It was the third day since their arrival at Avoncross and the time for goodbyes had finally come. Quinten and Ronan waited while Cedric’s belongings were loaded onto the wagon destined for Southbend. His orders had him shipping out a day earlier than Quinten and Ronan, their journey to Northreach being notably shorter.
“You know what this means don’t you?” Quinten asked, moving forward to stand beside his friend.
Grunting, Cedric said, “That I won’t be there to keep you out of trouble?”
Quinten's grin, was quickly joined by Cedric’s, both knowing the words to be a lie. “The sooner you learn to do more than hover, the sooner you can start delivering messages to Northreach.”
Cedric sighed, his shoulders dipping. “Or you could learn to fly, then you could come join me in the Skyrunners.”
“I’ll get right on that…” he said dryly.
Turning, he looked past Quinten, eyeing Ronan. “You’re going to keep him alive for me, won’t you?”
“Says the loon flying hundreds of feet in the air.” Quinten said with a snort. “We’re going to be fine. All of us. We’ll meet back here in a couple of months, three to four at most, with stories to tell.”
Quinten turned back to watching the men loading the wagon, but Cedric held Ronan’s gaze until the other man dipped his head in acknowledgement.
When everything was stored, and they couldn’t hold back the tide any longer, Cedric hugged each of them tightly.
“Take care of each other. Do what you need to, just make sure you do it in one piece.” He said. His voice tight like his throat wanted to hold back the words.
“We will.” Quinten said. “Stay high and far out of range of those Drakovian bows. See you on the other side, brother.”
*****
The journey to Northreach was uneventful. The landscape changed from the marches fed by the Avon River to the famed, wide-open grasslands of the plains. The trip itself took two days and with Ronan and Quinten being the only Lieutenants in the group traveling north, leadership of their fellow mages naturally fell to them.
In an attempt to ease the holes that Cedric, and to a lesser extent, Lastrel’s, absences created. Quinten threw himself into the role. Making an effort to speak with the four of them and ensure they each had what they needed before they arrived at their unit later that day.
As an aside, Declan was a source of entertainment. Garrick, having decided the boy needed to be trained as a valet for Quinten. The only issue being that the old man was a master-at-arms and had no true idea how to go about training someone for the position.
Quinten watched on in amusement as the veteran barked commands to the boy as he attempted to arrange Quinten's attire for the day. They were standing in his tent and without digging into the trunks currently stowed amongst the baggage train. There really weren’t many options.
“You want your new master to walk about like some kind of mismatched fool? A court jester, maybe?” Garrick demanded, inspecting the boy’s choices.
Peering over from where he stood shaving, Quinten frowned. “They are both brown, are they not?”
“Clashing shades of brown, my lord.” Garrick said with a wink. Quinten shook his head and, with one final draw of the straight razor, he began wiping off his face with a cloth.
They would arrive at Northreach later that day and Quinten wanted to make a good impression on the men and woman he would be leading to war, and for some, their deaths.
Finally dressed, Quinten exited the tent. He carried his overnight bag through the night’s camp. Nodding at the few who were already up, and saying hello to a pair of mages who’d made the journey with him from Gremelda, that were now assigned to one of the infantry regiments based out of Northreach. Eventually, he made it to where a brushed and well fed Star stood picketed. He set the bag beside his saddle and inspected the mare. He’d always taken pride in caring for her, but he had to admit, he’d never seen her look finer.
“Well hello. Aren’t you looking beautiful this morning?” Quinten said as he brushed down the horse’s neck with his palm. She nuzzled into him, searching for an apple. Star searched him. And Quinten grinned when she found the treat hidden in his robe pocket.
“You’ll spoil her if you keep that up, my lord.” Layla said, approaching him with Garrick and Ronan’s horses, Gendry and Molly, respectfully.
Quinten smiled. “I can’t be doing worse than you already are.” He said with a raised brow.
The groomswoman tactfully avoided answering by tying the two alone the same picket as Star.
“We’ll be joining with my unit today or tomorrow. I’m not sure how that will affect your duties with Star and the others, with it being a cavalry unit. I expect we will need to keep them ready to ride at a moment’s notice. While there will be soldiers tasked with the job, I’ll expect you to tell me if the work is too much or if you have any issues with the men.”
She met his gaze, letting him know she understood, and nodded. “I will, my lord.” She paused for a moment before adding, “My lord?”
When he nodded for her to continue, she asked. “Declan. Are you… Do I need to find him other work once we make Northreach, my lord?”
Quinten frowned. “Is he unhappy? I can tell Garrick to ease up on the boy. He’s just not really used to working with children.”
Layla’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. “No, my lord! It’s not that, it’s just… I kind of guilted you bringing him on—”
Holding up his hand, Quinten stopped her. “He is fine, as long as he’s not unhappy. I’m fine with the current arrangement. If, over time, Declan realizes he doesn’t like being a valet, we can find him something else to do that he may actually enjoy.”
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
She let out a heavy sigh, smiling. “Thank you, my lord. You don’t know how much the opportunity means to him, to us.”
“You’re good at what you do.” Quinten said, turning away from the woman and admiring Starbrite once more. “It’s only fair that you are given a chance to prove it.”
With his back to her, he didn’t see the blush that colored Layla’s cheeks. But, with the flare from his Empathy, Quinten didn’t need to in order to know she appreciated his comment.
Going to have to be careful with that one, he thought. A romp on a cold night was one thing, but he had no intention of playing with anyone’s heartstrings, let alone with someone who now depended on him.
*****
If Quinten had been tasked with creating a fortification from scratch, it would very likely have resembled Northreach in its construction. Based on the sun-bleached stone, he knew this fort wasn’t one of the newly constructed defenses the Core had assisted in building, but magic had clearly played a role in its creation.
Rising above the open plains atop a gently sloping rise, the yellowed-stone bastion bathed in the sun like a forgotten stand of corn after harvest time. Its outer walls, raised and transmuted with magic fused seamlessly with the earth itself before rising thirty feet in height. Crenelations ran their length as protection against the favored weapon of the Drakovian horde. Watchtowers were placed at each corner of the battlements, housing a number of ballistae and platforms intended for the Gifted to work their magics.
While the fort had likely been created with the expectation of housing several hundred troops, the influx of over a one to two thousand soldiers and their accompanying mages required the erection of a field camp along the base of the southern wall, well within reach of the main gate in the event of attack.
As they approached, Quinten took in the deep dry moat encircling the fortress, its sides sloped and turned to stone to make the footing of any shod beast impossible. A quick survey pointed out the numerous drain ports along the moat that would allow for its traditional use.
The main gate, with its metal-reinforced heavy ironwood door, sat behind a double-portcullis. Above which were rows and rows of murder holes spanning the length of the tunnel. Quinten felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. He would have hated the idea of traversing the death trap were he in the attacker’s shoes.
Passing through the tunnel in neat lines, Quinten followed the riders before him with one quick look back at the mages behind him. Within the outer walls, a second ring of defenses formed an inner keep. Its walls formed out of guard barracks, blacksmith halls, and armories. Along one wall, a sizable stable ran, housing the nearly three hundred horses and spares that made up Quinten's future command. A quick glance showed them suspiciously empty.
A large stone tablet was hung off the side of a rampart as a legend. Buildings and units were indicated with numbers telling where each could be found. NRLC or Northreach Light Cavalry was assigned to building twelve located right beside the stables.
Dismounting, Quinten handed his reins to Declan and pulled Ronan to the side. “I’ll have Declan or Garrick come find you later, so we get a meal and check-in.”
Ronan nodded, his eyes on a cart as it rolled by. The buzzing of flies and the gore covered leg left dangling overtop the latched rear, an indicator of its grisly contents.
Quinten gave his friend a shake. “It’s going to be OK. That’s the sort of thing you’re here to help with.”
“Yea?” Ronan asked, his eyes holding that same look he’d carried since Darrowford. “And how many of them will I be able to help? How many can I actually save?”
Squeezing his friend’s shoulder, Quinten said, “As many as you are able and nothing more. It’s not on you to stop death, Ronan. You’re just here to kick it in shin from time to time.”
A soft smile touched the other man’s lips, and he nodded slightly. “I’ll do what I can. See you later, Q.”
*****
Entering the building marked with the number twelve, Quinten walked into a large open area with dozens of desks that made up the ground floor. The Army and Core administrators sitting at the desks, identifiable by the insignia sewn onto their clothing, rushed back and forth in a mad scramble. Quinten approached the nearest worker wearing the stars and staff of the Core.
“Excuse me.”
The man sitting at the desk finished their sentence before setting down the quill and looking up.
“What do you need?”
Quinten frowned. Giving the man a once over and seeing no rank, realized the man before him was contracted and not actively serving in the Core.
“I need to report in. I’ve just arrived.”
The man looked Quinten over and, upon seeing his rank, he smiled unpleasantly.
“Ahh, the new Lieutenant. If you take the stairs to the third floor. I believe the acting Lt. is still here. They chose not to ride out with everyone else in case you showed up today.”
He thanked the man. Putting his face to memory so he could avoid interacting with them in the future, and made his way to the third floor.
The stairs exited into a small landing that lead into a long walkway that split the entire floor. Immediately to the right were a dozen desks with Core administrators quietly working away. The mad rush infecting the ground floor, not having reached this level. Opposite the desks, along the left wall, were four evenly spaced doors. The first two were labeled conference rooms one and two. The remaining two had the ranks BM and Lt. inscribed into them.
The heavy treads of Quinten's boots striking the wooden floors seemed overly loud to his ears, and it was only then that he’d noticed the quiet murmur of conversation and the scratching of quill on paper had stopped with his passing. Approaching the two door, both inconveniently shut, Quinten knocked on the closest. His fist striking right between the blacked letters.
If his steps had echoed, his knock sounded like thunder breaking in the awkward silence behind him.
He waited. When no response came, he tried once more.
Knock knock knock.
“She’s in the LT office, my lord.”
Quinten looked over his shoulder at the middle-aged man who’d spoken. They’d started to rise but stopped halfway through and now stood in an uncomfortable looking stoop.
“Thank you.” Quinten said with a nod, turning and walking the final ten steps to reach what would soon be his office.
Pausing before the door, his hand froze mid-air, he thought. They would have heard me through the wall. After a brief moment, he decided to open it without knocking.
Stepping inside, Quinten's eyes immediately went to the woman seated behind, and writing at the main desk. She didn’t look up, and he took the time to survey the rest of the room’s contents. A secretary’s desk sat off to the side. Two chairs were arranged across from a cushioned couch, with a low table set between them. Along one wall was a map similar to the one hung in his Grandfather’s war room, this one focused on the northern fortresses.
He moved before it, taking in what he could from the tags and markers place all along the north. Neither he nor the woman spoke. The scratching of her quill and the creak of a board as Quinten shifted his weight, the only sounds filling the room.
Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him and Quinten asked without turning around. “How accurate are these positions?”
The scratching stopped, and the reply was several long moments in coming.
“Other than the units housed here being in the field chasing an enemy sighting, the light calvary details are current. Everything else could be considered suspect. They were accurate as of two days ago when the last reports came in.”
Her tone was flat with a slight edge to it.
Holding back a frown, Quinten kept his face blank as he turned to meet the woman’s gaze. Late twenties in appearance, she was attractive in a no-nonsense way. Her face was striking in the contrast of tanned skin streaked with the faded white of healed scars that reminded Quinten of Instructor Marks from the Academy.
Annoyed as he may have been with his welcome to Northreach. He made no qualms that this was a career Core mage who had likely been through more than her share of starless nights.
And I’m here to replace her, Quinten thought.
