Bugles warbled, calling everyone’s attention to the wooden podium. Harold stood to Erich’s left, beaming in his new uniform and armor. To Erich’s right were Kaden, Gwen, and the two survivors from the Iron Ax platoon. In front of them, the rest of the column was lined up and at attention, the martial artists of each platoon standing a step or so out from the levy soldiers.

  At the foot of the stairs leading up to the podium, Captain Demas was waiting with the other officers from their column along with a couple higher ranked martial artists that Erich didn’t recognize. Their armor didn’t look like any he’d seen in the company. He wasn’t sure if they were household guards for the major, warriors from another column, or some sort of special platoon attached to the column by the army’s commander.

  Demas wasn’t talking to anyone else in his group. His back was stiff and his face was wooden leaving no evidence of the sly smiles and good nature that he had displayed when visiting the Green River barracks. Rather, it looked like Demas and the other officers were doing everything in their power not to fidget.

  Erich glanced back and forth. There was no sun or stars in the sky to judge the hour, just torches and glow stones mounted in the walls. Still, they had been on the parade grounds for at least an hour, and there wasn’t any sign of the major. Occasionally the trumpeters would play a couple of notes, a sound cue designed to transmit simple orders during the heat of battle.

  This one meant ‘stand firm until relief arrives.’ A fine sentiment for a battlefield, but from where Erich was standing on the podium, it almost felt like the bugles were mocking him. Orders from above keeping him trapped without the person that delivered them even needing to be present.

  Finally, after waiting at the podium for at least a couple of hours, the trumpets broke into fanfare. At the end of the parade ground, the flap to a large green and white silk tent was pushed open revealing the major.

  The elf was tall and thin like all of his kind. Erich would say that he barely weighed a hundred and fifty pounds despite standing over seven feet high. His face was smooth, unblemished by the poor nutrition and childhood disease that plagued the rest of Hollendil, framing a pair of blue eyes that were as brilliant as the afternoon sky on a clear day.

  In short, like most elves, he was as attractive as he was otherworldly, something that would likely have made the elven nobility popular in Hollendil if not for the trademark sneer that he didn’t bother to hide. Mana crackled down the elf’s arms, lowering the temperature on the parade ground instantly as the commander flexed his power.

  There wasn’t any real need for it. It wasn’t hard for a martial artist or mage to restrict their mana in day to day life, but that wasn’t the point. Major Nettlewisp was making a point. First, the entire column had to wait at attention for the better part of two hours. Now, he was chilling the air around them until Erich could see the breath in front of his face.

  Levy soldiers in the crowd began to shiver. They were wearing armor, not cold weather gear after all. Martial artists had more resilient bodies, and Erich was able to suffer through the sudden drop without much effect, but that didn’t make the process comfortable.

  The major ascended the podium, Demas and the other martial artists following behind the elf as he swept past the lined up warriors and turned to address the column. Two of the martial artists that Erich didn’t recognize took up positions on either side of the elf, interposing themselves between Erich’s group and the officer’s unprotected back.

  “Soldiers.” It was almost funny how musical the major’s voice was, all while dripping with contempt. “I am told that we are gathered today because of your heroism.”

  “Fifteen years ago I was appointed as the commander of the nineteenth column on Hollendil’s western bridge,” as the elf continued talking, Erich noticed the hint of a slur in the man’s voice and the faintest of flushes to his cheeks. “I dreamt that I would lead this column across the bridge and into the barbarian lands beyond, conquering another world for the Cothleer Empire. While attending the academy I heard the stories of the Cothleer conquest of Hollendil over and over again. About how your people were too foolish to even post a border guard at the edges of your bridges. How our forces swept your great grandfathers’ armies aside with contemptuous ease.”

  “I thought that I would become one of the founding nobles of a new vassal state, paying tribute to Cothleer just as Hollendil does.” Major Nettlewisp was rambling. Erich could see the man swaying slightly, but there was nothing to do but pretend not to notice. “I would have been wealthy and powerful. My family would have been showered in honor and accolades. Every need that I could imagine would’ve been met.”

  “But time and again,” he was spitting out the words now, voice rising to a shout, “I have been betrayed by humans. When I tell you to attack, you die without securing more than a quarter mile of worthless rock. When I tell you to defend, you die, letting the enemy stream past you. The strongest amongst you is at the sixth tier, barely able to manifest his mana in the outside world.”

  “My commanders have given me the duty of a man.” The major was shaking as he screamed, the air temperature plummeting around him, “but they have given me the tools of a child. My column is barely fit to be a police force. The ‘martial artists’ behind me are stronger than the ordinary soldier, but that’s it. They were weak, pushed aside by a simple enemy attack, and here I am, told that I should be granting them medals?”

  The elf whipped around. His eyes were glassy and his cheeks were flushed. Quietly, another pair of guards broke off from where they had been standing at attention by the officers, surrounding the major as he continued his rant.

  “Am I rewarding them for not dying? I suppose it is surprising that warriors this fragile managed to survive, but that isn’t the sort of behavior we should be encouraging.”

  “The cinderborn tried to kill me,” the elf shouted, his hands gesticulating wildly. “The attack was little more than a glorified assassination attempt. If these ‘heroes’ had any honor, they would have died in battle rather than let the cinderborn elite brush past them.”

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  Major Nettlewisp leaned in, his too tall and rail thin body letting him move dangerously close to Erich and Harold. The sharp scent of brandy hung heavy in the air and Erich felt a single drop of sweat run down his temple, freezing in the intense cold before it made it six inches down the side of his face.

  “None of them stood a chance in front of my magic of course.” The elf’s voice had dropped to a whisper, the manic light in his eyes dying down as well. “If they had actually made it to where I was staying, I would have turned them all into ice sculptures before they managed to launch a single attack.”

  “Still!” He screamed, the sudden increase in volume causing Erich to jump. The major turned around, once again addressing the levy soldiers. “It was humiliating. I won’t be able to hold my head up high at the next officer’s ball unless I cleanse myself of this dishonor.”

  Captain Demas coughed. Silently, Erich upped his measure of the man. Whatever medal Erich was about to get for bravery, Demas deserved it four times over. The glare that the major fixed upon him was enough to freeze a lesser man solid.

  Literally. A blast of wintery air exploded outward from the elf, and despite his mana hardened physique, Erich felt his hands go numb. He shivered, half from the chill and half from the ice cold fury of the enraged officer.

  Major Nettlewisp wobbled slightly. One of the guards to his side reached a hand outward to steady him only for the elf to slap it away.

  “Sir,” Demas said evenly, back and shoulders perfectly straight as he stared past his superior and out into the parade ground full of shivering soldiers. “General Wintergreen has already authorized the medals and promotions.”

  The elf didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. There was enough anger and contempt behind his eyes as he swung them across everyone on the podium to kill a man. Finally, the elf turned back around to look at the suffering masses of levy soldiers once again.

  “I’ve been informed that despite their obvious shortcomings, these men and women have shown bravery,” the major said woodenly. “Maybe the bravery noticed by the general staff is that they have the temerity to stand there with their hands out begging for a reward after failing the army. Alas, orders are orders and it is not for me to question why they are being rewarded with the medal of heroism, third class.”

  “Here,” he continued dismissively, tossing a sack to Captain Demas. It clinked slightly as the human officer caught it. “You can hand out these markers of mediocrity when you get a minute. I hardly see why my presence is needed for that, Captain. You can pat your little friends on the head and hold their hands and tell them that they did good. Maybe they will even be foolish enough to believe. As for me, I have a major offensive to plan.”

  The major turned, his cape fluttering behind him as he began to stalk off the podium. Behind him, the officer’s guards hurried to catch up with their charge, the air noticeably warming as they passed en route to the decadent tent that the elf was using as his mobile command center.

  Erich winced as he watched his superior leave. An offensive was never good. That was how they’d lost Timothy.

  The Imperial Army outnumbered the cinderborn almost three to one, but crossing the dark rocky plains of the worldbridge was perilous. Demons and scavengers wouldn’t usually attack an entire army, but it was hard to avoid the spells and arrows of the defenders during the charge. Even ordinary soldiers could bring down a warrior if enough of their arrows struck home.

  By the time any attacking force reached its target, the fighters were tired, injured and out of formation. Unless they greatly outnumbered the defenders, the ensuing battle was a foregone conclusion. Occasionally an attacker could grab and hold a chunk of rock for a couple of days or even a week, but lack of reinforcements and supplies prevented any attack from succeeding for too long.

  In short, the miles between each set of walls was a wasteland. Other than a couple rocky spires with forts built around them, there was nothing but lightless stone. Years of attacks on the wooden walls of the cinderborn lines hadn’t earned the army anything, yet it never stopped imperial leaders from deciding that things would be different for them. Unlike the other officers, they would be the one to win, capturing a section of the wall and winning glory for the entire invading force.

  The major stopped short, halfway between the podium and his tent. He spun around, eyes still glassy from the brandy but a sly smile on his face.

  “Actually,” the elf mused aloud, “I just had a thought. If the six of you are brave war heroes, that is something I can use. I have need of skilled warriors for my new offensive. These ‘heroes’ might not be terribly skilled, but apparently they are brave. We shall see if ‘bravery’ is a suitable substitute for skill. Report to my tent in three days and bring a week’s worth of food with you.”

  The Major turned, laughing to himself as he continued walking back toward his tent. Erich looked to his side, making eye contact with Harold. The other man shrugged.

  Captain Demas stepped away from the line of officers, an unpleasant look on his face. He reached into the silk pouch that the major had thrown to him and drew out a small piece of metal shaped like a sun.

  He turned to face the parade grounds. There was frost on the rocks, and more than one of the soldiers looked like they were about to collapse.

  “Attention!” Demas barked, his voice echoing across the clearing. “I am hereby presenting the order of heroism, third class, to Martial Artists Sammen, Enver, Saphir, Billsly, Lotte, and Laurent. I will further be presenting a promotion to Martial Artist Lieutenant to Martial Artist Sammen as well as promotions to Martial Artist Sergeant to Martial Artists Enver and Laurent.”

  He paused. For a second, Erich thought he was going to address the major’s drinking and behavior.

  “You are dismissed,” the captain finished. “Go and get warm as soon as possible. I don’t want to see any of you on the medic’s list for hypothermia or frostbite tomorrow.”

  Almost immediately, the soldiers rushed from the field toward where the campfires and heated tents awaited. When Captain Demas turned around, there was a deep frown on his face.

  He walked up to Harold, pinning a rank insignia on the man’s shoulder followed a moment later by the order of heroism medal. He patted Harold on the shoulder before taking a half step back and putting his hand into the silk pouch to pull out the next award.

  “So much for raising morale,” the Captain said with a sigh. “And so much for keeping a low profile. I’m sorry for roping the six of you into this.”