Despite his youth and inexperience, Braileer clearly knew his way around a set of breacher armor. Idrian was stripped down to his under-uniform in less than a minute, and Braileer hauled off his armor, leaving him alone next to the fire, where he let his sweat-soaked clothes dry. Despite his exhaustion, he found himself remaining there for some time, meditating as he stared into the flames, letting his body and mind recover from the day’s fighting.
He was soon joined by Mika. She was a short Marnish woman with cropped black hair, skin darker than his own, and wearing an ill-fitting Foreign Legion uniform that made her look like a sack of potatoes in bad light. She carried a massive pack, heavy with tools. Dozens of ram’s horns hung from the back, clacking together as she walked. She swung the pack from her shoulder and sank down on the ground beside the fire, looking up at Idrian. “You know,” she said, “I’m going to miss you when you turn in your debt marker.”
Idrian touched the little silver tag that hung around his neck by instinct. It represented the amount of his life that the Foreign Legion still owned – a debt he owed them until the time was done. “You’ll get another breacher,” he told her.
“Not one who’ll spend hours digging in rubble for a single infantryman. Fenny and Squeaks have always liked you. I think they’re going to worship the ground you walk on now.”
Idrian chuckled and shook his head. “They’ll repay the effort someday.”
“Or they won’t.”
“Or they won’t,” Idrian acknowledged. It didn’t really matter. As he’d told Braileer, his job was to protect the Ironhorns. Idrian took that job very seriously. It didn’t just mean when they were in active combat. “How’s she doing?”
“Squeaks busted up her arm pretty good, but a few days with quality cureglass should have her back on duty. Glory is tending to her now. That cannonball was a fluke. Managed to hit the main support beam of a poorly built tenement. We’ll know the casualty counts in the morning, but I’m guessing we saved two-thirds of that battalion.”
“Now that,” Idrian said, grinning at Mika, “is a debt we’ll collect.”
She grinned back, producing a couple of bottles of wine from her pack. “Already started. These are courtesy of the Forty-Second.” She handed one bottle to him and popped the cork on the other. They clinked the bottles together. “Have you seen Tadeas?” she asked.
“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” Idrian replied, setting his bottle aside for later. “Last I saw him he was called back to headquarters.”
“Did you hear the rumors about his sister and nephew?”
Idrian frowned and shook his head. “Demir?”
“Yeah. Rumor has it that this whole war is because of Adriana’s murder a couple weeks ago. They traced the killers back to the Duke of Grent.”
“Sounds like a pretty flimsy excuse for a war,” Idrian snorted. He’d always liked Adriana, and her death had come as a shock to all of them. She was their sponsor, after all. But he wasn’t going to happily get killed because of a political assassination. “There’s always another reason.”
“From what I heard there’s a lot of reasons,” Mika replied with a yawn. “The duke’s covert operations have grown more and more aggressive over the last few years. Adriana’s death is just the last straw. He poked the sleeping giant one too many times and now we’re at his door.”
It was not an uncommon story, and this would not be the first war Idrian fought purely as a show of force. Peace made the Empire rich, but war reminded everyone else who ruled half the world. “Lucky him. What about Demir?”
Mika shrugged. “He’s back, supposedly. He’s already taken control of the Grappo.”
“Wonder what Tadeas thinks of that,” Idrian grunted, hiding his own surprise. He hadn’t thought that he’d ever see Demir again, much less that the wayward Grappo would ever return to Ossa. “Last time I saw him, I would have bet pretty good money he was going to put a bullet in his own head before long.”
“Returning to guild-family politics might push him over that edge.” Mika waggled her eyebrows comically. It was half a dark joke and half a truth. For Tadeas’s sake, Idrian hoped it would remain a joke. Demir was the only other Grappo left now. Idrian looked around and stretched, watching as the rest of Mika’s engineers stumbled into camp. A few threw themselves onto bedrolls under the open stars, while others headed into the tenements where they’d staked a temporary claim earlier in the day. The conversation was muted, the jokes few. Despite their taking few casualties, it had been a hard day. Everyone was just too damned exhausted and it was only the very beginning of the war.
“I’m going to bed,” Idrian said. “If you see Tadeas, tell him to only wake me if it’s important, I–” He was cut off by the arrival of Valient. Mika’s husband was a light-skinned Purnian, tall and willowy, with a clean-shaved head and a musket slung over one shoulder.
“Hey Idrian,” he interrupted, yawning. “There’s a guy just over there claiming to be a guild-family member. Wants to talk to you.”
Idrian blinked back at him, then turned to stare into the darkness in the direction Valient had indicated. There was a tiny bit of sightglass in his false eye, giving a very slight boost to his senses and allowing him to see in the dark better than most. He could see a hooded figure lurking just beyond the light of the fire. None of the other Ironhorns paid the figure any mind. “You didn’t get a name?”
“Didn’t give one.” Valient yawned again, sitting down beside his wife and putting his head on her shoulder.
Idrian glanced around, fighting a feeling of frustration. Some soldiers took on a client role with guild-families, but he’d always been very careful to avoid that entanglement. The closest he ever got was the Grappo sponsorship paying a portion of his wages, and that was more about their public prestige than anything else. It didn’t leave him beholden to them. So who the piss was lurking around in a war zone wanting to talk?
“You want me to get rid of him?” Mika asked.
“Nah. I’ll do it myself.” Idrian walked over to where the figure stood out of earshot of the others, peering hard to try and get a look under that hood. He could make out embroidered cuffs and fine cloth. Whoever it was had money for sure, but was also wearing gloves to hide his guild-family sigil. “I’m Idrian Sepulki,” he said, drawing himself up.
“Hello, Idrian. Been a long time.”
Idrian’s senses all perked up at once and he peered harder. He recognized that shadowy jawline and the clever glint of the firelight off those eyes. They looked exactly like a younger version of Tadeas. “Demir?”
Demir made a shushing gesture. “I’d prefer people not know that I’m hanging out in a war zone,” he replied quietly.
Idrian lowered his voice and tried to hide his shock. Had Demir been loitering here long? Did he hear Idrian and Mika gossiping about him? “Does Tadeas know you’re here?”
“Not yet. I tried to catch him earlier but he got pulled into a meeting with General Stavri.” Demir grimaced. “Like I said, I’d rather people not know I’m here. I need a favor. Shouldn’t take more than a few hours.”
“Now?” Idrian looked around, bewildered. It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet and soldiers were already snoring. He wanted to do the same.
“Unfortunately, yes. I need an escort behind enemy lines.”
Idrian snorted. “I need direct orders for something like that.”
“Not from your new sponsor, you don’t. I have some prerogative over your assignments.”