All was still on the field, tranquil as the calm before a storm. Dark clouds gathered over the two rising suns, a damp and grey morning that chilled the bones. Edus twirled his training sword with practised movements, Fredric at his left and Grizwald to his right. Saul stood beside their captain, the others positioned behind them.

Edus remembered when he, Sven, Saul and the other boys would study the formations of the soldiers that trained on the open fields bordering the outskirts of their village. They would copy their formations and enact mock battles with the natives. Edus would relish his role as a soldier of the Empire, using sticks as swords and roughly fashioned wood boards with leather strappings as shields. Many an evening Edus had returned home with welts and bruises, which he failed to hide from his mother.

The company they now were part of, ten squads strong, formed a thin line facing the enemy; another company that marched towards them. Several hundred meters away they broke into a run, yelling and howling eagerly as their role of the aggressor.

“Hold!” Yelled Sigmarius Landon, riding atop his barded warhorse that galloped behind their line. “Brace yourselves!”

“Brace!” Roared Grizwald and the other captains as they charged to batter their shield wall, one man going so far as to propel himself using both legs to kick Edus’ shield. The weight of his added momentum slammed Edus to the ground, dazed. He felt the shoulder of his shield arm sear with pain. The man grinned through his helmet and raised his sword to strike before being whacked and prodded to submission by the roken wooden polearms wielded by Sven and Mikaal.

“Fecking evils!” The man swore in thick Pikend. “I yield! I yield already!”

He retreated, Sven grabbing Edus’ hand to stand once more. Mikaal, Edgard and Corro entered the melee to block off the split shield wall.

“That mad bastard,” Sven swore at the man who had disappeared into the grunting wall of bodies pushing and shoving for advantage. “Looking to injure a fellow man during training.”

“Edus get back in formation!” Grizwald yelled overhead.

Sven jut his head apologetically to the shield wall in which Edus shrugged and rejoined the mass of flailing bodies. His shoulder dulled to a throbbing pain, not enough to hamper his ability in raising his shield.

“Hold the line!” Landon cried out, as if his voice would give them aid. Edus grit his teeth and pushed with all his might, boots sliding off the wet grass. He jabbed with his sword, hitting and glancing off hard metal until he heard a yelp and, “I yield!”

The attackers thinned in ranks as the yielding men ran a ways away to the other side of the field. Soon there were less men than their line, and their Sigmarius turned round to their left side behind the enemy.

“With me!” Landon commanded. “Flank and encircle!”

“Forward!” Grizwald hollered, “Right flank! Right flank!”

With grunting unison they barreled forward, a close knit shield formation that forced the remaining stray attackers to gather closer together as Mikaal and Sven poked and stabbed with their polearms overhead. They and the squad to their left turned to their right side, effectively surrounding the next enemy squads and quickly forcing them to yield. They ran to the next squad, and the next, enveloping and breaking the enemy line. Eventually Edus could see their rival Sigmarius, screaming orders from atop his horse.

“Give it up Isaac,” Landon trotted past with a smug grin. “My forces have bested yours. Again.”

“These men are mewling babes still suckling at the tit,” Isaac snarled. “Yielding at the first blow struck, bah! If you can call it a victory over such opposition.”

“Come now, your men fight with a modicum of zeal. However, they do not possess such a man in my ranks.”

Landon pointed to one of his captains: Grizwald.

“Have you heard of the lone survivor, the captain who refused to be a Sigmarius?”

Isaac squinted at the giant of a man who was methodically forcing his men to yield by tripping them to the ground and threatening them at sword point.

“I heard he was dead.”

Landon leaned over his horse, his voice low as if he were revealing a closely guarded secret.

“The rumor is he was one of the first men to live past his combat tour and retire with full distinction. He reenlisted only to watch over his son, the brash boy he was. His son died under his watch, as well as the rest of his squad. It is said this was during the Reunification. They say he is a mage, and seeks to help his common man, as his common blood son before them.”

“They say,” Isaac said dryly. “If he is indeed a mage, then why not report him to the Inquisition?”

“Come now,” Landon looked almost offended. “As if I would take away such an asset in my command based on such hearsay! No, whether or not he is a mage is of no importance to me. He is a vestige of morale, regardless of his origin. We will need more men like him in these uncertain times.”

Landon spurred his horse onwards as his company dispatched the last of Isaac’s forces.

“Well done Grizwald and Caius,” Landon nodded to the captains, who saluted. “If not for the prowess of your squads you commanded we would not have been able to flank their right side. Keep up the good work lads!”

With that said he galloped off to join the distant drilling cavalrymen.

“You hear that?” Sven asked. “Seems the Sig has taken a shining to us. Do you reckon he’ll give us a big wet kiss on each of our cheeks in reward?”

Saul cuffed Sven on the head with a leather gloved hand.

“If he catches you saying that I reckon you’ll get a flogging,” Saul warned his younger brother. Sven straightened his helmet, “I’d rather be rewarded with solid copper than a pat on the shoulder. The way we’re making him look he’ll be on his way to Imperialus.”

"Imperialus?" Corro spluttered. "The only reason Landon would be noticed-" His eyes flicked to Grizwald. "-is because of our captain."

"That's enough wives' gossip," Grizwald gruffed. "Wash up. Edus see yourself to the medicus."

The squad all saluted and echoed, "Yes, Revus," calling Grizwald by the formal title of captain.

***

The Medicium was located just outside the township of the Oxenfort, but remained within its walls. It was as large as the armory inside, though in place of its shelves were dozens of evenly placed beds where the sick and injured lay, of which there were few. A portly woman appeared, her silvered hair glinting in the lantern light. She was wearing a white apron, the sleeves of her shirt rolled up to show her doughy forearms. Her face had creases to the sides of her eyes and the corners of her mouth, which was set in a curt line.

“Can I help you?” She asked briskly.

“The captain told me to see myself to the medicus,” Edus answered.

“I am the medicus my dear, but what brings you here? Looks to me you’re in whole form, more or less.”

“My arm,” he said, sheepish. “Was injured in training.”

“Sit here,” the medicus pointed to a nearby bed, clean folded white sheets over the mattress. “Remove your shirt.”

She clucked upon seeing the bruises, splotched purple and red on his forearm and round his shoulder.

“That’ll color something fierce,” the medicus noted. “This shouldn’t be a problem for my apprentice. Hildie! I need brightflower salve!”

A slender woman approached wearing the same garb as the medicus. Her hair was soft flowing locks of gold. She had delicate features, her face angled with a mousy nose and full somber lips. Her eyes were a deep green, same as the jade Edus had once seen traders bring to his village.

“Hildie, apply the salve over his bruising. As for you,” she turned to Edus, eyes squinted. “Keep your hands to yourself. I’ll first knock you on the head with one of your roken swords, then make sure there’s the evils to pay with your captain.”

Edus nodded in solemn promise, even though he had no impulse to do so; he was sure he would not want to witness the old woman’s wrath. The medicus left them to tend to her more seriously troubled patients. Her apprentice, Hildie, held out a tinctured stout brown glass bottle, in which she uncorked to spoon out its yellowed contents with her fingers. He could feel her cool breath on his shoulder as she leaned over to cover his bruises with the beeswax like substance. Her touch was light, the salve applied was a tingling hot and yet cold sensation traveling down his arm. It smelled of sweet peppermint, lingering from her touch.

“Aren’t all flowers bright?” Edus asked.

“Brightflower is not named for its color, but its properties,” Hildie’s voice was softly spoken, gentle as a warm breeze in a summer’s shade. “It heals and soothes.”

“Aye, that it does.”

“Wait until it is fully absorbed on your skin before you put back on your shirt. Come back once each day until it fully heals.”

The medicus’ apprentice rose to leave.

“Hildie, is it?” He blurted, holding out his hand. “Thank you. My name is Edus.”

Hildie nodded, shaking his hand. He could feel the ring on her finger, hard and cold to the touch.

“Pleased to meet you, Edus. If you’ll excuse me, I have other patients to tend to.”

Edus nodded dumbly. He waited as her instructions for the salve to set, which took roughly a quarter of an hour before donning back his shirt. He walked briskly back to his lodgings; the dark clouds now releasing a heavy downpour that muddied the ground and left him soaking wet.

The lodging was empty, the others already at the mess hall. Edus rushed to wash himself and change, hurrying past the rain to reach his squad inside, no doubt dry with their bellies already filled.

“Ah Edus!” Saul motioned him to join their table. “Glad to see you back from the dead!”

Sven added, “Given how long you were held at the Medicium we thought you were a tough nut to have played off breaking your arm.”

“My arm isn’t broken,” Edus denied their suspicions. “Thanks for saving my arse from the arseling today.”

Sven waved a hand away, “We’re brothers in arms and all that. Corro was just telling us something interesting about the Medicium.”

Corro grinned. Edus quickly learned that the half umbran boy had a sharp mind and sharper ears, listening to the many happenings and hearsay that cloistered in the mess hall.

“So, Edus. Were you treated by the medicus, or her apprentice?” Corro’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “Judging from your face I’d say it was the last one.”

Saul bobbed his head in agreement. “Definitely the last one.”

“She is married,” Edus said plainly. “I saw the ring on her hand myself.”

“Not to smile on misfortune but there is a reason why they call her the widow,” Corro said. “The rumor is she was wed to a soldier before he enlisted, and she followed him here. He left for the frontier, never to return. And she’s waited for him ever since.”

“Well.” Sven filled the silence of the group. “That's a fecking depressing tale.”

“They say she beds with those who look like her husband. You know,” Corro sipped from his tankard, muffling his voice. “Brown hair. Blue eyes. Northlander. Bit of a big lad, but not as big as Saul.”

All save for Fredric slowly stared at Edus.

“It doesn’t hurt to try,” Sven pointed out.

"Unlike you lot I have a lass waiting for me," Edus crossed his arms while the younger members of his squad groaned.

“Sally would walk a hundred miles and a hundred more to feck the nearest man. What?” Sven bristled at Edus’ glare. “It’s the truth.”

"I've heard the widow was a high born woman who ran off," Corro raised two fingers. "Heard that twice now. Once is a half truth at best. Twice is a half truth and more.”

Mikaal lifted one brow. "So two thirds of a truth?"

Corro continued, "You would be with what us lowborn can only dream of. Think of her, Edus, not just yourself. You would be putting a widow's mind at ease, if for a time. You're being downright selfish right now."

"You are a shining example of morals and honor to us all," Edus said drily.

Corro shrugged. "I'd do it if I were you."

"Hear, hear.” Sven raised a toast. “Feck all to do anyways."

Edus rose from the bench.

“And curiosity got the better of him,” Mikaal said lightly.

Sven hollered, “Make us proud, Edus!”

By the time Edus reached the Medicium he was drenched yet again. He absentmindedly brushed a hand against his scalp. His hair, like the rest of his squad, was shaven, which was fortunate in not collecting water. The same could not be said for his damp clothes, and he shivered carelessly.

Hildie paused upon seeing him.

“Your return is still a day’s away,” she murmured.

“I’m not here for healing,” he said earnestly. “If I may ask, would you care to eat with me at my lodging? I don’t know if you’ve eaten supper already but the stew they serve at the mess hall is quite good actually-”

“Yes. I am rather hungry.”

Edus was dumbstruck.

“Oh. It’s not far off, but we may have to leg it from the rain.”

Hildie removed her apron. She was dressed in grey (rather pleasantly) form fitting pants and a white shirt rolled up to her elbows.

“Let’s be off then.”

Edus nodded and opened the door to let her through. The suns remained shrouded in the grey horizon yet the rain had ended, if for a time. They avoided the wide puddles that littered the ground, water overflowed the drainage channels at either side of the dirt road. A short brisk walk later they entered the lodging.

“You must be frigid from all that wet,” Hildie observed. “You should change.”

Edus hesitated.

“It’s alright,” she reassured him with a closed smile. “I’ve already seen you half naked.”

He took out a lockless chest beneath his cot which contained simply and more importantly dry clothing. Edus promptly stripped and replaced his wet shirt. Hildie was already sitting at the small table, waiting patiently for Edus to sit down. He had positioned the table before the solitary window, showing the now soft white sky. They spooned their stew noiselessly. Edus’ eyes wandered to her hand, the ring on her finger glinting in the light.

“Ask.”

“What?” Edus asked dumbly.

“Ask of my marriage. No doubt you’ve heard the rumors.”

“Rumors.” He swallowed. “What kind of rumors?”

“A gentleman in this regard, feigning ignorance. Though I suspect your intentions are not just to serve me dinner. It is alright, Edus.”

She took the ring from her pointing finger and pocketed it.

“I wear this ring simply to ward off unwanted attention,” she said with an impish grin. “What? Did you expect a sordid tale of loss and woe, of the soldier’s widow? I based the rumor off a novel.”

Hildie sighed, gazing outside.

“Bored men will tell such stories as it pleases them. How many men here-” her verdant eyes twinkled with amusement, “-Do you suppose have brown hair and blue eyes?”

“Why are you out here then, with us bored men?”

“Being a medicus is not a hard life. You are needed, and not discarded once you’ve passed your prime years, as many women are in other more respectable professions. We have not seen blood shed, and I thank King Alexander for the peace he brought in his reign.”

“So. You started the rumors, all lies.” Edus tried not to sound disappointed. Hildie laughed, a pleasant sound so distinctly feminine that filled a loneliness for female company Edus had contained.

“There is a grain of truth to the rumors. I do hold a weakness for broad shouldered young men with brown hair and eyes as blue as the Oceanum.” Her hand went over Edus’ own. She stood up, guiding Edus to his cot.

“So let us make hay before it’s too late, yes?” She murmured, drawing him close.

***

Edus walked on, his mood not hampered by the forlorn emptiness of the white sky. The mess hall, or tavern as it was dubbed, was now absent of its raucous mirth.

Men held their tankards close, murmuring of ominous tidings. He approached his squad’s table. Their faces were grim, as if they had just attended a funeral and death marked their thoughts.

“What happened?” Edus asked.

“We’re at war,” Sven answered.

“What of it?”

Sven shook his head.

“Not with the natives. We’re in civil war.”

“Raul has declared their independence,” Mikaal explained. “Queen Lyssa lays claim to the High Throne. The Crown Prince journeyed to Raul to oversee the siege, and was ambushed in the Green Pass.”

“What of the Crown Steward? He has next claim to the Throne.” Edus sat down, confused and jarred by the sudden news.

“Queen Lyssa announced that he was responsible for the attack on the Crown Prince and charged the Crown Steward as an insurrectionist. Crown Steward Roth says otherwise, that the Queen herself killed the Crown Prince.”

“Lies and plots,” Fredric said, causing the group to look at him with surprise. Shaven of hair and having lost several stones in a matter of weeks, the fat melted to hard muscle, akin to Saul in regard. Fredric was beginning to look the part of a grizzled soldier, brooding in his hollow eyed stare.

“I was younger than you all before the Reunification. I had never set foot outside my homestead. Those were dark times then. Times of war. I never witnessed such blood spilt, but I heard the stories, and the fear men held when telling it. I lived in fear all my life, and now we’re back to those times. We’re not ready, not in one year of training. Not in ten years. For when the killing starts only the mages will be the ones to decide our fates."