A LEGACY OF LIGHT

TILLA

TILLA

"Move!" Nairi shouted, pointing her punisher at an archway. "Get inside, worms. Move your arses or I'll shove my punisher up them."

The Black Rose Phalanx marched along a portico of columns, moving toward the archway; it led into a shadowy barracks. As she marched among her fellow recruits, Tilla wondered what lay within those shadows. More pain? More officers who'd burn and cut them? What horrors lurked here?

"Move, damn it!" Nairi screamed, marching alongside them. "Into the darkness."

At her side, Mae was already weeping. Silent tears streamed down the young baker's cheeks. Even Erry seemed shaken; her face was pale, lacking its usual smirk, and red rimmed her eyes.

Tilla felt her own eyes sting. She had seen three of Cadport's youths killed already: young Pery back at home, Jem Chandler along the road, and now the red-haired girl--a girl who had only sinned by being one soul too many.

No. Tilla tightened her lips and kept marching. If I am weak, I am dead. If I cry, I am dead. If I remember home, I am dead. I must be a soldier now, carved of stone, my heart of iron; thus will I survive this nightmare.

"Move!" Nairi shouted and goaded a recruit with her punisher, making the girl scream and scurry forward.

The phalanx marched in three lines, entering the barracks one flight at a time. When it was Tilla's turn to enter, she clenched her fists and sucked in her breath, prepared for any horror that might lurk inside.

Stifling air, the smell of leather and oil, and shadows awaited her. She blinked and it was a moment before her eyes adjusted. When they did, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's an armory," she whispered.

The hall was wide, tiled, and topped with a vaulted ceiling. The recruits gathered here. Behind wooden counters, which reminded Tilla of the Old Wheel's bar, loomed alcoves. One alcove held shelves of helmets. Another held boots. A third brimmed with suits of leather armor studded with iron. The final alcove drew most of Tilla's attention; inside she saw hundreds of swords hanging upon racks.

Outside every alcove, a gruff soldier stood at the counter like a barman. As the recruits streamed into the main hall, these soldiers shouted out their supplies.

"Helms! Get helms here! Move it!"

"Leather armor--grab your armor!"

"Line up for swords, damn you--swords here!"

Tilla wasn't sure where to start. Despite the horrors of the day, she found a smile tingling her lips. It soon widened into a grin.

I'm going to get a sword! she thought. And armor! What would Rune think of me now?

Mae sniffed and clung to her arm. "But... Tilla," the baker's daughter said, and her lips trembled. "I don't want a sword."

Erry was staring around with wide eyes. "Well I do!" said the ragamuffin. "So watch out, Wobble Lips, because if you cry again, I'm gonna slay you right with it."

"Do you think..." Mae sniffed. "Do you think I can be a baker here too--like I was in Cadport? The Legions need bread too, right? There must be a bakery here somewhere, and maybe I can do that, not fight."

Erry rolled her eyes and snorted so forcefully she blew back locks of her hair. "Oh bloody donkey piss! Burn me, just grab a damn sword. Your days of baking are over."

Leaving the two to bicker, Tilla approached the alcove of armor. A grizzled old armorer stood there, cussing and spitting and shouting at the recruits.