Valen
It was over.
Barleybarrel was safe. Whatever was left of the Gloamtaken was far enough away that no one could see them coming. Even Sergeant Lorec, rising up the small service elevator to the wall to see, was able to spy any more. Even the Gloam kept far from the pilot lights around the town.
It was over.
Thousands of people had already passed through Vincent's tunnel, waiting on the other side of the wall. A thousand more would pass in another few minutes. The entire town might cross through before the end of the hour. A silent migration from danger to safety, a pilgrimage through sixty feet of stone.
It was over. There was noting left, but to swallow this bitter brew called victory.
"Heard anything yet?" Gwendolyn asked from the doorway.
Valen was waiting in front of Barleybarrel's comm box, half a room of machinery to transmit and receive messages. The soldier normally posted to this office, who had stayed with the civilians in Barleybarrel to act as a last defence, was barely worthy of the specialist designation she wore. Valen had come close to throwing the poor fool out after watching her work.
"Nothing," Valen said. It had only been ten minutes or so since the original message announcing Barleybarrel's salvation had been sent.
"Lieutenant Volenski said to skip the First Stone and contact anyone you can think of directly for an answer," Gwendolyn said, with a smile that Valen didn't understand. Like the sun shining on a funeral, it seemed both entirely appropriate and insultingly out of place. "I told her the only person you'd think of would be Major Othwald back in Wanderwisp."
"He would be the man organizing the trains over here," Valen replied, as he pulled out several plugs and jammed them into different spots. "I doubt he will enjoy seeing my name again."
"Tough burning shit. The war doesn't have time for hurt feelings."
"I image Othwald would agree with you," Valen mused as he began to type.
Sgt Redgrave on behalf of Lt Volenski 1-1-1, direct for Mj Othwald 1-4. Barleybarrel evacuated. Moved south of wall through improvised tunnel. Safe. Request muster point for pickup. Under 27,000.
The response began before Valen's hand left the comm dial and picked up a charcoal stick to write with.
Mj Othwald, 1-4, direct. Muster at grain silo 3/4 miles SE of evac point. Trains inbound. Station has capacity for loading ten cars at a time. Short trip cars can hold 135 people comfortably, 160 less so. Prioritize wounded, elderly, families with small children for comfortable travel. Everyone else can get cozy. Haste is of the essence. Rangers to rejoin First Army at G-2-8.
G-2-8. G for Godichelli's Wall, and the number set was the eighth watchtower after the second causeway. Valen finished writing, ripped the message off the pad, and turned away just as the machine clicked to life again.
Further, direct to Sergeant Redgrave. Relay by direct wire, allow 45 seconds for transmission. Treat this as a sighting of a Crafter holding a shovel.
Valen's eyes were as wide as they could get. Direct wire was a comm connection that wasn't relayed by a person to check that the recipient received the message, left open and ignored for the time asked for. It was rarely done, Valen had never heard of anyone using it before. And the adage at the end, 'a Crafter holding a shovel', was army shorthand for something that should not be remembered.
As follows: Sergeant Redgrave. Please avoid hinting that Captain Dremora is anything less than well, even on a direct line. Comm discipline and City morale will suffer if anyone spreads it. Avoid making this information public until six hours after Colonel Alessandra Dremora has been informed directly. And I'll admit to having been needlessly overbearing during your disciplinary hearing.
In another time, perhaps on any other day, those words might have lightened Valen's spirits. But even it was too small to lift the weight that lay on Valen's thoughts, with Captain Dremora's death. Though something compelled Valen to reply, switching the line and hoping Major Othwald didn't have more to say.
Sir, thank you for appropriating the Crafter's engine for us. Barleybarrel would not have survived, otherwise.
The major's reply took a few seconds.
We are the walls. Well done at Barleybarrel. We await the Rangers. Othwald out.
Valen pushed off from the desk, to see Gwen was staring at him with that same smile that defied understanding. "What else did Othwald say? You didn't write any of it down."
"Avoid talking about the captain." Valen's voice cracked a little as he spoke. He swallowed, and continued, "at least until we can inform Colonel Dremora."
"Did you actually talk about him?" Gwen asked. "I didn't take you as someone who'd gab on the comms. Or gab much at all. Town gossip doesn't mesh well with your stoic sword-master vibe."
"No talk. My routing headers identified Lieutenant Volenski as the commander of the Rangers, rather than referring to just her platoon. Most comm workers wouldn't notice, but an officer who knew the captain and runs our logistics would catch it instantly," Valen said. "Was the lieutenant waiting for an answer?"
"Volenski wants to know where we're being picked up, and where we're headed," Gwen said, and the humour seemed to evaporate from her as she took a breath to keep speaking. "They're also digging a hole to bury the captain, while we wait for the rest of the civilians to pass through."
"Bury?" Valen asked. Cremation was the norm, in the City.
"The lieutenants suggested he be buried just to the side of the tunnel. Vincent's offered to make a marker with some of the rubble from the wall."
"That's," Valen began to say, as his voice caught in his throat. He blinked to clear his eyes of something, and turned his head."That's more than I thought we could do for him. Far better than leaving him for the Gloam, even if he won't be claimed by it."
"Valen," Gwen said. He wondered at how she could use his name as both a warning and a question. "There isn't an ash-bitten thing more that you could have done. None of us could have held that position, and it needed to be held. The captain chose to detonate those charges, and did something single-handedly that the entire company couldn't manage."
"I couldn't have held it?" Valen asked.
"No, damn you. There's only so much any of us can do, and you're good enough with that sword of yours to know you have limits. You know what I'm talking about."
He did. In the field, with Cadmus and Poe, trying to hold back the Gloamtaken in the field. He hung his head again, and tried to turn back to the comm station.
"Valen. Seeing you like that, it frightened me," Gwen said. The admission was a shock to Valen, who had found his first corporal so resolute he could have built the City's walls upon it. "That look in your eyes, I've only ever seen it once before. And it belonged to a man who wanted to die."
Valen nodded, and waited.
"You might have seen him, he was actually out there in the fields with Varnell when we rescued them," Gwendolyn said, with a quick pass over her sleeve over her eyes. "Inspector Douglas Marrel. Before I did my time, and then started running that work rehabilitation farm, I was trying to cause an incident at the Irondrome. There was a gang operating there, they used some of my friends as prostitutes, and I was stockpiling explosives in the sewers beneath them to try and force someone to investigate. Marrel found me, just before I was about to. He locked me out of where I hid them, and told me to get out of the district. He was about to fight an entire gang, single-handed."
"But he survived, you said he was out in those fields," Valen said.
"Not the burning point, you ash-bitten twit. Just remember, this wasn't your fault. If you want to be angry at anyone on our side of things, you can blame Varnell."
Valen blinked. "Our lieutenant? Why?"
"The captain sacrificed himself, even when he knew leaning on Vincent was an option. A lot of that was undone by calling on Vincent like she did. Granted, we're all still alive because she made that choice, but the captain knew the odds and felt we weren't worth it. And I can see why."
Valen nodded. "Vincent's strong. And we'll need that strength again."
"Vincent's life is a finite resource. Varnell spent it too easily," Gwen said. "Especially Vincent. If there had been a Golem out there, he would have used his entire life to save us. And that would have been a bad exchange. And I think you need to tell Varnell that."
"Me?" Valen asked.
"You're her senior sergeant, and you're Valen burning Redgrave. Better believe you've earned some clout by now. Talk to her, make sure she understands how carefully we need to spend a life like Vincent's."
Valen considered her words, expecting her to get them back to business and lead him to where they were preparing to say goodbye to Captain Dremora. Instead, as he stared at the comm station without actually looking at it, Gwen slipped into his arms, rest her head against his shoulder, and hugged his chest.
A small sob sounded just out of sight, and Valen took off her hat with one hand and set it down on the counter. Gwen had buried her face into his shoulder, and tears were beginning to run down his padded coat.
"I didn't think I had so much to lose," Gwen said, so softly Valen wondered if he was supposed to hear it at all. "Candice, the other kids I was with. They're all okay, for now. Roderick is here, abyss take me, that hurts. But we lost the captain, and this is everything going right."
Valen held her for a long, quiet minute. Gwen's tears left a damp patch on his coat as large as his hand, and her breathing had slowed so much Valen could have believed she was asleep. But she pulled her head back and looked up at him, and he could see she needed something. There was a question, an anxious hope.
How could he answer that?
"We are the walls," Valen said. "I don't really think I understood what it meant, or how hard it was to live up to that creed. Worse still, we've all lost everything we thought would shelter us. The City sent their best Crafters, every one of them could have done what Vincent did today. Most of them died. Only one of them succeeded. And the City's best soldiers weren't enough to save Barleybarrel. We have no walls left to put between ourselves and the Gloam."
"Not sure that's helping," Gwen said. But she didn't say more, and the anxious hope hadn't faded.
"Our world isn't going to offer us any assurances, and we won't get a reprieve," Valen continued. "If there was ever any certainty in my life, it was because someone else made it. My grandfather, who taught me the sword. Captain Dremora, who showed me what being a soldier could and ought to mean. Crafter Kohl, who demonstrated to everyone that those stone monsters can fall. Crafter Howel, twice making sure I lived through the lowest moments of my life."
He looked down at her, still seeing that question. That need. The one he didn't know how to answer. "And you. You've been showing me, showing all of us, how important it is to keep fighting. Every way you know how. Even when the odds seem impossible. I wouldn't have survived Sergeant Ewanmourn and my lieutenant without you. And I doubt I'd have made it out of the fields alone."
Gwen lowered her head, and cursed. "I remember how close we were to dying. Ever time. It's not a comforting thought, Valen. But it wasn't a comfort to everyone else who's already died sheltering us. I guess that's your point."
"We are the walls," Valen agreed. "It means admitting there's nothing holding up the world in front of us. The only certainty, the only shelter in our lives are the promises we make."
"And our world is only as firm as our commitment to keeping those vows," Gwen concluded. She leaned back in, and hugged him again, tucking her arms inside his coat and resting her head on his shoulder. "We probably should head out."
"I think I need a minute. Just like this," Valen admitted as he hugged her. "Just like this."
And for a moment, Valen couldn't feel the winds from beyond the walls.