The soldier ducked into the tent, the flap snapped back to the ground with the weight of the water the had soaked it through.  The movement sprayed the new occupant, not that the extra water matter.  Ostensibly the tent was waterproof and just like the man’s cloak it likely once had been.  Years of war, and months of limited supplies, had changed that.  The man placed his spear in the rack with those of his peers.

The spear’s haft was well worn, but gleamed with the beeswax that protected and gave it a better grip.  The spear maybe showed a few specks of rust but also the glint of a honed edge.

“Is Sergeant back?” The other soldiers looked at the newcomer, one rolled his eyes.

“Malcolm by definition, if Sergeant was back she would be in here.”  The eye roller continued, “Do you see her.”

“Be nice Anders,” another, the oldest, and extra worn chevron marked his tunic.  “Sergeant will be back soon.”

“And I’m sure she’ll be telling us that we’re all going home,” Anders said, his tone left no doubt just how likely he thought that was.

“With a medal at that,” added the last soldier, so far quiet.

“Do you think they’re that close to a peace?” Malcolm now looking Anders and then the old corporal.

“It’s been a month now, how much longer do they need to realize they’re all just going to get killed if they don’t sue for peace?” Anders retorted.

“You’re all optimism Anders, you underestimate the damage we’ve done to their armies,” the old corporal had poured a cup of tea from a battered kettle.  “Come on Malcom, warm up and get a seat.”

“I doubt they’re missing half their officers with a Sergeant leading a whole regiment,” came the silent one again.

“Kara’s right, besides it’s only been our lands suffering in all this.  I’ve heard they’ll never truly rebuild Migin’s walls,”  Anders retorted, the old corporal sighing again.  “All in the name of unity…”

“What this about unity?” came the voice as the fifth soldier entered the tent.  Her cloak was just as soaked as the others, maybe more patched, and yet showed less frays, fewer untended creases.  Her spear, gleaming settle in with the others and then she shuck her cloak.  On her shoulders were the chevron and rocker of a sergeant.  The corporal moved to bring her a tea, gestured towards a chair that was about the only spot safe from the periodic drips.

Airka Ontel accepted the tea, raised it to her lips and inhaled as she took a long sip.  It burned a little but its warm scent helped loosen the muscles in her shoulders that had spent the meeting tightening.  The old corporal, Wignot, always seems to be able to scavenge some kind of tea.  When she opened her eyes she looked back out at the expectant eyes of the other four.

Wignot resigned by ready.  Kara equally so.  Anders awaiting the worst and afraid of it.  Malcolm eager if only to hide his terror.

This was not going to be easy.  It wouldn’t get any easier waiting.  Not that she could.

“The rumors we heard from the riders out of Migin are true,” Airka lowered her mug and cupped it between her hands.  “Argentum has sent a fleet down the coast and landed troops.  By all accounts they are to march on and take Verken.”  Airka watched the dismay settle in with Anders and Wignot.  Kara was staring into the light of their one lit lantern.  Malcolm look back at Airka, confusion on his face.

“Are we to march to Verken?  Reinforce their walls.”

Airka shook her head, her frown deepened.  Anders was busying himself starring into his mug now.  Wignot gave her a nod when she looked at him.  “No, the Council doesn’t want our last unconquered Hero-city besieged while they finish negotiating.  We’re to march into the path of Argentum’s army and engage them in a pitched battle.”  Airka’s jaw tightened and she took a breath to sooth it, looking over to Wignot.  “We’re reminded how important winning this battle will be to a more advantageous peace.”

“More like more advantageous land…” muttered Anders.

“You can’t believe that’s all they…” started Malcolm.

“That’s all they care about at this point, we lost this…”

“How big is the army they landed?” Kara’s words cut the other two to silence and the four pairs of eyes all returned to Airka.  Airka for her part gave Kara a nod at thanks for keeping their peace, it was the only positive she could give her.

“By all account two battalions, mostly knights and their retinue but some heavy companies.”

“Two battalions,” Wignot repeated, Airka knew he had already realized what she had at the news, what all of them were thinking.

“At best our strength can be considered a battalion.  We’ll be outnumbered two or three to one.”

“And they want us to do a pitch battle,” Anders started and then laughed.  “Another brilliant show of reality from the Council.”

“Anders enough,” Wignot cut in.  “Airka, what did the Captain say.”

This was the real question, and its answer that mattered most.  Orders from the Council were one thing, but they weren’t here.  The few officers, and the Captain given his training in Koric, were what mattered.  They were here and they would enforce the consequences for disobeying a decision, or bear it in the Bard songs to come.

“Malcolm, wake the cooks.  Have them start a meal.  Anders groaned, Malcolm gave a shaky salute but grabbed his spear and headed out.  Wignot gave a murmured curse and Kara’s gaze just went back to the lantern.

“They’re sending us to die,” Anders announced once Malcolm had left.

“Anders shut up,” Kara’s words were sharp.

“Could be,” Wignot started, “the Silver’s forces don’t want to fight either.” 

“Yeah, and that’ll last up until they see our force and realize the glorious stories they can reap from our defeat.  Meanwhile, we don’t even have a bard left whiling to tell our tale.”

“We are to march, before sunrise.  Captain knows a spot where we can at least get the better ground.  Argentum’s army no doubt knows we’re out here and can’t risk us descending on them when they go to besiege Verken so they’ll be willing to come to us.”

“Does the Dusk Queen lead them?”  Kara’s dark eyes turned back to Airka.

Airka shook her head, “Her banner wasn’t seen on the ships, and she is by all accounts in Koric for the negotiations.  We’ll be fighting some general of theirs.”

“If they’re mostly infantry our remaining cavalry may be able to roll up their lines,” Wignot mused.

“I checked on them yesterday, horses are looking pretty bare,” Kara reported.  “Not even much to eat.”

“You’re all going to do this?”  Everyone’s eyes turned to Anders.  “Just let them march us off to our deaths so they can strike a better deal for theirs?”

“Anders,” Wignot tried to warn.

“No!  This is insane, this isn’t some good story.  This is old greedy men sending us to our deaths.  We should pack up and go home, Verken be damned.”

Everyone grew silent as Anders looked to Airka, Wignot and Kara’s gazes soon joined his.  Airka placed her mug on the table, the sound of its clay against the tabel’s wood pinged the silence.

Airka inhaled.

“Do you believe we should do that Anders?”

“I…” Anders started, stopped looked to the others and then back to Airka, “I don’t want to die for nothing.”

“Have you seen the City of Towers?” Airka referred to Verken by its common moniker.

“Only from a far.”

“It’s our people’s greatest home of stories and arts.  Those towers not only contain much of our culture but are themselves a part of it, and they are only landmark of ours not defiled by the Silver Kingdom.”  Airka’s hands gripped the edge of the table as she continued, “We’ve heard their sermons, Argentum comes in claiming that they must rally all against the suppose return of the Age of Dragons, that only they can claim the right to the role that the Last Landian abdicated.”

She looked each of them in the eyes, Anders turning his gaze down, Kara giving a nod, and Wignot standing straight.  “They want their culture to be our culture Anders.  I won’t live with that, will you?”