The Dragon Chase: A Tale of the Everburning City

Chapter 3: Amelian

The faint firelight eagerly reflected any motion in the otherwise still night. Amelian couldn't help but follow the play of shadows against the stone as Private Arnold Michelson followed the length of the wall towards her.

She had her watch in her hand and waited with Sergeant Redgrave as the soldier approached.

"Five minutes, twelve seconds from the watchtower?" Valen asked, as he put his own watch away.

"Glad he keeps up on his fitness regimen," Amelian remarked.

"I'll bet he feels the same way," Valen said.

"Lieutenant!" Arnold Mitchelson panted as he approached. He stopped in front of her, beside Senior Sergeant Valen Redgrave, and saluted smartly. The Sergeant returned the salute instantly, and a heartbeat later, Amelian did the same.

"Sergeant Reeves has been informed and is deploying his squad accordingly. Specialist Montessori has passed your report to the next wall. No reply yet, ma'am," he said, his breathing already calm.

"Good," Amelian said. "Since Valen has already deployed the Squad, you will accompany the Sergeant and myself on this lookout. Grab your kit, get some food and water, and be ready in five minutes."

"Ma'am!" he saluted, enthusiastically, before turning away and darting towards the supply lockers.

"Eager kid," Amelian muttered to herself. She looked back out into the dark beyond the wall, as Mitchelson departed. "You said you were on these walls, during the last invasion," she said to Valen.  

Valen sighed a little, but it came with a rueful smile. "Not this wall," he said. "The Reclamation projects put up two sets of walls since the last invasion."

The old sergeant looked out at the Gloam, his usually serene expression faltering as the edges of his mouth twitched. "Their strategy hasn't changed much, since the Second Invasion. Their opening moves are the giants. Crafters call them Golems. They're as tall as the watchtowers, and hit hard enough to break the walls apart. We'll need to remind the squads that we won't hold here, ma'am," Valen said.

"When do we start holding?" Amelian asked.

"Not until they hit populated areas. And we're going to lose a lot of people when we have to," Valen said, his voice unusually faint.

"You sound sure it will come to that," Amelian noted.

"We've spent the last forty years trying to discover better tools to use against those golems. We have bigger guns, a lot more of them than we did during the Fifth, and smarter ways to move it around," Valen said. "But none of that is a match for the crafters, and they have only ever been just enough."

Valen shuddered, and his hand rested on the hilt of his sword, rubbing the pommel. "We lost two residential districts during the Fifth," he said. "One-hundred-thousand people killed, half a million displaced. Nearly a third of the army was lost trying to hold the walls in front of the Eleventh District. It was too close last time."

In a whisper, the sergeant added, "It's always too close."

There was nothing Amelian could bring herself to say. Her sergeant represented nearly a half-century of experience and was one of only a few veterans left in the City. She gazed out into the expanse instead, and struggled to keep her breathing steady.

Valen looked back at her and met her gaze. He smiled ruefully and rubbed his hair with his right hand. "Sorry, ma'am. I shouldn't be dredging up bad memories. I should talk about what we're likely to encounter first."

Amelian noticed the old sergeant's left hand still rested on the pommel of his sword. She smiled, understanding the gesture. It seemed to be a common habit among officers.