“You stare at the city any longer and you might think it’ll fall down by itself,” Sven’s voice cut through Edus’ vigil, turning to face his friend. Edus pulled Sven’s shoulder in a rough embrace, clapping one hand over his back and half laughing, half crying, “You bloody made it.”

“Aye, I did.” Sven said, voice heavy. “I did.”

“Mikaal?”

Sven’s face hardened, gaunt dark gaze bright as he shook his head.

Edus knelt to the muddy dirt. “Damn,” he said softly, closing his eyes. “Damn.”

“They-” Sven snarled, chewing over his words. “They wouldn't give him a proper burial. That or any other man. Crown Steward’s orders. Fecking mages couldn’t give the men who died for them a proper burial, just to burn with the rest.”

Edus nodded, though they knew the reason. War did not stop for the living, only the dead. And the living could not waste men to bury their dead, not when Talibath had yet to fall. The city’s roken gates had closed even to their own retreating men who were penned against unbreaking roken wood and the tide of sharpened steel with Gifted wielders.

Edus had watched beside Landon as he helped order their slaughter.

“There’s talk Edus. Talk that-” Sven’s eyes flitted in search of eavesdroppers, voice low, “That there’s a mage in our ranks. A mage in Grizwald’s squad.” Sven’s brown eyes hardened as burnt wood. “I don’t care whether it’s true. Though what I want is the truth.”

Edus beckoned Sven over to the tent beside. Inside was all his squadmates, or what remained of them. Fredric, Corro, Jian and Osgood gathered round in a circle, Sven ducking past the tarp. The tent was lit by one dying lantern, spacious enough for them all.

“Sven was asking if there was a mage amongst our squad,” Edus said with unwavering calmness. “I am that mage.”

Sven looked back at the surrounding unchanged faces. “You all know this?”

Edus’ squadmates nodded in silence.

Sven gave a sharp exhale. “When did you turn?”

“At the Middenfort.”

Sven cradled his stubbled head with his hands and looked at each man beside. “Mikaal’s dead.”

“Fecking evils,” Corro muttered. “Feck this damned war.”

“Grizwald was brought back to the Middenfort,” Edus said. “As selected Ventura it is up to you whether I become Revus.” He took a long breath. “What is your vote?”

The squad, Edus’ squad, murmured their ayes.

“Then it’s settled. As first order, we honor Mikaal’s memory.”

Edus stated his sentiments of their slain squadmate, that he was a clever, sincere, and kind sort, never saying something out of line, going out of his way not to slight the other of lesser education.

“He was a good man,” Sven agreed. “Taught me a thing or two about things I now know are worth learning.”

“It’s our duty,” Fredric spoke afterward, “To make sure Saul, Edgard, Mikaal’s fates be known to their kin.”

“I was the only one who knew Edgard,” Corro confessed.

Sven placed a hand on Corro’s shoulder. “Not anymore. I’ve thought of how their memory can be spread, I’ve made a song, of sorts.” Sven shook his head. “Good men don’t become legends. But perhaps it may fall on some ears before I leave this world.”

“What is it called?” Corro asked.

“The Green and the Grizzled.

“An apt name, that.”

“It is of all of us. I have some to memory, though Mikaal wrote down the lyrics. I can’t write, but if you could keep the journal Fredric then maybe…” Sven spread his arms out. “Perhaps you could write down what I have in mind. Of all our stories.”

Fredric nodded, taking the proffered leatherbound journal. “I’m here because I lost my business gambling,” he said, voice ragged and quiet. The rest waited in silence while the wind whistled and rustled the tent. “I was a clothier for the mages. All my life I wished to be one of them. So I became a cowardly sycophant for them instead. I don’t deserve them. Never did. I suppose I gave some semblance of wealth, yet I had to ruin that too.” Fredric looked down. The man looked akin to a bearded Grizwald, though shorter he matched his muscled bulk beneath all the fat burned away from slogging march and raging combat. “So I enlisted on the promise of land and wealth after half a decade’s tour. ” Fredric gave a shaky breath. “My wife took our daughter to her parents’ homestead in Lyonia. Catherine’s last words to me were that she wouldn’t keep my medal when I die. Said that cowards don’t die heros’ deaths.” Fredric looked up then. “Every time we march out, every time we’re a step away from death, I think of them. And it gives me something more than faith, or a will to live. It gives me strength to return home. For Catherine, and for Thena.”

Sven began to chant his song then, adding Fredric’s story to his lyrics, and Edus thought back Grizwald’s last words to him before being carted off.

“We won’t be seeing each other anytime soon,” the captain had said. “Not during this war.”

“Are you deserting?” Edus whispered, words harsh from his bitter tone. “What of your promise, to bring us all home?”

Grizwald shook his bandaged head.

“They’ll see soon how quickly my wounds have recovered. I’m not headed for the Inquisition. Never have, never will. You’ll see how it is. They’re ruthless cold hearted bastards, the worst kind of scum. Scum with power greater than any hapless helpless man.”

Grizwald staggered up the wagon with false struggle, Edus propping him up by his shoulder. When Edus leaned in to support him Grizwald whispered with a sudden fierceness, “Never forget who you are boy. When you’ve lived over a century your past becomes a haze. Remember who you were before. Remember common decency for us all.”

Grizwald rested at the very back of the cart. Other men were sitting, heads bowed down, bandages wrapped around their limbs browning with dried blood. Grizwald’s exposed eye peered back at Edus.

“Never forget,” he said, voice hoarse, and with a flick of the driver’s whip the wagon stock full of maimed in body and soul lurched away.

They mulled over their meal, rinds of hard cheese and harder dried bread, both spotted with grey mold from the unavoidable wet. Edus felt no hunger since his turning, yet ate as he did, pulling out stubs of mold from his bread. The day had gone by uneventfully, their watch of Landon’s tent over by supper’s bell.

Mikaal had stored a well of ink and quill in his pack to which Fredric now used to scrawl Sven’s lyrics onto the sheaf of papers in his journal.

“It’s not just a song, it’s a Ballad,” Fredric corrected Sven. “This is more than some rhyme. This is a story. All of our stories.”

“The two wayward brothers,” Sven mused. “The two orphans that had run away. The engineer’s apprentice seeking faraway adventure. The merchant who sought to return to his family. The grizzled captain. The honorable mercenaries.”

“Kind words, that,” Osgoode said.

“And the man turned mage.”

“Never forgetting his place,” Edus continued to Sven’s words, nodding to each. “Never forgetting the life he had before, and those he stood beside.”

“Aye,” they all murmured in agreement.

The tarp was ripped open, Landon ducking past with a brisk step.

“Men.” He paused, looking at them all with an odd pity. “Step outside. The Crown Steward is waiting.”

Sven shot a glance to Edus once Landon had exited, the men shuffling out one by one, leaving Edus last to leave.

There he stood at the head of a line of still mages behind, the Crown Steward, gazing at the walls of Talibath. Men trundled past in quiet haste, eager to part ways with those who were not deemed men, deemed something greater. The Crown Steward turned to them as Edus saluted, followed by his squad. He was a tall sharp man, with a thin face and thin pursed lips. His dark blue cloak draped over his gleaming plate armor, his boots stepping with assured purpose.

“Who is the Revus here?” His voice was calm yet clear, cutting through the air with his soft spoken authority.

Edus bowed, as that was all he could think to do before him, “I am, my liege.”

The Crown Steward squinted, harsh grey eyes colder than the chill air.

“When did you ascend?” His simple question brought Edus’ chest to hammer though his breastplate.

“My liege, I do not understan-”

The Crown Steward raised a hand, “Do you know why I know you are a mage?”

Edus was struck mute.

He continued, “A man is a book, of sorts. Pages of memories that form his being. Your men are thinking up a page with each moment. Every book must end however. Yet Eternals are beyond such finite boundaries, their minds forever changed from their ascension to magehood. Their books are closed to the Voice, something guarded. When I peer into your mind I only see a haze of shadows, different to the open books of your fellows.”

The Crown Steward paused, studying Edus’ reaction, or absence of one.

“Have you killed a mage?” He held up his hand once more. “Think carefully before you answer. Think of the consequences you would bring should you lie to me again.” His eyes flicked to Edus’ squad.

Edus blinked, “I have.”

The Crown Steward gave a curt nod, “Good. We’ll see if you have soon enough. Walk with me.” He gestured to the others, “Carry on.”

The men, Edus’ comrades saluted, Sven meeting his glance with the slightest nod as Edus walked past. Men he had marched, eaten, slept and fought with now seemed a bridgeless chasm away with just a few words.

Edus now took his place beside the Crown Steward who strode through the swathe of soldiers that cleared a path, bowing before them as the other mages trudged in a loose squared formation surrounding them. They looked as any other Sigmarius, steel armor and helmets still smudged with mud and speckled with droplets. Their cloaks that fell just before the ground seemed to flow and be held aloft by some force other than the wind itself, a grandiose reminder of their mastery over all things.

“What is your name?” the Crown Steward asked as if it were not a question.

“Edus Trill, my liege.”

“A commoner in station, just ascended. You must empathize with the common man. Still so fresh from the mortal coil. My name is Roth Keensley, first of his line to ascend. As are you. First to strike the name of your line into the Codex.”

Roth peered up at the grey sky, frowning. “This weather bodes ill for all. Rain you would think would wash away all things clean, the bringer of life and such. But rain clouds and drowns, spreading all the filth instead of cleansing it. Nature is a fickle mistress, favoring no one. Yet we as the human race bend nature to our will, rather than letting the filth run amuck. We do not break it, no. This balance the Mythic spoke of, is impossible with the Natives’ existence. They will never accept us in this world. And this civil war is barring us from fulfilling their purification.”

They approached the Royal Pavilion, a large white tent looming as a pointed tower over the surrounding patched leather domed tents of the Jade Company. The mages stamped into a line in front of the Royal Pavilion, leaving Edus to follow Roth’s beckoning.

He waved past the tent’s covers to find the Jadess herself standing over a long table with a narrow map of the Empire laid flat. Up close she was even more thin and willower than Edus had thought, yet matched their height, a tall woman indeed.

Her hood hung down, revealing short black hair tied in a bun. Delicate angled cheekbones resting upon a pale face, ruddy lips pursed, long bridged nose crinkled as her long lashed dark eyes flashed at Edus with vivid disdain.

“This one, he is the mage within your army?” Her voice was honeyed, her tone acidic. “You need more Gifted, Roth. Gifted that are trained.”

“Edus is uninitiated,” Roth agreed. “But there is still the fact that Queen Lillian’s nephew was slain on the field of battle, by his hand no less. He is powerful.” The Crown Steward grinned. “We will need every mage to challenge the Queen, Zheng.”

Zheng nodded, “As I said before, I shall say again. I will not risk my mages to open your city’s wall. Our power is spent, and with the insistence of this storm we do not have the means to recover.”

“The skies will clear in its due course. But you underestimate the war machine that is the Empire, Jadess. The legions shall overcome Talibath’s defenses. It is the matter of dealing with Queen Lillian and her Circle that concerns me.” Roth’s grey eyes glinted orange in the lamplight. “They still have not made themselves known. Taking the true castle within this city will require more than numbers. Are you prepared for facing such a foe?”

The Jadess tapped a finger upon the table, “I have heard of your Queen of Balance even in the Orient. Her Gift over force is legendary.”

“All legends are overgrown and stuffed with indulgent hearsay,” Roth sniffed. “Though the stratagem Lillian has employed is suicidal, it is perhaps the safest course of action by her inaction. The Royal Castle of Talibath has only one entrance, of which no doubt will be guarded by all her Gifted. There is only one path leading to the throne room, allowing Lillian free range of her Gift over us all.”

“We would be slaughtered before we can even reach her,” Zheng narrowed her eyes. “Remind me again why you have brought this pup in sheep’s clothing?”

“You have already answered your question, dear Jadess. Edus here will come with us among other selected squads.”

“They will be fodder,” Zheng stated. “Through this deception you hope that he will be able to reach, and kill the Queen of Balance?” She opened her palms, fanning her arms out. “You place a dangerous gambit upon all our heads with this uncertainty that he will be even able to do so.”

"He will," Roth spoke with calm assurance. "For he must if he wishes to save his squad mates that shall enter the Royal hall alongside, once we overtake the city. The Queen will not know we have a mage within a squad. Either way, our combined forces should overcome whatever resistance the Queen and her Circle can muster. I will march in squad after squad if needed until their power is spent. How Edus will act,” Roth’s stare fixed an impossible weight upon Edus, “Shall determine his and his men’s fates.”