“So.” Aeghert gestured towards Deniel. The two had retired to a long, spacious room with wooden tables and chairs. The line closer had produced a clay mug out of somewhere and drawn himself a drink from a bubbling pot. There was no alcohol allowed in the camp, Deniel had gathered. Herbal teas seemed to be the drink of choice for those not willing to flout the rules, and the golden liquid steamed in the smoking cold air. Deniel had done the same. “I think it’s about time you tell me some more about just what sort of recruit they left me to deal with.”

Here we go. “I’m from Waccewald. My father is Alderman of a village in the Akhe valley.” Aeghert nodded, patiently listening. “I got into…trouble…with the local garrison. As a way out, I was sent here. I’m not quite sure why, or what I do now.”

“This trouble.” Aeghert said, an eyebrow quirking. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with Morgenstern’s former posting?” A question with a point to it, if there ever was one.

“Well…” Deniel floundered. Is there any point to hiding it? The captain has the dispatches, it isn’t exactly a secret anymore. On the heels of that thought came another: but I remember what the convoy escort were like when they knew the truth; should I try and keep it quiet after all? Will he be more angry with me over what I’ve done, or over lying about it?

The Groepleid spoke into the silence. “You told the Lord Knight,” there was a tangible irony to the title, “that you were there when his tower burned. There with the ones who burned it, presumably?” The tone was light, but the bearded face had an intensity to it. He didn’t bother waiting for Deniel to come up with a response to this one, either. The continued silence was answer enough, in its way. Aeghert lightly toasted him with the steaming tankard. “At least they haven’t saddled me with someone completely green.”

“I…you’re not going to…” Deniel struggled for words. This is not the reaction I expected.

The Groepleid sipped at his drink, utterly relaxed. “You thought I would react badly to you having fought against us? For one, you’re a Waccie and I’m not an idiot. I expected something like this. For another, we’re the Summerhall Brigade.” It was obvious that the man thought this was important. Deniel’s expression made it equally obvious he was lost in the woods.

“That’s what the Haupterr said, yes. Is Summerhall a town? A province?”

Aeghert sighed at that. “Right, you’re not from the Kingdom. Yes, it’s a province, or was. But you’ve not head of Robert’s Rebellion?”

“No.” Deniel said, watching the man, still expecting quick anger. I’ve just near as admitted I was involved in burning down a garrison filled with Stanmarker soldiers. Why is he taking it so calmly? The file closer was on short acquaintance a stolid and unflappable man, but Deniel had expected more of a reaction even so. And I’ve seen he can rouse to fury only minutes ago.

“It was just another peasant revolt, really.” Aeghert said, idly tapping the lip of the tankard. “After it was put down, there wasn’t much left of the province. But then the New Army was raised; they were always looking for fresh men in those days, and they didn’t much ask questions about your past if you were competent and could do what you’re told.” And that’s a heavy-handed hint, if there ever was one.

Deniel shook his head at the thought. Some of the pieces were starting to slot into place. “You were raised from former rebels?”

The file closer nodded. “Not all of us, and those that were don’t talk about it. The Haupterr doesn’t pry either, as long as we don’t kick up a fuss. But like I said, there was not much of a life to be made in Summerhall after it was scoured. Nearly every hamlet lost people, lost plenty, and usually it was the youngest and most energetic at that.” He smiled crookedly through his beard, an eyebrow quirking. “So as long as you don’t make too much noise about it, well. You won’t be the first or last man I’ve had in my rank or file that’s killed men wearing the Sun. Just don’t make a habit of it.”

Is this some fresh trap? Deniel wondered to himself, hiding his unease by sipping from his own cup – a rough and ready wooden tankard drawn from the equipment stores, lathe spun and sealed in wax. Did the Lords put me with former rebels to see if I, too, could be turned one way or the other? He placed the tankard down and turned to Aeghert.

“I don’t really know why I’ve been sent here,” he began, picking his words carefully. “You could say I don’t have much of a life left back West; too many bridges burned there.” He saw the file closer nod and continued. “But I don’t know what I’m meant to do here.”

“To start with, you just stay quiet and do what you’re told.” Groepleid Aeghert’s voice was firm. “You need to be taught the very basics, and we can do that while the Brigade is in winter quarters for the cold season. You’ll learn the rank structure, the calls and commands, how to march, and how to fight. While you do so, I and the other seniors will have an opportunity to assess you and see where you’ll best fit in for specialist training.” He tapped his hand thoughtfully on the tankard. “Anything else in your background? Skills, things you’ve learned?”

“I can read, and write after a fashion.” That got Deniel a raised eyebrow. “I had spent time with the Akhe Valley’s monastery, the monks there taught me.”

“That will be useful to know.” Noncommittal and deliberately unimpressed, Aeghert gestured for him to go on. Deniel continued.

“Other than that – frankly speaking, I was an alderman’s son in a farming village. I have no special skill to speak of.”

“Any woodcraft?”

“None; our lord guarded his hunting rights jealously.” The villagers had been permitted, rather grudgingly, to take pest game when it strayed into their gardens and fields. Some had quietly taken larger game on the side – Goodwife Merida and her daughter Rosaline had certainly never seemed to have any shortage of meat on hand – but as alderman’s son Deniel had quietly been steered away from such pursuits.

“Well.” The Groepleid continued to tap at his tankard, lost in thought. “It could be better, but it could be worse; it isn’t as if you were the only farmer or farmer’s sone we’ve taken on. You’ll just have to learn fast and learn well, is all.”

Deniel took that in. Then, as another thought struck him, he winced and abruptly changed the subject. “The Lord…Sir Morgenstern. Am I going to have trouble for being disrespectful?”

“Hah!” Aeghert grinned, the mood instantly lightening. “Not if I have anything to say about it. For one, the man was being a pompous ass. For another, we can play it off as you being new and ignorant if he complains – and being a pompous ass, he wasn’t wearing his rank badges so there’s an argument there you wouldn’t know you were being cheeky.” The heavyset man winked. “Besides which, he’d have to complain to the captain first and Moritz is, shall we say, not positively predisposed to Sir Bembro to begin with.”

“What are the ranks?” At the Groepleid’s raised eyebrow, Deniel hastened to add “just the basics, so I don’t make these mistakes down the line.” Hierarchy was something life in Waccewald had hammered into his very core. And I probably have made enough enemies to last me a lifetime by now.

Still amused, the file closer tapped the badge on his hat. “For now, all you need are the very basics. Color of stud defines tier, number of studs defines rank. Copper, Silver, Gold. Copper is rankers, silver is line officers, gold is officers and nobility proper.” Under his thick fingers, two silver studs gleamed dully against the cloth. “In very short, knuckle under to anyone of a higher color, listen to anyone with more studs.”

Deniel nodded, filing the information away…and thinking of the bare leather of his own cap badge. There’s work to do yet. And… He thought back to Bembro’s fury-suffused face. “But…surely you still ought to show deference to your social betters?”

“In the field and in camp, the nobility has no inherent authority here.” Aeghert said. “They don’t like it, and they’ve fought tooth and nail against our privileges, but success covers a variety of sins and we have been very successful.” His smile was sharp. “If they want authority over a man in the black and grey, they can have it as soon as they accept rank. Some take to it without issue. Some, like someone you’ve met, have trouble adapting.”

The bearded man stood, downing the last of his tea. “Let’s get your gear dropped off and you settled. After that, we can start seeing how fast you pick things up.”

Deniel’s bunk turned out to be in the middle of the room; there was enough space underneath to store the bundle he’d received. The sum of all my worldly belongings. Vitta and Egon stood sheepishly by one wall while Aeghert took turns cursing at them for being idiots and tugging at his beard in exasperation.

The remaining two members of the file had drifted over while the promised dressing-down took place. Roderick was two fingers taller than Deniel, with dirty blonde hair worn long and a mustache drawn to points. He was a Stanburgh man, he boasted, even as his hands busied themselves showing Deniel how to best arrange and stow the various articles he’d acquired or how to correctly assemble the unfamiliar clothes. A city man, same as the captain, not like the provincials. That last bit got good natured jeers from the rest of the file. The last man was Matthias – barely older than Deniel, hook-nosed and heavy browed. He took the newcomer in stride, nodding politely enough, but sank into himself on one of the bunks without sparing words.

The bunks themselves were a welcome surprise after days of travel. The woodwork was not extravagant; there was none of the carving or decorative inlay Deniel had seen in the Akhe manor. It lacked the personal touches of furniture in Akenhof, tiny details that spoke of loving care and attention. For all that, they were comfortable and sturdy – the dispassionate efficiency of a craftsman making rote copies. The wooden frame was covered with a straw mattress, slightly prickly and smelling like summer. At Roderick’s instruction, Deniel folded his woolen blanket in half and placed it on the mattress. Good, that’s the way, the Easterner had said, a smile quirking his lips and sending the tips of his mustache quivering. T’straw’ll eat you alive, else. Even after the short days in their company, Deniel was learning to pick up on differences of speech and mannerisms among the Stanmarkers. The men from Summerhall had a distinct rasp to their speech, one that made the words sound somehow rougher. Roderick and Moritz both spoke in a manner far more clipped, emphasizing their consonants in a way that sounded staccato and disjointed until you got used to it.

“You’re all settled?” Aeghert asked, turning away from the hapless Egon. Vitta had gotten off lighter, but as the file closer had explained at length and with a colorful and inventive vocabulary Egon was expected by virtue of seniority to adhere to “standards.” The deluge of recriminations had gone on in the background the entire time Deniel had been sorting and packing away the whole of his worldly belongings, seemingly without need for pausing to breathe. Egon still stood braced and rigid as if against a stiff wind, eyes slightly glassy.

“I believe so.” Deniel shifted his shoulders experimentally. The clothes were a subtly different cut and lay in a way that was wholly unfamiliar, even now that Roderick had shown him how to lace them correctly. Matthias had stared vacantly, offering small suggestions at times.

“Egon.” The slight figure unspooled from the rigid stance and sauntered over at Aeghert’s beckon. the seriousness draining out of him in an instant. “Your job is going to be helping the farmer boy get himself situated and oriented; this’ll be new to him.”

“Understood.”

“Now,” Aeghert’s voice was good-natured, but Egon’s eyes twinkled with a gleeful malice. “It’s time to go for a little walk and see what material I’ve gotten to work with.”

The two seniors grinned at each other while the rest of the file groaned in chorus. Deniel had a sinking feeling as he looked at those grins that whatever they had planned, he wouldn’t find it nearly as amusing.