“Step!” came the command, and Torell pushed off with his left foot, keeping his upper body completely level as he stepped forward. It was a small movement, yet a laborious one. Beside him, there came a rattle and a dull thump as ten other men mimicked him in a machine-like unison.

“Odds, thrust!” the Sword shouted, and Torell waited as both men on either side of him leaned forwards, stabbing out with their short swords in the small gap between their massive shields. During this, Torell needed to keep his own shield steady, ready to block any return strikes as his neighbors struck out—exposing themselves in the process of attacking.

“Torell! Open up!” the overseer shouted at him, startling him out of his thoughts. Blood and bones, that’s right, he remembered as he stepped back just a hair, pulling his shield back with him to give the attackers more space. They were not doing routine drills right now; they were practicing new steps for some new swords or something. He had allowed himself to drift off, defaulting to muscle memory and familiar steps instead.

“Front rank, close!” came the next command, and Torell once more pushed forward to close shields with those next to him. They turned slightly so that they overlapped, each shield passing over the one to the right in a manner that resembled fish scales, preventing arrows or counterattacks.

“All ranks, push!” Behind him, Torell could feel the weight of the men from the back ranks as they leaned on him, lending him their strength as they pressed forward. They fought drill partners from another Second Sword’s command, the men unarmed but dressed in full armor. They pushed back, mimicking resistance from an enemy as the legion advanced. Torell gritted his teeth, digging his heels into the ground as he pressed forward with the rest of his line.

“Halt! Second rank, shields up!” came the hasty command. Hurriedly, Torell dropped his shield onto the ground along with the rest of the front rank, hearing the thud as they impacted dirt. Behind him was the scramble of steel and leather, the men of the second rank lifting their shields over their heads to rest on the tops of the front rank’s. The motion was just in time for a volley of missiles to thud off the shields, the blunted javelins and dulled arrows falling harmlessly off the protective cover. Yet to his right, Torell heard an abrupt scream as one of the men was too slow, the man in front of him taking the painful hit of a javelin to his shoulder.

“Shields down!” came the final command of the sequence, and Torell felt a breath of relief and exasperation escape his puffed cheeks. His arms were sore, his shoulder burning as he gently set the shield down on the ground. He joined the others resting on the dirt, gently massaging his limbs as he took off his sweat-dampened helmet and wiped his eyes.

“You’ll have to try harder than that, Mills.” came the cold voice of the Second Shield as he made his rounds through the legion, pointing out their errors. Torell winced, bracing himself for his turn. “Maybe next time you’ll be in front and it’ll be Jessin’s shield that’s supposed to be over your head—then you’ll be motivated to lift faster, eh?”

“And Torell!” Ah, five and three curses. “Congratulations, I didn’t think you had it in you to forget what we drilled five minutes ago. I knew you were always full of shit, but I didn’t realize you had it for brains too. If we were drilling with runeswords, you just lost your left arm to fire.”

Torell knew better than to respond, merely nodding resolutely and letting the Second Shield pass on over to the rest of the legionaries. “Damn it, Myron.” he hissed to the man next to him as he stretched his stiff legs. “They’ve got us working like slaves here, first with the catapults and now with all this drilling. I’ve barely got any time off—not that there’s even any whores here to spend it on.”

“You think I haven’t noticed?” Myron snorted, loosening the loops of his armor to take some of the weight off his shoulders. “Even Northrun had whores, and I think one of them was my grandmother. Damn lords took all the women with them when they ran, left us flaming demons and angry Third Swords.”

“Say, what do you make of the demons, anyways?” Torell asked Myron abruptly, his voice softening to a near-whisper. It was something that was always muttered in the camps, but with all the work that they had been given recently, Torell had not had the opportunity to ask Myron. “They say something about marching to Malifor, right? Something about shadows and the dark god?” He waggled his fingers ominously, his face covered with mocking fear, but he did not get the laugh that he was expecting out of Myron.

“Say what you will, I thought it was a lie first. But I served first under House Aless, and we joined up farther west than you did. We marched past the Yearning with the demons, and I saw the riverbanks there.” Myron replied. His face grew dark, his expression solemn as he recalled what he had seen.

“The ground there, on the east side of the river, it was covered with armor and swords, all from House Savos. I had never seen anything like it—they were in these small little piles, like they had just fallen onto the ground. And they were in formation too, the front rank shields falling like playing cards and the back ranks with javelins.” His voice suddenly grew even more hushed, staring hard at Torell. “And there were no bones. Nothing under all that armor. No skulls, no ribs, not even a finger. All that armor, but no men wearing them? It was impossible, unless something had killed them.”

“Something had to have killed them so fast that they were still in formation, with all the armor falling to the ground right where they were standing. And whatever killed them ate the bones too. Even the demons don’t do that, Torell. They crack bones open and eat the marrow, but they still leave behind remains. These men, there wasn’t even anything left to bury.” Myron’s face looked haunted, his expression dark as he leaned back. “They’re saying something about darkness and shadows, but what if some of it’s true? What if that’s what the new swords are for, to fight whatever killed House Savos? Why else would you need to give legionaries flaming swords?”

Torell frowned for a moment before shrugging. “You say that, but I’ve got my own theory.” He cleared his throat before beginning, a wide grin on his face.

“You’re a northerner, right? News probably doesn’t reach you as fast then, so you don’t know either. But when King Alerick first died, before all the Houses started fighting for the throne, there were a bunch of reports about what had happened. A lot of the ones from the east said that demons were fighting in the Capital, but the ones from the west—along the Kingsroad—they were different.” he continued.

Torell leaned in conspiratorially. “They said that there were Malifori on the Kingsroad, and that they were what had killed the king.” He paused here, waiting for a response from Myron.

“So?” the soldier responded, confused. Torell raised his eyebrows in surprise, then sighing in defeat.

“So, what if the Malifori were the ones that killed King Alerick? We’re marching to Malifor, you halfwit. We’d be avenging the king—think about it! No Altarosan has ever tried to push into Malifor in a hundred years, and we’ve got demons and magic on our side now!. Malifor’s nearly twice the size of Altaros; when this is over, you can get a lordship and land to your name!” Torell smiled, thinking of all the opportunity. “Think about it—you with some nice Malifori women, a couple of slaves working the fireweed fields. You’d never have to lift a sword again, and you’d have enough coin to make a necklace out of it.”

“And the new swords?” Myron asked skeptically.

“Malifori fight on horseback.” he shrugged. “Maybe the best way to fight is to spook the horses with flaming swords. I know it would spook me.” He hummed happily, losing himself to the fantasy of an exotic harem of women only for the abrasive shouts of a certain officer to wake him out of the dream.

“Form up! Second drill, form up you louts!” the Second Sword shouted, and the air was suddenly filled with groans as the short break was over. Ranks of men started to tighten their armor, grabbing discarded shields and swords as the Second Shield yelled at them.

“You can dream about your fancy Malifori women all you want Torell,” Myron muttered next to him with a smile. “But right now the only thing you’re getting is a sword up your arse if you breathe the wrong way around Second Shield Gins.”

Torell smirked at that, tightening the helmet around his head. “I hope its not one of the new flaming kinds then; I’m rather tender down there.”