by Sandell Wall
Aventine spotted the crests of two minor houses among the warriors on her left: the dark red lion’s head crest of house Lome and the bright blue-green ocean wave of house Cinder. A young warrior stood in the middle of the courtyard with his arms crossed. His tabard was so brilliant that she had to squint to make out the red crest of Lome. He had medium-length dark brown hair parted down the middle, and the scalemail he was wearing was flawless, the work of a master. She could see the shimmer and glint of runes worked into each individual scale of the armor. Standing in the middle of the courtyard he was set apart from the other warriors. He made no attempt to hide his disgust for the Rune Guard, who were doing their best to ignore him. His eyes burned with anger, hungry for conflict, and even his posture communicated superiority. He had been glaring at the Guard assembled opposite him, but when he saw Aventine pause in the archway, he shifted his gaze to her. After identifying her as a member of the Guard, he smirked.
The young warrior called to her from the middle of the courtyard, loud enough to cause everyone to look up at the disturbance, “Ah, this must be the reason for our delay. The Guard could find no suitable warriors, so they sent a pretty little girl.”
Aventine stiffened, taken aback at the blatant insult not only to the Guard, but also to the emperor himself. Misinterpreting her hesitation for cowardice, the warrior started towards her, walking with an exaggerated swagger that caused his armor to sparkle in the sun. Just as she was about to draw steel and defend the emperor’s honor, a shadow engulfed her from behind.
A deep voice boomed from somewhere above and behind her head, “Enough, Dranzen. Take your foolish swagger elsewhere before I’m forced to teach you a lesson in front of your friends.”
The warrior, now identified as Dranzen, showed annoyance instead of fear, but apparently knew the threat to be real. He backed off, but not before saying, “Such a big, ugly wet-nurse. I bet he’ll love changing your diapers.”
Before she could react, there was a faint metallic clink from behind her followed by a slight breeze that stirred her hair. The shadow that had stood behind her now towered in front of her holding Dranzen clear off the ground with both hands. It was Brax.
He spoke into Dranzen’s face, so quiet she had to strain to hear. “You impudent dog. You will show the same respect to the Guard that you would show the emperor.” His next words were hard and clipped, punctuated by shaking Dranzen with each word. “And you will respect the emperor!”
Without warning Brax let go of Dranzen, who dropped to the ground with a clatter but stayed on his feet. Brax stood, looking down at Dranzen with a stare that dared him to try something. Dranzen beat a hasty retreat, keeping his mouth shut but glowering at Aventine.
Along with the rest of the soldiers in the courtyard, the warriors of Lome had stopped what they were doing to watch the fiasco. Their leader, a tall praetor in shining platemail, who was standing with his plumed helm tucked under one arm, demanded that Dranzen stand before him. She could not hear what was said, but as Dranzen’s head and shoulders slumped, it was clear that he was being publicly humiliated to demonstrate to the insulted Guard that his actions were unacceptable.
Brax kept a stern eye on Dranzen as the praetor reprimanded him, giving her time to take a good first look at her new mentor.
He might be the biggest man in the empire.
Aventine was tall for a woman, but her head only came up to Brax’s chest. His size was astonishing, but the grace and strength he paired with his massive physique made him seem smaller. He had dark hair wound in tight cornrows tied with a thong of leather at the back of his head. Despite his intimidating size, his face was kind and welcoming.
Satisfied that Dranzen was getting the appropriate discipline, he turned towards Aventine. If he had noticed her sizing him up, he ignored it. With a grim smile he said, “Welcome to the Guard. That was a harsh lesson to learn so soon, but one you would have learned sooner rather than later.” His face expressed a brief flicker of frustration. “Most of the nobility doesn't care for us. They think we’re unnecessary, antiquated.” He glanced at Dranzen. “They usually do a better job of hiding it. But Dranzen is a hothead. Sir Lorent will publicly humiliate him because the honor of the emperor demands it, but in private he will most likely applaud Dranzen’s hubris.
“But enough of that,” Brax said. “As I’m sure you’ve been told, I have been assigned as your mentor.”
She nodded in affirmation, still not trusting herself to speak to this giant.
“Good. Don’t worry, it’s nothing formal. As far as the Guard is concerned we’re equals. But I will travel with you and continue to train you, until I am confident you can function on your own.” He raised a hand to quiet an anticipated objection. “I don’t mean to insult your training or abilities. You might very well not need me at all, but we look out for our own.”
Aventine smiled and finally spoke, “Have no fear, Sir Brax, I will not spurn your wisdom and experience. If the Guard believes I should have a mentor, I gladly accept.”
He adopted a look of mock horror. “So formal! Please, amongst ourselves we do not use titles. Call me Brax.” He turned his head towards the assembled members of the Guard who were in council around a campaign table that had been set up in the courtyard. “Come, it’s time to find out what this mission is about.”
Aventine followed Brax to the campaign table, expecting to be formally introduced or greeted by the five veteran Guard standing around it. Instead, they only acknowledged both her and Brax with a nod before launching into discussion of the mission.
Strange. They have so much ceremony and tradition outwardly, but amongst themselves the Guard is all business.
“Does that idiot even weigh as much as your training sword?” a grizzled Guardsman said with a wry smile, nodding to where Dranzen was standing on the other side of the courtyard.
Brax chuckled. “Not even close.”
A severe-looking woman with short red hair cleared her throat. She said, “If we could turn our attention to the matter at hand.” There was a large map rolled out on the table. In giant letters spanning the full length of the map, “Alkomia” identified the entirety of the empire. The woman placed a finger on the map, indicating the palace, their current location and center of the empire. From there she traced a route along one of the main highways towards a border province.
“We have received reports of hostile activity along our eastern border, specifically from an outpost in the border province of Delgrath.” She looked up to make sure she had the attention of everyone around the table. “As most of you know, Delgrath borders the barbarian wilds to the east. It’s not unusual for the hostile tribes to skirmish with our border patrols. But for our border guard to request aid indicates a possible uprising. A unified army of the tribes in the wilds would pose a significant threat to the eastern half of the empire. We cannot afford another barbarian war. The purpose of this mission is to determine if a greater military presence in the east is required.”
The woman nodded at Brax. “Brax, you will be the emperor’s representative for this expedition. You are to assess the threat and report your findings as soon as possible.” She acknowledged Aventine with a tilt of the head. “As you have been assigned as mentor to one of our newest members, she is being sent with you. Sir Lorent of Lome and Sir Trent of Cinder have volunteered their warriors for this mission, and a full Legion cohort will accompany you.”
Brax raised an eyebrow in surprise. “A full cohort?”
The woman paused, mulling over how to respond. There was some uneasy shifting amongst the others standing around the table, and Aventine wondered if there had not been unanimous agreement on how many soldiers to send. “The objective is to ascertain if a greater military presence is required. But what if you arrive to find Delgrath under attack? They will need reinforcements, and you will have arrived with them.” She shrugged. “And if there is no threat, it will be a good training exercise for the Legion.”
Brax nod
ded. “And who has command?”
The woman winced. “Sir Lorent and Sir Trent volunteered their warriors on the condition of sharing joint command. They handpicked the Legion centuries that will accompany you. You and Aventine will of course be autonomous, but if you wish to influence the expedition, you must convince them.”
A slow smile spread over Brax’s face. “I can be very persuasive.”
Everyone but the red-haired woman laughed.
Aventine, not yet familiar enough with Brax and the dynamics of the Guard, followed the lead of the woman briefing them, and did not even crack a smile. If the woman reacted at all to Brax’s joke, it was to frown in disapproval. This reaction seemed curious to Aventine, given how readily the rest of the Guard appeared to embrace Brax.
She dislikes Brax. I wonder what he did to earn her disapproval.
Brax sobered quickly from his humor. “Lorent and Trent personally organized the entire Legion cohort? Why?”
“I don’t know,” the woman said. “But the emperor gave his approval.”
“Interesting,” Brax said. “I understand my orders and in the emperor’s name will do everything in my power to see them realized.” He closed his right hand into a fist and brought it to the center of his massive chest in a salute. Aventine, and the rest of the Guard standing around the table, saluted in response.
“Very well,” the red-haired woman said. “We wish you speed and fortune on your journey and hope to see both of you returned safely.” Addressing Aventine directly for the first time she smiled and said, “And welcome to the Guard, Aventine of Morn. You do your mother great honor by joining our ranks. We have great hope for you. Learn all you can from Brax. You will not find a more formidable servant of the emperor.” With a nod she dismissed the group.
Brax turned from the table and glanced at Aventine. “Come, let’s go see when our fearless leaders intend to launch this expedition.”
Aventine fell into step beside Brax. “Who was that woman? She didn’t care for your jokes.”
“That was Commander Narin. What she thinks of me is no concern of yours.” His words were blunt.
The harshness of his response surprised her. She knew it was foolish, but she could not help feeling disappointed to discover that there was bad blood even in the Rune Guard. Rather than dwell on hurt feelings, she turned her thoughts to something else.
I wonder what Delgrath is like.
Chapter 3
REMUS AWOKE WITH A START. He sat up, tense in the darkness and waiting to hear again the sound that woke him. After a few beats of his pounding heart, the unmistakable clang of a blacksmith's hammer striking an anvil shattered the predawn stillness.
It can’t be. Holmgrim never works this early!
Remus jumped out of his bed, frantic to get dressed as quickly as possible. His small room behind the smithy contained only two pieces of furniture other than his cot: a wooden trunk for his belongings, and a small wooden table. Spread flat on the table lay the rune scroll that he stole from the smithy last night.
I was up late studying the scroll, but I have not overslept. What’s going on?
Remus was always the first person into the smithy in the morning. For Holmgrim to be up and working before him was odd.
He hurriedly rolled up the scroll and tied it shut as he dashed out the door. Reckless in the dark, he sprinted around to the front of the smithy. Through the windows he glimpsed the glow of the forge and could hear Holmgrim’s deep voice. He slowed as he reached the front door.
Maybe I’m still safe. I’ll just stash the scroll out here and when I get the chance, I’ll put it back where it belongs.
He tucked the scroll behind a stack of wood near the front door. He paused briefly to calm his nerves and then walked into the smithy.
Not only was Holmgrim at the forge, but he was helping a customer. Axid was at work in his normal place in the rear of the smithy.
Both of them at work before I’m even awake?
Remus was wary, his guilty mind suspecting a trap. Perhaps Holmgrim and Axid knew he had taken the scroll and were giving him the opportunity to turn himself in.
Holmgrim looked up as he entered. “There you are. I was just about to wake you. Telleth here has one of your infernal devices that needs repair. I can’t figure the blasted thing out.”
On the table in front of Holmgrim was a spring loaded hitch Remus had designed and created. It allowed a farmer to easily uncouple a team of oxen from a plow and hitch them to a cart without having to remove their harness tack. Remus went to the rack of tools along the wall, selected a thin chisel, and walked to the table where the hitch lay. With deft hands he fitted the chisel into a slot in the hitch, resting the tip of the tool against the stuck spring. Grabbing a hammer with his free hand, he gave the end of the chisel a hard tap and the spring popped back into place. He tested the mechanism within the hitch by opening and closing it several times. Its action was flawless.
The only way this got jammed is if he was using it wrong.
“I don’t know how you have the patience to forge those springs,” Holmgrim said.
Telleth, a local farmer, nodded towards Remus. “He’s got talent, this one does. You treat the boy well, you hear? We need him to stay in Delgrath.”
Remus acknowledged the compliment with a nod, but said nothing. Holmgrim was giving him the sort of look that meant he was either in for a lecture on the folly of the young and foolish, or a day of backbreaking work.
Telleth thanked them both and walked out of the smithy.
When the door closed behind the customer, Holmgrim said, “I was just about to wake you when Telleth walked in. He woke early this morning to plow his fields and discovered that jammed hitch.”
Remus listened, contemplating the contrast between Holmgrim’s talent and knowledge and his fierce appearance. A barbarian from the eastern wilds, the master smith’s heritage was obvious; no citizen of the empire would ever confuse him for a native. Holmgrim’s bearded face was as craggy and weathered as the wilds themselves.
Holmgrim had stopped speaking and was waiting for Remus to notice. When he was confident had had Remus’s attention again he growled, “I know when you’re not paying attention to me, boy. What’s been eating you of late? You’ve been even more surly than normal.”
“Never mind,” Holmgrim said before Remus could answer, raising his voice loud enough for Axid to hear. “I didn't drag us out of bed at this forsaken hour to discuss your attitude. Let’s go break our fast. There are things I need to discuss with the two of you.” Holmgrim motioned towards the front of the smithy where a sturdy oak table stood.
Remus smiled inwardly as he stopped on the way to the table to take his food out of the smithy’s coldbox. Keeping food cold was a luxury typically only found in larger provinces. But Holmgrim had worked with a local rune carver to devise a basic metal box inscribed with simple runes that would keep foodstuffs cooler than room temperature. He traced his fingertips over the runes on the outside of the box. When powered they emitted a subtle blue glow. The tricky part had been getting the academy to agree to powering those basic runes often enough during the day to prevent food from spoiling. To overcome the academy's resistance, Holmgrim had offered to supply the academy with its own coldbox free of charge. After it was installed they quickly agreed to include the runes in their daily workload.
Remus had worked on the metal box donated to the academy. It was huge, far bigger than what anyone else in the town used to store food. Remus seemed to be the only person who realized that the bigger the box was, and the more food was stored in it, the better guarantee that the academy would never fail to power the runes required to keep the food from spoiling. He did not know where Holmgrim had learned to be such a shrewd businessman, but he was certain it had not been the barbarian wilderness.
The three of them sat at the table, Axid and Remus opposite Holmgrim, and concentrated on eating until the food was almost gone. Holmgrim believed food was important, that it
fueled the body like coal fueled the forge. He would not put bad coal into his forge, and he refused to put bad food into his body. So the smithy’s coldbox was always stocked with the best meats, breads, and cheeses that could be found in the province.
Once they were finished Holmgrim sat back contentedly and said, “I will be traveling for the next two days doing a round of the outlying farms. It’s been at least half a year since my last trip, so I’m sure some routine maintenance is needed. I’ll be gone for two days. I’m leaving early today, so I wanted to wake both of you early enough to have a talk.”
Holmgrim paused, looking both Axid and then Remus in the eye. “I want you to continue your regular duties. Assist any customer that comes in, and if it’s beyond your abilities, tell them I’ll return within two days. But that’s not the only reason I wanted to talk. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but one of our border outposts requested the aid of the Legion.”
Axid gasped. Remus sat up straighter, feeling the cold lightning of a premonition flash through his body.
Holmgrim’s smile was cynical. “Aye, now I have your attention. I don’t know when they’ll arrive. It could be tomorrow or next month. But I want the two of you to be prepared. And by prepared I mean this…” He punctuated what he said next by pounding the table with his fist. “Stay the hells away from them!”
Remus frowned. Axid looked confused.
“I know the sort of nonsense that fills a boy's head. Grand fantasies of war, courage, and honor won on the field of battle. I’m telling you now, get that trash out of your head. War is death and honor is for fools. Life in the Legion is a hard, thankless life, no matter how glorious they might try to make it appear.”
Holmgrim leaned towards them, resting his thick forearms on the tabletop. “But it’s not the Legion that’s the problem. If you’re stupid enough to run off with the Legion, I don’t want you in my smithy anyway. No, it’s the damned noble houses that are the problem. The Legion alone will not respond to a request for help from a border outpost. I don’t know who will come, or how many, but there is no doubt that the warriors of a noble house will accompany the Legion.”