We tossed the room, and as I’d figured, I hid the coins there. They were tied in a small pouch that I’d hung from underneath the bed. Even when I was drunk I still kept those old habits of squirreling money away. I was a bit surprised. I’d actually made a decent amount from playing cards for once. Guess I was lucky the Doc took an interest in me before my luck turned. Shame his luck turned out so rotten.

The next afternoon we saddled up and headed off. Me on Reluctant, Carsten on a tiny pinto named Chirpy that made his oversized frame look more ridiculous. Chirpy had heavy saddlebags on him, laden with all the supplies Carsten could rustle up that morning, and he carried that weight and Carsten’s bulk without balking. We were about half a mile outside of town when Carsten spoke up.

“So how come you decided you could trust me? How do ya know I’m not just gonna kill ya here and take the money?”

“I gave you my boots to hang onto” I told him “I would only do that around someone I trusted”

He perked an eyebrow at me “Seriously? You hadn’t known me for more than four hours then.”

“Eh. I do my best judgements while drunk.” I told him.

“You ever been wrong?” he asked.

“Probably as much as I’ve been right.” I answered.

We rode on past where I’d had my impromptu camp from the night prior, and camped a ways further downstream. Weather looked like it might turn on us, so we pulled a couple of canvas tarps out and staked them from the ground to a couple nearby trees. This came from Carsten’s bags of course. I always travelled pretty light, even when I was in the army. I was used to sleeping in the open in pretty well every kind of weather.

“Bandits nearly got me yesterday,” I told him as the sun hit the horizon, casting out a red glow, “You wanna lie down first? I can take first watch.”

“Ain’t much tired yet” he told me “This is the first time I’ve slept outdoors since I retired.”

“What’s the story there” I asked, while tending to the fire, “Most LC’s stay until they make Colonel?”

“Well. That’s the reason I retired. They kept wanting me to rank up, and I kept telling ‘em I wanted to stay. If I was Colonel they’d’ve given me that fancy tent and made me ride behind the men.”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t feel right to send another man to die when you ain’t willing to go yourself.” he paused, then asked me “What was your rank then?”

“Was only ever a Captain” I said, “but the Crows never called me that.”

“What’d they call you then?”

“Teacher.”

“Huh” he said. I could tell he was weighing that word in his mind. Then he asked me, “You were what, Imperial? Fornish? Don’t tell me you were Grensch…”

I chuckled “No, well not until a few months at the end anyway. We started as Vornen, then when they fell, we became Fornish for a bit. Then we got traded to Clavia when the Fornish Queen married Portez. We were almost mercs, but not really. Fact is, I never spent a day fighting for your Empire. I was always against em.”

“You say that like you were there the whole time. The Vornen haven’t existed in over a hundred fifty years.”

“Hundred sixty three.” I corrected, “And what can I say. I’m older than I look.”

I find most folk don’t know how to talk to me once they realize I’m older than their grandparent’s grandparents. So, as I suspected, that was the last thing Carsten and I said to each other. Least until he spelled me off watch duty a few hours later.

I woke with the sun, feeling better than I had in awhile. I bet it was my first morning without a hangover in a dozen years. As I figured, that new tooth was starting to take shape. I rubbed my tongue across it absent-mindedly while we struck camp.

Later that day we reached the Red Plains. The trees that had become sparse behind us had all but disappeared here, and found ourselves surrounded by short red grasses and rolling hills. In the distance we could see the makings of the Broadhead Range. When we made it to southeast Granze those mountains would tower above us, but from here they looked like another set of humps; greyish and distant. We fell into those familiar repetitions of travel as the ride wore on and the mountains grew ahead of us. The days passed by without too much trouble. At least until we hit the contested line.

The contested line between New Beregia and Granze was in a valley just before the Broadheads. The mountains stuck up like the lower jaws of a dead god, angular and treacherous. The mountain pass was called the Sovereign’s Trail. I’m sure the mountain tribes that lived here before had a different name for it, but I’d only ever heard it called that. It was the only place wide and gentle enough to send carts through, though in some places it would narrow out so that carts couldn’t turn around, and in others it’d be so steep the caravaneers would have to help push..

The mountains were always deemed impassable for trains. The continued hostility between New Beregia and Granze made it so no railway company was willing to set tracks down - not when they could get destroyed at the first flare-up of war, so we went the way folks had been travelling for centuries. Sure, there were other trails over the Broadheads, but they were more like goat runs; hard tracks for horses to try to follow. We moved onward toward the Sovereign’s Trail and a safer ride. Safer, though not completely safe. In wintertime blizzards would rise out of nowhere and the trail would vanish. The drop-off beside you was sheer, so if you didn’t count on your animals knowing the way, you were done for. Stories persisted about lost goods unreachable by the precipice or entire parties vanishing into the snow like frost spirits

We came across the Imperial army first, which was a good sign. Meant the Granze hadn’t made any more movement inland. The contested line had regiments of troops, mortars, cannons, and horsemen over about a ten mile range. Each side waiting for a sign that the other would break the uneasy truce. We continued through the camp til we were stopped by a short, squat soldier holding a sheet of paper. He was flanked by a group of the most ragged soldiers I’d ever laid eyes on. His insignia told us he was a Sergeant.

“Hold there. What’s your purpose in Granze?” he asked

“Our purpose is none of your concern. We haven’t hit the border yet.” I responded

He looked up at me and the horse.

“By the order of the Emperor you must give to us any ammunition you have before crossing through to the contested area”

A shakedown. Well let’s see how this plays out.

“You’re welcome to take it.” I said, drawing Patience. She was a .44 caliber built for me by the legendary gunsmith Styemy Root. A six-shot revolver that had never once jammed in the sixty years I’d had her. She had a grip carved from black ash. A matte black frame and barrel. She was made of beauty and death.

And I hadn’t killed anyone with her since Balmeth, nor would I.

But they didn’t know that.

As I had figured, these soldiers had been left here to grow complacent by command. They were slow to draw, trying to level guns that were battered and poorly kept. Before I’d gotten myself in too deep though, Carsten spoke up.

“Sab, lower your damn gun,” he said quietly to me, then motioning to the Sergeant-- the slowest of all to draw I might add, he said “You. Reach into my saddlebag on the right and pull out what’s in there.”

The officer made no attempt to move, so Carsten, now frustrated, told him. “Look in that bag soldier.”

Hearing that tone that all soldiers recognize, that of authority, seemed to shake the Sergeant and he made his way to the saddle bag. “Reach in there. Go on.” Carsten said, a bit softer. “You’ll find a little leather pouch.”

He produced it, opened the small wallet, and looked ashen faced at Carsten. A look of awe came over him.

“I, uh, apologize sir. We’re just doing what we’re told.” he stammered out

“I understand son. Where’s your C.O.? I think we’d like to have a little chat with him.” Carsten replied.

“Captain Rennels is in that tent down the line there sir. Can’t miss it.” said the Sergeant, relieved in the way a fish that had been caught and released might be.

“My thanks.’ He said, raising his right fist in Imperial salute. “And boys,” he said, addressing the rest of the soldiers who hadn’t yet lowered their guns. “You may want to take some time to get those weapons in working order. Especially if you want to pull them out on a Crow.”

They looked confused, then frightened and I gave them a wicked leer as we rode off to find the Captain. It was petty, I knew it. Sometimes petty feels good though.

“What’d you show em?” I asked when we’d got out of earshot.

“Ah. Couple old medals.” he said, and left it at that.

We arrived at the Captain’s tent a short time later and tied our horses to the hitch outside. Carsten asked a young horse boy to get us feed and water for our horses. He gave him a half-crown and the kid was off like a shot.

“Why’d you give him that?” I asked, “Ain’t that his job?”

“It is” Carsten replied, “But most kids in these camps aren’t going to see much pay. They’re usually orphans picked up from the cities and sent out here. The Emperor says they can become full soldiers when they turn sixteen, but until then they make nothing.

“Give him that money, and we’re gonna get good feed and water. Done quick too.”

We walked near the Captain’s tent and weren’t stopped by anyone. Odd behavior to say the least. We got inside and could see at least a week’s worth of empty bottles on the ground.

One of my week’s worth anyway.

The Captain was slumped over a messy table, snoring loudly.

Carsten took three steps over to him and slapped him off his chair.

“What, what?” he began, confused. As he tried to pick himself off the ground. Carsten slapped him again.

“This is the power of the Beregian Empire? You disgrace The Emperor!” Carsten shouted

The Captain stood unsteadily, his eyes trying to focus. “Uncle…. Carsten?” he finally said, shocked.

“Do you know how many strings I had to pull to get you this position?”

Carsten’s voice had lost all of its country mannerisms. This man in front of me was resolutely upper class. Interesting, I thought.

“Daviz. You have brought disgrace to the Aorvid name.” he said, his voice lowering. The fury from before replaced with contempt, which itself was laced with disappointment.

Aorvid, I thought. That means Carsten is…

“Big Smoke” I blurted out unintentionally.

He looked at me and shook his head. “Once upon a time” he sighed, “Before a lifetime of regrets”

I couldn’t help but notice that he looked around the tent as he said that. His nephew was trying discreetly, but with a drunkards grace, to leave.

“You’re not going anywhere Daviz!” he said, grabbing him by the shoulder. “Sit back down. We need to discuss your--” he searched for the right words here, then settled on “--leadership style.”

Daviz looked like he would’ve rather discovered the taste of his own stewed limbs than discuss his leadership style, but to his credit that was the last time he’d tried to duck out.

“Tell me about...” Carsten started, then paused “Well tell me about all this I guess.”

Daviz sat slumped in his chair, then righted himself. “I’ve been here for two years.” Daviz said, “Two years of waiting. Two years without firing a single shot. Two years with the same men, and the same orders: hold the line.

“We ask for different placements, fresh supplies, or new soldiers and hear nothing. We wait and we wait and I’m sick of it! I’m a man of action!”

“Ha! A man of action.” Carsten responded “If those troops started moving now, what shape would you be in? How could you lead from the inside of a bottle?”

“I suppose you’d know all about that,” said Daviz, sotto voce.

Carsten’s face hardened with rage. I was pretty sure Daviz was going to be introduced to another slap, but then Carsten softened. His hands and his voice lowered. “That’s true. You want to see what not to do, you look at me. I guess I’ve never been the same since Ammatica.”

“Bad business, that.” I told him, and he agreed.

Ammatica was a town in what was now part of Granze. I say was, because the entire place was razed, its population murdered, and had never been resettled, far as I knew. They said the smoke could be seen from the Grensch capital. Captain Aorvid, as people would’ve known of Carsten then, led his division there first. When the rest of the Imperial troops had arrived, that big smoke was all they could see. So from that day, Big Smoke was a name whispered throughout both sides of the conflict. Respected and cursed.

“My mistakes give you no leave to be foolish though, nephew. You need to be better than me. You need to be better than all this.” Carsten waved his hand around the tent.

“Discipline is flagging in your men. I can see it. They look to you to be an example.”

“An example of what?” asked Daviz, “a statue? All we do is wait.”

“If the Emperor says you wait, then you do so. If the Emperor sends word that you and your men need to leave, you do so. If he asks your division to be clowns at his daughter’s wedding, you ask him where to find the greasepaint and red shoes. You obey your orders. You lead by doing. Even if the doing is doing nothing.”

Daviz, nodded slowly. “You’re right. I just wanted… I’d always heard of your adventures, your conquests, your stories. I just wanted some of my own.”

“You’ll get them boy,” said Carsten, “of that I have no doubt. Though I’m sure that the stories your father told you were cleaned and polished, and resembled a lot less of the truth than you’d think.

“Now what is going on with that Sergeant asking people for ammunition? I can recognize a shakedown from a mile away.”

“That’s actually true.” said Daviz “We sent word that our gunpowder stores were ruined by a freak storm,and asked the Emperor for replacements. We received a letter with that we requisition any caravans or travellers for two-thirds of their ammunition.”

I hadn’t been able to pick any up ammo in Kalb, so this was bad luck for me. As I expected, Carsten wanted to set a good example for his nephew so he gave up all but 12 rounds of his rifle ammunition. After two-thirds of my ammo was gone, I was left with only 18 rounds for Patience. Carsten’s rifle was a Dymer 44-40, so if he needed I could loan him some spares. Still, I felt underprepared like I hadn’t in years as Daviz walked us to the edge of their encampment and bid us farewell.

I could tell Carsten had a soft spot for the kid. I’d never had a family of my own, so I’ve never known that tug of wanting more for the next generation while hoping they don’t make your mistakes. Seemed an awful lot to live up to trying to live better than your forebears.

We started to ascend the Sovereign’s Trail and were about an hour through before we met up with the Grensch. There was no clear marker of where one border ended and another started, so I didn't really consider myself in Granze until we reached the first Grensch outriders. I felt a weight of discomfort settle over me. I told myself I wouldn't be back to Granze until Verisius was dead and buried. Guess that's another promise broken.

Where the Empire’s camp was rough-shod and lawless, the Grensch camp was a picture of discipline and tidiness. We were met by no fewer than five different checkpoints, where we had to state our names, our business in Granze, and how long we intended to stay. I let Carsten do the talking here. I knew if I pulled the same stunt as I had with the Imps that I’d be full of more holes than I came to this world with. My healing does have a limit, and according to where my reserves were, I was closer to it than I’d been in a while.

Every soldier we passed seemed to have been ironed into their red and black uniform. Every animal we passed was well-fed, but not to the point of slothfulness - no these horses looked as though they wished for a battle so they could show their swiftness and steady footing. I also noticed that while they checked every one of our bags, they didn’t ask us to give up any of our ammunition. To be honest, it looked like these soldiers had enough to go around a couple dozen times.

It took us the better part of three hours to get through the camp and into Granze proper. The mountain pass dipped and wound with moments of sheer drop beside us. We reached a plateau a little before dark where one of the Grensch officers told me caravans would set camp before continuing on. We were set up and sitting by the fire after about twenty minutes. Say one thing about us old army boys, we know how to set up and tear down quicker than anyone.

We were sitting in silence when Carsten spoke up again. “My nephew. Wasn’t always like what you saw.” I listened and let him speak on “When his father died, I promised I’d look out for him. He was just a boy then, and I was in the war. How could I though?”

He poked at the coals of the fire with a stick. “I don’t remember him as a young man. I missed all that. Funny. Even now, if you asked me to think of him I’d see him as a boy. Big eyed. Dirty. Always exploring and getting into trouble. That’s who Daviz is to me.

“When we finally called truce with the Grensch and I retired, he was full-grown. I hadn’t done anything for him yet, but I promised my sister I’d keep him safe. It was why I got him that position at the border. I knew I couldn’t keep him out of the fight completely, but I also knew I couldn’t let him be killed.

“You try and do the best you can for these kids, but all ya seem to do is fuck em up worse.” he shook his head, “ain’t that something.”

“Eh he’s still young. What’s he, twenty years old maybe? ” I said “He’s got plenty of time to make his own mistakes.

“You remember what you were like at that age?” I asked

“Yeah I was an idiot,” Carsten laughed

“Remember.” I said, “The things that made us who we are, they aren’t the times it all went right. It’s those times things broke and we learned how to fix it. The kid will be fine.”

I got up then and headed for my bedroll. “And you will too, old man.” I said

“Old man?” he called after me, “I wasn’t the one who knew Ancient Lord Rungusofar when he was Young Man Gus.”

“Ouch” I replied with a laugh. Though he wasn’t too far off.

When I’d first met him he was known as Elder Lord back then.