Asch felt like he was trading piglets for horses. Really, all he had was a penchant for the bow, and here he was, talking to the commander of the Herald Hawks. Miles was a legend, larger than life, the take-no-prisoners warrior who had defended Shrike for nearly fifteen years. Asch was a nobody, a private with an uncontrolled mouth.
Right now, though, Miles looked small, frail, and tired. The man sagged down into his chair, worn hands pinching his face. A thin layer of stubble was beginning to show around his chin, and the lines underneath his eyes were deep and dark.
“Maybe a nap?” Asch asked, immediately regretting it. He always did that. He had to test the limits of what he could get away with, no matter what situation he was in. It was his worst habit, and his hardest to break.
“I wish. None of us have time for that, squad leader.” Miles emphasized the rank, and Asch’s mouth dropped. He… he wasn’t a squad leader, he was barely a private.
“Excuse me sir, squad leader?”
Miles nodded. “I saw the way you work that bow. I need someone with your skills with me. Congratulations on your promotion.”
Asch dropped to one knee in front of the commander, his knuckles scratching on the wooden floor with a shock of discomfort. Though Miles’s legend was enormous, the man himself had an air of peasantry. His office reflected that, lacking any fancy medals or honors, and he wore naught but a comfortable-looking tunic. It felt almost sacrilegious to call the man ‘commander’ to his face.
“Please, squad leader Asch. From now on, you’ll be at my left. While you technically hold command, I will expect you to limit that. You can move freely and act on your own volition, answering to me and General Amaya. You don’t need to answer to any of the colonels nor majors, just us. But,” and the commander raised one finger, “you don’t actually have a squad. This is just a bureaucratic workaround, okay?”
“Yes, sir.” Asch stood, nimble fingers fiddling on the handle of his bow.
“Dismissed, squad leader. But stay close, okay. Your orders are to protect me, however you see fit.”
Asch nodded. He didn’t even feel the urge to mock the man in front of him.
Asch poked at his nose and sniffled. The air was usually dry in Shrike, but with the cold coming it had gotten worse. If he wasn’t careful, he would have to deal with all the grossness of dried mucus.
Huddled up behind the palisades, he looked down at the forces assembling beyond the horizon. Though he couldn’t make out individuals, the sheer size of the army at the outskirts of the city would terrify any normal man.
Fortunately, Asch was no normal man. He was a Tasked, given a Command by the gods themselves, destined for great things. No mortal force, no authority could give him pause. No, he would always find their weak spot, find a hole in their armor, and exploit it. It was his gift.
Miles had him camped up here for that very reason. Asch was one of their best chances to quickly locate an advantage in the oncoming fight. He wouldn’t kid himself; it was going to be a fight. General Celeste and Miles might hope that there could be diplomacy, but you didn’t bring a force that large to banter.
You brought that army to conquer.
“Cider, squad leader?” A voice asked. He looked behind his shoulder, to where General Celeste was standing, bearing a ceramic mug, steaming. He accepted with a nod, pulling himself up to a standing position. He had to ignore the creaking in his legs; he was getting too old to crouch for hours, watching like a gargoyle. It was well known that she had tried to refuse her promotion from colonel. She had wanted to stay in the field, but Miles forced her hand.
“I see they promoted you to waitress,” Asch commented blithely. Celeste raised an eyebrow, and Asch cringed internally.
“Still haven’t gotten your tongue under control, Asch?” She asked, mirth in her voice. Fortunately, the general had a sense of humor.
“No, sir.”
“And you do know that I outrank you? Quite distinctly, as a matter of fact.”
“Yes, sir.” Asch barked. And then, because he couldn’t help himself: “I’ll care about rank as much as you do, sir.”
Celeste let out a short belly laugh.
“Come on, we’ve gotta go meet with Miles. He’s waiting for us.”
Asch nodded, and picked up Babs, his custom-made longbow. She was a beauty, unlike the woman she was named for. The real Babs had been a crone who had as often made him the target of her cruel japes as she made actual targets for him to practice. He had named his very first bow after her, citing her “cutting wit,” and the tradition had been set since then.
This Babs was new, though. He doubted anyone but him could field the strength to pull her string back far enough to shoot, but his Command assisted him in that regard, lending his arms the power to draw the string back fully.
Shoot well. Cut down authority. Poke the bear, as it were, then poke it some more.
His fingers deftly strung the bow, three sharp movements to get the string in place, another to test the resistance. He strummed it, and the rich note resounded deep within his soul. This was his instrument.
“Come on, let’s go.” General Amaya said impatiently, and they went off. Asch inspected the defenses the Hawks had set up as they walked, the traps set at the front of the walls. He was as impressed as he was normally, though he kept it off of his face. Couldn’t let the rank and file see any happiness with their work from the command, otherwise they could grow lazy. Even though he wasn’t, technically, command.
But he was impressed. Within a short period of time, they had the walls up and running like clockwork. Guards on watch, traps out front set, palisades stocked and armed.
Shrike was ready for war, and as usual, the Hawks were out front to herald in the bloodshed.
Asch and General Amaya found commander Miles set up out front of a ramshackle tent in a courtyard just on the inside of the walls. He was looking at a tabletop full of maps, books, and small figurines. It was best not to interrupt the commander when he got like this, so intensely focused on the possibilities of an upcoming battle that he lost touch with reality.
Naturally, that meant that Asch had to interrupt him.
“Hey, big man. How’re the toys?” Asch asked, a wide grin on his face. In years past, he would have been nearly paralyzed by his respect for the man in front of him, but time and proximity had shown him that he was, after all, just a man. And besides, at this point Miles had to expect that Asch would be obnoxious at every possible opportunity. It was who he was.
“Squad leadee.” Miles acknowledged without looking up. Why did the man even need a bodyguard? Half of the time, he was the one to notice threats, even before Asch would. The man was infuriatingly proficient.
“General, how are we looking?” Miles asked. He erected himself to a standing position, wincing as his back straightened. Despite his near-perfection, the commander was getting older, and his age was beginning to show. How he walked, how he talked, even the slight grimaces as he worked his joints too hard.
“Palisades are prepared, stocked, and ready. We’ve issued a warning to the external citizens, and a large number of them have moved inside the city walls, into the shelters. We’ve got enough food for a month or two, but if the enemy decides to engage and siege us, we’ll be in trouble.”
Miles looked grim. “Squad leader, how are the defenses? Fresh forces on the front line could spell our defeat. If they falter, all of Shrike is fucked.”
Asch nodded. “Looking good, sir. The new meat’s been well-trained, and they’re being held in reserve as it is. Hopefully they’ll be able to stay out of combat for most of the fighting, but if they have to join the battle, they’ll be ready.”
Why was the commander asking his opinion? It had been months since his promotion, yet Asch still felt as though he didn’t belong in these upper echelons of the military structure. People respected him, his thoughts and opinions were heard, no matter how ridiculous he tried to be.
It grated him. How could you rebel against authority when you were the authority?
The three were shaken from their conversation by a page, running up, panting heavily. Asch couldn’t remember the girl’s name for the life of him, and he looked toward the others, eyebrow raised.
“Selsha? What’s happened?” Damn. Miles knew her immediately. It was uncanny.
“Orcs…” Selsha panted, “White flag. Want to talk.”
Miles looked stunned, mirroring how Asch felt. As usual, general Amaya’s expression revealed nothing. The woman could be stone-faced when she tried, and she often refused to let others discern how she was feeling.
“Very well. General Amaya, with me.” Miles said. He motioned to his honor guard, the Gulls, standing at the skirts of the courtyard. At once they fell into position, two stepping forward to help Miles into his plate. The only difference between his and the rest of the Hawk’s armor was a crested plume atop his helmet, and the slight rimming of red at the edges of each layer of metal. Otherwise, it was as beat-up and battle-worn as the rest of them. And yet, Miles still managed to look nigh-regal when he was fully suited up. Leroy, the leader of the Gulls, stood at Miles’ right. Asch took his left.
“Squad leader, I’ll ask you to head back to the palisades, prepare for the worst. Watch, and wait. Should this… orcish coalition try something, you’ll be in a position to raise havoc. Understand me?”
“Yes, sir.” Asch barked, though his instincts rebelled. He wanted to be down there, meeting. A peaceful coalition of orcs was historic, and he could have been right there, mocking each and every one of them. He could see the apprehension on the other soldiers’ faces, yet he felt none on his own. Miles was larger than life, and it was unthinkable that he would fall outside of battle. With a sigh, he took a step back, removing himself from the formation taking shape.
Commander Miles looked around, peering through the slits in his helmet, at the forces around him. Clad in metal, weapons at the ready.
“Hope for peace, prepare for war.” He whispered. Then, louder, so the entire courtyard could hear him: “For the coin!”
“For comrades!” Asch joined in the chant.
“For Shrike!” Miles called out, and the courtyard rumbled with the gathered forces’ agreement. It was ceremonial to pretend that the Herald Hawks were just a group of mercenaries, but they all knew that that had not been the case for some time. They were the last line of defense, the united force that protected Shrike from forces outside and inside.
And Commander Miles was their leader. Larger than life, undefeated, unbeatable.
