“Captain! Courier for you!” Sergeant of the watch, Ray Jemmy, calls to me. I nod at him, drinking some watered down ale to keep me up at this late watch, which, as a Captain, I should not be watching but want to.

  “My thanks Ray, leave me be to read it.” I start, before stopping and looking at the courier. It’s in the royal colors, not the army. And not just royal colors, but the king’s personal colors. “Sergeant, that is a King’s Courier, correct?”

  The courier clears his throat, before handing me the scroll. It is wrapped in a black covering, which I remove, knowing what it means. I remove the seal, and quickly scan the scroll, dreading what I read.

  “Sergeant, I want you to gather the men for a march,” I order, looking at the man, and ignoring the courier.

  “Sir, what about our supplies?” He responds, saluting.

  “According to this, our supplies will be taken care of at the local garrisons.”

  “And our replacements?”

  “En route. The courier ran ahead of them.” I say, nodding at the still-silent courier. I vaguely remember their face, trying to place it. I look away, staring at Ray. “We are to head to Whitwater by order of the Obsidian Throne. With all due haste to be exact.”

  “Permission to be dismissed, Sir?” Ray asks as I nod. He turns and leaves, and runs to the quartermaster to signal the march. A drumroll begins, a steady marching call to wake up the troops.

  “Courier, what are your exact orders?” I ask, with the drums ensuring no one can hear but him.

  “To bring the bastard to court, whether he wants to or not.” The courier says, ashamed.

  “That sounds more like the king. Not this prim and proper crap.” I say, motioning towards the scroll. It is full of flowery language, which I know for a fact is bull. “What is your name?”

  “Lou Sullivan, if it pleases you, Sir.” The courier says, nervous.

  “Lou, I remember you!” I say, smiling. I removed my half helm, which I was wearing per standing orders.

  “Isaac?” He asks, shocked, before hugging me. “I thought you were dead brother!” He responds, looking at my armor and smiling.

  “Technically I was dead. But come along, we have to hurry up. My aides are packing my gear now, but I have to grab some stuff.” I say as I replace my helm and take the scroll.

  “So the rumors were true…” Lou states, looking at me.

  “Do not speak of them till Whitwater. Out here in Cleowland, the nobility is not spoken in such great tones.” I say as I head to my office, Lou trailing behind me.

  “Why would anyone have anything to say about the nobles?” He asks, staring at me as I grab my swords, a long bastard sword, and an arming sword. I look at him, as I slide the swords into position.

  “Because of the wars,” I say simply, before pulling out a brick and taking the scroll within. “The people here are tired of them all.”

  “But the orcs and elves won’t stop if we don’t do something about them.” I hear Lou say, as I replace the brick, and grab a large heater shield.

  “The peasants on either side don’t want war either. The smart ones at least.” I say as I tuck that secondary scroll into my pocket. “Hurry up, I dislike setting out for a march tonight but we must.”

  “Why do you dislike it?” Lou asks, looking around.

  “We will have little night light from the moons, and it is Ythys herself’s day,” I say, making the sign of the warrior goddess. “A soldier should never march on this day.”

  “Why, what is wrong with it?” Lou asks as we head to the stables. There the horses are being readied, while I stare at him.

  “For when the Warrior Goddess rules, blood will spill. A soldier does not offend her.” I respond as a howl is heard throughout the fort and a large black wolf, with a saddle bounds over to me. “Hello Onyx, I was just coming to see you,” I say, smiling.

  “What is that thing?”

  “An Orcish direwolf. As far as I know, I am the only human to have one.” I say, smiling. Unlike his more common kin, he is roughly the size of a large pony or small horse, depending on the breeding. I stroke his head as his tongue falls out of his mouth, his tail wagging.

  “How did you get him?”

  “Long story, but classified,” I say, smiling as I slide onto the saddle. The men have gathered for the march, the entire 1800-man strong battalion. “SOLDIERS OF LORAL! THE OBSIDAN THRONE REQUIRES US, AND WE OBEY!” I call out, with chants of ‘FOR THE THRONE’ breaking out. “Now, you know I am not one for long speeches, but I will keep this extremely short. We have 920 miles to march from here to Whitwater, so I hope you have new boots!” I say, as Onyx without much prompting takes my place at the head of the battalion. I draw my bastard sword, the light moonlight reflecting nothing off its black metal, and drop it. “FORWARD MARCH!”

  The men around me, my command team, begin to march. Not much talking occurs till we exit the fort itself when the unit’s banner is unfolded. It is a simple banner, but one that makes the troops proud. A black heater shield, with blood-red crossed swords. My swords to be exact. A cheer begins, as the men begin singing a marching song.

  By the night fear the call

  For the 15th stands tall

  Spears in hand, shields are held

  Arrows blot out the enemy from their gods

  Swords are called, and the charge is ordered

  Death for the enemy of the 15th!

  Roreus takes our enemies and leaves us behind

  Let Ythilis watch over us, and give us strength to slay

  Soarin heals us while we stand guard eternally on the border

  While others pray to Ghalia, we pray to Inlir

  May our foes die a thousand deaths!

  The song begins to repeat, with specific units calling out their deeds. Lou looks at me, in shock, at what some of the men claim, expecting me to say it is a lie or something, but I keep quiet. I look at him, smiling.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Never been on a military march, have you?” I ask, noting his weird looks.

  “Yes, I have, but never like this.”

  “Were they with a bloodied unit?” I ask as Onyx keeps a smooth pace with the horses.

  “What do you mean by that?” Lou asks, staring at me.

  “A bloodied unit will over time write a unit song, telling the deeds of its soldiers. The longer the unit lasts, the longer the song.” I say as the men get to the 10th verse. At one, the men stop, and all of the command unit stops, turning to face the men. Lou, not expecting it, continues for a few steps before turning.

  “Wha-” He begins as the Sergeants of the unit step forward and begin.

  Commanders, the men are tired

  For each of your deeds, we will march on how powerful it is

  Lou looks at me, confused, as I simply nod at him and stare at the Sergeants, and smile.

  I accept your bargain, my honorable soldiers

  Let us hear the deeds of the Commanders who lead!

  I call, before looking at the lowest-ranked member of the command team. Sergeant Major Oda Boyd is a 40-something-year-old veteran of many battles and deeds.

  Soldiers of the 15th, hear my deeds and let them guide you

  I stood shoulder to shoulder with the greatest of great

  Sending orcs to their gods by the thousands

  When I was merely a Private, I slayed a shaman

  When I was a Corporal I slayed two shamans

  When I was a Sergeant? I slayed a war chief!

  She cries out, as the men begin to restart their march, banging spears and shields as they march, silently, for the victory song is yet to finish. Merely five miles later, they end their march, and the command team turns around once again, Lou, taking a bit again. Ensign Hector Benson begins to call.

  I am the newest member of this team, yet I stand bravely on

  I carry the unit’s banner through thick and thin

  I am merely the Ensign

  At this, the men begin to boo, smiles on all our faces.

  Yet I have slayed ten orcs in single combat with my spear!

  He calls out, the men loudly cheering, as they begin to march. Lou looks at my men, amazed, as we march to the 10th mile, the men stopping again. Lieutenant Sophia Lovett begins to sing, not even turning, as the rest of us turn.

  I have served in this unit for a time

  I have slain war beasts and leaders, guarding the borders

  Yet no man may question my bravery

  When I fought a vicious lindworm alone

  And exited with merely a scar and tooth!

  She calls, turning and showing off the Lindworm’s tooth, which is her dagger. The men cheer, as we continue marching. We make it another ten miles before the men stop again. Lt. Remington Griffin turns.

  I am no noble, I’m from the common man

  How did I get to this spot you may ask?

  I was a Cadet when a griffin landed and attacked my squad

  I SLAYED THE FUCKER WITH ONE STAB!

  He calls, as the men cheer the loudest at this, and continue to march. We reach the 45th mile of our march, the men still energized, as Lou turns to me.

  “I have heard that a unit typically only marches 50 miles a day… Yet your men do not seem tired. Why is that?” Lou asks, as the men stops.

  “This is why.”

  I alone turn and draw my swords. Bastard in the right, arming in the left.

  In my right hand, I hold Cry of the Forsaken,

  Who slayed the enemy general Boghat in one blow

  In my left hand, I hold Gift of the End,

  Who stopped the advance of the orc hordes with a single blow

  I am a grandmaster of the blade, trained by the best

  I fight for the Kingdom

  I rescued an Orc village from a pillaging Elven unit

  I tamed an Orcish direwolf and named him Onyx

  At this, Onyx howls, and the men cheer

  I have been stabbed, speared, and beaten

  Now, let us march to victory!

  I call, turning around as the men cheer, including the command team. I drop my blades forward and shoot forward, the men following behind me. I sheathe my blades, as the men begin to call out other marching songs, until we reach a camp, ten miles away. I hold up my hand, staring at the mess.

  I ride Onyx closer to the camp walls, expecting to be warned by a sentry… Nothing. I ride to the front gate, my men following behind me before I let out a call.

  “ALLIES AT THE GATE!” I call, my voice extending through the entire camp as the camp wakes up. I notice the lack of discipline and frown, looking at Lou. “Let me guess, Captain here bought his rank?” Lou doesn’t respond, which tells me all I need to know. The camp takes an embarrassing twenty minutes to rise, before the captain in command walks over, blinking awake.

  “Who in Roreus's holy name are you?” The captain demands, staring at me with bloodshot eyes in half his uniform. His armor is clearly new, with a fresh Apprentice mastery pin on it. Sword, of course.

  “Captain Isaac Archer, of the 15th Guard Battalion, reporting to your unit as ordered by the Obsidian Throne to inform you of local conditions, traditions, and details,” I reply, my tone calm, internally seething.

  “And what in hell are you riding?” He asks, pointing at Onyx.

  “My personal mount. Onyx, an Orcish direwolf.” I reply, smiling. “And before you go on about trade embargos, direwolves are not a trade good listed as no human before or after has ever survived touching one, nonetheless taming one.”

  “Of-of course. Follow me to my tent.” He replies, as my men stand down from the march, leaning their weapons together and setting up a quick watch, the rest of the men grabbing a quick sleep. My command unit and I dismount and begin to follow. “I only need to speak with your captain.”

  “They come with me, for they each know more than you have forgotten,” I whisper to him, pointing at his rank 1 Swordmastery pin. “The lowest mastery here is my Sergeant Major, and she is rank two, not out of inability to advance, but due to not wanting to bother. The rest outrank you, and me? Don’t ask.” I say as I lead the man to his own tent.

  “Alright then, Captain Archer, what is it you have to inform me of?” This arrogant captain says, not even introducing himself. I unroll the scroll in my pocket, before staring at the captain.

  “This is the lifeblood of any border fort. It holds the list of contacts on all sides of the border, how to meet them, deal with them, and more. It has the best suppliers and prices for each item. It has beast records, from who has seen what when and if credible. By the underworld, it has the records of everything. And I don’t trust you with this. Where is your lieutenant?” I demand, shouting that last part, as a youngish man, slightly older than I enters.

  “Captain Archer, I have heard tales of your unit. Lieutenant Zachary Dandridge, 5-year veteran.” He says, saluting. I noticed his mastery pin is missing. I nod at him, as he drops the salute.

  “What is your mastery tier?” I ask as he signals three. “Alright, Sergeant Major, write down these orders. As the commander of the fort until I hand over this scroll, per standing orders of the army, I hereby declare that Lieutenant Zachary Dandridge is to hold the fort’s lifeblood until he deems the Captain competent at his post to hold onto such a sacred document. The Captain may not attempt to order this document away, pursuant to standing orders, nor may he attempt to order the Lt. to hand over the document. The following criteria are hereby suggested. Unit discipline be brought up to army standards. The Captain passes his mastery tier to at least two, to ensure he has the authority to teach. The Captain proves his competency to his command unit in command matters. Should this take longer than a period of two years, the Lt. is hereby instructed to write to the Tribune of Casther reporting the Captain in command requires remedial training. Is this understood?” I ask the Lt. as the Captain stares at me slack-jawed.

  “You can’t do this!” He declares, before pointing at me. “I demand a duel!”

  “Due to the difference in ranks, I must decline,” I state before the Sergeant Major leaves the tent, and grabs some men to copy the order.

  “Bullshit, you do not have the authority. We are the same rank!” He says, as I stand tall.

  “Tell me, how many grandmasters of the sword are there?” I ask as I remove my pin from the pouch on my hip.

  “I don’t know, 30? What’s that got to…” He stops short as I hold a grandmaster pin of the sword, enchanted to show my position in the hierarchy of grandmasters. I am currently 15th, middle of the road.

  “As I said, I must decline.” I slip it back into the pouch. I turn to the Lt. and hand him the lifeblood, and nod at him. “I had to pass this same test. Look what it made me.” I say as I leave the tent. I pass by the Sergeant Major yelling at a group of this unit’s non-commissioned officers about how ashamed she is of them and more and laugh to myself. I look over to Lou and smile, thinking about how fun this journey to the capital will be.