The first thing he was aware of was a burning sensation along his hands as he moved his arms. His eyes clenched, sending tendrils of pain along the left side of his face. His entire body was sore as if he’d run the length of the city ten times. Gritting his teeth, Harren opened his eyes. Gilded furniture and fine artwork greeted him. He could only be in the Marshal’s manse.

He grunted, pulling himself upright with his elbows to lean against the headboard of his bed for a better look. “Easy,” a voice called out to him.

Harren startled as a hand touched his shoulder and his head whipped around to see Brian looking down at him from a chair by the bed. Harren grinned, the left side of his face aching as he did so. “I suppose I’m not dead then?” he asked, looking to his hands, wrapped thick with bandages. He could feel similar padding adhered along one of his cheeks, stretching across his temple. He still wore his clothes from the battle, singed black in places with flecks of blood scattered across the fabric. Everything ached.

Brian shook his head with a smile. “And thank the Goddess for that. I’ve heard rumors of what happened out there.”

Brian’s words sent Harren’s mind reeling back to the tunnel. “How many of my men made it out it?”

Brian bit his lip. “There were the ones who brought you back. Beyond that, I don’t know.”

Harren deflated, fearing the worst. He’d failed them again. He’d spent his whole life thinking he was born to lead, but every opportunity seemed to end in disaster. Something burned in the corners of his eyes, and he blinked it away.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages. Never even got a chance to congratulate you on the first competition,” he said, forcing a smile to his lips, wanting to focus on the good.

Brian beamed at that, leaning back in his chair. “Goddess forgive me, but the look on Reginald’s face was the sweetest sight I’ve ever seen.”

A genuine chuckle escaped Harren. “News even reached the barracks on that one. Soldiers love hearing about nobles getting taken down a peg or two.”

“They must love you then,” Brian said with a wink.

Harren laughed. Yesterday he might have cuffed Brian over the head for his disrespect, but that all seemed so small and petty in the face of the fact that he was alive and seeing his brother again. Besides- It’d probably hurt him more than Brian. “Tell me everything that’s happened,” he said.

Brian did, regaling him with his exploits with Grim and the assistance Rafe had provided them. His eyes sparkled as he talked about a young noblewoman he’d met and was sharing poetry with. He wouldn’t tell Harren who she was which made Harren suspect she was from a lower-class family of which their father wouldn’t approve, but Harren could give a shit less right now. The old man could kick rocks. He was alive.

Brian finished his tale by sheepishly raising his right hand into Harren’s view, revealing a splinted finger. “Rafe did this to me,” he muttered.

Harren laughed. “Good. If he didn’t, I would have,” he said, “Have you seen yourself hold a sword?”

Brian narrowed his eyes, lowering the hand. “I have, but not for very long on account of you knocking it from my grasp.”

Harren shook his head. “Who’s your second?”

Brian sighed. “Rafe is insisting it be him.”

“Is he sober?” Harren asked.

Brian nodded.

“Then you are in surprisingly capable hands. I’d back you myself, but-” He raised his bandaged hands.

“Rafe? A good hand with a sword?” Brian asked, skepticism dripping from his words.

Harren nodded in understanding. “If he wasn’t, some poor girl’s brother would have run him through in a duel by now.”

Brian cocked his head, considering that information. “Suppose I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

Harren experimentally flexed his fingers, finding he could clench them into a fist, though it hurt like all hell. “He’s an ass, but a useful one and loyal,” he said with a sigh, remembering their last parting. Even after that, the man was helping Brian- doubtless spouting some malarky about doing it for the fun of it. Rafe never worked for fun.

A moment of quiet passed between them. “General Peltar asked to see you once you were moving and feeling up to it,” Brian said, breaking the quiet.

“He pulled through?” Harren asked, meeting Brian’s gaze.

Brian nodded, reaching behind his head to scratch his neck. “Had to see a God touched healer. He was in rough shape. Good as new now,” he said, “Want me to tell him you’re awake?”

Harren took a deep breath. Supposed he’d have to eventually. He nodded and Brian rose to his feet. The boy looked over his shoulder. “Cheer up. You’re a hero,” he said with a smile.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

Harren watched him disappear through the doorway. A hero? He certainly didn’t feel like one. Memories of grasping hands in the cold darkness of the tunnel returned unbidden and he shivered. The newfound solitude felt oppressive. He didn’t want to be left alone with his thoughts.

As the quiet stretched, Harren flexed his aching limbs to relieve some of the soreness. A moment later, the door clicked and creaked as it opened. Peltar strode into the room. He wore a fresh shirt unsullied by the gaping wound across his gut, but the ash and blood of the day still caked his face, and his hair was singed where flames had licked him earlier. That he was whole was a miracle. The effectiveness of god-touched healing always amazed him. It was shame those touched by the goddess died so young.

Peltar eased himself into the seat Brian had vacated, eyes on Haren. “I’d never have expected you to be the one coming to my rescue,” he said, eyes hard. “In fact, when Longreen assigned you a command, I was furious. Do you know why?”

Harren was quiet. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. He shook his head.

“Because first sons always think they know best and think only of themselves,” Peltar explained. “A fact you proved early on, at great cost to the men under your command.”

Harren swallowed, not daring to speak.

“Longreen didn’t assign you to the tunnel,” he said, “I did.” Peltar leaned forward. “He approved it, but I demanded it.”

Harren found his nerve. “What are you hoping to gain by telling me this?”

Peltar met Harren’s gaze. “I’m telling you because honor demands it,” he said, “and because a good leader considers the fact that they may have been wrong.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Harren didn’t know what to say.

Peltar ran a hand along the fresh, gray stubble lining his jaw. “I took accounts from your men,” he said.

Peltar raised a finger. “Four of them said they owed you their lives and wouldn’t have made it out of the tunnel without you.” He raised a second finger. “You endangered yourself to save several of my personal guard.” He raised a third finger. “Grim Thorne was asked to observe your operation and reported to the Marshal that both you and the fifth performed admirably and corroborated the reports of your men.”

Relief rushed through Harren at the knowledge Grim hadn’t hung him out to dry.

Peltar raised a fourth finger. “Lastly, you came back for me, treading the thin line between bravery and madness.”

Peltar lowered his hand and leaned back in the chair. “Truth be told, I didn’t think you capable of caring for anyone but yourself, but it seems even I can be surprised from time to time.”

Harren was quiet a moment, digesting the backhanded compliment. “Did anyone else make it out of the tunnel?” he asked.

Peltar took a deep breath and released it slowly. He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. “I’m afraid not. Somebody sealed the entry point soon after you’d entered. Anyone who didn’t make it out with you is lost.”

He expected it, but it still stung. Harren nodded in understanding then winced as he unconsciously tried to clench his fists.

Peltar’s eyes drifted to Harren’s hands. “For saving my life, I’d let you ask a boon of me. I’ve already given a favorable assessment to the Marshal to which he responded with approval.”

Harren’s breath caught. That was an invitation back to court and his old life- currying favor, politicking, socializing with the most powerful people in the north, and having a seat at the table, himself. He could ask to be relieved of duty and he truly believed Peltar would honor it and see it done.

He hesitated, looking to his bandaged hands. It all seemed so hollow now after seeing the faces of men who died to preserve it. Men with families and lives of their own that were dashed away as Gavin’s had been. For that matter- would Gavin even allow Harren to return to his own life, or would he find himself gutted in an alleyway to preserve the quartermaster’s secrets?

Harren turned to meet Peltar’s gaze. “I’d ask two things,” he said.

Peltar raised an eyebrow but did not immediately object.

“For the men of the Fifth who died, I’d like a sum of gold to be sent to their families should they have them. Enough to tide them a few years,” he said.

“Done,” Peltar answered.

Harren took a deep breath. “Second, my quartermaster, Gavin Acron, is a veteran of the previous war. He claimed to me that he was wrongfully declared dead and had his assets seized for the war effort. He lacked any recourse found himself conscripted once more. Is there any way his case could be appealed?”

Peltar frowned at that request and sighed. “A far more frequent occurrence than the crown would care to admit. As the king raised taxes, many nobles called in non-existent debts and seized assets they had no rights to from men who weren’t there to defend themselves.” He shook his head. “I spent more time than I care to admit making cases for men who served the Sixth.”

“Is there anything to be done?” Harren asked.

“He have family?” Peltar asked.

Harren nodded. “Lost.”

“Shackled with debt into indentured servitude,” Peltar answered. “After so long, there’s no recourse for the property, but both the King and the Marshal take these cases very seriously. The family may yet be found and cleared of whatever claims were made.”

Peltar ran a hand through his greying hair. “I’ll coordinate the payment with your quartermaster and verify the details of his story.” he said.

Peltar met Harren’s gaze. “You seem to be trying to win over your men.” he noted.

“Difficult in my position,” Harren said.

“Difficult in any position,” Peltar remarked. He was quiet a moment. “The Marshal said you are welcome to attend court and you may do so as your duties permit.”

Harren nodded in understanding.

“You can rest here until you’re feeling fit to move about. Your hands and face were singed pretty badly, but the healer believed you’ll mend fine given time and don’t need the services of a god touched healer,” Peltar said.

Harren grunted as he turned his battered body, shifting himself to rise from the bed. He planted his feet and groaned as he stood to his full height. “If it’s all the same, I’d like to recover at the barracks.”

Peltar chuckled. “Want your men to see you like this, eh?”

Harren grinned, ignoring the pain as he did so. “Am I that transparent?”

Peltar rose to his feet beside Harren. “Subtlety isn’t for soldiers.” He held out a hand to Harren. “Welcome back to Sixth Legion, Prefecuts.”

Harren reached out and shook Peltar’s hand.

As Harren pulled his hand back, Peltar’s grip tightened. The General met his eyes. “Make no mistake, Barrington- dark days are ahead of us. There will be reprisals for what we did today, and I’ve never seen the Sons muster such a force before.”

“The red sun rises,” Harren answered.