The Everburning City

Act 1, Part 3, Chapter 6

"Sergeant," Mildred said. "Hendricks and I were talking about that, when we were waiting for the Crafters. Much as either of us felt seniority matters, we're both recommending you promote Aranhall before either of us."

Valen blinked in surprise. Gwendolyn coughed, and asked, "What are you both smoking?"

"Much as we didn't like to admit it, we just followed Redgrave into that field. Neither of us can say we'd have lead people after you," Mildred explained, unable to meet Gwendolyn's gaze. "But you would have."

"Very well. Gwendolyn Aranhall, on the advice of your comrades, I hereby raise you to corporal. You will lead first group, third squad, first platoon, of the Cadavalan Rangers," Valen said. And he scanned through the faces of everyone in the squad, seeing pleased smiles and quiet nods. "Second group will be lead by Corporal Mackaroy O'Fallow."

"What?" Mackaroy asked. He did not look pleased.

"Him? But," Hendricks began to say, but he swallowed his rebuttal and hung his head.

"In terms of experience with danger, Mister O'Fallow, I'm pretty sure you have more than everyone else in my squad. Combined," Valen said, and he stood up to Mackaroy and looked him in the eye until the scarred shadow met his gaze.

Mackaroy's eyes were haunted, hard, and meeting his eyes felt like swallowing a bucket of ice. But Valen held, until Mackaroy nodded and looked back down at the stones. "You wouldn't be wrong."

"Mackaroy, you'll have Specialist Mildred Crispin, Private Roderick Gwalior, and Special Talent Vincent Hearthsward with you. In an open engagement, your first job will be to keep Vincent out of harm's way, so that his talent can be applied in the field."

Mackaroy glanced over at Vincent, and scowled. "You're underestimating what the kid can do with the Craft."

Valen felt like there was a great deal Mackaroy had said in that single sentence, and he couldn't read any of it. But he brushed it off, and turned to Gwendolyn. "Hendricks, Cameron, and Fauth, you'll serve with Corporal Aranhall. I don't know how many medical specialists the Rangers have, so we might be used a lot to secure and assist the wounded."

"Aye, sir."

"Good," Valen said, and he stepped back to look at these eight misfits, collected by the strangest of circumstances. And to his own surprise, he found the sight both a comfort, and encouraging. "Third squad, to the armoury."

"Master Sergeant," someone said from behind him, with a tap on the shoulder. Valen spun about, surprised to be staring into the gleam of Crafter Polden's glasses. She was smiling, a complicated smile with her lips pressed hard together, as if it could turn into a grimace with a ounce more bad news. "Could I have a word?"

The question left him nervous and wary, and more than a little tongue-tied. "Crafter, yes of course," Valen managed to stammer, and he turned to Gwendolyn and took a deep breath. "Lead them over to the armoury. I'll catch up."

Much like Crafter Polden's smile, Gwendolyn's expression was so complex it was largely inscrutable. There was a grin, a raised eyebrow, narrowed eyes, an assortment of contradictions. But she nodded after a moment and put the squad into motion.

All of a sudden, Valen was alone in front of this woman, who looked at him with the uncomfortable scrutiny of her magnified eyes. "If you were worried about your apprentice, ma'am, I can't offer you any absolute comfort. Captain Dremora and the Rangers wouldn't be sent if this were safe."

"I wanted to thank you," Crafter Polden said, once he stopped. "For putting him close to Mackaroy. That other shadow, Cameron, he isn't bad as shadows go. But it was pretty clear during the fight with the Golem that he has never seen what a Crafter is capable of."

"Oh," Valen admitted, and smiled awkwardly. "Sorry, Madam Crafter, but I, I didn't actually do it because of that. Just that Mackaroy's been tested, more than any of us. He seemed like a better choice for a corporal. I put Cameron in first squad to keep a shadow in each, for flexibility."

"Nevertheless, I'd rather Mackaroy be the one evaluating Vincent," the Crafter insisted. "And I'd also like to thank you for taking my apprentice. He needs this, little that he knows it."

"Needs to risk his life in a dangerous mission into a town held by the Gloam?"

"He needs a chance to see how brightly he can burn," Crafter Polden said, with a glance over her shoulder to her departing apprentice. "We might all need him to, before the end."

That the strongest Crafters in the Guild had been spent trying to bring the Golems down didn't need to be said. Valen could see that thought haunting the woman in front of him, in her stooped posture and the nervous twitch of her fingers.

"Hopefully it's good for Barleybarrel," Valen said. "If he's anything like you, we might as well have a battalion."

"I need him to make it home, Valen," Crafter Polden said.

"I'll do everything I can, Madam Crafter, and hope to all hell it's enough," Valen promised.

"Master Sergeant," Olivia said. She set her hands on her hips and glared up at him, but the corners of her mouth twitched up into a smile. "If you'd do me a favour, prove that you think I'm more than this red coat."

Valen frowned, and pulled at his collar.

"I have a name."

There was something that felt strangely intimate about the request, strangely vulnerable. As if she were asking him this question in a candlelit room, alone. "Olivia," was all he managed to whisper in response.

"Now there you go," she said with a smile, and she rested a hand on his shoulder. "And like my apprentice, I expect to see you again."

Valen, not trusting his tongue to say anything coherent, just nodded. Olivia stepped back, turned, and joined the flow of the crowd. Valen stared after her, long after she had disappeared, surprised that his world had been upended again so soon.