I Was Strong Once

I was strong once. I still am, but in new ways, and not how I used to be. I can’t decide if I’m happier for it.

“The legions know death well,” I say to the assembled demira. “They are its harbingers and its lovers, greeting it with an embrace when it comes. The ground shakes whenever they walk. The sun envies the sparkle on their helms. Every man and woman that make up its ranks fights with the strength of two people—four when surrounded. To fight side by side for the glory of our nation, to stand at the vanguard of the most gallant host our world has to offer, to slay your enemy and feel your strength triumph over theirs, is to live as one amongst a pantheon of gods.”

“Know thy brothers and sisters well, demira. Your strength is theirs. Their strength is yours. Together you carry not only your own fate, but theirs, mine, and our homeland’s. Protect each other. Strike true. And may the gods be with you all.”

The ladies that made up the battalion of kanra, standing astride their fearsome long-tooth cats as big as small bears, lifted their bows into the air as their mounts let out bone-rattling roars. The stoneguard, wielding the magics that would shape the ground beneath their feet into living shields, stomped their boots, making the floor tremble as though struck by a mighty boulder. The footmen that made up the majority of the army stamped their polearms against the tiles and bellowed a single loud, echoing word: “Ikellos!”

Unto death.

I turn away to hide my frown, knowing that many of them would not return. A general does not display emotion to his soldiers.

It’s a long walk back to my office, and I do it alone without the company of my aides. I meant to use the time to think, but as usual my thoughts turn to memories of battles long ago.

The smell of mud and blood. The disciplined silence of thousands of Karassia’s finest as they stand facing down the Drakkon’s hordes. The grip of my sword as I swing it, tense with muscles that could have been chiseled from red marble. The faith and companionship of my squad as they dutifully follow me into damnation, looking to me as I charge first into the chaos.

I was a god of destruction—a wolf in its killing grounds with his pack stalking behind him. Six years, and I never lost a single soldier.

And then I did.

One mistake, one misjudgment, and an impeccable record fell to ash. Then I lost another, and another, until I was finally ‘promoted’ to battalion leader. I learned then that I am not, in fact, a god.

My office door appeared before me, and with it a man dressed in finery, startling me from my reverie. He smiled at me as I neared. I ignore him entirely, unlocking my office and brushing past him without a word of acknowledgement. It hurts to do, but I know what he's here for.

That doesn’t stop him from speaking. “I sent word that I would be arriving today, old friend.”

“I never received it,” I say. I had, though. It had made fine kindling. I stop in front of my desk and search through the fresh batch of scrolls left on it, lazily scanning each one with my back to the door.

“Will you invite me in?”

I shrug. “Suit yourself. You won’t be here long enough to make yourself comfortable, however.”

He chuckles and steps inside. His footsteps quicken. I turn and smack his hand with a scroll as he lunges at me with a dagger, parrying it with enough force to knock it from his hand. I frown at him, but it does nothing to dampen his smile as he holds his hand to his chest, rubbing where I struck. “A good metaphor for the occasion, I think.”

“Whatever this game is, Rykell, you’d better drop it as you dropped that dagger. I’m just as impatient with them as ever.” I shake my head sternly at him. “I may be old, but I remember that I taught you a better grip than that.”

“You did. The weapon merely wasn’t mine to hold,” Rykell said, grinning wider.

I furrow my brow at him. He nods to the dagger where it lay. When I follow his gaze, I notice for the first time the inlaid gold decorating its hilt, and the sigil of the empress embossed in its guard. My stomach drops.

“It’s time, Lorent,” Rykell said softly. His grin became soft and remorseful. “You’ve held out as long as you can. As our Lady orders, so we obey.”

I continue to say nothing, merely shaking my head in disbelief. I may have deflected the dagger but it had still found its mark. Rykell continued. “The Empress has been displeased with the latest stalemates. I’m certain I don’t need to tell you how black powder has made a ruin of our stoneguard, or how efficient the Drakkon’s kanra hunters have become now that they’ve gained a little experience. We need more. New ideas. New blood.”

I sit on my desk. My shoulders, once so strong and unbent, bow under the gravity of his words. A while passes where we say nothing to each other. Finally, I ask, “Who’s to replace me?”

Rykell raises his eyebrows and his humored little grin reappears. “That’s it? No indignation? No anger?”

I level a flat stare at him—one that I’ve used on many a lippy officer or upstart recruit. Rykell, unfortunately, inoculated himself against it long ago, and his smile stretches to show teeth. Sighing, I say, “I feel all those things, Lieutenant. Would shouting help me stay?”

Rykell shook his head. “I was hoping to finally see the great General Lorent Szarkaht lose his composure, but I must say, you’re taking this far better than the other generals. Many of them demanded to be brought before the Edictorium to appeal their case, or asked about personal finances, or rambled on about being the only ones capable of doing the job. Guess I owe Vex three vedra.”

That brings a small smile to my face. The two had been inseparable both on and off the field. “How is the big lad?”

“Still missing his leg, in every sense of the word.”

Rykell waggled his eyebrows. Mine fly up my face and a bark of laughter escapes my chest. “That’s horrible, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, well, jokes like those are what he signed up for.” Rykell raised his left arm to flash a silver bracelet.

I nod in appreciation. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, sir.”

We fall into a companionable silence, allowing us to forget the nature of Rykell’s visit. But not every battle can be avoided. “Battalion leader Norr Vendren," he says.

I grunt. “Good head on that one. She’ll do well. When will the ceremony be held?”

“We’ll announce the news publicly in one week’s time. In three we shall conduct the ceremony.”

“Very well.”

Rykell stared at me hard, searching my face for something, and abruptly dropped all hints of good humor. “Sir… perhaps I can put in word at the Edictorium that the campaign is more active than reports say; that changing leadership would be unwise until it calms. It could give you another year.”

I stare thoughtfully at him for a while, then sigh. “Thank you for coming, Lieutenant.”

Rykell takes a few moments to respond. When he does, he clicks his heels together and places one hand over his chest. “Sir.”

I smile. Standing up, I mirror his posture, placing my hand on my chest and bowing my head. He does the same before turning and leaving.

I close the door behind him. A general does not display emotion to his soldiers.

Tears roll down my cheeks, and the thoughts that I always hold behind a carefully constructed barricade burst forth. Why? Why must I get old? Why must times change? I still have so much to give. So much to teach. So much to fight for. Who will protect my men and women but me, who knows the field so well? Who else cares for them as much as me? Who will fight for them behind closed doors where a different kind of warfare is waged?

I shake my head and wipe my face. I could clutch at power, at wealth, at prestige. I could argue my case, use Rykell and my connections to stay where I am. I could lie. I could fight this change. But my soldiers would suffer for it, either caught in the politics that come or suffering on the field under tactics I’ve grown incapable of countering.

Time is an inescapable mistress, demanding change from her subjects whenever it suits her, and I learned long ago to listen. If not for me then for the ones I care about most.

I pick up the Empress’ dagger from the floor and lay it flat in my palms, staring at it. Softly, I say, “As our Lady orders, so we obey.”