[Chapter 19 - The First Contubernium of the Fifth Cohort]

  Valen spoke little more after that.

  He sat there on his bed, wiping clean his blade in a somber silence that was unlike his usual self.

  His metal skin had gathered at his forehead, the plates that were segmented like tree bark pressing into each other as he furrowed his brow, pondering the insinuations of what he had said.

  From its sides jutted out two horns, the bone a dark grey which curved outwards and upwards in two narrow triangular columns.

  And opposite him sat Bj?rn, whose bunk flanked the entrance along with his.

  Whilst his grey fur was similar in its colour, its texture was markedly different to the metal that comprised Valen’s outward appearance.

  His face was that alike a shorthair’s, a single scar cutting through his cat face as it crossed his one of his dark blue eyes.

  Still he maintained his usual expressionless impassivity as he too saw to his weapon.

  In his hands the ballista appeared almost like a crossbow, the scorpio dwarfed by his enormous build.

  He lifted the oil to its mechanisms with a tenderness that betrayed his personality, taking care to avoid getting it onto his paws as he placed the lubricant gently onto his claws.

  This was then fed onto the springs, a process that was greatly demanding in its time, but that did not matter.

  Time was all that we had at this moment.

  We were sat there in our tents, our entire contubernium gathered together as we awaited further news from the officers.

  Our marches and training drills had been voided, a consequence of both the raiding party and the discovery of the silversong blade that had been found in the goblin leader’s possession.

  Felix had returned, having attested towards its finding to our leaders.

  He too reclined against his bed, one hand hidden behind his mop of dark brown hair whilst the other tossed an unknown pouch into the air.

  With each throw it jingled, attested perhaps towards the coins that were stored within.

  But all sense of the confidence which had defined his character so clearly to me had seemingly disappeared.

  In its place was both a fury that still smoldered, as well as an unease which I could just about make out beneath it, and he gazed at the tent as he tossed the pouch back up into the air again.

  The twins sat beside me, a look of concern evident on Roxas’ face while she rested her arm around her brother in reassurance.

  Ante was clutching his face in his hands, his eyes wide open but unfocused in a stare wrought by an emotion I recognised all too clearly to be guilt.

  It brought an aching sympathy within me, yet I was not sure as to what I could do to help.

  And so I rested my hand upon his head, ruffling his white hair in an awkward gesture which I hoped to be of some comfort.

  He looked up when I did so, a quiver present in his eyes which searched my face for validation while he spoke.

  “He.” Hesitation paused him, a nervousness that caused him to struggle to get the words out. He swallowed before he continued, expressing the doubts plaguing his mind. “He came towards me. A goblin. I… I took his life. I killed him with my own hands.”

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  Ante gazed down at the palms he held open before him, his distraught clear in his words and on his face.

  “I had no choice. He ran towards me and I… I stabbed him.”

  I knew what thoughts crossed his mind.

  I had experienced the same many years ago when I had first taken the life of another.

  It was a remorse that weighed heavy, a fear that there had been a better choice.

  And a deep, insatiable regret, that the better path had not been seen or taken instead.

  “He would have killed you if you had not.” I spoke calmly, trying best I could to convey my sincerity across. “You had no choice, you did nothing wrong.”

  “You have a kind heart, boy.”

  Another voice joined us from across the tent.

  We looked up to see its speaker, a man whose grey hair betrayed his age.

  It flowed down past his beard, framing a tired face that was crossed by numerous scars.

  His stare however was strong, a defiant gaze that juxtaposed his haggard face, filled with also a kindness that softened it ever so slightly.

  He rested his bow on his lap, setting down the cloth he was using to wipe it as he spoke to us.

  “Hold onto it, but don’t let it sway you in battle. A moment’s hesitation could mean your death, though it is good to understand that not all lives you take are evil.”

  Ullr was a quiet man, one who had kept to himself for the most part. His position as the oldest was obvious, and although he had interacted little with us recruits, he spoke to us with a fondness that he did not hide.

  The same fondness he now directed to the boy in the corner.

  “Marcus, bear that in mind as well.”

  The blonde-haired recruit raised his head, returning Ullr’s words with a weak smile.

  He was not that much older than the twins himself, and with his young age came an eagerness to prove himself to the other members of the contubernium.

  To that end he had cheerfully bounced around after the soldiers, constantly begging them for sparring sessions and other military advice.

  It was hard to hate him. His excitement was contagious, a breath of fresh air in this gaunt place, and often his presence alone lifted up everyone’s spirits.

  The twins had also taken a liking to him, mostly helped by the opportunity to finally have some friends who were of similar age.

  But even he was now quiet.

  The reality of the conflict must have impacted him heavily.

  Astrid threw Marcus a pitying look.

  She was one of the front liners of the group, a specialist with the shield that she trained with relentlessly.

  I had seen her in the training grounds long after everyone had left, donning full armour while she drove her shield’s spike into the training dummies over and over again.

  Her manica armguards lay to her side, an armour that was rarely chosen even amongst the heavy infantry of the legion.

  And much like Ullr, we had spoken little.

  Reyna was the last member, the dark-haired girl reclining in the bed opposite us with her pugio dagger spinning in her hands.

  She seemed to have a penchant for bickering with Felix, the two constantly brawling when their temper raised too high.

  Ironically she favoured the pilum in a manner similar to Ante, and so he had often ran to her for advice.

  This she had initially dismissed, but his eagerness to learn quickly wore her down and the sight of her constantly knocking him to his feet was fun to watch.

  But much like the others, even her mood was heavy.

  The atmosphere of the tent was smothered under a tense unease, the same nervousness that subdued the entire fort and prevented me from rest.

  And so my mind wandered, and with it brought other worries.

  Worries such as the inquisitors, whom I had not heard from for several days.

  They had been so close to me at Northgaard, separated by barely even a few metres, their leader’s eyes gazing at me behind her metal mask as if she knew my identity but chose not to reveal it.

  And every day after was plagued with the same fear of capture, dominating every waking moment that I was not occupied with some other task to distract me.

  The spell they had used had traced my steps from the door all the way to that tavern in the city.

  It was not possible that they had not known I was here, in Fort Greywatch.

  Nor could they not have seen my path, marching to and fro from the castrum to the city.

  This could have only denoted one thing: that I was a member of the legion.

  And if they had come here, it would not be above their power to line all the legionaries in a row, going through each one before I was discovered.

  So if that was the case…

  Why had they not come for me?

  Especially when they had been so adamant in chasing me across all that distance?

  The fold of the tent drew back, pushing away my thoughts with it.

  From the outside came three men, each one armoured with swords by their side.

  Everyone within turned to face them, and immediately we threw ourselves up with our fists clenched in a salute.

  The one in the middle was an officer I did not recognise, but his prestige was clear from the embellishment which adorned his armour.

  A huge plume of red decorated the helmet he held to his side. Whilst the two legionaries that stood behind him by the entrance were clearly bodyguards of high prestige.

  Their armour was decorated, gold spanning it in a manner akin to Nemetus’, and their posture attested towards their standing as they stood tall by his side, hands resting on the pommels of their elaborate swords.

  “Enkrid Ishamae.” The officer spoke, his voice grave while his eyes scanned the room.

  They soon found me, darting quickly up to glance at my hair.

  Before his gaze lowered, and settled upon my face.