Armies march. It’s a statement as timeless as water is wet. There have been certain cavalry units that act as though they ride rather than march, but even they keep a train of camp followers, squires, trainees, prostitutes, looters, and so on. The nature of war is of subjugating your enemies, and to do that you almost necessarily must move violent men to where they are.

Some merchants think war can be fought on ledgers and in law, but true war is about men(1) and violence. Historians like to talk about battlefield brilliance but that only makes for good stories. Almost all of the real work is done on the march and this fact should be obvious. Most of a war is spent marching or sieging or wintering. Very little fighting at all.

And yet casualties can mount.

Foot injuries. Hunger. Typhus. Desertion. Some of these were more prevalent than others in the wasteland, but the challenge remained. The fire of retribution became a smoldering frustration as Lucius led the surviving army north. There was no doubt that they were on the right trail, but there was little they could do against half-mindless thralls that could abuse their bodies.

The time passed quickly for Lucius, almost too quickly. He moved up and down the column constantly, using up the strength of their dromedaries but not without purpose. He scrutinized every man and tried to catch every issue. When camp had to be called, he had a list of orders already given out. Men had to repair sandals, or salvage metal from equipment too damaged to justify.

Doctors were press-ganged into medical service and given the task of nursing injuries. They had almost no training of course, but all that was needed was judgment on their part. This medical cabal was used as a filter between the soldiers and their squad commanders to judge the proper severity of bleeding wounds, of blistered feet and parched mouths. Fevers had to be quarantined to their own marching groups and meat rations given carefully.

The work proved to be tedious, but it was such effort that kept small problems from festering. What’s more, it brought Lucius into contact with almost every soldier under his de facto command in the mere few days they marched north. It imprinted on them that he was their leader and they had better be grateful for it.

Thus, one can imagine the shocking relief the men felt when their march north proved to be north. That the sky changed. Dusk intruded over the sky and brought darkness to them. Stars could be seen and plants once again adorned the rocks. They were in the interstice of realities and normality could be seen once more. Though their march had not been to exhaustion, camp had to be called. There was no other way to control the men who finally felt they could breathe the air of their homes.

With Primarus still ahead of them, possibly already on the coast, tents were staked and fires kindled. The men made merry with their rations while the leaders sat in conference with one another.

The white tent, the largest construct that Jeanne had brought south, housed Abdul, Golden, the bishop, Lupa, Sacerdote, and of course Lucius. The former angel had a lethargic trait about him as he continued to adjust to mortality, and it drew his mind toward ancient memories. With a flute recovered from a fallen soldier, he sprawled along one wall and let melodies flutter from his lips so old that most couldn’t even be recognized.

With the flaps closed, they had between them a single oil lamp and the same meager food as the lowest soldiers. Rations were slim, even for the commanders, but they kept it quiet. After a time of simple and tired conversation speculating what the wastelanders might be doing on the coast with but a single stolen cannon, Abdul excused himself to make rounds through the camp.

“You’re a fickle god,” Sacerdote said, scraping his fingernails against the inside of his bowl for the last vestiges.

Jeanne sipped a mere tea cup worth of wine and said, “He is not a god.”

The priest scoffed. “To the newborns he is. They went to him for naming–for purpose–and he gave them only war.”

“What else should I have done?”

Lupa yawned and laid down, propping her head up as she lounged closer to Lucius. “Named them, freed them,” she said.

Lucius put his hand on her shoulder and shook his head. “And sent them where? To the wild places? The lawless valleys between Giordana and Aillesterra? Or do you think I can just give anyone citizenship in Vassermark? I’m sorry but they have to join my army like any foreign legion. They must earn citizenship if they want to have freedom beneath the sun.”

Jeanne asked, “How many will survive if you force that on them?”

“If they fight for me?” he asked with a cocky grin. “Most of them.”

Golden laughed and Luigi cast his bowl aside. “How high do you aim, northman?”

Lucius fixed his gaze on the bishop. She stared back at him. He sighed. “I suppose I can say it here, so far beyond the ears of the gods. The way my teacher explained it is like this. Our world, Lumisgard, is not a closed system. It’s more like a walled city and we’re not at peace either. The walls are constantly under attack by monsters from outside the walls, even if nobody but the city guard are aware. The gods have grown negligent and something else must be done to patch the cracks. That will require manpower, magic, relics, and control.”

Jeanne gasped. “It’s not often I hear heresy, you know.”

Lupa laughed and Lucius smirked. “I suppose that must sting, eh? Your god is the one that made the wall.”

Jeane pouted. “And what exactly do you know about daemons?”

“Godlings, mostly,” Lucius corrected. “And they’re no different from angels, really. Except in alliance. The problem is, we have no way of knowing what angels and emissaries around Lumisgard have cut deals with godlings. They might not like the fact that we’re trying to secure the borders. So, we have to be careful, secure, and forceful.”

Sacerdote, who was no stranger to such facts, said, “You haven’t answered the question.”

Lucius shrugged. “I mean to take over Vassermark, and to do that, I need to secure our alliances with smaller kingdoms like Jeaumeax.”

Jeanne wilted and shook her head. “I knew Master Amurabi had mentored you, but I didn’t think you were this ambitious.”

My pupil said, “Without strength, you can only be the victim of those who have it.”

“That’s not true,” Lupa declared. She looked up at Lucius with a coy smile. “A strong man can be controlled by what he desires.”

“A strong man can take what he desires.”

She rolled over. “And here we see natural intuition beat out ambition. Despite me growing up in a wasteland I know something you do not.”

The bishop cleared her throat, but no regard was given to her. Lupa got on all fours, stretching her back like a cat before grinning at Lucius. “Some things can only be freely given. How else would a wife control her husband.”

“Settle down,” Lucius commanded, threatening to flick her nose. Lupa balked, then grinned and earned the flick. “I already have someone.”

Lupa rubbed her nose and said, “A conqueror will have many wives.”

“Indeed I will, or so Amurabi says. But that is because I will have to forge alliances.”

Lupa sighed and rolled back onto the tent floor. “Woe is me, a girl of no background and unable to woo the man I watched attempt to wipe his ass with sand while cuffed.”

My pupil’s face went scarlet as the others laughed. “Are you blackmailing me or something? I already can’t get rid of you.” Despite Lupa’s best efforts, the spell had not been broken, only stopped. After taking revenge upon Primarus, their best plan was to bring the bishop to me for treatment.

“Please,” Lupa said as she swung herself around and sat cross-legged, facing him. “I’m waiting for you to grow up a little.”

“I am an adult.”

“I’m older than you, you know.”

“Oh yeah? And how many of those years were you awake?”

She recoiled at being caught immediately. “You were more receptive in the bath…”

Lucius’s gaze dropped back to the little fire, taking the mood in the tent with it. “I had other things to think about then. Now, there isn’t time. We have to get back to the coast, crush those wastelanders, get back to Giordana and back to Master Amurabi. If we do that fast enough, we might be able to avoid rebellion in Jeaumaex. If we don’t, that will have to be put down before the harvest festival.”

Golden stopped playing on his flute to say, “And by then, you’ll be a father. I guess we’ll have to pick up Aisha during all of that, won’t we?”

The bishop’s face lit up. “You didn’t tell me about that!”

“She’s back in Rackvidd right now, under Raymi’s protection. Obviously I couldn’t bring her with me to here.”

Lupa pouted. “Who is this Aisha anyway? Is she a princess or something?”

Jean laughed. “Just the daughter of a merchant who can sing well.”

“She’s a bit more than that, just not politically,” Lucius said.

Lupa groaned and rose to her feet. “I can’t believe your mind is hundreds of miles away!” she declared before leaving the tent.

Golden said, “I can’t believe you aren’t doing anything when she’s throwing herself at you.”

Lucius shrugged. “I simply realized I’d have to deal with rumors the rest of my life if I brought back a mistress. Besides, she doesn’t know enough of the world to know better. I’ll take her north and things will change. You’ll see.”

Jean reached over and put her hand to his knee. “You’re growing up quickly, Lucius.”

“I don’t suppose the praise of the living angel comes with some kind of blessing?”

“How about I formalize your relationship with Aisha? It would only be proper, before you have a child with her.”

Lucius had to clear his throat and he rose, fidgeting. “Proper, yes I suppose it would be. I should make the rounds though. Can’t foist that off on everyone else, now can I?” he said, excusing himself from the tent.

Their ship home would arrive the next day.

Some women have always served in armies, depending on their stigmata. However, they are rarely sent on a march. The preference the world over is to keep them for defensive action.