02.32: Next Steps

The council hall remained silent in the wake of Tejas’s departure. No one coughed or shifted.

Laira could feel the blood rushing within her veins.

He dares threaten her. After all they did to her.

“By snake, did he mean your dusky ‘friend?’” Duke Schwan broke the silence.

Laira did not answer. The fewer people knew about Reshma’s origin, the better. The poor woman had already suffered enough at the hands of powerful men.

She took long breaths to calm herself.

“Your opinions?” she asked the room.

“It is a dilemma, Your Majesty,” Ragenwald chimed in. “We do need a close relationship with Sindhu, but…”

“But not at the cost of giving a prick like him a chance to subjugate our realm,” she finished the sentence.

“Are you considering retaliation?” the Duke asked.

She exhaled. “If his father and brother are backing him up, what can I even do without turning all of Sindhu into my enemy? No. I’m just going to treat him like any other desperate suitor and forget about him.”

The Duke’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think he will forget you. He will consider your rejection as humiliation. You chose independence, and now you must prepare to defend it.”

“I already am.”

“By scorning loyal noble houses and building military units out of slum filth? If those houses decide you have overreached, you may find your new army incomplete when you most require it.”

She kept her voice leveled, hiding her annoyance. “Then I will ensure it is complete before they decide. When I said forget the Prince, I meant as a suitor, not as a potential threat.”

She turned to Hrodric. “General, I want you to audit the Frontier Guards and our fortifications on the border with Sindhu. Personally.”

The older man hesitated before nodding.

“What is it?”

“The training of the new troops and the audit will strain both men and the treasury.”

“Better now than during a crisis. Put all the money seized from the corrupt merchants to good use. I have full confidence in your abilities.”

He nodded, while the Duke watched her like a hawk.

“What of my Duchy? What if Sindhu sets up a trade embargo?” he asked.

“That would be unfortunate, my lord, but we cannot show weakness. Not at the moment. Now if you will excuse me, my lords,” Laira said, getting up, “I feel the need to take another bath.”

At noon, she was informed the Prince’s entourage was preparing to depart. She hurriedly prepared herself and went to the courtyard.

The riders were already seated atop their horses, while the Prince was talking with his guards.

He turned around at Laira’s approach.

“My lord, we would be honored to host you longer,” she said the customary words without meaning them.

He put on a fake smile similar to hers. “Thank you for the offer, Your Highness, but matters of state await me in Sindhu.”

His smile did not reach his eyes.

He bent down to whisper in her ear. “Hills make for good defenses, but they can still be overrun by enough men. Send me a pigeon if you have a change of heart. I will be back in a heartbeat.”

Keeping her expression neutral, she nodded lightly and silently watched him board his carriage. As the procession moved out of the castle, kicking up dust, a sigh of relief left her.

If Jack can hurry up with his weapons, and Hrodric with his reforms, I will be able to finally relax a little, she thought as she turned back to go inside.

Now if I can just keep the nobles in line.

──────── ⋆✩⋆ ────────

Motes of dust danced in the shafts of afternoon’s light spilling into the austere room in the fort, as Brenn straightened in his chair. The paperwork was finished, and so was his role in the Military Police.

He was proud of what he had accomplished within a single month. More than a dozen merchants imprisoned. The most corrupt officers discovered and dealt with.

He was under no illusion that every corrupt military officer and merchant had been discovered, but now the rats would think twice before acting brazenly. Something he would have considered a fairy tale only a month ago.

Someone knocked at the door of his office.

“Enter.”

Korrin entered with hesitant steps, his face a mask, and sat down at the seat opposite Brenn at his gesture.

“Did General Hrodric inform you about my transfer?” Brenn asked.

“He did. You will be missed.”

Brenn smiled. “This will be your office now.”

There was another knock at the door. Thibault entered the room, a tray in hand.

“Your tea, Sir Brenn,” he said with exceptional deference as he placed a cup in front of Brenn, then in front of the Lieutenant. “Sir Korrin.”

“Cut it out.”

“Cut what, Sir Brenn?” he said innocently.

Brenn narrowed his eyes at him, whose composure finally broke, a cheeky smile playing on his face.

The young man fled the room before Brenn could assign him punishment duty. One last good deed before leaving the MP.

“There’s nothing to hand over; you’ve been with me all the time. Take care of the boys and keep catching bad guys,” Brenn said, extending a hand.

Korrin took it. “I will, sir,” he said, smiling broadly.

“I’ll be working in the vicinity. Come talk to me whenever you feel like it.”

“I will. There is something I wanted to show you.”

“What is it?”

“It’s outside.” Korrin pointed to the inner courtyard of the fort.

Brenn followed him, wondering what he could not have brought indoors. The moment the door to the courtyard opened, he was bombarded with a loud “Surprise!” yelled by dozens of men.

“What is this?”

“A farewell party for you and the celebration of your knighthood,” Thibault explained.

Dozens of men looked at him with reverence.

“I don’t recognize everyone. Who are the others?”

“Many soldiers wanted to express their thanks to you for putting scum in their place. The men here lost loved ones or personally suffered at the hands of those bastards,” Korrin added.

“I didn’t do anything by myself. You and the boys are just as responsible for all of that.”

“That’s why we also plan on getting blitzed,” he said, taking a swig from a nearby earthen jar.

Tables were straining under the weight of cheese, bread, salted meat and jars of ale. Jars upon jars.

Brenn shook his head, as he took one from the insistent Thibault.

I am going to regret it tomorrow, he thought as he took a long swig to the glee of the cheering men.

He spent the next hour receiving congratulations and thanks from the soldiers in forms of handshakes and embraces. Many forced pouches of coin and other tokens of their gratefulness toward him, most of which he refused.

Brenn woke up the next morning to a splitting headache.

I’m never drinking again, he thought, as he forced himself up.

Luckily, he didn’t have to walk very far. The Royal Army’s headquarters was a fort, which was a part of the Outer wall.

He entered the new training grounds that had been built outside the city. They were rumbling with hundreds of feet stomping at the same time. Hundreds of men were running around the perimeter. Calling them thin was an understatement. Many were skeletal, with eyes too large for hollow faces. Their identical, ill-fitting and cheap-looking clothes were already soaked in sweat.

“Is that all you can do maggots? My grandmother can run faster than you!” A man shouted, loud and angry.

Brenn suspected he wasn’t too far from the truth. Many of the men were emaciated, with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. Brenn might have been poor, but at least he had never gone hungry.

One of the senior men approached him. He was older than Brenn by a decade, sporting salt and pepper hair.

“Captain Brenn?”

“That’s me.”

The man cut a sharp salute, a fist to the heart.

“Welcome to the Crown’s Thorns, sir. I’m Sergeant Major Venn.”

Brenn returned the salute. “Crown’s Thorns.”

“I know it’s a little on the nose, but it’s the unofficial name we have chosen.”

“Nice to meet you Sergeant Major. Who is that?” he pointed to the man still shouting at hundreds of men.

“That is Sergeant Major Jarn, sir. The two of us have been in charge of the battalion until now.”

“Hmm. That is a lot of recruits you have there,” Brenn commented.

“Oh, there were twice the number only days ago, sir. More than a thousand of them.”

Brenn’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief.

“Just the promise of regular food and shelter was enough to entice almost a quarter of the young men in the slums to apply.”

“What happened to the other half of the applicants?”

“They just couldn’t make it. Some were here just for food, unwilling to put any work in the training. They were quickly weeded out. We had to turn back many of the willing as well.”

As Venn was speaking, a recruit fell down, making the man behind him stumble as well. Another was already on all fours, vomiting.

“As you can see, most of these men are severely malnourished. We’re focusing on improving their diet, physical conditioning and some spear training.”

“A forced march seems too much for starved men.”

“We need to identify the weak,” Venn said defensively.

“They are all weak.”

The other Sergeant approached, tunic already dark with sweat. They exchanged salutes.

Looking at the poor sods, struggling to run, Brenn’s pity gave way to determination.

“Change of plans,” he said, voice steady. “Introduce low-intensity drills; spear stance and shield positioning. Discipline first, endurance second.”

“That will delay readiness.”

“Hmm. Who oversees supply?”

“I do,” Venn replied.

“Steadily increase their rations over time. That should help.”

“Funding?”

“I’ll go beg to the General.”

The nobles would not forgive the military purge.

Before they could retaliate, Brenn would ensure the Queen had a force ready to answer whatever they would throw at her.

They would not face starving boys, but soldiers who remembered hunger, and who had fed them.

His headache faded.

“Form them up,” he ordered. “I want to see how they hold a line.”