Olivia

Olivia clenched her teeth, closed her hands into fists, and forced herself to look through her nearly useless eyes.

To wield the flame is to make it a part of you. If she willed it, Olivia could listen to every whisper in Wanderwisp as reverberations in the air brushed against a torch. She could count the motes of dust lying on the cobbles of every street corner through a hundred different eyes by taking hold of the exhaust pipes along the wall. She could taste, and feel, through fires over a mile from where she stood. She was immense, perceptive, invigorated, and astonishingly alive when her will took hold of the flame.

But each and every time she did, her power would burn a little more of her away. Her thoughts, her loves, her ambitions and her hopes were what the fire consumed when she held it. Eventually, inevitably, there would be nothing left of who she was except for the flame. And the desire to burn.

Like Cassiopeia Saval.

To live is to burn. The Crafter's creed is a lament as much as an exhortation.

And so instead of seeing, she looked through glasses thicker than her coat at a man she had a startling amount of respect for, and watched him depart. She could see that Valen was smiling as he met her gaze, just before he shut the door, but she couldn't really see that smile. Not well enough to understand it.

Olivia couldn't see if that smile was a mask, meant to keep him from sharing his despair. Or if he was just relieved that the dressing down was over. Or perhaps pleased to be going back into action.

Or perhaps just happy to see her?

"It's an honour to be inducted into the rangers," that petulant ninny wearing a major's sword said just as the door clicked shut. "Are you sure he's deserving, Rhavin?"

The captain wearing the white scarf nodded. "As of right now, that man has killed more Gloamtaken than anyone else in the City. More than my entire company, though if I can't get trains to Barleybarrel that's likely to change. I need people who have fought the enemy already, who I know have the resolve to do it again."

"And you'll make sure he's punished appropriately?" the major asked.

"He'll get everything he's due, sir," the captain with the white scarf said politely. He turned to Olivia, and inclined his head politely. "Madam Crafter, would you take me to this train of yours? I'll explain your deployment orders on the way."

"I, of course," Olivia replied, and she followed the captain as he marched for the door. When he reached it, he opened it and gestured with his hand for her to step through it. As she passed, he turned back to the officers at the table.

"Captain Orelli, a pleasure as always, and I'll let you know how my newest rangers work out. Major, I trust you'll spare trains and cars when you can?" Rhavin asked.

"Of course. Trains as soon as I'm confident I can evacuate Westerwisp before the Gloam reaches it," the major replied, and there was something profound in the shift in the major's mannerism. The small irritation that seemed to rankle the man vanished, and his expression of fidelity sounded as profound as anything Olivia had ever heard. "As for cars, I can spare three. Junction 'C', lane 4. Word will be sent to the comptroller in a few minutes.

"Thank you, sir," Rhavin said, as he shut the door. He turned and began to march down the hall. Olivia had to run to catch up with him, and nearly had to jog to keep pace with the taller soldier.

"You said I have deployment orders?" Olivia asked.

Rhavin nodded. "Any surviving Crafters from the strike teams are to return to Central. The Guild's members are to await at the Guildhall for deployment orders. Further, you are not to leave the City, and no member of the army is allowed to request the Guild's assistance without the Lord Captain's leave."

Olivia's eyes widened, and she nodded, letting the implications begin to sink in. "I take it the other strike teams fared about as poorly."

To his credit, Rhavin kept himself from saying anything snide or bitter. He was solemn, polite, and he looked her in the eye when he spoke. "You have lost friends, Madam Crafter. I am sorry."

"Master? Sorry, Crafter Garland Kohl. Any news about him?" Olivia blurted out.

"I don't know," Rhavin said. "Only that of the eight Crafter teams sent out, only one succeeded. And counting you, there are only four survivors."

The news struck her like a blow, and left her torn between grief, and shock. Unable to reconcile the conflict, she stammered when she asked her next question. "They brought down a Golem?"

"They did," Rhavin confirmed, and there was genuine awe in the captain's voice. "No Golem has ever been brought down in the fields, so far from the City. Their success will be on the tapestry."

"Master," Olivia whispered, bowing her head. She followed silently for a minute as Rhavin lead them down the stairs, and out into the steet.

"Odd thing, is that most of what the survivors relayed, including from you and your apprentice," Rhavin said. "Was that you were unable to inflict any lasting damage. The revelation that the Golem is unnaturally resistant to the Craft has hit the officer corps like a bucket of cold water."

"I'm not apologizing for that," Olivia said.

"I would be disappointed in you if you did," Rhavin agreed, to Olivia's surprise. "But as a consequence, the Lord Captain is unwilling to put Crafters into the field, and I could have used your help in Barleybarrel."

"What is going on with Barelybarrel?"

"Barleybarrel is in the field behind the wall that the felled Golem was attacking. The Golem's defeat meant that the settlement's evacuation fell to the bottom of the priority list, until someone finally reported that the wall was breached. Now we have twenty thousand people encircled by the Gloam, and your train is the first one I can commandeer to help evacuate them," Rhavin explained. He pointed his hand down the street, and asked, "Speaking of your train, which way?"

"Over here," Olivia pointed down the street and started walking. Rhavin kept pace easily, completely at ease maintaining a pace that was starting to leave her a little breathless.

"So what's your plan for evacuating them?" Olivia asked.

"Get there, and make sure they survive long enough for more trains to arrive," Rhavin said.

"That's a terrible plan," Olivia said.

"Agreed. But I wouldn't have been sent if this could be solved by a dispatcher from the Bureau of Civil Development. I'm going because those people are expected to die without assistance that won't arrive until too late."

"And you can't ask me for help, because of that message I sent," Olivia said, nodding in understanding. "I am starting to reconsider not apologizing to you."

"You got me a train, which gets me there and guarantees a few hundred lives will be saved. That is not a small thing," Rhavin said.

"I could come with you anyway," Olivia offered.

"Stop offering," Rhavin said quickly, but there was no bite in his tone or his words. As if he were hoping to be talked into it.

"Are you that quick to dismiss the help I could provide?" Olivia pressed.

"Exactly the opposite. You could, singlehanded, by Barleybarrel's salvation," Rhavin said quietly. The scars on his face, and the lean tightness of his skin that left his jaw and cheeks well defined made him look a great deal like the statue they would likely make in his honour. "I appreciate the offer, but our orders are clear, and there are good reasons for it. You're to head to High Central. Though, once you're there, I have a mission for you."

"What is it?" Olivia asked.

"Once you're there, go to the First Stone," Rhavin said. Olivia nodded, understanding. The First Stone was the headquarters for the army, and the comms hub closest to the Spire.

"Once you're there, make yourself useful. Help out on the comms, repair the machines, tell Bureau Chiefs the Lord Captain doesn't have free time to listen to them complain. And while you're there, send a message to Colonel Dremora. Let her know you are at her personal disposal for any emergency that needs some heavy firepower."

"Dremora? Isn't that your last name?" Olivia asked.

"It is. Colonel Dremora is my wife."

"You aren't bothered by your wife being your boss?"

"You just repeated yourself."

"Touché," Olivia conceded. "I'll do that, thank you. I think I'd prefer it to sitting around in the Guildhall drinking while Golems march on the City."

"I suspected you would," Rhavin said.

They walked in silence for another minute, as they passed through crowds of people gathering at other train platforms. Hundreds of people in tightly-packed groups slowly pressing their way onto train cars, many of them still dressed in robes and wearing sandals rather than boots. Children slept in their parent's arms, or rode their shoulders while pointing excitedly at the happenings.

One of the children caught sight of her, and the little girl's eyes widened as she pointed excitedly. Olivia waved at her as she and Rhavin marched by.

Soon after, Olivia began to pick out white scarves in the distance, belonging to dozens of soldiers busy carrying things towards one of the trains. Olivia could see bundles of explosive charges, chests of Salamander ammunition, sacks of food, and various other tools in the arms of soldiers wearing white scarves.

"Your people?"

"My rangers," Rhavin said proudly. "There isn't a company like them anywhere else in the City. Until tonight, I took pride in being able to say that."

"What changed?"

"The Golems. Right now, I wish the entire army was made of such soldiers," Rhavin reflected.

"Speaking of which," Olivia said, and she hesitated before she continued. She wasn't sure why she was so interested in the answer, but her curiosity did not abate just because she found it irrational. "How are you planning to punish Valen?"

Rhavin smirked, and shrugged. "Did I say I was going to punish him?"

"You," Olivia paused, and frowned. "No, you didn't. You said he'd get everything he's due. So what are you planning for him?"

"You heard it when I called Redgrave's battle group a squad, and when I asked you about his qualifications. Other than that, as soon as I can find my quartermaster, I plan to announce it to him. You can wait until then to find out."

"Sly bastard. You played Major Othwald like a fiddle," Olivia reflected.

"The major was eager to have this problem off his plate," Rhavin disagreed. "He doesn't have time to deal with minor disciplinary issues carefully. He had already arrived at a conclusion, and was prepared to enact it and move on. Captian Othelli has sent me rising stars in the past, and thought of Valen when I came in to beg for a train."

"I see," Olivia nodded. There was a thought bubbling in the back of her mind, an idea that hadn't quite managed to make itself known, but tickled at her like an itch too long for her arms.

It wasn't until she saw her apprentice, in conversation with two men in red coats, when the idea finally rose to the surface. "Captain, could I ask you a favour?"

"I'll hear you out," Rhavin said carefully.

"The young man talking to the Crafters up ahead is my apprentice. Vincent Hearthsward. When we arrive, I'd like you to talk about the situation in Barleybarrel. Mention how you could have used a Crafter's help. Just talk about it, and make sure he hears it," Olivia asked.

Rhavin stopped, startling Olivia into an abrupt halt. The captain gave her a hard, penetrating look, a look that seemed to simmer threateningly,  in a way she hadn't known anyone to do except for her own master. "You're offering me your apprentice?"

"I'm saying if you present him the opportunity, he might volunteer. And as you said, you could use a Crafter."

"He isn't a Crafter," Rhavin said pointedly.

"True," Olivia said. She let the statement hang for a moment, before she said, "If he does volunteer, I have a second favour to ask you. Take his measurements. His shoulder, arms, chest, and torso. And have it forwarded it to Madam Eloantra's Needleworks in Lower Central, as a request from me. Mention that the Fifth Invasion is happening, and she can burning drop everything else she's doing. And tell her that Vincent is currently helping the Cadavalan Rangers evacuate civilians."

"Why the last part?"

"Madam Eloantra prefers having some inspiration for the style of the coat," Olivia said.

"I see," Captain Dremora said, and he smiled as he offered his hand. "Thank you, Madam Crafter."

Olivia found herself, once again, surprised at how profound, and how genuine, a simple statement could be. It was almost as if she had never been honestly been thanked before. And felt as if she had, for the first time in her life, done something worthy of it.

"Make use of him. And burn brightly, Captain," Olivia said, and shook his hand.