Holden stood before a large, stone fortress. Banners of pure white swayed in the wind above the gatehouse, with the image of a golden tree -- the symbol of Oner -- placed at the center of each. It was the same emblem on the armor of the guards standing at the portcullis.
“We’re the On’hinian instructors that His Majesty sent to instruct your army,” Alon explained. “But, let us speak to your commander.”
“Nice try,” one of the guards said. “RIght next to the ‘Omian diplomat’ routine.” The rest of the guards smirked and chortled. “And even if I were to believe you, you can’t enter without the escort appointed for your arrival. For all I know, you’re simply spies who found the real On’hinians and ambushed them.”
“Then you should open this gate to avenge them,” Durek growled. His irritation was mutual amongst the party. Even Kisler was growing tired of making witty remarks.
“Let me talk to your commander,” Alon requested, “he’ll have things straightened out.”
“Do you take me for a fool?” the guard asked.
“I’d insult fools by placing you in their league,” retorted Durek, but Alon raised a hand to quiet him down.
“I take you as a man with a family. You sought to keep them safe when you committed yourself to this war, did you not?”
The guard was quiet for a second, as the laughing stopped. “Leave them out of this.”
“We’re here to give you the training needed to assure their safety,” Alon explained. “Every second you waste doing what you may think is right, is another second that they could be put into real danger.”
“Raise the gate,” the guard ordered.
“But,” one of the other guards protested, “that would be going against orders.”
“Damn the orders; open the gate, or I’ll do it myself!” Without any further resistance, the portcullis was raised, granting Holden and the others access to the camp. As soon as they were inside, the gate was closed, and the guard approached them. “Forgive me,” he said, “we’ve had it rough as of late. Our naval line was sabotaged, and there are quite a few Omians who slipped past the defences. Can’t be too careful.”
“It was nothing.” Alon said. His patience could wear down mountains, Holden found. He came here to mentor the Onerian commanders, and how to attain such patience was likely amongst his lessons. “Can you bring us to your commander’s quarters?”
“It’s just through here.” the guard motioned for the group to follow him.
“Quite the wit he has,” Kisler said. “I would have just used the back door.”
“Leave your humor outside, Kisler.” Durek nodded to an open tent, where a priest was granting final rites to a soldier who suffered a great deal of wounds. Beside the soldier was a woman and child, faces streaked with tears.
“This is who we’re here to protect,” Holden murmured out loud.
“Pardon?” Frarethien looked at him, a brow raised.
“A friend taught me that we all fight to protect something,” Holden explained. He gestured over to a group of Onerian soldiers next to a fire. “They fight to protect their loved ones, and we’re to fight to protect these soldiers.”
“We’re not here to fight,” Frarethien said. “We’re here to teach them how to manage in combat, and avoid getting caught up in their war.”
“We aren’t already caught up in it?” Holden gestured to Durek. “The moment I saw his axe carve a man’s innards, we were involved in this war.”
“There’s five of us,” Durek said, “not an army. Do we try to win a war, ourselves?” He shook his head. “I may like a good fight, but I know when the fight is unwinnable. Might as well arm wrestle a giant. Look around you, Lieutenant Alnharte.”
With a nod, Holden looked around the fortress. While there was beauty in the lush, green grass, it did little to brighten the gloom around the surrounding people. They looked distraught, like a wounded animal circled by wolves. “They believe themselves doomed,” he said, frowning. After everything this war must have put them through, it was only natural for their morale to run low. “But we don’t have to fight this war alone. We merely have to show that they have a chance at winning this war.”
“Enough, all of you.” Alon turned his attention to Holden. “We’re not here to do what is right. We rarely are.”
“Then why send us?” Holden asked.
“I wish I could tell you, Holden.” Alon looked over to where mounds of dirt stood, swords buried into the soil; graves for those without a home to return to. The guard stopped at a second gate, and knocked on the stone frame surrounding it. One of the knocks sounded hollow, and a few moments later, the gate slowly opened.
“You’ll find the commander in here,” the guard said. “If she should prove difficult, forgive her. We’re what’s left of a battle on the frontlines.”
“Thank you, and we’ll keep that in mind.” Alon motioned for Holden to follow him. “The rest of you must wait here,” he said, “it’s a matter of respect.”
“You just think I’d get under her skin,” Kisler complained.
“It’s amazing how quick you are at doing so,” Durek muttered. He nodded to Alon. “I’ll keep rest of us under control. Go on.”
Alon nodded, and walked through the gate with Holden. “Let me handle talking, unless she addresses you. It’ll make things easier for the both of us.” Past the second gate, the pair walked down a long, narrow hall. Aside from the banners, there was little in the way of decorating the stone walls. Luminescent crystals in sconces filled the passage with a pale glow, sucking the colors from Holden and Alon’s attire. There were no openings to deviate from the hall’s path; only the door at the end of it.
Reaching the door, Holden felt uneasy. It was the same feeling he had when he met Marius. Before he could tell Alon, the door swung open to reveal a large room. The warm glow of flames gave an almost golden shine to the stone walls, and a pair of wolf statues -- their ferocity captured well - that sat at either side of a long, wooden desk. In the chair behind the desk, a woman was staring at them. She was a rose amongst the steel of plated armor, swords and shields. But, the beauty of her tanned face and her long, black hair was marred by the aggression in her one eye -- the other concealed by an eye patch -- the ruby red complimenting her passive fury.
“Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t see you dragged to the Dragon’s Maw and drowned,” she demanded. Standing up, she looked ready to carry out her threat. “Where are your forces stationed at? How many are there? When will you be battle ready?”
“Well,” Alon started, before pausing briefly. “My forces are stationed here, in the fortress.”
“I wasn’t aware that an army arrived,” she remarked.
“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to call them an army.” It was obvious that Alon’s confidence was gone when he saw her glare. “There are five of us, and --”
“Five?” The woman glared at Alon. “What, are On’hinians so full of themselves that they send a handful of men to win an entire war?”
“We’re here train your men,” Holden said. “Our generals feel that the best form of aid we can give to Oner is the experience to compete with Omian troops.”
“You think our military is weak?” the woman asked, turning her eye to Holden.
“Not weak, but inexperienced,” he replied. “Raw strength is good, but it’s comparing wood to steel when you consider what that strength can do once refined.”
“I see.” The woman approached Holden. “I assume you’re the leader?”
“I am not.” He gestured to Alon.
“That’s a shame.” The woman approached Alon, extending a hand. “I am Knight-Commander Elian, in charge of the Northern Campaign.”
“Lieutenant d’Trilith,” Alon said. “And this is Lieutenant d’Alnharte.”
“When can we begin the training?” Elian asked. “I’d like to return to the frontlines at the earliest opportunity.”
“Immediately.” Alon gestured to Holden. “Alnharte is an expert at marksmanship with the bow, so he’ll be working with any archers you may have. Our little giant outside will be handling the training of the rest of your infantry. Should you wish to train your men in subterfuge, we a rogue who can instruct them. I will try to improve your commanding ability, so that when you return to the frontlines, your soldiers will devastate the enemy.”
“I will arrange for training camps to be set up,” Elian said. “Tell your instructors to prepare immediately.”
“Just tell us when.” Clasping Holden’s shoulder, Alon left the room.
“Lieutenant d’Alnharte,” Elian said, “stay for a moment.” She went back to her desk, and sat down. “I must ask something of you.”
“Yes?” Part of Holden felt nervous, as he was now alone with the Knight-Commander with a temper of fire.
“Are you one of these On’hinian scouts I’ve heard about?”
“I am.”
“Then I need your help on a matter.” She sighed, and shook her head. “The Omians are closer than we’ve let on, as to prevent the loss of morale altogether.” Elian sighed, and shook her head. “There is no easy way to ask this, but I want you to observe and -- if possible -- to kill the commander of a nearby threat.”
“Assassination?” Holden raised an eyebrow.
“Unfortunately so,” Elian said. “It would be the certainty of our defeat, should the commander set his troops on from Postern Gate.” Holden knew what that meant. A lot more innocent citizens would be slain.
“Why choose me?” he asked. “Why not our rogue?”
“Not only do you appear physically capable, but you can work under pressure, unlike your companion. If anyone should succeed, it will be you.”
Holden was silent for a moment, considering the task. It was not a vow that he was bound by to protect Oner, but rather the people. It was at the black pool of earth that he swore to protect the peaceful citizens of Oner. He was not going to let any innocent die in the name of war, not again. “I have one condition,” he said. “I want one person to accompany me.”
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