#Eroth chapter 6

The week after Hashim arrived in Ironhorn left very little time to think. Waking before light crept into the city, the soldiers at the Ironhorn garrison trained through most of the day, only breaking from intense physical training to be drilled in strategy. Unlike the Gahlalians, who fought in pairs, the Wirrsholi coordinated their strategy around groups of five to ten. They were trained rigorously to assemble in certain formations at a word’s notice. Wirrsholi strategies felt far more choreographed than the ones Hashim had been taught in Gahlal, which were designed for small skirmishes in towns and snowy hills. These were the strategies of a nation preparing for large-scale, open warfare. They practiced forming shield walls to protect archers from opposing fire and were even given some instruction on how to cripple a Galyrian war elephant.

Hashim found himself considering the rift between his current life and his life as a child. Born into the scholarly class, he had spent his life being raised by hired nannies and tutors. He would see his parents at dinner and on some weekends. He didn’t resent his parents, and he had far more good memories with his parents than bad ones. But throughout his childhood, he had been haunted by the feeling that he was not there to be loved, but to succeed and to continue his family’s presence in the Silverreach debate halls. This feeling is what ultimately pushed him to become a soldier. He had anticipated working as a city guard, or perhaps being stationed at a border town. He didn’t so much mind the place or the assignment, he just wanted it to be real. He had expected his parents to become angry, but they almost seemed pleased. Perhaps they envisioned him as pursuing some sort of ‘academic-of-the-people’ path, intending to serve among the masses for a few years before returning to the universities to advocate Gahlalian populism. Perhaps they were right. Either way, such long-term concerns didn’t seem so important now. All Hashim had time to consider was today — his squad, his commander, his instructions — and the coming months — war, the Galyrians, and revenge.

The group from Silverreach was combined with some of the soldiers from Owlcros to form a troop of seventy-five soldiers, divided into twelve squads. The Wirrsholi officers have made the decision to split up all Gahlalian pairs, in order to encourage conformity to Wirrsholi strategies. Many of the Gahlalians had been outraged, and Hashim shared some of their resentment. However, he also understood Wirrshol's desire for uniformity and predictability among their soldiers. However, Sub-Commander Akash had placed Sophia and him in the same squad, perhaps out of kindness, or perhaps randomly. Salah, who was in another squad, was still unable to participate in the vast majority of physical activities, being relegated to washing dishes instead.

In the evenings, Hashim returned exhausted to the barracks, collapsing into his cot. Each morning, he awake with thoughts of sleep, and each night he went to sleep with them. Stories of Galyrian brutality had fanned the flame of rage within Hashim, and in moments of lucidity, he worried it would consume him. He was in the midst of one of these bouts of worry when two officers walked into the garrison dining hall. Hashim was wiping down tables, one of his evening tasks. Their masks, which sported a golden horn in the top right, revealed them to be commanders. Hashim had come to understand some rudimentary rules in Wirrsholi mask-writing, enough to know that these were high-ranking officers. On their right arms, they wore rough bands of knotted, unpolished metal which almost seemed to glow with a faint purple-red glow. Hashim put his cloth down quickly and stood at attention.

“Hashim Akimidi?” said one of the commanders.

“Yes sir,” he said, puzzled.

“Please come with us.” Without another word, the officers walked out of the barracks, and Hashim hurried to follow them. They led him to the back of the garrison, and into a complex of stone buildings. Hashim had not been here, even on the day he was assigned to run messages. Eventually, they led him through a thick wooden door into a windowless stone room. Gesturing for him to take a seat at a strangle stone table in the center of the room, they sat across from him. Once he was seated they began their questioning immediately.

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“Soldier. We were reading through the report you gave regarding the Galyrian attack on you and your companions while on your way to Ironhorn.” The officer, the smaller of the two, cleared his throat before continuing. “You mentioned that you were allowed to take the equipment of the Galyrian who you and your companions killed. Is this the equipment in question?” He revealed the red gauntlets from a sack tied to his belt and placed them on the table in front of Hashim.

Becoming confused, Hashim answered cautiously. "Um, yes sir.”

The officer nodded and picked the gauntlets up again. “Good. I apologize for going through your things, but we needed to talk to you as soon as possible.” Hashim nodded quickly, and the officer continued. “Now, could you please recount your battle with him?”

Hashim did so, doing his best to explain the inhuman strength with which the assassin had blocked Sophia’s strikes. These officers did not take notes, they just stared at him from below their intricately dyed masks. Eventually, Hashim recounted the entire story. Without saying a word, the officers rose and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind them. Sometime later they returned and sat down in front of Hashim once again.

This time the larger officer spoke, and he spoke sternly, without any warmth. “Have you been to Galyria, soldier?”

“Galyria?” Hashim was shocked that they would ask this. “Of course not!”

“It would be unwise to lie to us, Hashim Akimidi.”

Hashim was becoming worried. “I’m not-“ he lowered his voice a bit, anxious to appear too defensive or disrespectful. “I’m not lying, sir. Why are you asking me this?”

The officer had a clear accusatory tone to his voice when he continued. “Where did you hear the name Mistkeep?”

Hashim was a bit taken aback — how could he tell them the truth? After a second, he decided lying would be an even worse idea. “I… I met a strange man. It might have been a dream. I don’t think so, but maybe. He… told me to inquire about it. I promise I don’t know anything more.”

The officers went silent for a second, glancing at each other. Eventually, the smaller one spoke. “Please stand up and put your hands behind your back.”

Hashim sat in stunned silence. It had all happened so quickly, and despite his urge to defend himself, he knew this would not help him. So, his heart beating faster every moment, he did as he was told. They bound his hands and asked him to sit again, before leaving the room again. This time they were gone for far longer. As the hours stretched by, Hashim’s sharp anxiety dulled into an ever-present sense of dread. When the officers returned, he almost felt a sense of relief. This time, there was a third man. He didn’t wear any headgear, so Hashim couldn’t tell his rank, but the officers seemed to treat him as a superior. This man wore only dull blue robes and held a staff made out of the same knotted blue metal the other officers wore as armbands. His grey hair was pulled into a bun, and he had a long handlebar mustache. He certainly did not blend in among other Saffremi, who preferred short hair and evenly-trimmed facial hair. He hummed a tune under his breath as he entered, strolling slowly around the room to stand on the other side of the table from Hashim. The other officers stood to his right, their postures betraying anxiety despite their faces being concealed.

The third man crossed his arms as he spoke. His tone was stern as well, but a slight sparkle in his eye relaxed Hashim slightly. “As you have been told, lying to us would not be a good idea. The man who told you about Mistkeep, what race was he?”

Hashim winced internally, knowing his answer would again seem ridiculous. “He seemed like a hybrid. But… more than that. He seemed like he was of all races... he seemed... I'm sorry, it's difficult to describe.”

To Hashim’s surprise, the officer chuckled. “My name is Overseer Amrit. When the commanders told me what you had said, I knew you weren’t lying. It’s still a wonder to really hear it, though.”

Hashim was more confused than anxious at this point, and he couldn’t muster a reply of any substance. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” he said meekly.

“Well, you inquired in the right place.

Hashim paused for a second, dreading the reaction to his words, but feeling unable not to utter them. “So, you know what Mistkeep is?”

Overseer Amrit’s smile widened. “No, not really. But you might be able to help us find out.” Then, pointing at Hashim, he addressed one of the commanders. “For Malok’s sake, take those binds off. Take him back to his barracks to retrieve his things, and meet me at the institute.”

Hashim was stunned, but he managed to focus on one thing. That name.