“Send them in,” Harin said quietly to Brago, looking over the small building that was built into the wall of the town itself. Hidden, tucked away.

Harin was exhausted, the repairs of the walls, Geral, the Council. All of it weighed on him. The threat of the Iron Guard was ever present. More and more had been spotted. He’d had to reduce their patrols outside the walls when fewer and fewer of his scouts had been returning to the town.

Cursed. Yestvata.

Atlan’s name for this place came unbidden to his mind. He was starting to believe it now.

A full squad of armored men looked to their commander in the darkness, only four of the Squad holding torches. Brago flinched at the order, his face telling Harin that he did not want to do what he was being ordered to do.

“Are you sure?” Brago asked back.

Harin bristled at the hesitation by his Praetorian. “Anastasia had eyes everywhere. If this gets out -” Hair paused, then looked Brago in the eyes. “If this gets out, the army will kill them. They will no longer trust their command. And out here,” Harin waved around the desolate town they’d been forced to take shelter in. “Out here that is the kiss of death by Kiever himself,”

Brago let his head bow, then he snapped back up and looked out at his men.

The gathered Praetorians stood tall, at the ready, the squad in formation. Light flashed off weapons and armor. Harin could see the sweat on their brows in the heat.

“Praetorians of Landor. You will take these men alive. Do not kill any of them, they are your kin, your fellow soldiers. You have the King’s command. Go,” Brago barked out, his voice of command holding authority in the darkness.

The sound of fifty men out on the march had somehow tricked Harin. Here, in the confines of sand and stone buildings, in the narrow streets of this foreign land, the sound of fifty men of a squad, dressed in their full armour was immense. The noise of rattling swords, scabbards, spear hafts, greaves and breastplates in the dark night was like a thunderclap.

“Break it down!” The Primus of the squad shouted.

Three men ran forward with a battering ram, a log with a bronze cap on it. They swung back and then forward. The door, decades old, it’s hinges rusted through flew inward. Shouting erupted inside of the building as the squad poured in.

The moments slid by slowly for Harin, a sick feeling in his gut. He hoped his sister was wrong. He nudged at his wineskin of water slung at his side, feeling the weight. It was half full. Rationing had hurt them all in this heat, but the wells were running dry. Two legions of men working all day in the heat were too much strain for the small towns wells. None of the wells he’d ordered dug had had any amount of water in the last two days.

“Stop him!” a voice shouted on the inside of the building.

Harin walked into the building, following his men into the chaos.

The inside of the building was almost hazy. The air was thick, the walls coated in a strange way. Harin almost groaned when he realized it was why they were there. The walls were coated in water. Droplets collected on the stones of the wall and built up pressure until they dropped to the ground.

“Ussil save me, it’s true,” Harin said.

“Unhand me! Now!”

“You shite!”

Shouts echoed around the corners of the hallways. The sound of fighting, men bouncing off stone walls, sloshing of water. All of it was hostile of Harin’s ears. All of it within the confines of the small building they’d raided. The building had few rooms. The violence was so close that Harin could feel it in his guts as he walked forward. He put his hand on the wet wall as not to falter.

The hallway was pristine, like the insides of most of the buildings. They had not been exposed to the elements. The stone was not much different from Landor’s, cut from the Car Lauch. For a moment Harin thought, what if this had been quarried form the Car Lauch? Then, he dismissed the idea, knowing the cost of such a venture.

“Bastards!”

Harin’s ears were assaulted as he turned the stone corner at the end of the hallway. He put his hand on Dawnbringer, the comfortable leather handle like a glove.

“Let me go first,” Brago said from behind Harin.

“No, I must lead the way,” Harin pushed himself forward, into the shouting and yelling.

The scene before him was chaos. Three naked men were fighting with the soldiers, the Praetorian he’d sent before him. The squad was many, but the men they fought were soldiers of the Fourth, Marius’ men. They’d been through the pit for Landor in the south, and some in the north.

The shouting was quickly extinguished, a candle in the wind as all three men were clubbed and punched across the chin.

“Gods, I had hoped it was not true,” Brago said form behind Harin.

Harin surveyed the scene. Three copper tubs of steaming water sat before him, a small fire beside each to keep the water hot.

“I’d hoped too Brago, with this selfishness they have forced my hand. I fear what must be done now,” Harin said.

Brago shouted orders to his Praetorian as Harin walked away, his heart heavy. This was a crime against the rest of the soldiers in his army. When they were at war, the use of the resources of the army became paramount.

Harin knew what he’d have to do, and he hated these men for forcing his hand.

—--

“Why?” Harin asked, pacing in front of the three men in the building he’d taken over as his command center.

The building was in the center of the ghost town, the only feature that

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The three men stood at attention, their tunics still soaked from when his Praetorian had quickly dressed their unconscious bodies. Two were Primus’ and one a full Legate.

“Who else was involved, who knew?” Harin asked.

This sort of thing was bound to destroy the Legion’s morale. They were short on water, still on half rations with the five wells in this town. All of them seeps, slowly filling and easily emptied by his men and women. The heat gave them thirst. This place hardly sated it.

And the three soldiers in front of him had used the water for their own comfort. They’d filled tubs with the stuff, heating the tubs to the point of steam while their own men suffered in the heat, day in and day out.

Harin walked the room in front of the soldiers, their hands bound behind them. Hate followed his steps.

“Your king asked you a question!” Brago cuffed the Legate on the back of the head.

Harin winced. He hated hitting a captured man. But he also knew if he did not sort his out, who was responsible for it, he’d have a mutiny on his hands. One life, or three lives for his whole armies? He had no choice.

“I give you one more chance. If you answer me, the man that answers men will be free to leave this place,”

The Legate laughed, spitting blood on the ground in front of Harin as he paced.

Harin stopped before he stepped in the blood and phlegm. He turned. “Do you doubt me, Legate?”

The Legate narrowed his eyes.

“Of course you do, but you all know what became of the General, of Gallis. He is under The Slab. Breathing,” Harin reminded them.

The two Primus’ looked back and forth, nodding to each other.

“We found this place when we’d cleared the city. We-”

The Legate struck out, kicking the man beside him to the ground, and before any of them had time to react, he threw his weight behind a kick to the talking Primus’ face.

The wet crunch as the legates foot connected with the Primus’ face almost made Harin gag. “Stop him!” Harin shouted.

Chaos erupted, shouting from all sides, men running to stop the Legate, to hold the other Primus.

The Praetorians, who’d been standing just behind the Legate struck out at the man’s back leg, two landing licks to throw him to the ground.

“Help the Primus!” Harin said, rushing forward.

He was shoved to the side at Brago raced past him. Harin almost fell at the Praetorian knelt at the Primus’ side. He steadied himself and went in beside Brago.

“Speak to me, brother,” Brago said as he cradled the injured man’s head.

Blood came out in bubbles, then in gobs as the man coughed. His body was racked in pain as he vomited, white teeth in the bile as Brago helped him to his side to spit it out.

“Take him outside and tie him up,” Harin pointed at the scowling Legate.

“Gods, is he alive? All we wanted was a bath, how could you Jamie!” The primus that was left standing, shouted.

The Legate, Jamie, spit on the ground as he was pulled out of the room. He said nothing.

“Get them both out of here!” Harin said to his Praetorians.

“Is he going to make it?” Harin asked Brago.

The injured man passed out, his eyes closed and his breath came in wheezes. His teeth, what was left of them were jagged and broken things in the front of his face. Blood still oozed from the mans mouth.

“He will. Although he might not speak. That’s half of his tongue,”

Brago pointed to a glob of red and pink flesh on the floor in the puddle of blood.

“God’s above. What the pit,” Harin said.

Brago nodded. “The Legate wanted no truths told. He’ll go to his gave for this,”

“He was on his way there, why did he did this?” Harin said.

“Some men, they will fight to the end. Some men do not care for the consequences of life, or for their own death. They live by a different code than us,”

“Gods, I cannot understand it,” Harin said.

Brago sighed, the blood pooled as the man in front of them started to still. “He’s out, let us take him to the surgeon,”

“He’s paid the price, he will never speak again,”

A soft knock at the door frame pulled Harin’s attention away from the man on the floor. His eyes found Anastasia, her look dark.

“What is it?” He asked.

Anastasia straightened herself up. “Brother, I must speak with you,”

Harin waved her away and turned back to Brago. “Another time sister,”

Harin felt her hand on his shoulder. He collected himself before turning.

“Anastasia, I cannot step away, I do not have the time for it right now. We have a problem I need to be dealing with,”

Anastasia shook her hear. “The legions are growing angry. Upset at this place. I worry about what they will do when they find out about this, another spit in their face in this place,” Anastasia said.

“Gods, do they already know?” Harin asked, knowing that even within his Legions, she had her sources. Honest sources were hard to come by as a king, but he knew that she was a true spymaster. One that knew more than his own.

“They know, and they know that the Council delays their approach,”

Harin pushed his hand through his hair, blowing out a breath through his teeth.

—--

Harin stood at attention in the heat, sweat trickling down his face. He’d not slept. He could feel the weight of exhaustion on his face, shoulders. He’d lost a step that night, talking with Brago and his leaders late into the night.

The army was loosing their moral. They knew what faced them. They knew the rumors.

The Legions were at attention. All of the men and women, including the baggage train were assembled in front of him. A small platform had been erected at hip height. A cross beam had been installed with one noose tied to it’s center.

The Legate, Jamie was atop a small platform, the sun beating down on him. Harin could see his eyes squinting out at the men and women of the Legions of Landor.

Harin took two steps up the platform, standing beside the Legate. His commanders had warned him against such a move. The Legate had proven to be formidable, even with him hands tied behind his back. Harin ignored them, the noose around the Legates neck enough to stop him from attacking Harin.

“You all know why we are here,” Harin spoke to the Legions.

The crowd murmured, but none spoke up.

“We depend on each other out here. We depend on each and every one of our fellow soldiers to survive out here. You all that we wait for the Legions of the Council. You all know that we are here as a Vanguard in this war against the Horde,”

Silence greeted his comments. Harin knew that it was a risk to be honest with his legions. To give voice to their fears was to give them life. Soldiers all talked. They all had their own fears, they all spoke of the rumors of the army. But he knew their strength, he knew the value of the truth.

Trust. He had to trust his army.

“We will survive this war. We will survive this desert,”

Truth was a harsh thing. He could feel the sting of his words on his people.

“We are here because some have decided that their own comfort was more important than our survival. This man before you decided to abuse his position. It is true, what you’ve heard. I stand before you to tell you that we must all own our actions,”

“Hang him!” A shout from the crowd called out.

Harin move to the Legate, standing beside him. He didn’t look at him, knowing what hate must be in his heart for Harin.

“Hang him? Hang the man responsible for this?” Harin called out.

“HANG HIM!” A call came again, echoed by more this time.

“Let us hang who is truly responsible for this crime! These me used water to BATHE! They must be held accountable.” Harin shouted.

“HANG HIM!” The call we taken up again, more animated this time. It echoed out in the walled town they’d arrayed in.

“Let us hang the one who is responsible for this crime. Water is life out here!” Harin joined in.

“HANG, HANG, HANG!” The legions began to chant.

Harin nodded, keeping his face a mask. He turned to the legate, Jamie and met his gaze. The legate spit on the platform, daring Harin with his eyes.

“You know what you’ve done, you know what it means to steal from the Legions,” Harin said quietly.

In front of them, the chants continued.

“HANG, HANG, HANG!”

Jamie said nothing, lifting up his chin, barring his noosed throat.

There was one noose on the platform, hanging from a crossbeam above them both.

Harin pulled his sword, Dawnbringer from it’s scabbard. The handle felt comfortable in his hands. Leather wrapped by his own grandfather. The sweat of his line impregnated the thing. It gave him strength to know his line, the Sunborn line had always held this sword. The blade glinted in the sun, polished to a shine the night before.

Jamie glanced down at the blade.

Harin stepped behind the Legate, reversing the blade.

Cheers rose up from the Legions.

Harin stuck downward, driving the blade through the Jamie’s bindings.

Brago, standing to the side of the platform strode towards it. Harin held up his hand to stop the Praetorian.

Harin sheathed Dawnbringer and pulled the noose from the legates neck.

Shouts of anger rose up from the crowd, turning it’s tune from bloodlust to anger quickly.

“If someone is to hang for the crimes of my Legions, the Legions of Landor, it will be the man who is responsible for it!” Harin called out, slipping the rough noose around his own neck.

Jamie looked at him, his mouth open in surprise.

The noose was rough around his neck, the fibers biting into his skin. The itch was immediate, the weight of the rope heavy on his neck and shoulders.

“I am Harin Sunborn, and it is I who must answer for my people!” Harin called out.

Jamie didn’t move, his feet rooted in place.

“If one of us commits a crime, it is I, the king who must own the crime!” Harin shouted. His heart beat faster and faster in his chest. His ears rang, his hands shook. He could feel the fear welling up in his stomach.

The shouts turned angry from before him. Brago shouted out in anger, mounting the platform. “Sire!”

Harin waved him away. “Legate, my life is in your hands. Legions! My life is in your hands. From this moment on,”

Harin let his hands drop to his side. None moved in the parade ground. All eyes were on him. Wind whispered over the wall behind him.

“Sire?” Brago said.

Harin knew that he was risking it all. He knew that some of his men and women would think him insane. But his army needed a leader. He knew from his grandfather, from his father that a real leader won hearts, not just minds. He’d spent long enough with ink and paper. It was time for him to show his army, show his nation that he was more than the Ink King.

“We will survive this. I promise you. If you let me, I will lead our people to victory! If you doubt me, any man or women in this army can step forward and carry out the sentence. No harm will befall you. This army is one army, one heart, or it is nothing!” Harin said, his voice cracking.

The army stood stoically.

Harin looked out into the eyes of the men and women of the army. He found his sister among them. Her eyebrow corked, a small smile playing on her lips.

Jamie, the legate who’d hours before, had stomped the life from one of his fellow solders knelt. He knelt on the platform that he’d been strung up on, close to death by Harin’s own command.

“Sire,” Jamie said, bowing his head. “Forgive me,”

One by one, the men and women of the Legions began to kneel. They moved as a wave, each kneeling and Bowning their heads. The anger, the rage, the bloodlust relaced by something else.

Harin felt tears in his eyes, burning in the dry Deseret air.

“BLOOD AND HONOR!” Brago shouted, kneeling with the rest.

Harin nodded to Jamie who looked up at Harin.

“BLOOD AND HONOR!” Harin shouted out, his voice horse.