Fortress Marana bustled with soldiers and servants. The mosaic bricks that spread across the floor in the shape of a grand tree were still drying from the morning rain. Aralim walked across those gleaming branches, his old staff seemingly mute in the sound of heavy boots marching and sharpening wheels turning. He must have stood out in his dark green cloak and grey-brown hair, for Sergeant Grendar, coming down the steps of a nearby barracks, spotted him while everyone still seemed like nondescript soldiers to Aralim.
Grendar waved and jogged up, sporting a leather hauberk, sheathed sword, and red half-cloak. “Aralim!” he called, as he approached. “Welcome to the Fortress.”
“Thank you,” Aralim replied. “I thought I might share that meal I promised… if you and the others are available.”
“Certainly,” Grendar replied. He grabbed the shoulder pauldron of a passing soldier and ordered him, “Bring a few others and relieve Lerela, Yovin, and Carrak of their duties for the next hour or two.”
“At once, sir,” the subordinate replied. He hurried away to find some off-duty soldiers.
Grendar started walking toward a covered patio where a few tables were set up. Other soldiers sat there, in armour or in uniforms, eating or chatting to pass the time. Grendar found them an empty table and invited Aralim to sit with him.
“How is everyone doing, settling back into the Rema routine?” Aralim asked.
“We all got promotions, of sorts. I work as a liaison with a number of civilian groups now—guild masters and resource procurement, that kind of thing,” Grendar said. “It’s a little more of a desk-posting than I’m used to, but I keep up my training.”
“It’s good to know you were rewarded,” Aralim replied. He remembered their return—Tag’na had said, “You have regained my favour”—so he said to Grendar, “You seemed quite moved by the Emperor’s compliment when we returned.”
Grendar was truly caught off-guard by the comment. He mumbled, “Thank you,” and quickly lifted a mug he had only just poured in order to hide his reaction. Aralim didn’t know what to make of it.
“You’re good at what you do,” Aralim assured him. “And you’re not the type to make the same mistake twice. You’ll likely be on the First Court one day.”
The sergeant finally recovered. “Thank you for the compliment. There’s a few people ahead of me in line, though,” he said, with a chuckle.
One-by-one, the other guards arrived. Yovin was now responsible for organizing operations and managing maintenance for a barracks. Lerela was doing better than she had been on their voyage back from Maga, but she still seemed quieter and more reserved than before her injury. Now Lerela worked as a bodyguard for Raug’za, a member of the Second Court and one of Greatfather Athanu’s grandchildren. Carrak, on the other hand, only served minimal soldier’s duties so he could learn a supporting role—a common routine for many soldiers. In his case, he was now apprenticed to a bowyer and fletcher, making bows and arrows for archers in the army.
Aralim congratulated them where congratulations were due and told them he was glad that none served on patrols in the city. Then, after a mix-matched meal of their own rations and some food Aralim had brought, the group dispersed. Aralim wished them fortune and clasped hands with each as they went. To Lerela, he said, “May I speak with you a moment longer?”
She had already started to walk away, but she paused for him to catch up. With a shrug, she responded, “Of course. How can I help?”
“You seem to be more yourself. Are you recovering, or…?” Aralim trailed off inquisitively.
“I’m doing better than I was,” Lerela said. “I’m not the old me, but I’m still a damn fine soldier, thanks to you and that lake.”
Aralim nodded. “Are you feeling more willing to talk about your experiences in the lake? Enarrin said our visions may be worth investigating.”
Lerela looked at him as though assessing a threat or analyzing a tactical factor. She had never told him that she had a vision in the Eye of Maga—but now Aralim was more certain than ever that she had. At last she admitted, “I spoke with him a few weeks ago, at Sergeant Grendar’s orders. It helped, but…” She looked down, clearly distraught. “It’s not something I can solve like a soldier, so I feel powerless against my fate.”
“Your fate?” Aralim asked, concerned.
“You saw signs, portents of an eventful future. I saw my own death, Ambassador.” Lerela paused, tears in her eyes. “I woke up from a deep and gentle sleep to visions of my death. It would have been better for me to perish in that forest where I nearly did.”
“You said once that you chose a soldier’s life knowing that it would one day kill you—and that you chose duty anyway. Why is that different now that you know it does?”
Lerela nodded. She looked up again, but then distracted herself by rubbing a spot from the hawk beak of her iron helmet, held in the crook of her elbow. “I’m trying to see it that way—that’s what Master Enarrin suggested, too, when he confirmed that such visions, if magic, always come true,” she explained. “But it’s different than I thought… or maybe I’m different. It’ll just take more time, I suppose.”
“You’re allowed to not want to die,” Aralim assured her. “If you ever want to go for a walk, it’s kind of what I do.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I should get going.”
Aralim tipped his head and watched her march away. He took a deep breath, remembering the gravestone in his own vision, and walked back across the mosaic roots of Fortress Marana’s courtyard. He knew he would be distracted from such sombre thoughts—simply by returning home. Hayan and Arith were anxious with last minute wedding preparations and the buzz of excitement was growing contagious in the estate.