Marnakus felt that it was strange, having his brother along on a military campaign. It was even more strange, outranking him. No matter how old he grew, no matter how far he went, Joenal would always be his older brother.
The responsible one. The firstborn, the one who would inherit. Peaceable, affable, wonderful Joe!
The stubborn one, more like, and his daughter was even worse!
Half the reason he’d joined the army was to get out of the shadow the man cast. Now that was ruined.
He didn’t know how to act around his brother, and he honestly hoped the man rose in ranks as fast as his age deserved. He had no idea what in the hells the man had been thinking, volunteering when he was in his fifties as a fucking private!?
He sighed, irritated with himself.
‘Of course I know what he’s thinking,’ he thought as he looked at the girl standing by the campfire, talking to her squad.
Not a girl, perhaps. A young woman.
Children had never been in the cards for him, and he was glad of it. He was already feeling guilty enough that he hadn’t managed to spare his brother’s child from the horrors of this war. If he had his own?
Gods, he’d never stop worrying.
Which was clearly what Joenal was doing. There were stories going around about the man saving the town but he was chalking that up to peasant tales. His brother, Joenal? A warrior? The man wouldn’t hurt a fly!
“Your niece, yes?” came a voice, startling him.
“Ah, yes, sir. My brother’s daughter,” Marnakus replied as the general stepped up beside him.
“You’ve spoken of them often. I confess, I almost thought you would have warned them about the draft. I would have permitted it, you know. I have a daughter. She’s in her twenties. Probably with child by now by that bastard she married last year.”
That had the feel of a trap to Markus, and he refused to fall for it.
“My family does their duty. They answered when called,” he replied before trying to divert. “You never mention your daughter. What’s her name?”
“I keep my home life and military life separate. I do not get much time with my family, as you well know,” the man said.
More privates were turning and wandering over to Mera’s fire. She was growing animated. Excited as she spoke. Marcus was too far away to hear, but whatever she was saying, it was drawing cadets like a moth to flame.
“Two months out of the year away from the front. It’s not a lot to build a family with. That’s why I never did,” he replied.
“We manage. My wife spends more time on the front with me than we spend at home these days,” the general said softly. “Well. She did. Fucking Eschal bastards.”
Markus nodded in commiseration. Fucking Eschal bastards indeed. Why had they needed to break such a good thing? Had they all forgotten what it was like before? They’d been allies, hell, friends, for centuries and now they decided to attack Tacuria?
By all accounts, the attack wasn’t even going very well for them. If anything, a Tacurian counterinvasion was rapidly approaching as Tacuria City and Denarla mustered, while Neogon held the East.
What would have prompted such a stupid decision?
He didn’t know, but he kept feeling like the other shoe was about to drop. Yes, they’d managed to time a riftbreak with their invasion, and the initial losses had been terrible for Neogon’s army, but Maulander’s and eventually Tarindale’s western force would be enough to contain the break.
...If he could convince Maulander to get this little sidequest over with and do his damn job.
Tacuria was vast, while Eschal’s armies were supplemented by mercenary companies, paid in coin. Their loyalty was to that coin, not the cause. Neogon had actually successfully converted smaller companies mid-battle by offering them more money.
He did not credit Maulander with the brains to come up with such a plan.
They both fell silent for a while, watching the girl as she played to the crowd like a professional actor from Denarla. She moved, telling the story with her hands and gestures every bit as much as with her words. As more people circled and sat in an expanding ring around the fire, she circled in the space left for her.
He found himself wondering what she was saying, drawn as curiously as any of the privates.
“An interesting child, your niece,” the general said softly after a time. “An elite talent, to boot. I wonder where she might’ve gained such skills before her eighteenth birthday?”
Markus eyed the general curiously.
“Her parents, I suppose. My brother joined her; he volunteered to protect her. I intended to assign them to the same squad.”
“Ah. Wise. Nothing motivates a soldier like a familial bond,” Maulander said.
Markus found himself struggling not to roll his eyes.
“Why the sudden interest?” he asked, genuinely curious. “Surely her little outburst at recruitment didn’t annoy you all that much?”
The general shrugged. “Just impressed. We don’t find elite talents every day.”
Markus grunted non-committally. Perhaps that really was all he was interested in.
“What of her mother?” he asked.
“Oh. Atrinaska,” he replied. “They married… oh, about twenty years ago now. Shortly after the rift appeared.”
Maulander nodded. “I see.”
Somewhat awkwardly, with no hint of a goodbye, the man turned around and walked back toward the command tent.
That was strange even for the general, and Markus suddenly felt like he’d said something he shouldn’t have.
“Sir,” He said, stopping the man. “We’ve been here for four days now, and patrols are reporting that even small pockets of rift monsters are becoming scarce. I believe we’ve more than fulfilled our promise to the Mayor of Pemolar’s Hill. When will we return to the rift?”
The general paused.
“You’re right. I’ve been… perhaps… distracted," he said, distractedly. He seemed to gather his focus and met Markus's eyes. "The past is the past, and we need to press forward. I know what the soldiers have whispered behind my back. I know of the dissension sowed by new draftees and fermented in my lines. They call me a coward. They say I never should have left the rift.”
Marnakus’s eyes widened. “Who!? No one would dare say such a thing to–!”
“Silence, Markus. It ends now. We leave tonight at dusk. We will take the road directly south. No detours to Lindolen or any other ransacked towns. Send messengers to High Bannerman Ogrea, at the central camp, that half of their forces are to begin marching East to meet us at Osgren Point. I leave it up to her discretion who will come and who will remain. We will refortify and man every post that Neogon abandoned.”
“Of… of course, sir!” Markus saluted.
What in the hells? The man had been about to walk away. About to go to his tent to sleep through the day. Something had triggered him, though. Had he perhaps overstepped with the question?
He did think the man was a coward, and he did think they should’ve been attempting to take back the eastern portion of the rift front all along while lesser officers handled the draft.
The man had suddenly gone cold the moment Markus had mentioned Atrinaska. Perhaps that had something to do with it? He didn’t know, but he wasn’t one to turn down free points when they were offered.
“I’m not my brother.”
The general's words were a whisper, not meant for him. If not for a sudden dip in the wind, he didn’t think he’d have caught them at all.
Maulander’s eyes lingered for a moment longer on Joenal’s little girl, a complicated expression on his face, before he turned and strode purposefully toward the tent.
“Be about it, High Bannerman,” he called over his shoulder.
“Yes, Sir!” Markus exclaimed.
The moment the general’s tent flap closed behind him, Markus intended to hurry off toward the quartermaster, his mind already whirling with a storm of orders. Finally, they were moving. Finally.
Before he could move more than a step, though, his eyes fell back onto the little carrot.
The small group of ten surrounding her had become a hundred. Most were sitting. A few had dragged over benches from other fires, and the ring around her had started to encompass a few of the other camps.
The girl spun her story as the sun began to peak over the horizon, and Markus couldn’t help but marvel. What kind of girl had his brother raised?
Still, he didn’t have time to dwell on her. He hurried on while the number of listeners continued to swell. They needed to enjoy this time while they had it.
Soon, there would be no more time for stories.