Gwendolyn
"Sergeant, who's mother did you sacrifice to get that?"
The woman asking the question spoke so loudly Gwen could comfortably hear her over the staccatic cacophony of Salamander fire, the now familiar volume of someone used to having to shout over the sound of their gun. The woman was asking Sergeant Cadmus about what the empty bottle she had just gulped down, and staring at the empty container as if she had just been told the Gloam was receding.
"Not sure that joke's in good taste, Spitfire," Sergeant Cadmus said. "Considering what we've been doing."
"Killing Gloamtaken?" the corporal nicknamed Spitfire asked, with a shrug. It was strange how a single gesture could change a person. All of a sudden, this hard killer looked young, immature, untested. Like someone who never got over being a sullen, rebellious teenager. It didn't help that the woman was head and chest shorter that Gwen.
Gwendolyn understood the woman's attitude. They didn't call the Gloamtaken people, or even the dead. They were creatures, monsters, Gloam spawn — more importantly they were trying to kill the City and everyone in it. Nowhere in the City did anyone speak of the Gloamtaken as the people who used to be. The people the Gloam took.
Gwendolyn understood. They had to fight, after all. Grief didn't keep eyes dry, didn't keep hands steady, didn't make arms swing a sword faster. Sympathy for the mistreated dead wouldn't help fight off the invasion.
Gwendolyn understood. And still thought of it as cowardice. "I guarantee you, one of those creatures you shot out there used to be a mother," she said.
Surprised by how quickly the words came out, Gwen didn't even consider stopping, and let the words continue slipping out. "Mothers, fathers, lovers, families. That's tens of thousands of lives and stories that used to be out there, in some other part of the world the Gloam claimed. And now what that blighted mist stole is being thrown in our faces. Like we're being mocked even as it tries to strangle us."
And to her own shock, she grabbed Spitfire by the collar of her shirt and pulled her close. "So if you can't be bothered to remember why we're doing what we're doing, just keep your mouth shut around me."
"Not sure you have what it takes to back up that threat," Spitfire replied. The shorter woman didn't raise her arms to pull off Gwen's hand, and just as quickly as it had disappeared, she looked like a soldier again. Looked like a Ranger. Looked like a killer.
That didn't take the cold rage out of Gwen, and she met that threat. "That's your ignorance talking. What you see is a horizon, or the abyss. Beyond what you can see, in the dark and well out of sight, is how far I'm willing to go to stop this invasion. And somewhere in that depth, is the fact that I will put a knife in your chest before I let you get swallowed up by the Gloam." Gwendolyn leaned in a little and asked, "Can you say the same?"
She let go of the woman's collar, and pointed over to her right. "And if you want someone to thank for the extra water, there's a nine year old boy we might all be calling Lord Captain someday."
Spitfire nodded without looking Gwen in the eyes, and turned away without giving an answer. Gwen watched as the woman seemed to rekindle — her swagger returning —as she approached Ben and asked for another bottle.
"Can't say I've ever seen Corporal Poe cowed," Captain Dremora said. Gwen turned around to see him standing just a few feet behind her.
She still found it strange that a man as big as Captain Dremora — the man's body proportions reminded her of a small train engine — could move around without being noticed. The last she had seen him, just a few moments ago, the captain had been with the platoon at the gap, helping to hold the mob by turning their killing skills into a solid wall.
"We were just getting to know each other," Gwendolyn replied.
"Anwen Poe might have the fastest hands on a Salamander in the City. Good soldier, and unlike you and yours, she had to fight to earn her place in my company," Captain Dremora said. "Up until I met Inspector Marrel, I would have wondered where you came by that strength of yours."
"My strength?"
"Not quite the right word," the captain mused. "Resolve is closer, but it doesn't fully encompass the idea. When I was talking to Valen's former captain, before the two of you arrived, I wasn't asking much about Redgrave. Even before the invasion, I knew his name. Captain Orelli said the man was poorly used in his current position, and that we had no way to measure how good he was with the sword. I still wonder who taught him, and where he learned it from."
"Then who were you asking about?" Gwen asked.
The captain continued as if she hadn't spoke. "Redgrave is a superb soldier. More than his skill with a sword, he has that level head that only comes from being comfortable with being in danger. He knows how competent he is, and he knows what being afraid feels like. That combination means he'll see a fight most people run from, and win."
Gwen's thoughts went back to the Last Wall, on a causeway where, just last night, she had fully expected to die.
"You know what I'm talking about," the captain said, and something in his gaze suggested he knew where Gwen's thoughts had taken her. "But he froze up, when he came into a fight he didn't know how to win."
Gwendolyn shook her head. "He went from the wall, into the field, to save us when the Golem came."
"Not that fight. A Golem isn't an ash-bitten fight, unless you're Garland Kohl. It's more like disaster relief. The fight I'm talking about happened with his sergeant, and his lieutenant."
Recalling that betrayal felt like a punch to the gut. It was a fight she knew Valen hadn't been expecting. Knew it was a fight the man could never have foreseen. A man as good as Valen, or a warrior raised in disciplined schooling, would not believe people could indulge the kind of cowardice Sergeant Ewanmourn embodied, or imagine the ruthlessness they'd descend to in the cause of self-preservation. In that fight, Valen had been little more than a condemned prisoner, until Gwen had managed to pull Captain Orelli into it.
"You're the one who won that fight. True, you broke Captain Orelli's company to do it, and as angry as Major Othwald was about that, my own opinion is it's better we found out now how brittle they really were. And I wondered where you found the strength to know you could do that."
"And you think you know, now?" Gwen asked.
"You and the ghost we left back in Barleybarrel have made that fairly clear. Now, of everyone I've pulled into the Rangers since this invasion began, there are three people I have a great deal of hope for. Valen is a superb soldier because he knows what he's capable of, in a way only someone schooled in martial discipline can know. Your new lieutenant has finally been given a theatre to apply her extremely gifted tactical mind. Do you know who the third is?"
Gwendolyn didn't answer, though she suspected she knew.
"It's the woman who knows how to keep fighting through hopeless situations. Who knows how much doing the right thing can hurt," Captain Dremora finished.
Gwendolyn found she couldn't meet the captain's eyes. "Still hoping for the future, sir?"
"No. You're part of my hope for surviving this invasion."
The air around her suddenly felt very, very cold. Few people would know the City's chances quite like Captain Dremora, and hope wasn't something people look for when things were going well.
"Now, let's go see the young man you escorted here." Captain Dremora pointed over to Benden Tammerlane, who was in the middle of a throng of Rangers, happily handing out supplies and smiling for all the world like it was his birthday.
"He's a boy, who really ought to be in school."
"Calling him a boy suggests he's a child. Children don't walk into danger, knowing how they can help," the captian disagreed. "You would know that better than most. What is his name?"
"Benden Tammerlane."
The captain marched ahead, and the Rangers receiving supplies stood aside for him. He approached the boy, and loomed over him in a way that reminded Gwen of the Golem standing behind the wall. "What all did you bring, soldier?"
"Captain," the boy said, struggling between trying to imitate a soldier's salute and gaping in awe. "I brought water, and extra salamander rounds."
The captain frowned, and glanced down at the pack by Ben's feet. "Mister Tammerlane, I will expect you to do better next time."
"Sir?" Gwendolyn asked. She didn't voice the question alone, several of the Rangers standing nearby did so. Including the Ranger she had threatened a minute ago.
"The ammunition should have been packed above the water, with a cloth of some kind to separate the two," the captain continued. "Salamander rounds are normally water tight, barring a manufacturing defect. Which happens in roughly one of every hundred rounds. Water getting inside the casing has caused them to detonate before."
Benden's head slumped down, for a moment. But Gwen had a sense that the boy had some fire and steel somewhere below that bad haircut and angry eyes, and wasn't surprised when his head went back up and he met the captain's gaze without flinching. "Yes, sir."
"I don't expect to see this mistake again, when you carry supplies next."
And suddenly, Gwen understood what the captain was doing. Young man, the captain had insisted on calling him. Not 'boy'. A mark of respect, to refuse to indulge even someone so young.
There was no surer sign of respect than having expectations of someone.
"No sir. I won't," Benden said, and Gwen knew that promise was as solemn as any the boy had ever made.
"Your next assignment is to escort Corproal Aranhall and Sergeant Redgrave back to Barleybarrel. Their comrades will be our next line of defence, when the Gloamtaken reach the town. Assist the squads there in distributing supplies, and help make sure there are no civilians where they shouldn't be. Particularly in the buildings on the north side of town, facing out into the fields."
"Yes, sir!" Benden shouted, enthusiastically enough that Gwen winced. He attempted a soldier's salute, holding his right fist in front of his heart with a single thump.
"Two taps, soldier. Like your heartbeat," Captain Dremora said, and demonstrated it by striking his chest with his fist. "It's you telling me, and the City, that you'll fight as long as you're still alive."
There was no mediocrity in tribulation. There was only those who faltered, and those who carried on. Gwendolyn wondered, to herself, what many of the people around her might become, if they survived this invasion.
"Corporal Aranhall and Sergeant Redgrave, you'll be accompanying Mister Tammerlane back," the captian said, and an odd grin spread on his face. "Speaking of which, where is Sergeant Redgrave?"
Gwendolyn turned towards the fighting, already knowing the answer.