"My name is Jack!"

"Nah-na-nah-na-nah-na-nah."

"I'm a necrophiliac!"

"Nah-na-nah-na-nah-na-nah."

"I fu-"

"Cut that filth on my march!" Kali shouted as he jogged up toward the front of the line alongside a small knot of older men. "Bad enough I have to listen to your singing voice as it is, Higgins."

"Sorry, Sargeant!" The lead singer shouted in response. "Just trying to lighten the mood!"

"Then pick something with some class. Assuming you know anything with class? Or what the word class even means?" Kali snorted as he pivoted and began jogging backward without losing a step. "Though if you have time to sing, maybe you're getting your stamina back? Come on, pick up the pace and sing us a proper tune."

Higgins blushed deeply at the jibe. The column moved at the speed of its slowest soldier, and though Higgins could probably outrun most of them in a dead sprint, his endurance over the last sixteen hours left something to be desired.

"Unfortunately, most of my songs are filth, Sergeant," the middle-aged Auxilia replied, choosing to address Kali's second request and not the first. A few snickers rippled through the nearby soldiers, and Higgins shouted back over his shoulder. "Hey, two-thirty-eight, you know any good songs?"

Alarion made no reply, his eyes forward, his face empty. If he reacted, they'd pile it on, and it would never end. As it was, he was sure that Kali's presence was the only thing keeping them limited to their favorite insult rather than outright hostility.

That wasn't unusual. His reputation among the Auxilia was… mixed, to put it gently. He'd been treated well enough during his first few days in uniform, then word of Ruin's proclamation reached Ashad. His fellow soldiers didn't care about Vitrian politics or Alarion's explanations. They saw an Imurian who spoke like a Vitrian. They saw the pet of the Ruby-Eyed Demon, the man who had obliterated Ashad-Mundi.

Looking back, it was shocking that only two of them ever made attempts on his life. Perhaps a bit less surprising, considering the beating it had earned those who had tried.

Since then, he'd done what he could to ameliorate that reputation. He fought hard, and without complaint, he protected his comrades and did his best not to bristle when provoked. He had the grudging respect of some, the indifference or ignorance of others, but nothing approaching trust.

"Are there even any good Vitrian songs?" another man asked.

"That's a good point," Higgins conceded. "I don't think any of us want to hear the beanpole trying to belt out-"

"Enough," Kali demanded. A bit of ribbing could do wonders for morale, but outright bullying could spiral quickly. "You're telling me you don't even know Bones in Ashad?"

Higgins gave the sergeant a perplexed look, then snapped his attention forward to where the first lines of dawn were peeking over the distant rise ahead. "I am not familiar with the song, sir."

"Really?" Kali asked with a note of wry skepticism. "How about you, Watts."

"No, Sergeant."

"And you? Popai?"

"Not familiar with it, sir."

"Pity. I heard it was quite a beautiful tune. But I've been in Ashad for four years now, and no one seems to-"

"T-they came in the dusk with their papers and steel. Crown needed m-my body n-not…"

Every eye in the column, Alarion's included, turned back at the sound of those solemn lyrics, the rotund boy trailing off mid-sentence amidst the mortified stares.

"So one of you does know it!" Kali declared with a bark of laughter. The tension in the column eased, but poor Bergman was beyond flustered by the sudden attention. "Did I ask you to stop, specialist?"

"N-no… I-I… just…" The young man stammered helplessly. No doubt, he had made the connection a moment too late. There was a very good reason no one knew the old Ashadi marching song.

Alarion turned his eyes forward, tuning out the boy's stuttering and Kali's questions. He didn't want to get involved, so he focused on the path ahead of him and the steep hills on either side. They'd been traveling through the Ilvan Valley for the better part of the night, and the end was finally in sight. Another ten miles, maybe less. Once they were on flat ground, they'd be allowed to camp. Allowed to rest.

"You're saying you don't remember the rest?" Kali's incredulity cut into Alarion's thoughts. In the three days since they'd left Ilvan-Shad, the big man had taken a particular interest in Specialist Bergman. It wasn't hatred, for he never seemed to truly dislike the boy, but where others were given latitude for their mistakes, Kali nitpicked Bergman at every opportunity. His expectations were higher. "I find that hard to believe given your wealth of-"

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"They came in the dusk with their papers and steel. Crown needed my body, not how I might feel. Now I march for a banner means nothing to me. Chained down to a war I have no wish to see."

Alarion had heard the song countless times in the field. A half-century-old Ashadi war ballad, it remained a favorite of the Auxilia for obvious reasons, but was never sung in the presence of an officer, or even an NCO, for similarly obvious reasons.

"The Imurian Orphan knows the lyrics, but none of you?" Kali remarked as Alarion finished the verse. For a few seconds, no one else spoke, and then an unfamiliar face toward the rear of the column began again from the top. Another man joined him. Then another, and another. Soon enough, the whole column was singing in that exhausted, slightly off-key way that only soldiers on the march could manage.

They came in the dusk with their papers and steel, Crown needed my body, not how I might feel. Now I march for a banner means nothing to me, Chained down to a war I have no wish to see.

The drums beat so loud, and the wind starts to cry, We'll march to the end; there's no need to ask why. I don't fight for crown or the coin in their hand, But for dreams buried deep in the bones of this land, And the hope that my name won't be written in sand.

So I turned from the hills that had cradled my kin, And stood when they called, though it felt like a sin. They'll send me to bleed, and I'll go if I must, But I'll fight like a bastard; in this, you should trust.

The drums beat so loud, and the wind starts to cry, We'll march to the end; there's no need to ask why. I don't fight for crown or the coin in their hand, But for dreams buried deep in the bones of this land, And the hope that my name won't be written in sand.

I dream of the hills where my father still plows, Of the songs that we sang under cedar-bound boughs. Though those days are behind me, and silence ahead, I follow the living and bury the dead.

The drums beat so loud, and the wind starts to cry, We'll march to the end; there's no need to ask why. I don't fight for crown or the coin in their hand, But for dreams buried deep in the bones of this land, And the hope that my name won't be written in sand.

Never asked for this fight nor the weight on my chest, I was taken from home, where I longed for my rest. Thrown deep into battle, a pawn in their game, I'm not here for their honor, but still take the flame.

And the drums beat so loud while the wind starts to cry, We'll march to the end; there's no need to ask why. I don't fight for crown or the coin in their hand, But for dreams buried deep in the bones of this land, And the hope that my name won't be written in sand.

But for dreams buried deep in the bones of this land, And the hope that my name won't be written in sand.

The last note had barely finished echoing off the valley walls before they started in on another song and then another. Songs that had gone unsung on the march since the time of old Ashad. Songs that dated back to when the entire continent had been unified under the Celesians. Melodies that were not banned but were certainly frowned upon.

Their pace quickened, the music lightening their steps for the last leg of the day's journey. They were still two days out from the demarcation and half dead on their feet, but for the first time since they'd set off, there was a feeling of energy in their midst.

"T-thank you."

"Mm," came Alarion's curt reply. He kept his eyes straight ahead, his pace steady as the specialist came in alongside him. The older boy wasn't even breathing heavily, despite the increased pace, a testament to his attributes, if not his physical fitness. "You should not be talking to me."

"Why?"

Ignorance, then. That made sense. Bergman wasn't the first soldier to have a positive first impression of Alarion, but the one thing they all had in common was a lack of knowledge. The others would fill him in on Alarion's failings soon enough. Better for him to cut the olive branch early. To not be seen even talking to Alarion.

"M-My name is Ivor. Ivor Bergman."

"You are going to have a difficult time if you keep talking to me," Alarion told him, his voice so low that it could barely be heard over the most recent chorus.

"I-I don't c-care what-" Alarion cut the words short with a sharp gesture, his face suddenly tense.

ZEKE's bracelet was blinking with a steady red light. An urgent warning. He brought it to his ear and spoke without hesitation. "Go."

"10 o'clock, high. Hidden against the sky." ZEKE replied without preamble.

Alarion looked up and to his left. At first, he saw nothing. Then, a star winked out and appeared again an instant later. Then another. Something was moving across the skyline. Several somethings, and they were descending fast.

"Incoming! Ten high!" Alarion shouted as he unsheathed Echo. The sword grew to full size an instant before he stabbed it into the dirt at his feet and knelt behind it. It was a flimsy defense, but in times like this, defense wasn't his job.

"By ink and breath, by sound and sense, I cast the verse, I raise defense.

O Word of Shield, be firm, be fast, Hold every strike until the last.

A sentence sealed, a vow I keep, This ward shall stand while I still speak."

Ivor's words whirled about Alarion as he braced for impact, syllables given life as spiraling black ink. Each new word added to a dome of protection that flowed past Alarion and grew to encompass four nearby allies. The once stuttering youth spoke one flawless sentence after the next, reinforcing his magic right until the moment of impact.

The first of the blue-black spheres struck with a discordant noise. Not an explosion but a sound of reversal and violation, as though the world were turning in and devouring itself. There was no flash or heat, just a vanishing. The spell carved a deep divot in the earth and tore a hole in Bergman's barrier, but new words rushed to fill the gap moments before the second impact. Then, the third.

It was hard to tell how long the barrage lasted, but Alarion never wanted to experience its like again. Entirely out of his element, he could do nothing but wait while a distant foe attempted to take his life. He was bound to a post with a man swinging and swinging, each time missing him by little more than a hair.

Even if he tried to run or to seek out his attacker, he wouldn't get far. The valley outside their shielded enclave was a mess of staggered detonations that missed their targets as often as they struck. He could flicker away with Echo, but one bad teleport would be the end of him.

Twice, the barrier failed, and twice, Bergman was able to cast it anew. The young man drew upon three different [Mana Reserves] and still had to poison himself half to death with potions to survive the barrage. But he did survive it.

As far as Alarion could tell, most of them had.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.