The Fall of Aldermark - Chapter Two: The Western Front

Commander Blas Rodano peered at the maps arrayed before him and smoothed his beard with his hand.

“So the bridge is destroyed then?” He didn’t look at Valeria, who stood at attention at the other side of the table.

“Yes, Commander.” Valeria watched as he scratched at old scars beneath his beard and along his neck and collarbone. Blas, despite being Commander of the Legion, was never one for badges of station or fine clothes. He often appeared around camp dressed as he was now, in a simple linen tunic with trousers and riding boots, his thick gray hair a mess of odd angles. He reached for a quill, dabbed it in some ink, drew an X on the bridge to Karlsburg.

“Losses?”

“None, Commander. Rookie Rakash Darhi suffered extensive burns, though the Mercy said he could pull through.” The Commander leaned closer to the map.

“Well, we have Shreya to thank for that I’m sure. Our Mercy keeps saying how her treatments seem even more potent in the presence of the Chosen of Asrika.” Valeria remembered two heads hitting the dirt as Shreya turned away from them.

“It would have been easier with a full squadron. Commander,” she added belatedly. Blas looked up at her for the first time since she had come into the command tent, and his weathered face broke into a brief grin. 

“I know it’s a difficult adjustment, having a Chosen of the gods with the Legion. But the Legion takes all kinds, and the Chosen are always welcome.”

Valeria looked at the ground, face flush with embarrassment. “Of course, sir.”

“Speaking of,” he tore a piece of bread off a small loaf on the table and ate as he talked, “Marshal Viltorovna has found some recruits to fill out your ranks. Refugees from the city, I am told. Go find her. Then get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

Valeria saluted and turned to exit the tent.

“And rookie?” 

She stopped and turned, back still stiff at attention. The Commander locked eyes with her for a long moment as he chewed on his bread. The tent was sparsely adorned. A single bookshelf, maps of the various kingdoms, a rack for the Commander’s armor. The Legion had left Karlsburg in a hurry, no time to take keepsakes. But maybe this was just how the Commander lived. As plain as his clothes. 

“What do you think Shreya would have done, if she heard you question her decisions?” Valeria remembered a tournament ground in Or, a lady on a horse raising her lance in triumph, blue eyes locked on hers.

“I don’t know, Commander.”

“Let’s keep it that way.”

Valeria turned and left. 

The camp at the western front was a solemn disaster. She had been here just a week ago, when the Legion had met up with the armies of Aldermark. Thousands of men and women, professional soldiers, mercenaries, all the Chosen of the Gods that remained unbroken. They all marched past Karlsburg, to the fields of Ettenmark where they planned to break the Cinder King’s advance once and for all.

Now all that remained were scared soldiers and refugees. They huddled around campfires and stared vacantly past the wooden palisades that defended them. There was the occasional screech and howl from the distance. The undead had started to slowly cross the river. Every sound made the whole camp twitch, like it was a single organism, an animal desperate to flee. 

The Legion was the only company that had made it back to the camp. The occasional survivor from the eastern armies had wondered in after the Legion had returned, covered in soil and sweat and blood. They would wake up screaming in the night. The children would cry for missing parents, and each morning more and more people disappeared, either taken by the dead or hoping to flee under the cover of night. 

Valeria found the Marshal just outside the tents for the Ghost Owls, Valeria’s squadron. Two women stood at attention in front of her, black haired and olive skinned twin sisters in armor that marked them as Karlsburg city guards. Marshal Tatinika Viltorovna paced back and forth in front of them as she spoke. Her hair cut short, bright blonde, almost white. She wore a crisp blue button down uniform under a long coat of leather and fur, despite the summer heat. She stood a foot taller than almost everyone in the Legion.

“We will see what you are made of soon, yes?” The Marshal’s Zemyati accent often turned her w’s into v’s. “No time to mourn for your fucking city. You are Legion now, yes?”

The twins nodded in unison, “Yes, Marshal!”

The Marshal turned and saw Valeria. “Good. This is Viscount Valeria Sanicci. She is a rookie, like you. But she has been with us longer than you, so you listen to her. Understood?”

“Yes Marshal!”

The Marshal turned to Valeria. “These are Buren and Fulon Weyer of Karlsburg. They are Ghost Owls now. You tell them what they need to know. Show them around, yes?”

Valeria nodded, “Of course Marshal.” Valeria saluted, along with the Weyer twins as the Marshal departed, hands folded behind her back.

Valeria looked at the new rookies. “How do I tell you apart?” Fulon raised her hand and showed off her braided black hair. 

“I have the long hair ma’am.”

“And you are…”

“She’s Fulon,” said Buren.

“That’s Buren,” said Fulon. Valeria squinted, suddenly realizing she had not slept since she left to destroy the bridge.

“Alright then. So you were with the city guard?”

“Yeah,” said Buren. “We were watching from the walls.”

“During the battle,” added Fulon.

Valeria started adding logs to the dying fire pit dug outside the Owls’ tent. 

“Is it true?” asked Fulon.

“About the Chosen, she means,” said Buren.

“What about them?” Valeria sat heavily on the cool dirt next to the fire, the twins joined her.

“Shreya. She’s the reason the Legion survived?”

Valeria sighed, “I don’t know. We lost a lot of soldiers too. We just happened to get lucky.”

“Where are the others?” Buren asked.

“The other Chosen, she means.” Fulon asked.

“I don’t know,” Valeria replied, sharper than she meant. The twins glanced at each other and let the campfire and the occasional wail in the distance permeate the air for a moment. Valeria took a breath, “We scattered after the retreat. Commander Blas said one of them is in the South, the rest are probably heading East, if they’re alive.”

Buren chuckled, “They can’t kill a Chosen.” 

Valeria glared into the flames, “They’re still human.”

“What’s she like?” asked Fulon.

Valeria looked around the camp. There were only a dozen tents housing the Legion, a few dozen more for those that survived the battle at Ettenmark fields and the refugees. A wooden fortification stood at the far side of the camp, surrounded by its own palisades and patrolled by Legion scouts. Asrika was usually easy to spot, her golden eyes and statuesque bearing made her easy to spot. Valeria realized she hadn’t seen the Chosen since she and Arun had dragged Rakash back from the bridge that morning.

“You’ll see for yourself eventually. It’s hard to put into words.”

The twins both nodded. Either their curiosity had finally been sated or they realized that Valeria wasn’t in the mood.

Arun joined them with a small cask of ale under his arm, and a plate stacked with loafs, cheese, and salted meat in the other. “Liberty day!” he announced as he set the food next to the fire. The Bartan looked at the twins, the trinkets in his hair jangling as he sat. “Who are they?”

Valeria pointed, “Buren and Fulon. The Weyer twins of Karlsburg. Marshal says they’re the newest Ghost Owls.”

“Arun,” he said taking a cup from his pack and pouring himself some ale. Valeria grabbed her own pewter cup and filled it after him. “Sorry about your city.”

“Yeah,” Buren said solemnly, taking a loaf.

“Us too,” said Fulon, biting into some cheese. “What’s Liberty day?”

“We are free to take leave of our senses,” replied Arun with a belch. “Ears broke out the good stuff, she only does that when we’re about to fight or she thinks we’re about to desert.”

The twins looked at each other, their olive skin slightly pale.

“He’s joking,” Valeria grinned into her cup. She liked that Arun was giving the new recruits a hard time, and that he had finally stopped making fun of her. “And don’t call her Ears.”

“Why not? She has big ears.”

Valera looked at the twins, who were looking at each other, trying to figure out who was going to ask first.

“The quartermaster,” Valeria explained. “She’s Payan, her mark from the forest is rabbit ears.”

“Hence,” Arun interrupted, “Ears. Plus it’s a lot easier than saying Quartermaster Silver Listening Glade every time.”

The twins chuckled. Buren asked, “Why did you join the Legion Arun?”

“It was either that or rot in a jail cell.”

Their eyebrows rose, “Really?”

Arun nodded, “It’s true. I was locked up in Karlsburg when the Legion passed through. This was months back when the front was still west of here. One day the jailer comes to my cell, says ‘Look here Mr. Diwal, I would love to see you rot in here but the Karl says the Legion gets their pick of prisoners, so if you want you can die on your feet or here on your ass.’ I picked the former option,” Arun said with a wink.

“What did you do?” asked Buren.

Arun grinned and tilted his head so his trinkets slid around the thin gold scarf covering his hair, bouncing into each other. “Lots of things.”

Valeria sighed, downed the rest of her drink, and got to her feet. “Come on, I’ll show you around.” She wanted to get away from Arun’s flirting, and eventually she needed the Marshall see her giving the recruits their orientation. She also wasn’t interested in answering why she was here.

Valeria spent the rest of the day showing the twins the camp and the various squadrons, easily identified by the banners that flew above their tents. The Ember Wolves and Grinning Ravens, the first and second frontline units respectively, were taking bets on an impromptu wrestling match between the squads. Cheers erupted from the Ember Wolves as a gaunt Bartan threw a larger Zemyati over his hip and into the mud. 

The experimental and eclectic Star Vipers were engaged in a game of chance Valeria didn’t recognize. It involved sliding opaque jars around a table, one of which hid a scorpion with a black and yellow carapace. 

The Shattered Lions, oldest of the Legion’s squadrons, were meeting with Commander Blas, recording their deeds at Ettenmark field in the large leather tome that contained the Legion’s annals. The twins idled a moment there, remarking that Karlsburg history far outlived the Legion’s founding 400 years ago. Valeria moved them along quickly before the Commander overheard them. 

The Quartermaster was meeting with Marshal Viltorovna amid the Legion’s storage carts. Valeria knew not to interrupt, but Silver Listening Glade still smiled and waved at the new recruits.

“Did you get enough to eat rookies?” Her long curly auburn hair fell on one of her long fuzzy ears, which twitched in reflex until it was free, stretching a foot above her head.

“They’re fine,” Valeria answered and pushed the twins along as they stared at the food on display.

They didn’t linger long at the Mercy’s tent either. Hadelaide, the Legion’s only surviving medic, was crouched next to Rakash, a hand on his burned armed, her face covered in sweat and pain. Her red and white robes appeared soaked through, she was practically steaming. Her other hand clutched a talisman at her chest, her knuckles white. Valeria knew that the Mercies shared a portion of the goddess Asrika’s power. Nothing like the Chosen, but it let them take the pain and wounds of others onto themselves. She didn’t want to think about how that would work with Rakash.

Last was the Silver Stags, the Legion’s rearguard, who were enjoying their Liberty day in the wooden fort, keeping an eye on the sodden fields around them. As the day darkened they could see the orange glow of Karlsburg burning in the distance. One of the Stags pointed to the other end of the camp. At first it looked like one of the distant embers from the burning capital had reached all the way to what remained of the western front. 

“The Chosen,” Valeria said. The twins quickly left the fort, eager to see the avatar of Asrika in the flesh. The Silver Stags followed, as did Valeria after a steadying breath. 

The rest of the squads had gathered in the center of the camp, near the largest fire, and were engrossed in a raunchy song about a Orite Lord’s various trysts with his honor guard when Shreya reached them. Her golden eyes lit the way before her like torches. She raised her ornate glaive into the air and plunged it into the earth before her. Valeria could feel a small shockwave in her boots, as did the rest of the Legion as the song abruptly stopped. Somewhere among Mercy Hadelaide’s wounded a man cried out in fear. 

Shreya flung something to the fire. It appeared to be a horse’s head, but as Valeria’s eyes adjusted to the flames she saw that the head had several eyes from various beasts around its mouth and snout, and two warped human faces emerged from the horror’s mane, just above the severed neck. 

The Chosen’s voice made the twins jump, “We must return to Karlsburg.”