A light fog brushed against the ground early Fireday morning, the sun not yet risen above the flat horizon to burn it away. The oppressive gray-blue sky weighed down on Garec as he strode amongst his soldier’s tents. They were spaced out evenly in neat rows, immaculately set up and maintained, just as Garec expected of his men. He hid a smile at seeing how it made the other surrounding Companies’ tents look pathetic by comparison. It wasn’t difficult to hide, as it also reminded him of the general incompetency of Elyssanar’s armies. The theocracy was more concerned with its people’s faith than the discipline and orderliness of its military. It was one of the reasons he had joined the army years ago. The small things mattered, and in caring for them he had stood out among his peers, helping shoot him up the ranks. He always made sure his men cared about the small things too.

  A voice called out as he passed, “Someone in trouble, Sir?”

  Garec spared a glance for the Corporal. “Not yet, Henric. Ask me tomorrow.”

  Henric gave a nod and began walking beside him. “I heard a Sprinter arrived this morning.”

  “Yes, and?”

  “Nothing, I just thought it might be significant. Perhaps some interesting orders will be coming along.”

  Garec stopped and turned to Henric. “How many know?”

  “By now I’d expect the whole Company, Sir.”

  “Damnit Donnan.”

  “Fitting nickname.”

  “Anyone outside the Company?”

  Henric smiled. “You know us, Captain, we don’t let secrets get outside the Company.”

  Garec sighed. “I know. How much did he tell you?”

  “Just that the last thing you need to get us out of here without risking the Halberd is a Sprinter. I can possibly help with that, if you need, Sir.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. And whatever he said, we’re not kidnapping him, he’s coming of his own free will. Now get back to your men and eat your breakfast.”

  “Yes, Mother. Sir.”

  Henric turned back and Garec continued on and into the command tent that sat amidst the Company’s tents. Inside, his four Lieutenants and their seconds were waiting. It was just spacious enough to fit the nine of them with a table in the middle holding an assortment of maps.

  Garec glanced out the tent before starting. “Pardon me for being a bit late. Our little alien friend has done what he can to delay the Colonel from taking our Emogicians.” The name for Dowyr had caught on with his men over the course of their journey to the Fort, thanks to Elethe. For whatever reason the boy didn’t seem bothered by it, but rather embraced it. Garec had been surprised how well he got along with the soldiers despite his antics, though perhaps it was precisely because of his antics that he got along so well. “But now comes the hard part. We’re moving out tomorrow morning, but we have to be precise. I need every man up and ready to disassemble their tents and pack everything onto horseback the second the sun shows its face.”

  “Sounds easy enough,” Boughton said, the leader of the archer platoon and Class 2.8 Happiness Emogician. “What’s the hard part?”

  “Not getting caught in the process. My hope is that no one will notice we aren’t supposed to be leaving until everyone is on horseback, since then it’ll be too late. We’ll have the Sprinter, and with him we’ll be riding hard until I think we need to slow. Hopefully we should be at least fifty kilometers away from here just an hour after sunrise. But if anybody comes asking, we’re simply moving to the northern camp to make room for the next batch of Emogicians.”

  “What Class is the Sprinter? They’d have to be at least Class 3.6 to move the whole Company.”

  “I don’t know.” Garec glanced out the tent again and began to sign. But it doesn’t matter. I trust each of you with this secret I’ve kept, but I won’t hesitate to kill any of you should I find out you’ve violated that trust; Elethe is Class 4. She’s the one who’ll be getting us out of here with the Sprinter’s help, and is the answer to our Apocalypse problem. Beyond anything else your orders are to keep this knowledge guarded with your life. Understood?

  Their reactions varied between restrained surprise and solemn acceptance of reality. Understood, they all signed in return.

  “Good,” Garec said. “And for all the Sprinter will know, we have a handful of Empaths. That is all I have for you. Have the men prepared for tomorrow and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Garec left the command tent, followed by his officers as they split off in different directions. He himself went back to the Fort, which was roughly half a kilometer away.

  The Fort’s main defense lines were walls of stone on its north, east, and south sides, though any initial fighting around the Fort would be down at the Missionary River just two kilometers northeast where the bridge stood leading into Parasten, the next closest bridge being fifty kilometers south. High towers were positioned sporadically around the bridge and Fort for high Class Emogicians to channel and attack from. Come Spring, Colonel Aemon would have everyone digging in on the east side of the river, or else have the bridges destroyed if Kircany comes marching sooner than expected. Garec doubted it would matter to a nation with a Class 4 Apocalypse. At this point, having any defensive positions where large groups of soldiers congregated was just asking to have a mountain dropped on them. Higher command was convinced Royce wouldn’t expose himself on the front line and would only pose a threat if Elyssanar went on the offensive. Garec failed to understand their reasoning given how Irostead now had a mountain sitting on top of it. They were happily saying to Hell with Parasten as a whole.

  That pissed him off, to put it mildly.

  There was a sharp scent of smoke as he marched past soldiers huddled around fires and cookpots, talking quietly amongst themselves. Days earlier they were loud and animated with playful banter and jokes that kept their hearts warm, but after the recent news of Royce, the camps grew quiet. His own men had done what they could, going from fire to fire to tell and reenact stories from The Five Sentinels that encouraged bravery in the face of Hell, which no doubt they were all facing. From what Garec could tell, what helped most were the short, simple stories about Heaven and his friends, particularly about Paradise and her acts of kindness. Paradise was the icon of kindness and compassion, and she was like a surrogate mother watching over them. When soldiers fought, they shouted war cries for Zion or Elysium, who among the Sentinels were most renowned for their feats in battle, but it was to Paradise they prayed.

  Yet no amount of praying on Garec’s part rid him of Hell’s incessant voice whenever he channeled, nor the memories of what he had said. The only thing that helped him escape the voice echoing in his head was keeping busy, whether through going over his plan and devising strategies with his men, the occasional game of Kings with Donnan, or speaking with Elethe and the boys.

  Weynon had taken more of his attention than he expected, visiting his room and striking up conversations about the Sentinels and his thoughts on them, particularly the passages of Paradise’s wisdom regarding behavior.

  “I want to be strong,” Weynon told him, “but I’ve always thought wisdom is what makes someone strong.”

  Garec nodded. “That is a good way to think, but it also depends on what having wisdom means. You can know what is wise to do in a given situation, but if you do not do it, are you really wise?”

  “I guess not. Is that why Heaven says Victory was the wisest man he ever met? Because his wisdom is stories of people doing things?”

  “I suppose so.”

  Weynon looked lost in thought for a moment. He was such an earnest boy, always taking everything seriously. “What… does Hell think about Victory? Has he said anything about him?”

  “No. Well, not by name, but I remember one time… for most of my life I didn’t believe Victory was a real person—something about him just struck me as unrealistic—but one time when I was channeling, I thought about Victory and his stories, and all of a sudden there was this intense hatred coming from Hell, more than I’ve ever felt coming from him for anyone. And with it I could also sense fear… not strongly, but it was there. Since then, I’ve believed Victory was a real person, and that’s the only time I can remember sensing Hell being afraid.”

  “I wonder why, since it’s not like he’s one of the Sentinels. I wish Heaven had told us more about him.”

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “I think it’s better he remains a mystery, otherwise his stories might lose their intrigue. If anything, it gives me hope that a such a plain, normal man had such an impact so as to make it into The Five Sentinels. Perhaps it means a man like myself can come up with a plan that will save our country.”

  It will fail, Hell had said, voice echoing as Garec continued on to the Fort. Donnan will betray you, your men will abandon you, the boys will be captured, Elethe will be killed, you will live to see a burning, conquered Elyssanar.

  “Freeze over,” Garec muttered.

  During Garec’s training at the Academy, keeping emotions under control was one of the first and most important things learned so that he could maintain channeling, especially as a Voidspeaker. If only he had learned to also keep his thoughts in check so the voice didn’t haunt him even when not channeling. It made him grind his teeth in frustration.

  Once inside the Fort he went to Dowyr’s room and found the boy staring at the ceiling from the hard floor. Weynon sat on his bed reading The Five Sentinels.

  Dowyr looked at him and jumped up, and Garec heard his voice come from nowhere at all saying, “Party time?”

  “You’re already awake?” Garec asked. “Did you eat breakfast?”

  “Not yet,” Weynon said. “I don’t think Dowyr slept much either.”

  Dowyr briefly glared at his friend. “Not hungry, not tired.”

  Garec snorted. “Then let’s get it done. The Sprinter is upstairs. You know the plan.”

  He nodded and went to put on his boots. Weynon closed his book and walked to the writing desk that sat in the corner of the room and picked up a letter.

  “A soldier told me to give this to you since you were gone,” he said, handing the letter over.

  Garec turned the letter over and narrowed his eyes. “From Elyssanar?” He opened it and began to read.

  “What’s it say?”

  Garec quickly scanned the letter, hesitated, then read it again, then once more, and finally a fourth time before stuffing it into his coat pocket and clearing his throat. “It’s from my sister,” he lied. “Just an update from home is all. Nothing to be concerned about. Let’s go, Dowyr. Time’s wasting.”

  “Right behind you.”

  They marched out into the halls and made their way to the Fort’s upper-level bunkrooms where mail-carriers and other unimportant temporary guests stayed. Garec went in while Dowyr stayed hidden out in the hall. There was only one person in the room, a woman who looked roughly around his age, resting on one of the bunks. She lifted her head to look at him as he approached.

  “Can I help you, Captain?” she asked.

  “I’m looking for the Sprinter.”

  She sat up. “You’ve found her. Class 1.7 Sprinter Clarine Gowens, Sir.”

  Garec’s heart skipped a beat. “You…?” He cleared his throat and composed himself. “Colonel Aemon wants to see you, Gowens.”

  *

  Dowyr was only waiting in the hall for a few moments before Garec strode out, discreetly signing the name Gowens, and a tall woman following behind him. That didn’t seem right, but before she could spot Dowyr, he channeled and made himself disappear from her perception, then followed behind. Garec led them down to his room where no one would disturb them, and Dowyr split his channeling to make sure Colonel Aemon was waiting for them both inside.

  “How are you, Gowens?” Aemon asked as Garec went to stand by him.

  “As well as ever, Sir,” Clarine said, hesitantly looking between them. “And yourself?”

  “Just the same. I’ll cut straight to the point: I’m having you transferred to Captain Klausgow’s Second Assault Company.” Garec handed her a letter of transfer that was sitting on the table next to the Colonel. Forged, of course.

  Clarine glanced at the letter and looked back at him in confusion. “I don’t understand… I’m just a mail-carrier, not even Class 2… I mean, I’m a mother, I have a family waiting for me, I was told I wouldn’t be sent to fight.”

  While she was distracted Garec signed off script, a stone-hard look in his eyes.

  “You won’t be,” Aemon said. “Second Assault Company is—”

  “It’s only a temporary transfer for a simple patrol mission,” Garec interjected. “We’re only going a short distance into Parasten. The Colonel decided to take some extra precautions by having a Sprinter for the Company’s Empaths to make use of. Naturally, being our only option, you were selected for the job. We’re moving out early tomorrow morning.”

  Clarine still shifted uncomfortably. “What about the Kircans? How close are they to the border?”

  “Our scouts haven’t spotted any, so it’s doubtful they’re anywhere nearby. We don’t expect to encounter a fight.”

  Clarine nodded as if to herself then gave a salute, right hand over the heart. “I understand, Sir. I’ll do what I can.”

  “Good.” Garec returned the salute. “Find one of my officers down in the southern camp, they should be around the blue command tent. They’ll brief you on tomorrow morning’s plan. Dismissed.”

  Clarine walked out, looking a touch dazed, and Dowyr cut his channeling. Garec gave a heavy sigh and sagged a little.

  “That wasn’t the poor bastard I expected,” Dowyr channeled.

  “Snakes and ashes,” Garec muttered, giving no reaction to Dowyr’s comment. “Snakes and bloody ashes. She’s a mother. Tell me we’re doing the right thing.”

  “Why? I mean we’re just using her to get out of here alive, right? Doesn’t seem like a big deal.”

  Garec was silent for a moment. “Maybe. I just hope she doesn’t suspect anything with what we’re doing. I don’t want her running off to get the Halberd chasing after.”

  “I’d just run away from this whole war altogether if I were that fast.”

  Garec shook his head and sat down at the table. “I suppose I can’t fault you for that. Where would you go, if I might ask?”

  “Arkonia, where it’s warm.” Dowyr hated the cold almost as much as he hated hypocrites.

  Garec smiled briefly. “That’s fair. Thank you for not running, though, and for your help. We wouldn’t have this chance at all without you.”

  Dowyr shrugged. “You got a plan to kill the bad guys while everybody else sits on their ass. Maybe we all die to do it, but, eh… gotta be worth it to save more.”

  He had been thinking about the Captain’s crazy plan, and he didn’t like the idea of going deep into enemy territory towards someone who could literally bring a mountain down on top of them, but with Elethe and the other Emogicians, he thought there was at least a chance of success. Garec seemed like a good leader. Good, though Dowyr wasn’t sure how intelligent. Not that he himself knew how to command a small army. He had read books about strategy, but they consistently warned that reading never made you a good strategist. It was too much like life; complicated and unpredictable.

  As much as Dowyr wanted to get as far away from the war as possible, he had to admit to himself the worthlessness of his own life. He was an ugly, mute orphan. Nobody wanted or cared about him. Yes, he was a Boredom Emogician now too, and that seemed useful enough for Garec’s purposes, but there was no real value he would offer to a world at peace. Going to war was the best place he could be. The Five Sentinels stated every individual had worth, no matter who they were, yet it still lauded personal sacrifice for the good of the world. Dowyr thought that should’ve just been common sense for any decent person.

  “It will be worth it,” Garec said, though he shifted uneasily in his chair. “Well, anyway, I should check on Elethe, let her know what’s going on. Have you spoken with her recently?”

  No, Dowyr signed. Channeling was starting to drain him. It was always better to do it in small amounts at a time to recover from each use. She’s not talking to me.

  “What’d you do this time?”

  Nothing at all. He had channeled at her while she wasn’t looking, and when she turned back claiming to know what he was doing, she saw a huge monster. Her scream had attracted at least a dozen soldiers, who weren’t too pleased with him, but her reaction had been so worth it.

  “We’ll pretend I believe you for now. I need you to… if you’ll… no, no, there’s nothing I need you to do.” Garec gave an exhausted sigh. “Why don’t you go find Weynon? Get some breakfast.”

  Dowyr hesitated, wondering what had sucked all the energy out of Garec. He had looked fine when he first came to Dowyr’s room, except maybe after reading that letter, but he wasn’t sure.

  Spurred by his grumbling stomach, he left. Whatever the Captain was dealing with this morning, he would probably get over it. Garec was strong.

  *

  Elethe sat still while Sirona cut her hair, and she was taking her sweet time with it. During their time at the Fort, Elethe had been real busy doing nothing at all. And yet, somehow, everything still felt like a chore. Walking was a chore. It was too cold to do it outside, and walking through the Fort’s halls was so unbearably boring that watching paint dry would have been more entertaining. So she had spent a good deal of her time pacing in her room which she shared with Sirona. When not driving the other woman mad with it, she tried to read—often not getting far—or search out Dowyr or Weynon to play a game of Kings with, the only board game one could find in a Fort. She played Garec a couple times, but she could never beat him and got too frustrated to play more.

  “You’ve been awfully quiet since Garec stopped by,” Sirona said. “Does his plan bother you?”

  “Of course it does,” Elethe said. “We’re either going to end up heroes, dead heroes, or just dead, probably with a higher chance of dead. I thought we’d be going after some Emogicless old man when he first told me about his plan, and now it’s this Class 4 dude who’s only a few years older than me. Plus I hate riding in winter. But that’s not why I’m upset.”

  “That mute bothering you again?”

  “No,” Elethe said sharply. “Well… yes, but no, and Snakes, stop calling him that. No, it’s Garec. I sensed a spike of anxiety and regret from someone earlier this morning, but I never imagined it would’ve been from him. He was being overwhelmed with it, and being the stubborn uncle he is, he wouldn’t tell me what happened.”

  “Maybe it’s just nerves about tomorrow morning. If anything goes wrong… well, I’d rather not think about that.”

  “He’s not nervous though, and when he told us the plan there was nothing but confidence. The anxiety and regret are from something else. Maybe Dowyr knows.”

  Sirona sniffed. “You believe that boy would tell you if he did?”

  “If he channels I have a way to know for sure. Ow.”

  “Hold still. So you’d invade your own uncle’s mind to pry out whatever information you want?”

  “Light of Heaven, you make it sound worse than it is.”

  “I’m telling you exactly what it is. If Garec does not want to tell you, then you must let him bear his burden, whatever it is.”

  Elethe gripped her shift and grumbled. “He shouldn’t have to bear it alone.”

  “You’re right, he shouldn’t, but I’ll tell you now, many men choose to bear pain alone because they want to protect others from its burden. They feel responsible. They are stubborn mules, but it is their way of being strong. Or perhaps giving themselves the illusion of strength. I am not sure.”

  Elethe was silent at that. She hadn’t thought that perhaps it was Garec trying to protect her from something. Though if that were the case, then something terrible must have happened. A death in the family? Snakes, if he was holding back about something like that… Anxiety and regret, that’s what he was feeling. Had it been her mother? Her father?

  A bitter pit formed in her stomach as her imagination lingered on the possibilities. Now she would have to ask him just to make sure, and hope, desperately, that it wasn’t the case.