The Umiran Amulet

Chapter Three: Dishonorably Discharged

They were given two more weeks to finish healing before the trial began. Cary showed up every day for the entire week in their dress uniform, always clean and freshly pressed, chin held high as he defended himself to the best of his ability. The verdict didn't change. They were still discharged. He didn't flinch or fight when his insignia was removed, simply glowering in silence until they were escorted from the courthouse.

"What an absolute fucking farce," Cary snarled as he slammed the door of their cottage open. Alastar mentally winced, finding himself very glad in that moment that it contained no glass. Cary slammed it shut behind them again after storming inside. "What's the purpose of even having a trial if you already know what the verdict is going to be?!" He grabbed up a stool that had been sitting innocuously in a corner and launched it at a wall. It splintered from the force of impact.

Alastar held back a sigh. He had no words to calm his brother's fury with. And honestly, he agreed. The whole thing had been a pointless waste of time. No one had come to their defense. Cary's otherwise sterling record hadn't made an ounce of difference on the judge's decision. Cary threw himself into a chair and dropped his head into his hands. Alastar was startled to note the tears that were falling.

It wouldn't be the last time Cary cried over the next four months. It was borne mostly out of sheer frustration, but even Alastar couldn't deny the despair they felt. They were doomed. They had managed to get the pay they were still owed from their service—it was a tidy sum, but it wouldn't last forever. They would need to find work.

Which proved increasingly impossible as time went on. They went to every business in Bricksburg that was advertising jobs, starting with those that paid higher, and working their way down as the months continued to pass and they became more desperate. No one wanted to hire a colonel who got a thousand men killed in a single battle. And as every job they applied to continued to turn them down, they could only watch their savings steadily dwindle into nothing. At the rate things were going, they would have to sell their cottage and move back in with their parents. Much as they loved their folks, it was not a prospect they were looking forward to.

But that wasn't all that was sending them both spiraling. Cary had decided he needed to avenge the deaths of his men, and spent hours futilely attempting to find some way, any way, to achieve that goal. All his plotting and research only met with dead ends as Alastar inevitably found some glaring flaw with his plans. "We don't have the resources for such a venture," Alastar would tell him. "We don't have the connections, and we can't spare the money." It hurt, to leave his twin stewing in useless frustration, but what other choice did they have?

There was also the fact that they hadn't received a summons to the palace even once since their return to Bricksburg. In fact they hadn't received such an invitation in nearly a year now. Cary tried to soothe Alastar's worry, reminding him that King Sirius was very preoccupied with the war, but his assurances could never quell the loneliness his brother felt, or the fear that he had been tossed aside like yesterday's garbage in the wake of their massive blunder.

They kept themselves up to date on the progress of the war. It should have been over by now—they had been so close to winning, to bringing it to an end—but somehow, it dragged on. And things were only getting worse. It seemed the Southlake Point Battle had been a turning point in the war—turning it to Undar's favor. Every battle since their last had ended in complete failure. There had not been any more massacres like Southlake, but Octan was quickly finding itself in a bad way. Cary felt a small amount of vindication, but mostly he just felt worry.

And then, four months after Southlake Point, King Sirius announced his intention to sign a peace treaty with Undar. Cary had thrown a fine temper after hearing that news. "I guess we're supposed to just—roll over and let them get away with taking so many of our people?!" he roared. "Where's the justice in that?!" He had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that they would never see a single one of those abductees ever again—at least, not still living.