Emily
And so, as if she were set before a Justice, Emily Varnell found herself telling the story of those last, harrowing hours. It came out easily, the words tumbling fully formed from thoughts she didn't know she was so eager to voice. In a way it was a confessional, an unburdening of the worst and most pitiless of sins, the failure that gnawed at her with the eight lives lost.
She told the tale of her failure to anticipate how her sergeant — and the civilians who had fled with him — would come back from the Gloam as her enemies. Her failure to take advantage of critical minutes when they had been gathered to start marching through the field. Having no plan to engage the Gloamtaken, nearly failing to take advantage of their resources until Decklan managed to find them a way. Failing to hold the mob, and finally, failing Sarah in those last minutes before the Rangers came to save them.
And through all of this, Captain Dremora listened. His questions, when he asked them, were pointed and direct, and voiced with neither cruelty nor compassion. He asked about her chosen tactics, the effectiveness of canister shot, if it was easier to defend from trench to trench or or if it mattered. He asked how quickly the labourers picked up their tasks, how high the brush needed to be to hold back Gloamtaken, how quickly they moved, if she felt they could outrun the creatures over both long and short distances.
In her sorrow, it wasn't until the Gloam began to clear, as the rangers still skirmishing in the fields managed to light most of the field and thin the grey fog, and Barleybarrel came into view, that she realized Captain Dremora's thoughts weren't on their last battle.
"Your observations match up with Redgrave's. We can't reliably outrun them over more than a few miles. Especially with civilians hugging the walls, we'd be snaked along for over a mile and spread too thin to defend them," the captain said. Quietly, a conversation in a library, or an office. The spoken equivalent of a fearful whisper.
"So you're hunkered down here, waiting for the trains, sir?" Emily asked.
"No. I can't depend on the trains. We had to scrounge just to get ourselves into Barleybarrel, though we managed to put the least mobile people aboard one and get them out. We have nearly two million people to move into the City, and until a few hours ago, Barleybarrel was the bottom of the priority list."
"Because of Crafter Kohl."
They both turned back, towards the gap in the wall. "Aye. Over fifty miles from the Northreach District, the furthest from the City a Golem has ever been brought down. The source of our current predicament. Let me put a question to you, corporal. I have a full company of rangers, and if I added yours and a carefully picked detail of civilians to act as a screening force in the field, right now, do you think we could make the march towards the access ramp at the next Causeway?"
Emily frowned, though the surprise of being asked took longer to respond to than her answer. "No. It's too much front to fight along. My people wouldn't have lasted long enough to be rescued without that Valkyrie. We'd spend too long in the field at the risk of being outflanked or overrun. And even with that gun, we wouldn't have made it on our own. I'll be honest, sir, the only time that would have worked was when we were still in the field. Using us as a sacrificial distraction might have bought you another hour or more, and it could have made the difference."
"Abyss take us all. If it weren't for Vincent, I might have considered it," Captain Dremora admitted.
It was telling, for Emily, that the admission didn't offend her. But it did frighten her, as the captain's words spoke to how dire their circumstances still were. "Vincent, that's the Crafter with you, isn't it?"
"Now how do you know that?" Captain Dremora asked, though he grinned as he spoke.
"He saved my life, from wherever he is. Frankly, I thought he would be with you, sir."
"He's at the wall right now, working with the company's demolitions expert. Our best hope for getting Barleybarrel out of this mess is to have him carve a tunnel through the wall, in such a way that he can close it up after without knocking the whole thing over. If we can manage that much, it doesn't matter if they can't send us a train, we can walk them all back to the City."
"As long as the fires flow, sir, the fields on the other side of this wall might be the safest place in the City."
Captain Dremora paused at that. "Something to consider, corporal. Something to consider."
But Emily had finally found a thought to pull her away from the contemplation of her failures and loss, and she latched onto it like clinging to a bridge pillar as the river tried to sweep her away. "Sir, if he was at the wall the entire time, it means he communicated with me, instantaneously, over miles. As if he were standing next to me, nearly at the other end of the field.
"It's an impressive feat. But even hearing he saved your life doing it, I wish he hadn't. I need him to focus. To be perfectly frank, Corporal Varnell, he is Barleybarell's salvation. The rest of us will just be buying him the time he needs to save us."
Captain Dremora stepped ahead, and put himself in her path. It was only when they stopped that Emily realized they were just outside of the town, nearly a stone's throw from the buildings at the edge. "You don't look like you're in much of a mood for a celebration."
Emily shrugged. "No, sir. I lost people out there."
The Captain nodded, as if to confirm a suspicion. "Appropriate. I trust you won't be bothered if you find some of the civilians up ahead are celebrating?"
"That might sting, sir. They lost people, and it's my fault."
"No, Varnell. You snatched over two hundred people from the Gloam. Of the six civilians who died, two were killed in the tragedy of following your sergeant, and four died on their feet fighting to save their people. Exactly the way I'd want to go, if I had to. Remain solemn, it's both your prerogative and given the lives lost, entirely appropriate. But you will not begrudge them their celebration. This is a victory, Corporal."
"It doesn't feel like much of a victory, sir," Emily said. The bitterness in her own voice made her flinch, and she couldn't meet the captain's gaze as he looked down at her.
"Actually, this is exactly what victory feels like, in our line of work. It's the most painful thing you can live through, after defeat," Captain Dremora said, and the wind felt cold, as it blew in from the north.
It always blew towards the City. Towards the Spire.
Cheers erupted ahead, well ahead of Emily and the captain, where the first of the civilians were crossing through the pilot lights at the edge of town. A crowd was already gathering to greet them, and the quiet, grim march of the last hour faded like fog from a window, as they reached the warmth of their homes.
Children cried out for their parents. Husbands, wives, families embraced, some kissed for so long they had to be gently guided aside so others could pass. There were cries and tears, but of relief, of gratitude. A man danced with two small children on his shoulders. A woman embraced an elderly mother. A group of a dozen children, child to teen, buried another woman under an avalanche of hugs and tears.
Barleybarrel embraced its missing people, and welcomed them home.
And in that crowd, like a missed note in a symphony, a woman stood alone. Wading through the sea of joy, eyes wide and head turning, her expectant expression waning moment by moment as she realized what she was looking for wasn't there.
"Varnell," Captain Dremora said, as quietly as he could in the middle of the throng. "Do you know the names of the people who didn't make it?"
"Yes, sir," Emily said. She took a slow breath, to steady the rising panic in her chest. "All of them."
"Their loved ones need to be told. You should start with her."
"Aye, sir," Emily replied, though she wished she hadn't. As much as she wished she could abandon this duty, there was no refusing the captain. Nothing in her thoughts, even the darkest and most selfish imaginings, would entertain it. Not to him.
"I'll have someone accompany you, though. Redgrave?"
Behind them, too far to eavesdrop but close enough to be easily reached, the surprisingly young master sergeant walked through the crowd.
Walked wasn't quite the word. The man's steps were lighter, he moved less while covering more ground, subtle motions that revealed less, but carried him further, the man looked, to Emily, like she and everyone around the sergeant hadn't fully learned to walk.
She remembered that, like Lieutenant Volenski, he had taken an entire side of that mob of Gloamtaken alone. And as a master sergeant of the Rangers, he had to be one of the most dangerous combatants in the City.
"Sir?" Sergeant Redgrave asked.
"Corporal Varnell needs to inform the families of six souls lost during their march through the Gloam. I'd like you to accompany her during this duty."
"Sir, if the corporal's willing, I'll take this duty. She had hers have been through too much as it is. I just need the names."
A man who knew how her heart ached, over just the apprehension of this task. And a man who volunteered to take that pain. She would count Sergeant Redgrave a friend, even if he never knew it, just for that gesture. "The Corporal is not willing to hand off this task, sir. Though I would be grateful for the company."
There was a twinkle in the Captain's eye, something akin to amusement, but more profound. As if he had just been proven right about something important. "Well said, both of you. As the old words go, words the Army hasn't uttered enough since the Fourth, we are the walls. Stone does not endure as well as we do. Muster at the fountain in Barleybarrel's square in half an hour."
"Aye, sir," both Emily and Valen said.
"And Redgrave?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Have someone from your squad retrieve the sword from Crafter Saval's personal chest."
Emily frowned at that, but she expected no explanation.
"I will, sir," Sergeant Redgrave said, and saluted in the Rangers' fashion, two taps of the fist to the chest, over the heart.
A vow, in each salute. While my heart still beats.
The captain returned the salute, and set off through the crowd. Emily turned her attention back to the woman in the crowd, for whom the hopeful smile and wide eyes had already been burned off by a horrible, but as yet unspoken truth. One Emily knew she should voice first.
"What do I say to her?" Emily asked Sergeant Redgrave, who had already taken a step towards the woman.
"Ask her name first. First and last. And ask her who she is looking for. Then if the name matches your list, tell her the truth," Valen said.
"But what do I say? What can anyone say to make it hurt less?" Emily asked.
"You can't," Valen said, and his words felt like both a cool drink after a long day, and a hammer blow. "There are no words to make this blow hurt less. The best we can do is avoid making it worse."
Emily swallowed, nodded, and stepped towards the woman now waiting for them. She clutched her hands together, to keep them still. "Ma'am, are you waiting for someone?"
"Patrick Ross. My brother, his family is young, they were on the first train out," the woman said.
Patrick Ross. Decklan had told her the story of how the man died. Rushed by a dozen Gloamtaken as he was expanding their firewall, waving a burning branch in front of him to buy the people beside his time to climb out of their trench and come back with soldiers.
"And your name?" Valen asked.
"Irene."
"Irene," Emily said, in order to get herself speaking. "I'm sorry. Your brother, he was killed. In the field, he was building a wall of fire out of brush, and their crew was ambushed. He, he picked up a burning branch and held them off, so the others could get clear."
It hurt, to see the pain her words caused. Irene shuddered, turned away, turning her head left and right quickly, like she was looking to make sure the ground was clear so she could collapse on it. "Patrick, he..."
"Do you have anyone you could go to, Irene? Some friends or family? We can take you there, if you'd let us," Emily said.
"Patrick, he's still out there? For the Gloam?" Irene asked wildly.
"No," Valen said, quiet and firm, an answer that would allow no argument. "He will not rise to fight us. He will still be there, when this invasion is over, and we can bury him properly."
"I," Irene gasped, forcing herself to breath between sudden, raking sobs. "My family's near the fountain, helping collect the supplies the Rangers are using. I'll head over there."
"We'll walk with you, if you'd let us," Emily said.
"I, I would. Thank you," Irene said. And surprisingly, she took Emily's hand in both of hers, and clutched it to her chest as she walked. Valen followed behind, close enough to help, and far enough away to give them the space Irene seemed to need.
Emily didn't know if she could do this five more times. And the Golems still marched on the City.
She wondered, if she was just beginning to understand Captain Dremora's warning, about how much victory could hurt.