"Attention!"
Sergeant Varnell's order rang like a bell in the tranquil morning air. Dew still cling to the leaves of the nearby rows of coffee plants, and Adrian's sheath was still slightly damp from the condensation clinging to the fabric.
Adrian snapped into the stiff, rigid posture expected of his sergeant's order, resting his Salamander on his shoulder. Around him, his friends and fellow recruits did the same, the sound of their boot heels clapping in synchrony, making a single, powerful note.
"Present arms!" Varnell shouted.
Adrian turned to his right, set the butt of his rifle against his shoulder, and aimed his weapon towards the sky.
"Fire!"
All around Adrian, a hundred streaks of fire carved the morning air. A hundred explosions cracked the air, echoing several times in the quiet morning.
"Fire!"
Adrain squeezed the trigger again. Warm air rushed past his face as another hundred lances of fire drowned his vision in light.
"Right turn! At ease!" Varnell shouted, her orders as audible as a train whistle, and as hard to ignore as an oncoming train. Adrian turned to his right, spreads his legs apart, and rested the salamander on his right shoulder.
He grinned as he dared a glance at his right shoulder. The heavy pad of oiled hemp fabric, attached to the right shoulder of his formal uniform, had confused him for most of the morning. Now, as the blisteringly hot barrel rested against his shoulder, it made perfect sense.
As the smoke dissipated, and Adrian returned his attention to the ceremony in front of him, he finally noticed the hundreds of people standing in a wide semicircle.
An elderly woman, Adrian guessed her to be of an age with Varnell, stepped forward with a small sprout in her hands. The woman might have nearly been as tall as Gerald, though her stooped posture and slow, careful gait made it difficult to be certain.
She stepped up to one of the furrows, and knelt down. With her bare hands, she scooped out some of the soil. Adrian could see a smile spread across her face, as she took several scoops of dirt and made a small mound beside the hole.
Gently, she took the plant and set it into the hole. She fussed with the plant for a few moments, orienting it so the stalks pointed straight up before she reached with one hand and pushed the mound of soil onto the plant. She covered the roots, and left the soil loose around the base of the stalk.
She then took out a flask, and dumped its contents into the soil, careful to make sure even the dregs made it out onto the ground.
The old woman stood up and smiled. "It's another little victory," the woman said.
Louder, her tone still very gentle, she said, "nothing grows in the Gloam. Absolutely nothing. It chokes the life out of plant and person; strangling trees and shrubs just as it kills anyone unfortunate enough to find themselves inside it."
The woman paused, glancing down at the plant. "That's why the Seed Bank is such a miracle. Because just as assuredly as if the Crafters hadn't made the Spire, if we hadn't gathered up every species of edible plant we could find, we would be dead."
The woman glanced towards Adrian. Her eyes lingered for a moment on some of his companions, and when she met eyes with Sergeant Varnell, she actually waved.
"This plant is a crop. Food, like everything we've ever dared to put back in the soil. But a luxury like this plant is meant to put a smile on a child's face, and help remind us all that there's more to our lives than the siege," the old woman said.
"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my distinct privilege to announce the return of Sugar Cane to the world," the old woman announced.
The old woman's announcement was met by a stunning, deafening absence of noise. No one in the crowd cheered, no one clapped, no one offered the moment anything more than open mouths and wide eyes.
Until Farah cried out, "spite the abyss and burn the Gloam!"
Her cry broke Adrian's respect for decorum, and he cheered with everyone around him, breaking into a rancorous cheer nearly as loud as the volley of shots they had fired earlier.
Even their cheers were drowned out, as Sergeant Varnell bellowed "attention!"
As one, everyone around Adrian stopped cheering and stood straight, Salamander barrels resting against their shoulders. Adrian looked to the Sergeant, terrified that they had upset their teacher.
But Varnell wore the warmest smile he had ever seen, a smile that seemed to struggle between pride and mirth, before the old sergeant turned away and faced the semicircle of dignitaries.
"Salute!" Sergeant Varnell called out.
Immediately, Adrian moved his Salamander to his right hand, let the butt rest against the ground, and placed his right hand over his heart, balling his hand into a fist.
Around him, everyone did the same. Varnell, ahead of them, waited just a moment after before saluting to the old woman.
"Gwendolyn Aranhall," Varnell shouted. "Thank you, for this triumph."
As Varnell shouted her thanks, the dignitaries in the semi-circle applauded. Adrian noted a rather varied degree of enthusiasm. From soft, slow clapping from a group of well-dressed individuals near the fringes of the circle, to Benden Tammerlane, who's thunderous applause was easily audible despite the noise.
As the applause died down, Varnell turned to them, and said, "they will be serving coffee and refreshments for the next hour or so. The coffee is supposed to be only for the dignitaries, but I will not discourage you from testing the principle that we are all equal inside the walls. Try to avoid offending anyone here, though. The upper echelons of society tend to be petty and vengeful."
Adrian grinned as the sergeant made a point of raising her voice at the last sentence, her powerful voice easily heard by the crowd behind her, a few of whom stopped and sneered before returning to the food being served.
"Dismissed!"
Adrian marched to the nearby gun rack and set his weapon upright against the thin metal frame. He then opened the small pouch at his side and set the extra rounds back inside a nearby chest.
"So, you're what Varnell gave up becoming Lord Captain for?" Adrian heard, from almost directly behind him. Instinctively, he stepped forward, whirled, and rested his hand on his sword.
To see the woman who had planted the small stalk of sugar cane just a few moments ago. The tall woman had a slight bow to her posture, with the gnarled knuckles of arthritic hands, and it was quickly clear to Adrian that her sight was failing.
But he was surprised that, as his hand still lingered on his sword, he could see her left foot ready to push herself back, her eyes were already judging the reach of his sword, and her right hand lingered by something in her pocket.
"You do that trick too?" Gwendolyn asked.
"He does," Varnell said. "I still kill him every time we spar, but it isn't quick, and it's never a surprise to him. I'm not sure how much more I can teach him. He'd need someone like that son of yours to see how far he can go."
"That won't happen. You know how he is," Gwendolyn said.
"Leave an old woman her delusions. This is Adrian Keates. One of my best," Varnell introduced him.
"Ma'am. I'm afraid I don't understand," Keates said. "Why did they react so poorly when you announced that you had planted sugar cane?"
Varnell chucked, but Gwendolyn looked back at the mingling crowd and shook her head. "My last act of insolence. That plant was supposed to be the start of a second generation of coffee. I told them it would take another six weeks before it was ready, but someone high-up insisted it had to be today."
"Well, we get sugar cane, and my recruits take me further from the grace of high society. I'm even starting to lose my accent," Varnell reflected.
"No one could ever hear it, Emily," Gwendolyn said to Sergeant Varnell. Adrian found it difficult to witness anyone refer to the sergeant as 'Emily'.
"As for you," Gwendolyn rounded on Adrian, pointing a finger directly at his chest. "You don't know what a gift having her as a teacher is. You also don't know what she's given up to take you on. I hope that you and your cohort haven't wasted her time."
"I, ma'am-" Adrian started to say.
"I've had them for ten weeks, Gwen," Varnell said. "My slowest soldier can hit thirty-eight in forty-five shots per minute with a Salamander, they can all converse at a run, and every one of them can operate a Valkyrie."
"That's not terrible," Gwendolyn said, nodding slowly.
"That's the baseline. That one," Varnell said as she pointed towards Caitlin, who with Elliot Trask had managed to take one of the vats of brewed coffee and started serving it to the serving staff. "She managed seventy-eight hits last week with a Salamander, in sixty-four shots. I have five people with an average accuracy ratio over a hundred percent. Two of my recruits now play lawn darts with round-shot."
Adrain grinned. Varnell's last statement may have been a bit of a boast, but it wasn't far from the truth.
"Will they be ready for the Sixth?" Gwendolyn Aranhall asked.
"More ready than you and I were," Varnell promised.
"Have you told them why you're known as 'Backburner'?" Gwendolyn asked with a smirk.
"I might, after they graduate," Varnell reflected, as she glanced over to where Gerald was standing apart from the others, staring with his head titled, his gaze set towards the unfinished wall.
"Aranhall," a uniformed woman said, as she approached them.
Adrain could see the immaculate, well-tailored uniform was more embellished than the customary formalwear that even the other officers present were wearing. Gold-threaded pauldrons, several gleaming medals over the right side of her chest, and an insignia on the pommel of her sword that Adrian didn't recognise.
A sword, plunging into an open book.
"Colonel," Varnell said, snapping to attention and saluting. Adrian did the same, and held himself at attention.
Gwendolyn, however, only looked the woman in the eye, and scoffed. "Cavilla. I'm surprised to see you this far from High Central's rarified air. I'm surprised you aren't shivering, this far from the Spire."
"Surprised to see you at all, Aranhall. Who let you out of that hole in the ground Agriculture keeps you locked in? And what gave you the right to trample on this ceremony like that?" The woman with the odd sword, Cavilla, said. Her voice was scathing and vicious, with a hint of cruelty that sounded, to Adrain, like pleasure.
"The coffee shrubs they wanted to plant here today weren't ready. Sugar cane is the closest plant I had that could handle the soil out here. Strange thing is, someone kept insisting the ceremony had to be today. Someone who seems to forget her actual rank. Did we elect a new Lord Captain this morning?" Gwendolyn asked.
"Not yet. But you should mind your tone, and your manners, around a Colonel. Varnell, reprimand this woman for her disrespect," Colonel Cavilla said.
Varnell scowled, her thumb resting on the pommel of her sword. "I'm afraid I must refuse, ma'am. That's outside my authority."
"Coward. You, boy," Cavilla turned to Adrian, her dismissive tone grating on Adrian's nerves. "Escort the old lady to the cable car, and send her on her way."
"Ma'am," Adrain said. "I'm afraid that also appears to be outside my authority."
"You gave up your commission to raise a handful of insubordinate louts, Varnell?" Colonel Cavilla asked.
"No, ma'am. I gave up my commission because I didn't see enough soldiers in the army," Varnell replied.
"We have plenty of soldiers," Cavilla said, dismissively.
"We have plenty of uniformed clerks, janitors and politicians. We are disturbingly thin on soldiers. Respectfully, ma'am," Varnell disagreed, her tone still polite.
"Respectfully?" Cavilla asked, her tone rising.
"Respectfully. Now why don't you go return to your high-society cohorts? The fact that you still insist on wearing your former rank of secretary is embarrassing," someone else said. Adrian turned to see Colonel Tammerlane step towards them, an angry scowl on his face.
Adrian nodded in understanding. The insignia on her pommel was for a Secretary to the Lord Captain, the second highest rank in the military.
"Perhaps I should," Cavilla said. "This company has soured quite a bit."
The former secretary turned and departed.
"Ah, Ben! It is particularly good to see you," Gwendolyn said, as she wrapped her arms around the colonel and hugged him.
"Always a pleasure, Miss Aranhall," Colonel Tammerlane replied.
"Miss Aranhall? Even after all these years, and your commission?" Gwendolyn asked.
"Even still," Benden replied solemnly.
Adrian could see something in the Colonel's stance and behaviour. The respect he bore for this elderly woman leaked into every word, glance, and movement he made in her presence.
The colonel's behaviour was self-conscious, his stance rigid and formal, and his words carefully considered.
Adrain turned his attention back to the former Secretary, who had joined a small group of people that included a middle-aged man in a rust-red coat. Secretary Cavilla tapped the man in the red coat on the shoulder, and gestured south, towards the distant causeway.
It took Adrian a few moments to remember the significance of that coat.
A crafter's coat.
The crafter and the colonel detached themselves from the group, and after stopping for another cup of coffee, began to make their way towards the causeway.
"Guess she's leaving," Benden said, from beside Adrian.
Adrian nearly jumped in surprise.
"I'm a little surprised to see her so far out here," Benden added. "She's more a politician than a soldier, which has served her well so far. She's our youngest Colonel."
"I didn't know that, sir," Adrian admitted.
"What's your name, recruit? I'm beginning to suspect that I should remember the names of Varnell's trainees," Benden asked.
"Adrian Keates, sir," Adrian said, shaking his hand.
"Benden Tammerlane. Now, who was the woman who cheered just after Gwendolyn shocked us all and planted sugar cane without authorization?" the colonel asked.
"Farah Respelli. She's just over there," Adrian said, pointing to where a group of his comrades had joined Caitlin and Trask. Nearly every server had joined them, leaving the dignitaries to pour their own coffee.
"Ah. I need to thank her for reminding these coddled prats that this is a celebration. I expect I'll hear more of you in the years to come, soldier," Benden said.
"Thank you, sir," Adrian said.
Benden stepped away and marched towards the group Adrian had pointed to, immediately interrupting the revelry simply by being present in it.
Adrain shook his head and made his way to one of the other tables, where a vat of boiling water was trickling through a paper bag full of dark-brown powder and into a small pot. Adrian took a nearby cup and took a small sip.
He nearly spat it out. It tasted like charcoal and oil, and left an irritating sour note lingering on his tongue.
"It's an acquired taste," someone said to Adrian, as a middle-aged man stepped beside him to grab a cup. "No one's willing to admit that they over-brewed it."
"Why is it so popular?" Adrian asked. He remembered more than a little about how Stenman Xavier spoke of coffee being nearly as valuable as certain rare metals.
"It's a mild stimulant. Easy to get addicted to," the man said. He held out his hand and grinned. "Vance Elderman."
"Adrian Keates," Adrian introduced himself, shaking Vance's offered hand.
"Undercity kid? You don't sound like you've been out for very long," Vance noted.
"I haven't been," Adrian said.
Just as he spoke, there was a flash of light to the south, followed a heartbeat later by a percussive rumble. Adrian turned and caught a red flare dissipate, and smoke rise from the distant causeway.
"Ma'am!" Adrian called out, turning away from Vance and jogging back towards Sergeant Varnell.
Sergeant Varnell was already starting to muster the others. "Keates!" she called out, waving over at him. "Did you see anything?"
"A flash of fire by the causeway, ma'am. And a lot of smoke," Adrian reported. "I have no idea what could have caused it."
"Burn me," Caitlin said. "That's where the stairs are. The access up the Causeway."
"I suspect that wasn't an accident," Varnell said. "Gather up the dignitaries, we need to get them to the next wall. And where the burning hell did Raeth go?"
Adrian turned away and raised his hand. "Everyone! Everyone, gather around!"
His comrades, Farah and Elliot loudest among them, took up the call as they tried to gather the dignitaries nearly.
"What's going on?"
"What was that?"
"Why are we listening to you?"
Adrian was assaulted by questions on all sides, nearly drowning in it, until a sharp crack thundered in the air.
Every eye in the mob, including Adrian's, stared at the man now standing beneath a small plume of smoke, with a Salamander in his hand. Colonel Benden Tammerlane lowered his weapon and raised his voice.
"Gather around! Civilians silent! Sergeant Varnell, explain what you've observed!" the colonel shouted, his voice nearly as forceful as the Salamander shot he had just fired.
"Aye, sir! An explosion has just demolished the access stairs to the Causeway. I suspect its destruction isn't an accident!" Varnell reported, her words crisp and clear.
"Then we'll need to evacuate the civilians," Benden said. "We make for the next wall, immediately. Gather up torches, water, and a small amount of food. It's a ten-mile march."
"Ma'am!" Adrian heard from a small distance away, as Gerald came running towards them.
"Gerald? What is it?" Varnell asked.
"Ma'am, the wall just went dark!"