Gwendolyn

That ash-stained fool. It was astonishing how she could both love and hate Redgrave's constant, unrelenting need to be an honourable fool.

Gwen could see it in Valen's eyes. In the way he set his shoulders, as if bracing carry one of those cannons they had passed on the way here. It was the same expression, the same resigned determination, she'd see on someone's face just before she realigned a dislocated shoulder.

They were going into this meeting with their colonel expecting to suffer. Expecting to be punished. That judgement was going to be handed out by a woman now charged with the fate of the City, who had just lost her husband, and needed to pass judgement on the soldiers she needed most. And judging by how every experienced soldier around Gwen was behaving now, all of them expected this hearing to go poorly.

None of these soldiers were willing to fight this next battle. And it desperately needed to be fought.

The watchtower door opened, and someone stepped out. It took Gwen a moment, and a conscious effort, to call the woman a soldier. She was too clean, too unmarred by the events of the doom marching on the City. Asides from the shape of the uniform she looked nothing like the Rangers she had fought beside.

"The colonel is ready for you," she said, gesturing through the doorway.

Lieutenant Volenski went first, followed by Sandson, and then Varnell. Valen next, then Mildred. Gwen waited until Mack started for the door, and followed him closely. As they passed through the doorway, she whispered, "they're in danger."

Mack stopped at the door and turned to her. "Are you sure?"

"No," Gwen admitted. "But they're being disciplined by a woman with the weight of the entire City on her shoulders. And that same woman could easily blame a bunch of fighters plucked from the field for her husband's death. And what Hendricks and Cameron did will give that suspicion a lot of credence."

Mack glanced ahead at the others. "They do look like they're marching to a funeral," he agreed. But strangely, the old shadow didn't look particularly troubled by it. "Not much I can do about how this colonel feels."

Gwen hoped the old shadow had something up his sleeves. Because as things stood, they were tied to the tracks, and the train coming for them was running on this colonel's spite.

Up two flights of stairs, and through a small door. The room they were lead into was largely devoured by a map set out on the floor, held down at the corners by a sheathed knife, an ammo pouch, a Salamander, and a sword.

The pommel of that sword had four bars on it. Even Gwen, barely following most of the military's particulars, understood exactly what that sword signified. A colonel's sword, one of only eight as far as she knew. And it belonged to the woman about to decide their fate.

The colonel herself stood by the small window at the end of the room, staring out into the field. Dressed in the same padded coat as every other soldier in the army, she wore no insignia or any sign of her rank. Asides from the white scarf she wore with a metal pin, there was nothing to overtly speak of her office, her rank, her authority.

And it was immediately obvious that she didn't need it. Four other soldiers were in the room, three of them majors, one of them Major Othwald. Each of them stood at the edge of the map, staring down at it.

"Someone's firing the guns," Colonel Dremora mused, from the window.

"Spit and burning ash, I told them not to. Save what we have for the Golem," one of the majors said. "Every crew has a ranking specialist with them."

"I suspect it's your ranking specialists who insist on defying your orders, Drell," Colonel Dremora replied. "Othwald, what's your take on the this? Can we spare the ammo?"

"I got us six thousand rounds. It's enough for every gun in our section to fire for an hour, assuming two shots a minute. Given how quickly a Golem walks, I didn't stock us for a longer firefight," Major Othwald said.

"Is that comparable to what the other armies have stocked?" Colonel Dremora asked.

"No. Second and Third Armies stocked nine apiece. Most of the armies took less than three."

Gwen was only partially following the conversation, but even she was perturbed by what she heard. And as the colonel turned away from the window finally, Gwen guessed it was an opinion the woman shared. "Only three? Why?"

"It's about all you can fit in train cars, and still have room for the guns and the soldiers," Othwald replied.

"So most of the others are pulling their stockpiles direct from the cars," Colonel Dremora said, nodding. "Doing it that way means they don't need as many troops to help offload equipment and supplies, which would be a good idea if half of the army wasn't already sitting around waiting for the invasion to get to them."

"I suspect there's another reason for it, ma'am," Major Othwald said.

So do I. It means they want to keep the trains close. The damn fools are planning to evacuate when the Golems get close."

"Not a luxury we enjoy," one of the other majors said. "Our evac depends on Second Army's success."

"It also means we're guaranteed to be wasting ammo on five Golems we have no intention of bringing down. You heard those reports from the western wall, the one reporting that the Golem fixes itself when it stops. If we aren't committed to dropping one, we're just wasting ammo. And the lives of the Crafters who will take the wall with us. Speaking of, any word, Othwald?"

"Crafter Umber is here. Polden's on her way, the First Stone finally let her go. We're expecting another three within two hours."

"Five, then. Possibly six," Colonel Dremora turned towards them for the first time, and her eyes lingered on Vincent. "Special Talent, Rank Five. Given direct from the Captain of the Cadavalan Rangers. Barleybarrel's final, hardest line of defence."

Colonel Dremora paused, looked at each of them in turn for a moment, and then turned back to the window. "I need the room," she said without looking at anyone in particular.

Major Othwald was the first to answer. "Aye, ma'am. We'll return to it."

"I need to stop whoever's been firing those guns, anyway," one of the other majors said.

"Major Drell, do no such thing," Colonel Dremora stopped the Major without raising her voice. "There are too many people working those guns who have never seen one fired before. Best they get the jitters out of their system now, so all they need to worry about is that mountain of stone marching for us."

The others left the room, leaving just the rangers still standing near the doorway. Colonel Dremora looked at them again, and stopped at Lieutenant Volenski. "Neveah, Fredrick, out. This concerns Fourth Platoon."

"Ma'am, I'm their commanding officer. I should be present," Lieutenant Volenski protested.

"Their captain should be present, Volenski," Colonel Dremora said. "I only see one bar on your sword."

"That's not," The lieutenant began to protest, but eventually squared her shoulders and saluted. 'Aye, ma'am."

Volenski and Sandson turned, and walked to the door. Neveah paused at the door, and said "ma'am, let it be said for the histories, I am honoured to have them."

"It shall be remembered," Colonel Dremora replied. It sounded like a vow. Gwen wondered, while she could, about what it meant. But as soon as the door clicked shut, Colonel Dremora made it clear there would be no window to examine that strange bit of formality.

"Varnell. How the burning hell did you let things on that train blow up like that?"

And just like that, Gwen understood how at risk they were. Not, perhaps, that Colonel Dremora wanted to have them all hung, but at least that she wouldn't hesitate to do so if called upon.

"I don't know, ma'am," Varnell admitted. "I didn't understand Private Aster's troubles. Not enough to have an inkling that he would try what he did."

"That's not a lot of comfort for the families of the dead, Backburner. More of Barleybarrel's people died on that train than they did in the fields."

Backburner. The use of that title, a sorbiquet given to Varnell by Captain Dremora, suggested both a measure of respect, and a warning that the standards would be higher. Gwen gulped, and took a deep breath.

And recalled, surprisingly, what Valen's former captain said when they revealed Ewanmourn's cowardice. How the woman was concerned, principally, with how the incident had damaged her company's cohesion, and it's ability to operate. It lent Gwen an insight about how to answer this new danger they were in. "Ma'am," she said, stepping forward so Colonel Dremora couldn't ignore her. "Cameron and Hendricks were both my soldiers. I was their corporal. If the concerns are missing their decision to turn on us and take Vincent, this should go no higher than me."

"Perhaps it shouldn't," Colonel Dremora said quietly. "You certainly failed your battle group. And that failure put them in a position where you and your sergeant had to take the lives of the people I sent my husband to save."

"Ma'am, respectfully, the idea that Corporal Aranhall should be expected to know a shadow's personal trauma, one she only met yesterday, is beyond any expectation that should be placed on someone in the rank and file. Even a Ranger," Varnell protested.

"The expectations for a Ranger are very far from reasonable, Lieutenant." The Colonel began to walk around the map as she spoke. As she rounded the paper, she stopped a few feet in front of Valen, and paused.

There was something that passed between them. Gwen didn't know exactly what it was, but she could understand some of it. Both of them had their left hands close to their swords, Valen's thumb was sitting just under the cross guard, just next to the edge. Dremora let hers rest right in the middle of the guard. Their stances were both too wide to be casual, and they didn't quite face each other, their shoulders turned so the right shoulder was facing the other person. It was so subtle Gwen nearly missed it.

Colonel Dremora's eyes widened, just for a moment. Then she nodded as if confirming a suspicion "And you must be Valen Redgrave. Bane of the comms. Major Othwald had to disband Third Platoon, Fourth Company because of what you did yesterday. It's still not clear who we can salvageable from that disgrace."

It became clear to Gwen in that moment, that Colonel Dremora meant to justify her judgement. Perhaps as an example to others, perhaps to appease the City's civilian authorities for the deaths on the train. But she wasn't willing to weigh any of that against what everyone had done to get Barleybarrel home. Even Redgrave, who had fought when his original platoon fled. Who was left to lead the Crafters to the Wall to stand against the Golem. Who had been picked by the Rangers to stand alongside them. Who might have struck down more Gloamtaken than anyone else in the City.

If any of them could be saved, Colonel Dremora needed a target for her wraith. And of all of them, Gwen knew that she was the easiest to replace. "Considering your disbanded platoon nearly abandoned me and mine in the fields behind the last wall, I'm not overly sympathetic," Gwen said. She felt the rush of cold fear wash through her, knowing how dangerous her choice was. But she was committed now. "So far, asides from the soldiers beside me, First Army's abandoned me, condemned me to assignments too dangerous for your own, sent me into a besieged town to do the impossible, and is now trying to punish us for succeeding."

And now she was firmly held within Colonel Dremora's scrutiny. And she could almost feel it, as if she had been set in a vice to be examined under a magnifying glass. Her eyes traced over small details, like the surgical knife she carried on her belt, her hat, and lingered on Gwen's gun.

"Are you saying I should let this matter go? Thirteen people died, corporal Aranhall. Some of them by your hand. Why should I excuse those deaths, when it was your battle group who lead them into your non-regulation Salamander's sights?"

"You first," Gwen replied. "Tell me why I should excuse First Army abandoning me, and the children in my care, out at the last wall?"

"They're still alive," the Colonel replied. "Difference enough. And are you this keen to shoulder the blame for all of this yourself?"

"I was Cameron Aster and Hendricks Lamar's immediate superior. Hendricks' crime is essentially being loyal to the man who had his back all through the siege of Barleybarrel. Cameron is the one with the deteriorating mental state that I failed to take seriously enough. He had to make sure the dead stayed dead, and explain that to the families that died in the panic when Vincent used his power to save us. After that, our evac was through Sunshadow, a place abandoned since the Fourth because of the shadows of people killed by a Crafter's fire. I prioritized assisting the train's medical personnel over checking in on Cameron."

"And I couldn't say the same of Sergeant Redgrave, or Lieutenant Varnell?" the colonel asked. "If Volenski was willing to call herself captain and take on that responsibility, why shouldn't I have her dragged back in here to do the same? And if that is the crime to punish, why shouldn't I be harder on a Sergeant that I would be on you? Why shouldn't Varnell bear this, when you feel it justified for punishment to fall on your shoulders?"

"I didn't say I felt it was justified," Gwen replied. She hoped that making the Colonel angry, deliberately, might help keep the colonel's ire focused. "Because the City needs Varnell. It needs Redgrave."

It wasn't until Colonel Dremora raised an eyebrow that Gwen realized she said the last part out loud. "And so you're willing to lie on this bomb, to protect them from the shrapnel? And I suppose you're doing it because you feel the repercussions of the incident on the train are unwarranted, and my judgement is suspect?"

Gwen didn't answer. And she tried her best to school her features, to make herself unreadable. But as Colonel Dremora's scowl twisted in rage, Gwen knew she didn't manage it. "And you think my judgement is suspect, because you're afraid I blame you all for my husband's death?"

Gwen's throat locked up. She couldn't swallow, let alone speak. And even if she could say anything, her thoughts had been washed by a wave of fear nearly as bad as first sighting the Golem at the wall. She almost didn't hear when Mack coughed, and interjected. "Are you aware, ma'am, that Private Cameron Aster was an evaluator for the Bureau of Oversight?"

"Should it matter?"

"It should," Mackaroy answered.

Gwen, looking at the colonel as Mackaroy addressed her, noticed a slight pull on the left side of her lip. A twist that wasn't there before, and was gone in a moment. But that instant looked to Gwen less like rage, and more like amusement.

"Cam wasn't using his status as a soldier to entice that mob into helping him. As an evaluator, those people would be convinced he knew what he was doing, that his judgement was sound, and his actions were lawful." As Mack talked, he drew a knife out of his coat. Not one of the well-made ones, but the badly warped Coldstone knife he had carried before he met any of them. "Of everyone in the City, the army can understand the importance of obeying a proper authority. Couple that with choosing people who had lost friends and loved ones when Vincent threw up his heat haze to confront our enemy, and you end up with a very loyal, emotionally traumatized group. One that's willing to commit violence, and in no fit state to consider their actions."

"And this should excuse Varnell, Redgrave, and the two of you for failing to notice?" the colonel asked. Her voice, though, didn't have the same bit it had before. As if her anger was fading.

Or being put aside, like a disguise near the end of a masquerade.

"The three of them, certainly. You're asking them to act on the frayed emotional state of an evaluator, a job they know precious little of. Might as well ask an orderly to assess a building's structural integrity." Mack said, and he held his knife up. "Corporal Mackaroy O'Fallow, Senior Evaluator, Bureau of Oversight. And on behalf of the bureau, I'd like to thank you for the assistance of the Rangers to keep my coworker and the mob he incited from their target."

"Cameron overstepped his authority?"

"He did, ma'am. Vincent did exactly as he was trained, and acted responsibly in the context of an enemy out there that can extinguish fire. Special Talent Hearthsward is sound of mind and acted as he should have. I did not authorize his actions. And if he wished to go over my head, believing my judgement is compromised, his own plan showed his actions to be pointless."

"Explain that."

"Cameron expected Vincent to comply. Given Vincent's strength in the Craft, Cameron was counting on compliance. That is not an expectation you place on a Crafter lost to their power."

"Reasonable assessment," Colonel Dremora said. She paused, and asked, "are you saying this incident is outside of my authority to judge?"

"This is Oversight's mess, ma'am. We'll conduct an inquiry after the invasion."

The mask came off then. Colonel Dremora grinned, as she examined each of them in turn. She pointed at Mackaroy, but it was Varnell she looked at. "And that, Lieutenant, is how you defend a hopeless situation. Corporal O'Fallow knows full well that the trains are army jurisdiction during an invasion, and Private Aster's enlistment supersedes his role as an evaluator. And he also knows that even if he did have the authority, might makes right as often as not, and I'm the one with an army. But he played the Oversight angle anyway, hoping I wouldn't know better."

Colonel Dremora pointed at Gwen next. "And Corproal Aranhall moved to enrage me enough to dump the blame for the entire situation on her, and her alone. She was willing to fall on a bomb to protect you. She's known you both for perhaps two days at the most, and she pushed me towards ensuring I'd be so angry with her that I'd spare the rest of you. I hope you were paying very close attention, Lieutenant, because this is exactly what I want to see from you."

The colonel gestured to the map. "During the First, the Lord Captain Andre Cadavalan recruited from the field to defend the City. His criteria was finding people willing to do absolutely anything to succeed. People under his command flooded farmland. Some set fire to buildings full of people in order to keep the Gloam from having them. Cadavalan personally broke the Crafters out of the prison they had been in since the Maester rebellion. Others stored grain in the fringe districts so people would have to fight Gloamtaken to be fed. Some things were so heinous the records remain sealed to this day. The distinction of Cadavalan's Rangers, in defiance of the traditions of the army, is that until we defeat this invasion, I expect you to do absolutely everything you can imagine to succeed."

Varnell nodded, as did Valen. Neither of them spoke, as Colonel Dremora stepped onto the map and tapped the centre. The very heart of the City. The Spire. "You might have absolute hell to pay for what you do, but I will regard it as abandoning your duty if any of you simply lie down and accept your fate during this invasion. Varnell, Redgrave, because you're new to the Rangers, consider this your only warning. Until the last Golem falls, you are to fight with everything your imagination can conjure, even against me or the Lord Captain himself, as long as you feel it benefits this war. Meekly accept your fate again, and I will have you shot. Corporal O'Fallow, Corporal Aranhall, well done."

"That was all a test?" Mackaroy asked. "I'd have drank more water if I knew I was going to sweat this much."

"A test, and a lesson," the colonel confirmed. "And, I suppose, an opportunity to see your mettle for myself. Overall, I am impressed."

"That's a relief," Gwen said.

"Don't think I'm not angry with you, though," Colonel Dremora said, raising a finger and pointing it at Gwen. "Though not quite for the reason you suspect."

"You're not upset that I tried to take advantage of your grief, to keep them out of trouble?" Gwen asked.

"No. That was clever, and as far as you could tell, completely necessary. But it's predicated on the most offensive notion I could imagine right now. The idea that I could blame you, or be angry with any of you, for Rhavin Dremora's death, assumes I would imagine that he was, in any way shape or form, your responsibility."

"Ma'am," Valen began to say.

"None of you are so worthy that you could carry that burden. He carried you, as he carried the entire army. Captain of the Cadavalan Rangers, the greatest soldier in the City, whose likeness will adorn the next tapestry, buried now in the town he saved. The burden of being responsible for his death is far, far more than any of you should assume you'll ever have to carry. It is on his shoulders we stand to reach for a future. There is only one person in the City responsible for his death, and you're looking at her."

Gwen didn't know what she could say. She suspected there was nothing anyone could offer that would make the moment better for Colonel Dremora. The woman was alone now, so brutally alone, that she might as well be holding a torch surrounded by the Gloam. Gwen thought it was a chasm no one could reach.

She was wrong, on that count. Valen, once more, surprised her. "His count was three hundred and seventy-nine," Valen said. "As of now, highest in the City."

"Ashes of the abyss, that man was endlessly astonishing," the colonel said, sighing as she hung her head. She shook her head, and looked back at Valen. "The highest count? I'm not sure I'd put him above Crafter Kohl."

Valen shrugged rather theatrically. "A Golem only counts as one."

The colonel laughed at that. Loud enough to startle Emily and Mack, who looked too surprised for a moment to enjoy the joke. But to Gwen, remembering that mountain of stone pounding at the walls, being taken so blithely even in jest, was entirely too absurd to keep a straight face.

"That was the captain's joke," Valen admitted as he caught his breath. "He asked about my count, on the way to Barleybarrel. I made the same objection you just did, ma'am, when he said I had the highest count in the City at the time."

The colonel breathed a long sigh, and let the laugher die off. "Thank you, master sergeant. Rangers, remember what I said about your duty. Because the hours to come will seem bleak, the army and the City will look to you first, when they ask if things are hopeless. And you must be able to answer."

There was no answer left to give. None except the creed of this odd company she was a part of. Gwen tapped her chest with her fist, twice. The drumbeat of her heart.

My heart still beats.

I still fight.