kids beamed at the news and practically ran down the stairs leading to the decrepit building’s first floor. Ingrid looked out the window. The raid alarm bell rang continuously. She pulled out the orders she was given. A note given to her by her employer a week ago.

On the day of the raid, head straight for Mort’s den. Gather recon on his movements and the movements of those he is working with. Place more attention on his guests than him. Give me descriptions of the leaders of this new group. As much detail as possible. Names, tropes, and numbers. Good Luck.

-Toodles, Len

Ingrid rubbed her forehead. Again with the toodles. And she was already aware of who these guests of Mort’s were. She ran into them when she dropped off her final payment to the man. Ferals from around the Gloom. Not a part of Ranj’s group. The misguided Ferals, or that’s how Ranj put it. Ranj didn’t want to use the name they’d given themselves all those years ago.

Ingrid couldn’t blame her, but she wasn’t nearly as optimistic as her older friend. She could see the signs. And only one group worked like they did.

Ingrid climbed out of the window, then fell to the roof below, landing softly. She turned in the direction of Mort’s hideout, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

I hope I don’t see you there, Sister.