Emily

"Vincent has bought us time," Lieutenant Volenski said. And there was nothing in he voice to speak of how much she had left unaired.

The only clues were the ones Niveah Volenski wore, like insignias or honours. The hand holding the commander of first platoon's sword trembled — enough that the sword jittered on her belt and began to squeak like a poorly-oiled cart axle. Her eyes were wet, though Emily couldn't say if it was emotion or dust that caused it. She made no effort to hide those feelings. And she made no effort to advertise them.

"He did," Emily agreed, aware that she understood next to nothing of what the other woman felt.

"The captain, as well as the second and third, will need whatever relief we can purchase them," Lieutenant Volenski continued, in that tightly controlled voice. "Given your senior sergeant and your medical specialist are still returning from the field, I want you holding the west side of town as an over-strength squad, rather than acting as two separate groups."

"Aye, ma'am," Emily answered.

"And more importantly, I want you to act under the assumption that Vincent will not be able to aid us again," the lieutenant said.

It was a strange thing to hear, enough that Emily was left confused. "Why is that?"

"The captain will try his best to ensure we do not use Vincent's power again. Especially now."

"But why, ma'am?" Emily asked.

"Vincent has just proven himself to be a potential military asset like few others. Even fewer, since we spent the Guild's best bringing down a single Golem," the lieutenant explained. "And having Vincent on hand will be the worst sort of temptation for the captain."

"But ma'am, we have this resource." Emily gestured out at the field, where the fires were still throwing the Gloam back and turning entire mobs of monsters into smoke. "Vincent is, he's astonishing. He's miles away, and throwing back that entire mob like an entire brigade of well-coordinated soldiers. Why shouldn't we use him, if he's willing?"

"Because it kills him, every time he does it," the lieutenant said. "Vincent isn't risking his life out there, he is burning it away. Every time he wields that power, every time he blows something up or burns anything, he is consuming a bit of himself to make it happen. Perhaps more than a bit, it might even be months, years, or even decades he might have lived if he hadn't done what he's doing now. He is trading his life to save us."

Emily flinched as if the lieutenant had slapped her. Nothing Volenski said was new knowledge, most of what she said about the Craft was something she groaned and endured being told during the six mile pilgrimage. But seeing that old knowledge in this context, knowing how much it meant, left a hole in her heart.

Vincent, a man she had never met, was burning away his own life because they weren't enough.

"How did the Lord Captain send them out, alone?" Emily wondered aloud.

Volenski smiled approvingly. "You'e starting to understand. Vincent has proven he's willing, and more than able to fight in our stead. Of his own accord. For a cause no better than someone else needs it. He's young, reckless, powerful, and selfless. He is, in a way, absolutely perfect for someone like Captain Dremora to use. That alone should give the captain pause."

"We ought to be fighting alongside him," Emily said.

"We ought to be the only ones fighting," Volenski countered. "But that is a dream we cannot hold on to, since we are not enough to save them. But we will ensure that whatever aid Vincent spends his life giving us is as valuable as possible. Do you understand?"

"I do," Emily said, surprised by the conviction in her own voice. The certainty in it. "Vincent will not go alone, and he will not go first."

"I am going to ask the captain about your promotion, Lieutenant Varnell," Volenski said,

"I..." The words hurt, but Emily understood the need for it. She had been given so much responsibility, so quickly, it ought to make anyone wary, especially someone who understood that burden.

"I've never understood the depths of his thinking. The more we talk, the more Captain Dremora seems unnaturally wise. To your post, Lieutenant. It's going to be a hard fight."

"Aye, ma'am," Emily said, as she snapped her heels together and saluted, very nearly forgetting the second tap against her chest. She spun around, and at a run took the stairs down. Cross the street and into the town square, where most of her platoon was waiting.

Most of it. Redgrave and Aranhall were both returning from the field, and as she counted her squads, she realized she was missing both of the shadows. She walked towards them, and to her immediate relief, Decklan announced her. "Squad, fall in," he said, loudly enough for the benefit of more than just his own squad.

A few hours of rest had done wonders for the newly minted Sergeant Decklan Stroat. The weariness of hours fighting both despair and Gloamtaken had left a weight on his shoulder that seemed to have lifted, and he already looked more comfortable with the scars crossing his face. His sergeant pips on his coat, and his white scarf, all looked like they belonged. As if someone had revealed them by dusting him off, rather than putting those honours on him.

But it wasn't Decklan and his squad Emily wanted to address first. "First squad. You're missing all of your senior command."

"Specialist Mildred Crispin, ma'am. Acting sergeant. Sergeant Redgrave and Corporal Aranhall went to the relief of a civilian carrying supplies and ammunition into the field. Corporal O'Fallow and private Aster had shadow business to attend to, said they'd be back soon."

"I mean it, too," someone said behind her. Emily turned to see an older man, who likely looked a lot older than he was. His eyes seemed strangely unfocused, and were fixed on the ground as he passed her to rejoin his squad, and when he rejoined them he stood just out of arms-length. "Cameron will join us shortly. He was held up by something on our way back."

"Where were you?" Emily asked.

Emily very nearly turned away when Mackaroy met her gaze. He was scowling, almost indignantly irritated looking, but it was an expression that didn't touch the haunted grief his eyes held.

If anyone had ever looked like life had broken his heart, over and over, it was him.

"Checking-in on the apprentice Crafter," Mackaroy explained drily. "Wanted to make sure his efforts haven't damaged him."

"How is he?" Emily found herself asking.

"Unfazed. Up until a few minutes ago, he felt like we weren't using him properly."

"What changed?"

Mackaroy frowned at that. "Suspect you saw it. The fires were going out in the fields. Unnaturally, like someone or something's will was extinguishing anything burning out there. Vincent is out there right now, warring with unknown adversary."

"Wait, he's," Emily began to say, before remembering how Vincent could converse without being present. "Right, he becomes the flame he wields. I forgot. Is there a reason neither you nor Cameron remained with him?"

"We're dead if he loses himself," Mackaroy said with a shrug.

"If he loses himself, and you aren't there to bring him down, he could kill everyone in Barleybarrel."

"If I managed to bring him down," Mackaroy warned. "And even if, the Gloam would get us. Either we trust him, and leave him to get us out of this corner we're backed into, or we don't trust him. And if we don't, what the burning hell are we doing depending on someone we don't trust?"

It wasn't a question Emily had an answer for. There was an enviable clarity in the shadow's thinking, one that resonated with the ideals of soldiering. Trust your comrades, watch their backs. And Vincent, much as any of them, wore a white scarf. "I understand."

"Oh, and lieutenant?"

"What is it?"

"That is the last ash-bitten time you question my judgement as a shadow," Mackaroy said, and those horrifyingly haunted eyes turned cold and hard. "You haven't earned the right to."

"True," Emily agreed, but she met his gaze and stepped up to him. "Though not having earned my burdens is how my day's been going." She tapped the hilt of her sword, and then her scarf, to emphasize the point. "But, understand this corporal, I may have the need. I will need to know why you make the decisions you decide on. He isn't just your responsibility right now."

Surprisingly, the shadow nodded, acquiescing with a small shrug. "True. You may have the need."

Mackaroy's reaction was a surprise to more than just Emily. Most of the soldiers in his squad looked as surprised as she felt, and the younger shadow, only just returning, looked as if he had just seen a Golem fall.

Emily felt it was time to move on. "Sergeant Stroat, Corporal O'Fallow, are your squads prepared?"

"Kitted out, gear's been checked-over, fed and watered," Decklan replied.

"Rested enough. We're ready," Mackaroy said.

"Good. Because we've been given the street on the west side of the town to hold. Demolition charges have been placed in every building on the outer perimeter. Some of them will be detonated as soon as the Rangers in the field return. Others will be set of if it looks like we can't hold a corridor. We are going to funnel the Gloamtaken into a few channels, where their numbers don't matter except to brag about when we get back to the City."

Her last sentence evoked a few chuckles. Even she and Decklan had heard about the captain's ongoing consternation over Sergeant Redgrave's count.

"So we hold until we can't. We will work in shifts. One third of us at the line, one at rest, and one at the ready. Anyone resting will patrol the rest of our defensive corridor, to make sure the Gloamtaken haven't found a way over the buildings we drop in front of them."

"How long are we doing this?" Ivan asked.

"Until we can't, or until we don't need to," Emily said. "Corporal O'Fallow, how long did Special Talent Hearthsward say he needed until he finished tunnelling through the wall?"

"Less than half an hour," the corporal said. "A bit more now, since Vincent had to stop what he was doing and save the Rangers."

Emily hadn't asked the question for her benefit, or even Mackaroy's. But she felt the hour deserved some hope, some expectation that there was relief at the end of the fight. It had been a hard fight in the fields, she knew it had nearly broken more than a few of those who made it back.

"So, if we can keep the Gloamtaken out, Barleybarrel's people will be behind a wall in less than two hours," Emily said. She wasn't expecting to see much from saying it aloud, but she hoped it made what her soldiers had to do easier to bear.

To her surprise, it was someone in Valen's squad who answered. Mildred, Emily thought her name was. The mechanics specialist. "Who are we?" she bellowed.

And at once, several people answered. The teenager beside her was the first to answer. "We are the walls!"

Far from needing encouragement, Emily found it was what she needed, from them. And without being asked, they gave it. She smiled, finally feeling like she could carry the weight of her unnaturally cold sword. "Form up, then. Let's see if they like tripping over their own dead."

They cheered, and turned to their task. Emily paused, when Cameron made his way through the squad and approached her. "Ma'am," he said.

"What is it?" Emily asked.

Cameron looked from side to side, and leaned forward, as if he were conspiring and didn't want to be overheard. "I'd recommend you don't tell anyone you managed to make Mack back down," he said.

"Shit," Emily said. "I really wasn't trying to piss him off. I just-"

Cameron laughed. "No. I think Mack probably respects you more. Just that if word gets around, you're going to hear nearly everyone in my bureau asking how you did it."