The Officer’s staff room was a bleak, stone chamber nestled in the corner of the first barracks where the prime cohort resided along with the Sixth Legion Commander, Peltar Rathstad who sat at the head of the long wooden table. Harren sat on the far side of the table from Peltar, the fifth cohort being in as low a standing as ever. The other nine prefectus’ lined the table, having just assembled for an emergency staff meeting.
He looked across the faces, seeing third sons and bastard offshoots of men he’d once dined with. Men whose respect he’d once held. Even they looked down on him now, his cohort being the lowest of the ten. A punishment duty.
Peltar cleared his throat as if to get their attention, though nobody was talking. He was a balding man of middling height, black hair interspersed with grey over a long face. Peltar was a noble of low standing, hardly more than citizen if truth be told, but he had distinguished himself in the war and gained the Marshal’s favor. Not enough to join the court. That’d be improper. But, he held a position of significant authority in the Venaran army.
Peltar straightened the parchment on the table before him which held the Legion’s weekly assignment as directed by the Marshal and refined by Peltar.
“Men, the thaw is upon us, and I think you all know what that means,” Peltar said.
The mood in the room immediately darkened, faces around the table turning grim. Harren looked around the table with a perplexed expression. Prefectus Glorian of the second Cohort spoke, “Sir, I think our newest members of the staff could use some enlightening.”
Glorian flashed Harren a genuine smile. Harren forced a weak one to his face in return. He hated having his shortcomings pointed out, even in a helpful manner.
Peltar nodded. “Operations beyond the wall cease during the frost season. Too easy for our men to get pinned down or ambushed in the warrens. At the thaw, the Marshal likes us to make a show of strength to make our presence known. Especially after recent events.” His eyes settled on Harren for a moment.
Harren scowled, not daring to rise to the bait.
“Over winter, our questioners have been hard at work extracting operational information from any Sons we captured. This week, we’ll be putting the intel to good use,” he paused, eyes settling on Harren once more. “If you pull your boot from a rabid dog’s throat, you’re liable to get bloodied yourself. Today we increase the pressure.”
The officers in the room pounded the table in approval, a thundering sound that echoed in the chamber. Harren gritted his teeth. No doubt the fifth would be the first into the fray.
Peltar nodded his approval at the enthusiasm then returned his attention to the unrolled parchment. “We have word on eight supply depots that will be split between the first four cohorts. Strike fast and seize the armaments and supplies therein. Sixth and seventh are receiving orders to enforce order on the streets and intercept any reinforcing parties.” Peltar took a deep breath. “Eighth through tenth- you lucked out this year. You’ll be picking up the slack in the inner city and covering duties where needed.”
A whoop sounded from the three lucky officers, followed by good-natured grumblings from the others.
Peltar’s eyes settled on Harren. “Fifth, you have tunnel duty.”
The room got quiet. Harren nodded slowly, having expected the worst. The Sons frequently burrowed beneath the walls and through the catacombs beneath the city to avoid having to use the gates. The exact size of the network was unknown, but whenever an entrance was discovered, somebody had to push through and collapse it at the source. An honor, he’d learned, that usually fell to the Fifth Cohort.
Peltar’s gaze swept across the room, and he began to hand out rolled scrolls across the table to each Prefectus. “These contain the particulars of your individual orders and the location of the targets. I expect you to coordinate amongst yourselves to ensure these operations go smoothly and that you don’t get in eachother’s way.”
His gaze swept across the assembled men once more. “Any questions?”
“Prisoners?” One man asked.
“If possible,” Peltar answered. They’re not the priority.
“Civilians?” Another asked.
“If they get in your way, put them down. I’ll not risk our men on chance beyond the wall,” Peltar growled.
Harren spoke up, “Do we have any intelligence on the numbers we’ll be facing?”
“Irrelevant,” Peltar said, “Use overwhelming force and get the job done. We have superiority in the field if we strike hard and fast.”
That answer made Harren uncomfortable but didn’t seem to faze any of the other officers. After that the room was quiet as the general staff inspected their individual orders. Harren was passed his scroll and he unrolled the parchment, looking across a roughly drawn map of the city. The sigil of each cohort marked their targets. Harren’s was the only one within the wall.
The location was clear- a residential area in the market district. Looked like the Sons had purchased one of the homes under the guise of a Venaran merchant who hadn’t been registered as paying tariffs through the city gates for some years. Poor bastard was likely feeding the crows in some ditch along the road, his identity being used to mask the rebel operations.
Harren sighed. The orders were clear. They didn’t know where the tunnel ended, so there was only one avenue of attack. Strike hard and hope they don’t collapse the passage on your heads.
***
Harren walked down the lanes between the Venaran Barracks. It was late in the evening and soldiers still milled about as the night shifts left the safety of the fort to relieve the day shifts. Slush squelched beneath his boots. He’d seen many thaws this far north, but it still surprised how quickly the weather turned. The snowbanks had already faded and within a few weeks the remains would be but a frigid memory.
Harren sighed, his breath barely fogging in the cool air. He’d have to report back to his quartermaster, Gavin. In the past two weeks it had been made abundantly obvious that any authority he commanded over the men in the fifth was derived solely from Gavin’s approval.
He’d thought the man to be exaggerating until he’d tried to test the limits, assigning the quartermaster to latrine duty. The man had done so without complaint, but the next day when Peltar came to inspect the barracks, not a single man followed Harren’s directions until asked a third time or reprimanded by Peltar himself. That night, he’d found his pillow to be filled with muck from the latrines. He was still trying to get the smell out of his room.
After that, he’d fallen into line. It was just one more insult to add to the long list of grievances he was keeping, and a small one at that. Gavin was easy to work with so long as things were done his way.
Harren reached Barracks #3 and pushed the door open. Off duty men sat in the common area, playing cards at the table. Most nodded, acknowledging his arrival. Some few saluted his approach which Harren returned as he strode to the rear hallway where he knew he’d find Gavin working in his office. As he reached the door, he knocked.
“Come in,” a voice called.
Harren pushed the latch and opened the door to reveal the spindly man hunched over his desk, quill paused mid-sentence as he gazed up at Harren from under his spectacles. “Anything interesting from old man Peltar?”
Harren nodded as he edged into the room, closing the door behind him and taking a seat on the edge of the cot in the small room. Gavin set the quill in an inkpot and turned the chair to regard Harren, crossing his legs as he did so. The man’s eyebrow raised as if prompting an answer to his question.
Harren said nothing, passing the rolled piece of parchment with their orders to Gavin. The quartermaster accepted it, unrolling it and straightening his spectacles as his eyes took in the details. A wide smile spread across his lips. “By the Divines, sir. This is the best news I’ve gotten all year.”
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Harren snorted. “Best news?”
Gavin carefully rolled the piece of parchment up. “Do you have any idea how much this information is worth? How long until the orders are executed?”
Harren frowned. “You’re not thinking of telling the Sons? That’d be treason.”
Gavin chuckled. “Sir, for the crimes of misappropriating his majesty’s coin and supplies, you and I could already share a spotlight on the gallows.” He placed the parchment on the table. “This is a rare opportunity for us to make a nice profit and save our own skins. Or did you want to die in a hole beneath the ground?”
“It could get other men killed,” Harren said.
“More’s the pity,” Gavin answered, eyes flicking back to the scroll.
Harren didn’t disagree, but it felt wrong to just accept it. His consternation must have shown on his face as Gavin spoke up. “Do you know what the difference between you and me is, Harren?”
Harren looked up to meet the man’s gaze as Gavin continued. “You still think you can rise up, regain your honor.” Gavin spat the last word. “Do you think our king gives a shit about what happens to us in this squalid little backwater? We exist within a patched framework of laws enforced by blood, far removed from the luxury of doing the right thing.”
An anger seemed to be building in the usually calm man. “Fuck Venar for sending us here, fuck the Marshal for using us like chaff, and fuck the other cohorts for not being in the fifth.” He leaned closer to Harren. “Tell me, is it wrong, to do what is best for yourself and your men? We gave up our lives to be here, and what has Venar given us?” His voice lowered. “What has the Marshal given you?”
Harren felt an indignant anger boil to the surface at Gavin’s words. He wasn’t wrong. One mistake and he had been cast down. Expendable. Chaff. He took a deep breath. “What did they do to you?” he asked.
Gavin blinked as if surprised by the question. He was quiet a long moment, a hand absently reaching to the bronze locket around his neck. “A lifetime ago, I was a legal clerk with a wife and child. Had my own practice managing contracts for the wealthy. Lived a few blocks from the Royal Palace in Venar. My country had been good to me,” he said, eyes clouded by memory.
“The prince died,” he continued, “And I thought it my duty to join the war effort.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I was a fool. Joined up and served, managing supply logistics. Never saw any real combat, thank the Divines.” He was quiet another moment, eyes glancing back to the scroll on the table.
“Long story short, I served for three years and returned home. When I got back, I found everything was gone. My practice was now a tailor shop, my home was owned by somebody else, and my family was nowhere to be found.” He shook his head. “It was the counting houses who first told me I had been declared dead by the state. All my assets seized for the war effort.” A scowl crossed his lips but soon faded. “Had no means to even find my family. What coin I had soon ran out.”
“And you joined the army?” Harren asked, cocking his head.
Gavin spat. “I was rounded up off the street and pressed into service like every other poor fool here. I gave three years and lost everything. Then they forced me right back here for the crime of having nothing.”
Harren nodded slowly. He heard mistakes like this had been made, but he’d also thought them appropriately rectified. “Your tour must be over by now. They don’t press people for more than five years unless they committed a crime.”
Gavin grimaced. “My tour is for life. Let’s leave it at that, my lord,” he said, the bitterness in the last word making it sound more like an insult.
A quiet fell over the room.
Harren stared at the piece of parchment. It was a death sentence. “What would we do then, sell it off and desert?”
Gavin shook his head. “You think too small. We’re going to follow the orders to the letter like good little soldiers, but first we’ll need to make contact with some less upstanding friends of mine.” He looked to Harren. “How long till the orders are due to be carried out?”
“Business as usual tomorrow while the Cohorts coordinate logistics. The next day, we’ll move before dawn,” Harren answered.
Gavin leaned back in his chair, “Then we’d best get ready.”
***
Harren walked alongside Gavin at the head of a column of ten men the quartermaster had hand-picked. His most trusted of the fifth. They’d left the fort on the pretense of a patrol. The gate guards wouldn’t know any better, and if anyone inquired tomorrow, Harren would say they’d been scouting for the upcoming assault. That pretense limited their movement to the inner city, but Gavin claimed to have contacts within the wall.
The soldiers seemed at ease, so Harren tried to be as well. His whole life he’d been told stories of the Son’s savagery. Hells, they’d even featured as boogey men in many of his bedtime stories as a child. Their upcoming orders were giving him more trepidation than he cared to admit.
Their boots squelched as they walked through the stagnant melt covering the cobblestone of the streets. Already, his feet were starting to get wet as they marched along the empty streets. Curfew had long since been in effect and the only people on the road were other Venaran patrols and the occasional contingent of the Earl’s men. Harren still wondered to this day why the Marshal allowed them to take up arms outside his direct authority.
Dim candlelight shined from many of the homes and the moon had waxed enough to give a fair amount of light. Reflected off the remaining snow, it was more than enough to see clearly. Harren’s skin still prickled, nonetheless. Beyond the walls of the fort, he always felt exposed as if the Sons were watching and just waiting for the moment to strike. Patrols beyond the wall were absolute hell on his nerves. So far patrolling the King’s Road had been uneventful, but he knew that could quickly change.
“Almost there,” Gavin muttered.
Harren cocked his head as they neared a squat stone structure bearing the Thorne Banner. It was one of the many guardhouses they kept throughout the city. He said nothing as Gavin walked up to the pair of sentries keeping watch outside. Their eyes followed him from inside their iron helms and they tensed, straightening as they drew close enough to be dangerous.
“Evening, gents,” Gavin called out.
Neither guard answered, hands drifting to the axes at their sides.
Gavin ignored the gesture. “I’ve got business with your commander.”
The man on the left spat. “I wasn’t told of no business.”
Gavin smiled. “And yet, here we are just swimming in the stuff.”
The man on the right snorted. “Piss off.”
“We have an opportunity he’ll be very interested to hear about.” Gavin fished in his pocket and pulled out a pair of golden hearts. “In fact, I think everyone here could profit from the exchange.”
The guards looked from Gavin, to the coin in his hand, to each other. They both shrugged. The man on the left, muttered. “Worth a hiding,” as he turned to unlock the door and disappeared inside.
The second guard collected the coins from Gavin, his glare still full of distrust. A few moments later, his companion returned with a bleary-eyed soldier in tow, greying hair ruffled as if he had been woken from sleep. A scowl was written into his hard chiseled face, ringed by hints of stubble. He looked about to tear somebody a new asshole until his eyes landed on Gavin.
All traces of anger fell away, and the man sighed. “This better be important.”
“Good to see you too, Darren. I’ve got the need to broker a deal,” Gavin answered.
Darren stepped outside and looked to the two guardsmen. “Consider yourselves relieved of duty for the next ten minutes.”
The guards snapped into the Rillish salute, fists over hearts and heads bowed. Without a word, they turned and walked inside, closing the door behind them. Darren turned his attention back to Gavin then looked Harren up and down. “Got a new boss, eh?”
“The last one was disagreeable,” Gavin answered.
A couple of men behind Harren chuckled. Harren fought the urge to grimace, a chill running down his spine. “Harren Barrington,” he said, introducing himself.
Darren shrugged as if who he was were was of no consequence, then turned back to Gavin. “Stakes?”
Harren answered before Gavin could, “We’re raiding the Sons. The information is for when and where.”
Darren turned back to him, eyes narrowed as if surprised he answered. “So?”
Gavin answered this time, “So, we’re looking to broker a deal to make sure it goes easy on our end and that this is nice and profitable for all parties involved.”
“Cut?” Darren asked.
Gavin paused, making a show of considering. “Thirty percent, with direct involvement.”
The guard snorted. “Direct involvement? She won’t even bend over to pick up anything less than a dozen hearts. For that, an even split.”
“Done,” Gavin answered without hesitation.
Darren grinned. “That easy? You must be nervous.”
“I’ll be on tunnel duty within the week. We need this closed,” Gavin answered.
Darren crossed his arms and let out a low whistle. “You saying tonight?”
“I’m saying yesterday,” Gavin answered.
Darren barked a laugh. “You want me to walk my sorry ass into the Marshal’s estate and pull her from a party?”
“I sure as hell can’t do it,” Gavin answered.
Darren shook his head. “Sixty-forty, and ten is mine under the table.”
Gavin scowled. “That’s ridiculous. You know what this is worth.”
Darren nodded. “Aye, I see a good opportunity when it comes by.” He shrugged. “Otherwise, it can wait till tomorrow.”
Gavin was quiet a long moment. “Fine. As you say,” he said, “but only if the deal is sealed tonight.”
Darren hesitated a moment before holding out his arm. Gavin clasped his forearm in the Rillish fashion, and they shook on it. As they released one another, Darren grunted. “I’ll need the particulars.”
Gavin looked to Harren and Harren pulled out the scroll with the orders, handing it to Darren. The Rillish soldier’s eyebrows raised as he perused the script and map. “Old Longreen is looking to stir the hornets’ nest, eh?”
Darren rolled the parchment and passed it back to Harren somewhat reluctantly, then let his eyes drift across their party. “Bring me a copy of that tomorrow morning. I’ll make sure the deal is in place for tonight, and we’ll pass along the information. Where did you want the drop?”
“At the end of the tunnel. Spoils of war go to the Cohort that finds them after all. Saves me the trouble of creatively writing it into the books,” Gavin answered.
Darren raised an eyebrow. “On your heads be it.” Without another word, he turned and strode back into the guardhouse.
Harren glanced to Gavin out of the corner of his eye. “The Thornes work with the Sons?”
Gavin shrugged. “When the interests align. Darren’s turned me down flat in the past. I try to avoid dealing with the Sons directly on information. Not much to stop them from grabbing me and putting me on a rack to get it the old-fashioned way.”
Harren nodded in acknowledgement. “What do you do with the gold?” he asked.
“It goes towards our pension plan,” Gavin answered.”
Harren blinked. “What?”
Gavin chuckled. “You’ll see.”