The events of the 28th of Hematite, 1064
"Where WERE you," Aryn bellowed, his fists crashing into the table top.
"Where were you," Stravitch said, his mouth full of baked gar.
"Hiding, like any sane Dwarf untrained in combat should have been. The difference between me and you, you daft fool, is that you ARE trained to fight. I dare say you're one of the best in this fortress, and you were NOT up in the courtyard to defend our home. Where. Were. You."
"I was taking a nap."
Aryn just stared at him, eyes bugging out comically. He started to speak, but it came out as gibberish, and he had to take a second to try and collect himself before he spoke again.
"you were... taking a NAP?"
"Yes. I had just finished showing little miss Meng Flickeredvessel how difficult it is to fight when her wrist is broken, and it wore me right out. Then I went to lay down. If the fighting was still going on when I woke up, I was planning to come stop it."
The door opening was all that saved Aryn from running his mouth more. Sodel Abbeybucks stormed in, followed by Sulari. Snake trailed along behind her lazily.
"Aryn, get rid of this exile. Have him executed, throw him in the magma! Do anything, just rid our home of his kind."
"As much as he deserves it for his traitorous actions, he did kill the Demon God. That's more than can be said of some people." Aryn glared at Stravitch, who just smiled and popped more gar into his mouth.
"He wants to take over my command!"
"He should," Sulari whispered hoarsely. "Every swordsman but you has been... killed since you took over. Give Snake the spot back."
"Give it back? So he can, what? Sell us out to the nobility?"
"We are the Nobility," Aryn said. "Leave now, I'll think on it. I need to finish talking with Captain Fillwhip here."
Stravitch shook his head slowly. "Oh, no, I'm sorry. I thought you knew, we were done talking. We've both agreed I'm the best soldier in the fortress, isn't that all you wanted to say? I have a meeting at Dodik's soon, and must finish this dinner."
***
Merkil slowly walked into Major ---- DayCovering's room, holding his helm in his hands. The old Major was staring down at sheets of paper, and maps laid out before him. He looked his years sitting at the table, an old gray man, bent with age.
"Sir," Merkil began softly, "I don't think the others noticed, they were too busy dealing with the invaders, but... you weren't at the battle."
"I wasn't," He said. "I was down here, reading these letters. Did you do well?"
"I killed five. Sir. Why weren't you out there? We needed you."
"I couldn't bring myself to go out."
Merkil frowned, his head tilting slightly. "You couldn't... what are you talking about?"
"I haven't killed anything in thirty years... I haven't been in a single battle since then, a single fight. I carry this hammer around, and all this bluster, and I train soldiers and I regale them with stories. But after the skirmish at Rethiatera, I can't... bring myself to go into battle, not anymore. Perhaps I'm not fit to lead this squad anymore, especially if this gets out..."
Merkil took a seat in a chair, slouching heavily. "If you don't lead the squad, that will look mighty suspicious. They'll catch on that..." He couldn't help it, it was the only word that would work. "You're craven, sir."
The old Major took no offense. He scooped the papers up into one pile, and moved them back into his cabinet. "That's why you were given a field promotion, Major Merkil Paintlengths. You're in charge of our modest squad. I'm retiring."
***
Varen and Asmel stood at attention before the tomb, watching as the haulers placed the last of Shorast Guildslides possessions into the sarcophagus. Asmel was the first to speak, her voice betraying none of her grief.
"He was a good man, Varen. A good man..."
"Yes he was, ma'am. He deserves better than this simple tomb. For all he's done for this fortress, that he'd get no big ceremony, no accolades, no ... no titles at all. It's not right."
"It is right," Asmel said quietly, "It's the price we of the Spear pay. We're often overlooked, we're often hit the hardest. The titles given to the others, the grand tombs, those are nothing more than props they hold themselves up with. We give our everything, and ask nothing in return. Shorast ask-...asked nothing in return."
She stepped forward into the small alcove, and leaned over. Her hands on the cool stone, she pressed her lips to his name. When she turned to leave, she was surprised to see Makrond standing off in the distance, mostly obscured by shadows.
"Have you come to pay your respects, Master Leatherworker?"
"Yes ma'am, but, not in the way most would." He stepped forward, fidgeting with the tape draped over his neck. "I want to offer myself, as a spearman. Seeing how hard you all fought, I ... I want to do my part too."
Asmel looked at him curiously, the faintest of smiles playing on her lips. She reached back into the corner of the tomb, and when she stepped out, she carried with her Shorast's plain steel spear - holding it out to the young leatherworker. "I'd be honored to have you join with us. Go and gather your things. Today is for mourning, but tomorrow, training begins once again."