Act 1, Part 1, Chapter 9
Gwendolyn
She couldn't pull her gaze away from the wound in the wall.
Everything in the City was divided up by the walls. Her holding cell when she was arrested six years ago had been made with stone blocks the size of railway cars. The exact same stone blocks that made up her larger prison in the fields, and then the prison she chose for herself as she worked to rehabilitate other wayward youth.
The wall separating her from the grandeur of the important people of High Central was the exact same wall that separated the City from its tributary farmland. And it was the same wall that separated the City from the Gloam.
The walls had towered over her entire life, and had seemed as permanent as the Spire. To see one now, cleaved open like an overripe squash, broke something fundamental in Gwendolyn Aranhall's perspective of the world.
"How do we fight that?" she asked, in a whisper.
She hadn't realized she said the words aloud until Valen turned to her. His face was might well have been a masquerade covering for all the inner turmoil he showed. "With cannons," the corporal said with that slow, forceful voice of his.
She saw the corporal look up at the broken wall, and flinch. It looked like a ripple, starting at his mouth and passing along his jaw. He swallowed, and the crack in his seeming serenity vanished as if it had never been there.
Gwendolyn realized that the terror that put a tremor in her hands and occasionally made her teeth chatter was exactly the same terror Redgrave was feeling. But that single flinch was all he was going to show.
Lost in her thoughts, she nearly missed Valen adding, "Cannon and Crafters."
Gwendolyn nodded and tried to give herself a little space. It was a hard thing to manage, when the small car held two dozen teenagers, and what remained of Valen's battle group. The other half of Gwendolyn's wards had already been sent in the car, and were hopefully safe with the soldiers at the next wall.
Valen turned to her, and somehow held her whole focus with just his eyes. "We haven't had our say yet. Just wait until the City gathers its strength. This isn't the First, we've survived this before. And we'll do it again."
"Yes sir," Gwendolyn said.
"This was a success," Valen added. He pointed ahead towards where they were riding to, where a group of people were already waiting for them. "We bought the City hours by setting the fields alight, we got you and the kids out, and we reported the Golem's position. We won the City a victory. Even if it feels hollow."
"I'm sorry about Darius," Gwendolyn said.
"As am I. Proud of him, too. He lived his last hour courageously," Valen said. The corproal's gaze turned to their destination, and something in his eyes darkened. "He fought when others fled."
She recalled the reason she had accompanied Valen back to the watchtower after they reached the Causeway. She had met Sergeant Ewanmourn, had mixed feelings as he seized a barrel of beer that someone's parents had tried to smuggle into the camp for them just a few days ago. She didn't like the man much, but to have been abandoned left a sick feeling in her stomach, and a surprisingly vicious rage that rippled through her thoughts.
"Why didn't they send help?" Mildred asked. She was sitting with her head in her hands, and her eyes looked deeply haunted. "Why did Ewanmourn lead the squad straight to the next wall?"
"All questions I want answers for," Valen replied quietly. "All questions I intend to ask."
It occurred to Gwendolyn that she might not be out of danger yet.
Gwendolyn cursed under her breath, and did her best to focus. She pulled together what she knew of their situation, and none of it was comforting. The fat coward Ewanmourn had the luxury of being the first to tell his story, which was always an advantage. He was also a sergeant, and rank mattered to officers, even the ones that might listen.
The cable car was drawing close to the wall. And standing around the small docking station she could see the other half of her teenaged prisoners. And with them were a dozen soldiers. The sight of them, neat and clean and completely unexposed to the horrors she had fought, made her stomach churn.
They docked barely a minute later. Valen moved to a corner of the car, to let the kids leave first. Mildred and Hendricks both followed his example, and Gwendolyn nodded to one of the kids that they could leave.
The dozen soldiers formed a wide circle around the kids as they came out. A few of them steered the kids away, but the rest waited, staring at the door. Gwendolyn shivered, to see their hands on their swords.
"Soldiers?" Valen asked, as he stepped out of the car.
"Corporal Redgrave," the lead soldier said. A sergeant, Gwendolyn could see the bars on his arm. "Lieutenant Rodstrom would like to debrief you and your group about your recent actions."
The words might be innocuous, but Gwendolyn could hear the menace being screamed between the lines. The sergeant, and the squad with him, were all here expecting a fight. Which would be strange for anyone who had been told what Valen and his people had been doing until now.
Which meant these soldiers had been told something else.
"You look nervous, Sergeant Bavlen," Valen said. He spread his hands out, and deliberately kept himself between his group and the other soldiers.
"It's a night for it, Redgrave," the sergeant replied.
"Sergeant, why aren't these kids in the mess hall, with hot food and promises that a train will be here soon to take them back to the City?" Valen asked, still holding his hands out in the air in front of him. "This is the last burning wall now. We need to send them home."
"Redgrave, you and the others are to come with us, now. And I've been ordered to take your weapons," the sergeant said. The other soldiers moved forward, closing the circle.
"We're in danger," Gwendolyn whispered to Valen. "Don't give up your weapons."
Valen deliberately turned to her, putting her back to the other soldiers. "Salamanders are special field weapons. They should be returned to an armoury unless we are expecting to use them soon. Surrendering them isn't unreasonable."
"Your weapons, corporal."
Gwendolyn grinned. "But not your sword?"
"The sword is a part of the uniform," Valen said. "We wouldn't be expected to surrender them unless we were being placed under arrest."
"Then are we being arrested?" Gwendolyn shouted, hearing her own voice echo. Dozens of her wards, the youth from the work camp, turned to look at what was happening around her. She could see the sergeant hesitate, and the other soldiers stopped their advance.
"Who is she, Corporal?" the sergeant asked.
"This is Gwendolyn Aranhall. She enlisted about half an hour ago," Valen said. He turned around, pulled the salamander off his shoulder, and extended it to the sergeant. "She's on-edge right now. She just came from a Gloam-claimed field, and has fought Gloamtaken."
It was likely that Valen didn't see the effect his words had. But as he mentioned the field, the Sergeant's hands fell to his sides, and the clenched teeth on his face relaxed. At the word Gloamtaken, there was a quiet gasp from one of the other soldiers, and not a single hand rested anywhere near a sword.
"It would go a long way to let her know she hasn't gone through all of that, only to be arrested," Valen added, as he placed his Salamander into the sergeant's hands.
Mildred and Hendricks both handed their Salamanders to the other soldiers, who shuffled them off to the youngest looking soldier in their squad. "These fins have seen action today. Give them a once-over, then put them with the rest of the armoury."
"Sir!" the young soldier attempted a salute, but nearly dropped the rifles in the attempt. The sergeant waved him off and pointed down the way, towards the next watchtower.
"We ought to get my kids inside and find them some food. Something warm, preferably," Gwendolyn said to the sergeant. "Which way is this mess hall?"
"We do need to get you to the lieutenant, soldier. For your debriefing," the sergeant said. But as she met his gaze, he looked distinctly uncomfortable with his task. "It's in the same direction. Might as well get these kids settled."
"Thank you," Gwendolyn said. Her relief might have sounded like gratitude, but that was a misimpression she was comfortable allowing,
"Sir," Valen added. He was looking at her, and gestured with his eyes to the sergeant.
Gwendolyn managed to keep herself from rolling her eyes, and turned back to the sergeant. "Thank you, sir."
"Easy to lose sight of the important things," the sergeant said. He gestured with a flick of two fingers towards the watchtower, and his squad started at a march. Gwendolyn gestured to the kids, eager to keep them close by.
"Especially tonight. Spite the abyss, arresting deserters while there's a Golem at the wall," the sergeant said. The lieutenant's been in a panic since she got back."
"She just got back?" Valen asked.
"Off the train less than an hour ago," the sergeant said.
"Is Ewanmourn with her?"
"He is. Was the most vehement voice in the room saying you deserted, to be honest. Redgrave, tell me honestly." The sergeant stopped them, and turned around to face Valen. The man looked lost, broken and scared. It was a sight Gwendolyn could sympathize with, but it also made her extremely angry. "What the burning hell happened out there? Ewanmourn says you panicked and lead your group out, and the fields weren't set alight."
"We had to escort these kids out, sergeant," Valen said simply. "We had no way to signal them to evacuate."
"But the fields have been set alight. Ewanmourn said they weren't."
"Ewanmourn didn't set those fires. Redgrave did, after he walked us through a Gloam-shrouded field."
"Spite the abyss," the sergeant swore. "I'd better get you to the lieutenant."
The lieutenant that only returned an hour ago, apparently. Valen wouldn't consider it, and hid sergeant likely wouldn't either, but Gwendolyn had a gnawing suspicion about that absence. To be away from her post, just as Golems reached the walls, would be looked at as deserting her post.
Gwendolyn suspected the punishment for that involved a firing squad. And that same lieutenant was now listening to Ewanmourn's account of events. Ewanmourn, who probably knew what she now suspected, and would use that as leverage to help make sure their story would be the one told.
"Sergeant," Gwendolyn said, trying to sound as calm as she could manage. "Do you have a captain, someone higher up in command, who should be told about recent developments? I'd like to get these kids on a train as soon as I can."
"That, that makes sense," the sergeant said. Like most people in a crisis, he was grateful for a bit of direction, and would take it easily as long as it didn't sound like an order. He turned to another soldier, and pointed up to the wall. "Run ahead, and signal Captain Orelli. Let her know Redgrave has returned, with about sixty kids from that penal work camp out in the field. Also, forward a request for a train."
"Aye, sir," the soldier said, and dashed off.
Gwendolyn took a step back, and tapped Valen on the shoulder. Quieter, to avoid being overheard, she said, "listen, a lot of things could happen in the next few minutes. It could be ugly or even dangerous. Whatever you do, don't draw your sword."
"Draw my sword?" Valen asked, and he looked surprised. Something inside Gwendolyn squirmed happily to see him like that. He had no clue of the danger he was in, had no clue how to consider that his superiors such smaller, less noble people than he was.
"Just keep your sword sheathed. Other people might draw theirs, but I suspect you and that sword of yours have a reputation," Gwendolyn said. Valen nodded, confirming her assessment. "So if you draw your sword, they'll treat it like Hendricks and Mildred were both pointing Salamanders at someone. They'll stop hearing you, if you're holding a sword. And they'll need to hear you."
"Gwendolyn," Valen said. Hearing her name on his lips was surprisingly comforting. "We'll be all right. We made it out of danger."
But up ahead, Gwendolyn could see a group of soldiers approaching. All of them had their left hands resting against the cross guards of their swords. Leading the pack was the familiar sight of Ewanmourn, paunch-covered bulk barely contained by his padded coat. With him, a willowy woman with long hair tied up in an elaborate loose bun on top of her head. Beneath her coat, the woman's shirt, blouse, and leggings stood out starkly from the coarse white cotton shirts and brown pants the soldiers wore.
The woman was also carrying a sword that wasn't the standard issue weapon everyone else carried. A cutlass of some kind, rather than a double-edged sword. It had a large pommel, a hoop with a single line cutting through the middle.
The woman with the sword's eyes widened, and she pointed at Valen. "Sargen Blaven, why the burning hell aren't they in irons?"
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