Harren staggered forward, forcing one tired, aching leg before the other. The fort was still abuzz with word of the battle beyond the wall as soldiers buzzed among the barracks like flies, discovering who had lived and who had died. Some mourned, a bottle of something hard in their hands, eyes staring off into space. Others stumbled around as if dazed, blood and soot splashed across the bronze plates of their armor.

He took a deep breath as he neared the barracks. He had no idea what reception awaited him. The door to the Third Barracks hung open and, beyond the door, he could see men gathered in the central hall, their voices sounding over the din of activity outside.

As he crossed the stone threshold, he saw that most of the Fifth had been assembled. Likely every man who wasn’t on active duty. The few survivors of the days’ events sat together at one of the card tables, the rest of the men giving them a respectful distance. They all looked like hell, probably much like he did. Harren waited in the doorway as Gavin spoke to the assembly.

The man’s hands shook as if overwhelmed with emotion, his eyes casting about the room. “-and the tunnel was flooded. There was no avoiding it. We lost a lot of good men today.”

Harren’s brow furrowed, and he could see similar expressions on the faces of the wet, bloody men by the table.

Gavin continued, “But we persevered, and under my leadership we made it home.”

Eyes from the Fifth started surreptitiously drifting toward Harren as he leaned against the doorway, his expression beginning to darken.

Gavin didn’t seem to notice. He ran a hand across his face as if in the throes of mourning. “Let us give a moment of silence for our brothers of the Fifth who didn’t make it home.”

The room obediently quieted. Harran closed the door behind him, the hinges groaning loudly in the silence. It shut with a click. As he strode toward Gavin, the man took notice of him, eyes wide. “Harren? I heard you’d be recuperating in the pal-”

He trailed off as he met Harren’s gaze, seeming to see something in his eyes that gave the quartermaster pause. Harren could have heard a pin drop in the barracks, the only sound the scuff of his boots against the wooden floor as he limped to stand beside Gavin. The quartermaster flinched as Harren put a singed, red hand on his shoulder.

He let the silence linger a moment before looking toward the table where the other survivors sat. He knew the names of few of the men under his command, but he remembered the name of one of the men at that table, a short, stout brute of a man, seeming almost as broad as he was tall. Jareth.

“Jareth,” Harren called, “Who pulled you from the tunnel and led you safely from the flames?”

The man blinked, seeming dumbfounded at being singled out. All eyes turned to him, and Jareth paled, his eyes drifting across Harren’s wounds and settling on his face before answering, “You did.” He hesitated. “Lord.” Jareth bowed his head slightly.

“What are you doing?” Gavin hissed at him, a warning in his tone.

Harren Ignored him, his eyes crinkling in pain as he spoke. “For my actions today Peltar granted me a boon. I asked that the families of the men who fell today be given enough coin to see them through the hard times ahead.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

A murmur of approval sounded from the gathered men. Harren tightened his grip on Gavin’s shoulder as he continued, “This Cohort needs a change, to value the lives of its men over the promise of coin. What happened today should never have happened, and as your commander that is my fault.”

His expression darkened as he spoke. “Mourn the dead but pity those who held the blade. I promise you blood for the friends lost today, and I promise that I will see you through your tour here or fill the grave beside you.”

Gavin shrugged off his hand, leaning close to him and speaking in a low voice. “Barrington, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“What I should have done the day I got here.” Harren answered.

As Gavin opened his mouth to answer, Harren grabbed him by the throat and threw him against the far wall. His every motion sent waves of agony through his body.

Through gritted teeth he spoke, “There will no longer be compromises with the enemy. From this moment on we stand only with Venar, not for loyalty or love of country, but because the alternative has proven to be death,” Harren said.

Gavin had been too stunned to fight back and he sputtered as Harren released him.

In all honesty, Harren should have asked Peltar to crucify the man. But, by that logic, Harren belonged on a cross right beside him. He took a deep breath. “Peltar will be looking for you before the day’s end.”

A look of intense fear spread across Gavin’s face and the room stared at him as if he were already hung. Harren felt no need to put the man’s mind at ease. Everything hurt, and his legs were beginning to shake as if losing the ability to hold him upright. Gavin could stew with uncertainty a few hours.

Harren gritted his teeth and looked across the assembled men, taking in the wide range of expressions from anger to awe. Probably the same awe one had when amazed by the stupidity of their fellow man. “Should any man challenge my right to the Fifth, come forward now and make yourself known.”

Divines did he hope nobody stepped forward. A particularly stiff breeze could probably knock him over as it was. He tried not to show his relief when all in the room were still, but he knew someone would likely come for him later in the dark. “The Sons would see us dead, and I will not let them have you,” he said.

“Dismissed!” he roared.

For a moment nobody moved, but then Jareth rose from the card table. “You heard the Prefectus. Dismissed!” he yelled.

At that, the men started dispersing. Some grumbled while others were carefully quiet. Harren absently wondered if he’d signed his own death warrant. He sighed, meeting Gavin’s eyes.

A red mark was forming around the quartermaster’s neck. He stared hatred at Harren.

“I hope you find peace, Gavin,” Harren said.

Gavin turned from him without a word, stalking towards his quarters on the far side of the Barracks. Harren let out a pained breath, fighting the urge to sag as his anger faded and the strength fled his battered body. He needed to lay down.

As he gathered his strength, Jareth stepped before him. He was near Harren’s own age, though perhaps twice as wide, and it was clear from looking at him that it wasn’t all fat.

The soldier saluted him, and Harren returned the gesture. “Sir, I spoke with the fellows from today. We thought you might want a guard outside your rooms and wanted to volunteer.”

Harren looked past him to the nine other men at the table. They all were looking toward him in anticipation. He met the large man’s gaze. “What’s your rank, soldier?”

“Just a legionnaire,” he said.

Harren held out his hand to Jareth, “I’d be honored Sargent,”

Jareth cocked his head a moment before the meaning of Harren’s words sunk in. He smiled as he shook Harren’s hand.

“See to it that your new squad knows they’ve been reassigned under your command,” he said as he released Jareth’s hand. “I’ll see to the paperwork eventually, but for now I need to get to my cot before I collapse and embarrass myself.”

Jareth chuckled. “Been a hell of a day,” he agreed, “I’ll see to it.”

“Good Man,” Harren said, giving Jareth a final nod and hoping he couldn’t see the tears brimming in his eyes.

That might have the first positive interaction he’d had with any of his men. He made his way down the halls to his room and, as he shut the door behind him, his abused legs gave out and he crumpled to the floor, groaning as he curled into a ball.

Goddess save his sorry ass.