Rhoric beat the rain inside just as it began to fall in earnest. Within moments, he could barely see twenty feet into the courtyard. He sighed sharply through his nose, pursed his lips, and turned ahead once more, already considering his upcoming patrol shift.

  Guards ending their shift and recruits waiting on their drill commander milled about the large reception hall. Rhoric noted a new addition on the back wall — a banner bearing the First Elect’s stoic visage framed over a dragon in flight. The words ‘Unity is Strength’ were stitched above his head, and ‘Division is Death’ were stitched below.

  It bothered him - his jaw clenched, his brow furrowed. He mulled it over as he walked, heavy footfalls muffled by the thick carpet. A variety of hanging crests adorned the walls here, and he didn’t find them overwhelming - simply present. He understood they were meant to inspire pride in their homeland, in each other, yet they did nothing but fill him with a vague sense of unease.

  He pushed the thoughts aside as he heard the distant rumble of many voices. The closer he journeyed to the auditorium, the louder it became - so he was surprised that he was still caught off guard when he crossed the threshold into the room and saw it packed near to bursting.

  “Quite the crowd,” Lyren said as he emerged from behind a group to Rhoric’s right.

  “An understatement, Lieutenant,” Rhoric responded wryly. He looked around the room as he spoke, from person to person - and found that more people wore the crest of the Drakesworn on their gear than he felt comfortable with. He scanned the walls and rafters next, and found the same crest emblazoned on large, bold cloth standards, intermingled evenly with the traditional Emberthain regalia. “I can only imagine the occasion.”

  “New regime,” the lieutenant responded with a lazy shrug. He followed Rhoric’s gaze. “New messaging.”

  “New expectations,” Rhoric added, rubbing his chin with one hand. “Let’s find a seat.”

  As they picked their way through the crowd, Marrec stepped onto the stage. Each step toward the lectern was poised and purposeful. He said nothing at first, instead staring at the still-standing stragglers. Rhoric imagined it was not simply performative - Marrec would remember those guards’ faces, and he’d make sure they had a pleasant chat later.

  Only when all were seated and the murmuring of the crowd died to nothing did Marrec speak.

  “Glory to a unified Emberthain, and glory to us,” he said, voice raised only as much as necessary to command attention, “There are several matters at issue, but I will be brief. The city streets require your attention more than I.”

  Marrec opened with the unsurprising: he would no longer be acting High Commander. His appointment had been confirmed. Applause followed, dutiful but not enthusiastic. Rhoric added a few claps of his own out of obligation.

  Next came the recruitment drive. The city guard was expanding. They were encouraged to refer loyal, able-bodied friends and family, with bonuses promised to both recruit and sponsor - assuming standards were met. Rhoric frowned.

  Until those ranks were filled, they would be on extended patrols. That earned the first audible groans of the morning. Marec paused then and lifted his gaze from the page to let the noise settle, before adding that longer shifts would be compensated with increased pay.

  Rhoric’s knee began to bounce and his brow furrowed. Lyren nudged him with an elbow and shot him a questioning look. Rhoric forced a smile, straightened in his seat, and forced his expression back to something neutral. His lieutenant studied him for a beat longer before letting it drop.

  “... We end the administrative matters with a final announcement,” Marrec said, turning his page on the lectern. Rhoric was still focused on the first announcements…

  “The city guard and the Emberwatch will no longer operate as separate entities.”

  … Until he wasn’t.

  He leaned forward before he could stop himself. Several others weren’t as restrained. Confused murmurs rippled through the chamber, and a curse or two rang out louder than intended before their speakers remembered themselves.

  “They will instead be joined under a single branch,” Marrec continued, voice level but eyes once more on the gathering, “to be known as the Emberthain Unified Defense Force. Your duties and titles remain unchanged. You will continue to report to the same immediate superiors. Those superiors, however, will report to a new commanding officer to be appointed within the week.”

  No change in titles. No change in pay. Only a longer chain of command, and a sudden loss of autonomy. He wasn’t fooled.

  “As a final matter,” Marrec said as the murmurs died again, “I call Sentinel-Captain Rhoric of House Stormwell, to the front.”

  That wasn’t good.

  Rhoric stood, careful to appear unbothered. He shuffled awkwardly along the tightly packed row to the main aisle, ignoring the squeak of chairs and the creak of leather and armor as dozens of eyes turned toward him. The calm facade was fragile; his heartbeat rumbled like thunder in the silence.

  “Unity is strength, and division is death,” Marrec began, and Rhoric silently cursed the motto. He took his place beside the commander and stood at attention. The commander continued, “These are not just words. If we are not united in our efforts, our authority falls on deaf ears, and the city falls to chaos.”

  Now the commander turned to face him directly.

  “You undermined the authority of your subordinate during a lawful arrest. You distracted him as he approached a weapon-branding assailant.”

  Marrec continued speaking, but Rhoric heard none of it. Thador, the rat, must have spun quite the tale - corroborated by his Drakesworn partners, no doubt. He clasped his hands behind his back and clenched them into fists out of sight. Rage burned in his chest, with shame close behind. How had he not seen this coming?

  He withstood the barrage from Marrec, ever professional but never gentle in his assessments, until a voice cut in from the observation gallery above.

  “Come now, Marrec,” Solvere said, one hand resting lightly on the railing, “We are asking old dogs to learn new tricks, are we not?”

  Rhoric’s eyes darted briefly to Solvere and his brow furrowed. Had he been there the whole time?

  “I know the captain to be a good man,” Solvere continued, “We served together on several campaigns against the Thornspire.”

  Now Rhoric’s eyes narrowed. While that was technically correct, it was oversold. There had been several regiments of separation between them, and Solvere had remained safely behind them until victory was well within reach.

  It seemed he still had an uncanny sense for timing.

  “His compassion endears him to our wonderful citizens, and I’ve no doubt the captain will learn to wield it properly, in accordance with our new and exacting standards.”

  Solvere smiled down at the pair on the stage, but the warmth never reached his eyes. An expectant silence fell over the room as the First Elect’s words hung in the air.

  “As you say,” Marrec said, bowing his head briefly, before he turned back to the room as a whole. “Let it be known that the First Elect extends grace, but it is not without limits. You are dismissed.”

  The room was immediately filled with the sound of chairs scraping and people talking excitedly.

  “Except you,” Marrec said as an aside to Rhoric, “My office.”

  * * *

  Rhoric entered the commander’s office ahead of him. The door shut with a quiet snap behind him. The deadbolt slid home soon after. This was not his first visit to this room, but he was still struck by how clean, how organized it was. It felt sterile - more museum than office.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “Sit,” Marrec said, motioning at a comfortable chair in front of a desk, as he sat in the chair behind it. Rhoric sat.

  “If I may be so bold,” Rhoric said, as the commander leaned down to unlock and open one of the desk drawers, “I’ve never known you to handle being interrupted quite so kindly as today.”

  Marrec paused, still bent over the drawer, and looked up. A brief flash of annoyance crossed his face - whether at the implication or the thought of Solvere, Rhoric wasn’t sure. “Being interrupted by the First Elect changes the calculus on a reaction. You know that.”

  Rhoric doubted that was the only reason.

  “This,” Marrec continued as he straightened up. He dropped a heavy, filled-to-bursting folder onto his desk. Rhoric could see his own name on the label, “Is why you are here. When the new commander position became official, I naturally considered you. Dedicated soldier through and through. Decorated.”

  The commander let the flattery linger for a moment, and Rhoric gave a polite incline of his head to acknowledge it. He ignored the invitation to speak.

  “Of course, such a promotion in the current political climate required,” Marrec lifted one hand, motioning vaguely with it as he searched for an appropriate word, “Research. You may be shocked to know what can be found when you look. Even in the cleanest records.”

  Another pause, another invitation - another trap set with bait. This time, the commander did not continue without prompting.

  “I’ve no doubt, High Commander. Our intelligence network is truly remarkable.”

  “Indeed it is,” he smiled, and Rhoric got the vaguest hint the commander might be impressed. He pulled out a small packet of papers from within the folder and slid it across to the captain. “Your initial application to the military academy all those many years ago. What does it say your name is?”

  Rhoric fought to remain stone-faced as a memory flashed - his mother’s hand over his own, a gentle reminder that he was a Stormwell - always. He looked at the page, “By the Flame, my handwriting was awful. I believe it says ‘Rhoric of House Stormwell.’”

  Marrec smiled thinly - almost with a hint of regret, “Turn the page.”

  He did. He scanned the page, and the room suddenly felt too small. A few words cut him like a knife: Ashfall. Favor. Fabricated.

  “You are more accurately named Rhoric Ashfall, Bastard of House Stormwell,” Marrec did not ask - he spoke with finality. Rhoric nodded.

  “Being a bastard is not disqualifying, obviously,” the commander continued, reaching out and taking the packet of papers away. “However, lying on your application - and having your mother leverage certain obligations - is.”

  Marrec set the folder aside and returned the damning packet to his drawer, locking it with deliberate care. Rhoric furrowed his brow and gave him a questioning look, but could not find his voice.

  “You are an asset to the Emberwatch and to me,” the commander continued, with an amused smile at Rhoric’s expression, “Even more so now that you owe me a debt. That will never see the light of day, as long as you keep your nose clean - and do your job. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” The words were nearly too heavy to speak.

  “Excellent. Dismissed. Head to the Industrial District. The Mountainfolk mucked something up, and we need more bodies.”

  * * *

  Nothing turned a short walk long like rain and dread. Rhoric pulled the hood of his heavy cloak further over his head as he kept his brisk pace. The gate to the Industrial District was just ahead, and Lyren stood outside it. The rain had lessened, though still heavy and loud - but at least he could see.

  Lyren saluted as he caught sight of the captain, and fell in step beside him smoothly. They ducked through the administrative side-gate and avoided the snarl of workers and merchants who were being kept out. While inside the brief, dry space, Lyren handed him a small, hastily prepared pamphlet.

  “Updated enforcement directives,” the lieutenant explained. “Effective immediately. Figured Marrec probably had other topics he discussed with you.”

  Rhoric grunted as he flipped through the pages and skimmed through what was written. Patrol rotation adjustments… Uniform compliance reminders… All industrial accidents involving military assets subject to immediate Unified Defense oversight… Temporary detainment authorized… Registration verification mandatory…

  “It’s official, then.” He folded the pamphlet more times than strictly necessary before he tucked it away into his cloak's inner pocket.

  “Yes,” Lyren said quietly.

  Rhoric tucked the pamphlet away as they re-entered the rainy streets. A nearby guard spotted them, expression full of relief as she approached.

  “Thank fuck, someone with actual rank,” she said, exasperated. She gave the laziest of salutes. “Been an incident, bad one. This way.”

  Rhoric could well have followed the distant sounds of chaos if she hadn’t appeared.

  “How bad?” Lyren asked.

  The closer they walked, the less the question required an answer. The air grew thick and heavy, with the scent of burnt iron so strong it stuck to his tongue. Smoke clung low to the ground, and the heat that came with it felt wrong - unnerving, even.

  A building loomed ahead, its front corner torn open. Its timbers split outward, the roof half-sheared away by the force of a blast. Embers hissed and spit where they struck wet stone and metal.

  Beside it all, rising from a cage of scaffolding, stood an incomplete drakeship. Its metal frame loomed through smoke and fog, with its unfinished draconic head angled toward the street, unblinking sockets watching those below.

  Even incomplete, it was impressive - a testament to Emberthain’s ambition and ingenuity. It was meant to remind the world who they once were. As the firelight danced in those hollow eye sockets, it didn’t look like a testament at all.

  “I told that mage we couldn’t do it,” someone snapped, drawing Rhoric’s attention away from spectacle and back to reality, “Not ‘shouldn’t’ - couldn’t! We barely perfected the last iteration, and now they want us pushing beyond those limits?!”

  A Mountainfolk woman was speaking, her braided hair tied back and covered in soot. She motioned emphatically with her hands as she spoke, and the ore-infused ink of the tattoos that covered her arms like sleeves shimmered in the smoke-dimmed light. Another Mountainfolk man stood to her right. A third lifted what Rhoric assumed to have been a weight-bearing timber up from the ground with one hand as he checked for something beneath it.

  “But you proceeded anyway,” responded the guard taking the report. He looked young, and his posture was stiff from feigned confidence. He didn’t bother masking the disdain in his expression.

  The engineer stared at the guard for a beat. Rhoric knew that look.

  “Bet the rockbrained idiots just fucked it up,” a nearby worker stage-whispered, and their friend snickered.

  “Or did it on purpose t’ prove their stupid point.”

  Rhoric shot the pair a sharp look. The timber dropped with a heavy thud. The pair only sneered in response. The guard who had led them there looked at him expectantly, as did Lyren. He frowned.

  “Lyren, I want the two of you to take inventory of the injured. Triage, treat - you know the protocol.” They were gone nearly before he finished speaking. One less thing to worry about.

  “So after you continued - despite your reservations,” the guard interviewing the engineer tapped his notepad. He was fighting a smile. “What happened?”

  The woman looked ready to strangle him.

  “We fired up the engine as per the new schematics we were provided,” she said, voice wavering. “Readings immediately jumped to unsafe levels. Pressure spike, temperature redlined. We killed the engine, but power continued to climb and -”

  “Forgive me, Master Engineer, but it sounds to me like you either never ‘killed’ the engine or were too slow. How does the power continue to climb? Especially if you followed the schematics as provided?”

  There was a brief pause, a quiet moment, as the engineer considered the question. Another guard spoke, this one bearing a Drakesworn insignia upon his cloak. “Trying to figure out how to pin it on anyone but y’selves, aren’t you? Never should’ve let your lot out of the quarries.”

  The same guard then shifted, rested his hand over the pommel of his sword. The man to the engineer’s right scowled, took a half-step forward. A half-dozen guards' weight shifted and their hands gripped the handle of their weapons.

  “Enough.” Rhoric stepped forward, a beat too late. “Tensions are high enough. Do not instigate.”

  The guards' expressions soured, but their stances relaxed. The investigator looked even less pleased, but was wise enough to take a step back. Rhoric took his place before the engineer.

  “Name?”

  “Rekar Highmantle,” she responded warily.

  “I am Sentinel-Captain Rhoric. We have here an industrial accident involving military assets,” he spoke with practiced detachment, “I’ve no doubt that emotions are running high and that any statements given - or collected - are colored by that fact.”

  He could feel the young investigator glaring at him. Rekar narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Under current directives,” he began, and hesitated. This is procedure. “You, and your team, are to be taken into administrative custody. An investigation will follow.”

  “Oh, aye, and I’m sure that will be impartial,” one of the men beside Rekar nearly spat the words.

  “It will be thorough,” Rhoric responded softly. “Are there other members of your engineering team?”

  “No.” Rekar said, her glare never lessening.

  Rhoric nodded. He couldn’t hold her gaze, so he turned to the investigator. “Bring them in. I expect your report to me in the morning. I expect it to be factual.”

  He turned away and cut through the crowd, which had grown to a size befitting such a spectacle. It was full of whispered insults and snickering, and the whole ordeal left Rhoric with a rotten knot in his stomach.

  New regime. New expectations.

  “Didn’t put a lick o’ thought into that, did he?” He heard a Wildkin speak, eyeing him, “Said ‘good enough,’ an’ took ‘em in.”

  Now he understood.