“Hold your shield straight dammit!” Kat cursed, whacking the recruit on the arm with a whipping branch. The stick was fashioned from springy wood, the tip coated with brass and the handle bound with fabric. Never had he imagined that such a crude tool could be fashioned so eloquently. It gave a satisfying crack as it struck across the bone, where it would hurt exceptionally but do nothing else. Already the recruit was covered in welts, his skin covered with a thick sheen of sweat as he drilled on the campground with the others.

“You tired, Beran? Need a seat on the ground?” he asked the recruit, who had stumbled hard enough to fall on his arse. Kat’s words were innocent enough, but there was a malicious glint in his eye that made Beran swallow and shake his head. “Good! Then pick up your crow-cursed shield before I made you carry it for the rest of the day!”

The recruits were still struggling to learn legion fighting—it was something that nearly everyone struggled with. It was better with the weak and the inexperienced; they picked it up quicker than the others. It was the ones who thought they knew how to fight that were the worst—the city brawlers and fancy noblemen who had trained with a sword. They refused to learn the basic drills, insisting that they already knew how to step and stab.

Take Beran here, a bloody boy from some wealthy goldbags family, sent off to fight so that he could learn to grow a spine. I can use a broadsword, he had proclaimed proudly. Why do I need to practice swinging around a stick for hours? Kat still smiled when he remembered that glorious day, when he had gotten the chance to beat those recruits with impunity. Would you call this a good swing, Beran? Oh sorry, I didn’t see you there. So sorry about your leg, but my swing was perfect, was it not?

Legion fighting was about fighting together, about stepping as one and striking as one. Those bastard Malifori could ride and shoot their bows for days, but they always crumbled before a wall of good Altarosan legionaries—and it was not for chance. Teamwork was worth more to a legion than gold. As Kat watched these struggling recruit smack each other with shields and swords while trying to march, he could not but remember this point. “Renna, if that stick was a sword, you just shoved a blade five inches into his ribs.” he called out laconically. Teamwork.

“First Shield Kat.” called out a sneering voice behind him, and Kat took in a deep breath, tightening a hand around the hilt of his sword so that he could not use it as a fist. “Second Sword Ossus.” he bowed, not quite lowering his head as much as was customary. “What can I do for you?”

Legions in Altaros followed similar structure, and Lord Florell’s was no exception. Soldiers were grouped into tens, the oldest of that group being their Spear. Ten Spears and the men under them went under a First Sword. First Swords were responsible for all men under their command, although their assistant First Shield was typically in charge of logistics and day-to-day activities. In a similar vein, ten First Swords and Shields sat under a Second Sword and Shield. Five Second Swords and Shields answered to a Third Sword—no Shield. With four Third Swords in a normal legion, the total count sat at around 2,000 fighting men.

For Kat, Ossus was his Second Sword and as such his commanding officer. And an arse, he thought dully, meeting those oily, snake-like eyes with some hesitation. With pallid skin and a slender stature, Ossus certainly seemed reptilian, although Kat knew that it was not a natural appearance: those bloodshot veins near his eyes spoke of whiteleaf addiction. The plant grown near the Frozen North was a known narcotic, less addictive and more an irresponsible habit despite its strength. Many looked down on its users, although it was not grounds enough for any official removal, which was likely why Ossus was still in the legion despite it.

“Working hard, First Shield? I know how...taxing the recruits can be.” Ossus smiled, the expression not quite reaching the desired effect in his eyes. Nearby, there was a shout of pain as one of the men inevitably stepped on another, followed by the swift sound of falling and wooden shields cracking into skulls.

“Your damn feet go in front, not on a face!” Kat called out without even looking before replying in a lowered voice. “Sir, with all due respect, what the hell do you want?” His patience was worn thin just by looking at Ossus’s face; he dared not to test it any longer, not by the way his knuckles were growing white.

Ossus put on an affronted expression, like one of those painted women in a theater. “Why First Shield, is that any way to address someone merely looking out for you?” Dropping the act, his eyes suddenly glittered with a hint of malice. And now his motive sneaks out, Kat thought, recognizing the look of a man with a card to play and wanting desperately to play it. “Besides, I heard some simply disgusting rumors about you, Kat. Simply repulsive.” he sneered, eyes suddenly dropping from Kat’s gaze and lowering below the belt.

There was a sudden crack as Kat slapped the Second Sword across the cheek, the sensation utterly rewarding beyond belief. “Why Second Sword, I hadn’t taken you to be a man of rumors.” Kat mocked, shaking his stinging palm. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I visit my grandmother; she just loves her gossip. In the meantime, did you have any important reason for interrupting me, or do you just like the feeling of your lips flapping?” Kat growled, his fingers rattling out a coarse rhythm on the hilt of his blade.

Ossus bowed, his cheek a wonderful red, his lips stretched tight into a revolting smile. “If I was a lesser man, I might remind you of your place, First Shield. I might remind you that the punish for assaulting a superior is something along the lines of hanging. On. Your. Way.” he murmured, not moving. Kat spun on his heel, turning to the tangled mess of limbs and wood that was his recruits. He could still feel the heat of Ossus’s gaze on his back, could still hear those words.

He knew precisely what rumors the turtle-bellied bastard was speaking of. They were even worse, because they were true. He clenched his teeth in irritance, knowing that he had brought it all upon himself. For First Shield Kat of Marhold was truly Katherine of Marhold—or at least, soon to be of Marhold.

She had been born to a family of relatively low standing, fond of climbing and swords and all manner of things that made her mother scream. Why, she had climbed her way into the Lord of Marhold’s garden, landing with a thump right in front of a young boy. With her short hair and unwomanly appearance, she easily had her gender mistaken and became fast friends with the Lord’s son. After she told him her secret, their friendship became something more as the nights wore on. Soon she found herself betrothed, much to her mother’s elation.

Yet word came of King Alerick’s death, and soon every House worth the name was scrambling for the throne. Marhold was sworn to House Florell, and so every loyal lord was ask to have any sons of age serve Florell’s legion. Her fiance was sent off to war, and she had demanded to join. Her mother was aghast, her father jubilant, but there was a small flaw—no woman was allowed to serve in the legions. So naturally, Katherine became Kat, with the aid of some pulled strings and greased palms. But secrets had a way of being spread, and Ossus always did love his secrets. It’s no issue. The man’s a snake; no one worth knowing trusts him, she reminded herself.

She was still trying to dislodge the doubt in her heart at dinner, in the tent with the rest of the legionaries. Much of the legion was still fresh, and they were covered with the bruises and scuffs that reminded others of their inexperience. Kat looked through the crowd of Spears and legionaries as she ate, breaking her teeth on bread hard enough to be used as brick. Soon enough she found who she was looking for, waving a hand so that he could find her.

“First Sword Revan.” she mocked formally, unable to stop a smile from breaking out across her face. Her fiance sat down next to her, a tight squeeze with the crowded nature of the hall. “How was the ever-impressive meeting?”

Revan shook his head tiredly as he broke his bread, dipping it in some lukewarm gruel to soften it. “Too many words for my pretty little head, I’m afraid. House Highwater still holds the Capital as of now, for what it’s worth. Houses Rill and Sande are vying for the lands north of the city. Lord Florell grows impatient without his throne; he wants to march soon.”

Kat began to grow concerned, speaking awkwardly with her mouth half full. “But they aren’t ready. Half these boys don’t even know how to walk and think at the same same, let alone wave a sword at something that isn’t an ally. They’ll be slaughtered their first fight.”

Revan nodded, lowering his voice until she had to strain to hear him over the noise in the hall. “If he could lift his crow-cursed eyes out of his dinner plate long enough, he’d see that. Unfortunately for us, he’s content with listening to what happy-to-please goldbags whisper to him.”

Kat chuckled, lowering her voice as well. “Speaking of whispering goldbags, Ossus talked to me earlier today while I was working the fresh recruits.”

“The white snake? What does he want?” he asked in surprise, his face something comical with stuffed cheeks and raised brows. She felt a sudden surge of pride and pleasure at the insult, that he found the man as detestable as she did.

“He knows, Revan. At least something. I’m not sure if he knows about us, at the very least, but he knows about me.” she whispered, seeing the concern on her fiance’s face.

Revan paused before scoffing, eating another spoonful of that bland gruel. “Even if he knows, I doubt anyone will believe his words. I don’t know how much gold he needed to make it as a Second Sword, but it’s not enough to get any higher up to listen to him.”

“Still,” she insisted, “he could report it and they could investigate. And I—I slapped him.” She looked down for a second, her cheeks growing red. “I got angry and lost control. Sorry.” Kat looked up nervously, unexpectedly seeing Revan’s mirthful face.

He looked as if he was struggling not to burst through a mouthful of gruel as he laughed. “Was it—was it covered with slime?” he chortled out once he had managed to swallow without coughing. “I’ve a bet going with Mikael that he slimes instead of sweating.”

“Revan,” she hissed, struggling not to laugh herself. “I’m serious.”

“I am too! Have you seen him sweat? I’ve got two silvers on it.” he laughed, finishing up his gruel quickly. “Don’t worry, I’ve got some weight still. M’lady not going anywhere. Not unless you wish to.” He leaned in swiftly, giving her a quick peck on the cheek and staying so that anyone watching might think him whispering in her ear. Smiling that crooked smile of his, he gave a small little bow before leaving with his food, disappearing into the crowd of sweat and soldiers.

Kat turned back to her own meal, smiling slightly despite everything that had happened. How does he manage to eat this horseshit so fast? Her own meal was relatively untouched, and she pushed it away with a groan.

Looking up, a sudden chill ran down her spine as her gaze was drawn to a certain figure in the corner, his bloodshot eyes leering at her clearly for quite some time now.