WARNING! This document includes material of a sexual nature. Reader discretion is advised. If this stuff is illegal where you live, please don't read it. If you are under the age of 21, please, find something else. The characters in this document engage in risky sexual behavior that could result in pregnancy, disease, or social distress. They are imaginary professionals; they don't worry about such things. Please, don't try this at home. Please don't redistribute this document without my express permission. Reposts are fine, provided this little blurb is in the front of the document. Please don't put it on your web page without my permission. Trying to make money from this is a definite no-no.

-- Demotic

Wallace gripped his bear-skin great coat tighter around him and shivered. He had a cold, and was not in the least bit happy with the uncooperative weather. He sneezed, rubbed his tender nose with the back of his sleeve, and contemplated the mountains to the west. Tall and majestic, many of the peaks were permanently capped with snow and ice. This was Mountainview at its most beautiful, but Captain James Wallace was not awestruck by the mountain's striking scenery. Instead, he saw months of hardship and difficult labor. And he was still unconvinced that the lower passes were clear of snow. Next to him, Colonel Greise was looking at the same mountains and seeing nothing but golden opportunities.

"I'm telling you, Jim, General Everlee promised that those passes are open," Greise stated for the third time that dawn. "Your troops will have no problems up there."

"Who are you trying to convince, sir?" Wallace responded politely.

"Obie Smith has no worries," Greise pointed out.

And Smith is a fool, Wallace thought. "Begging your pardon sir, but Major Smith doesn't have to take his men up into those mountains."

"Smith is a realist, Jim. You'd be hard-pressed to find another major as qualified as him," Greise said proudly.

Wallace held his tongue. "I'll do my duty, sir."

"Good," Greise replied. "It's awfully cold out this morning, isn't it?"

"Freezing, sir," Wallace replied wryly. "But I'm sure the passes are warm."

"That's the spirit!" Greise exclaimed happily. "Those intelligence officers know the terrain. Trust them."

Wallace didn't trust the intelligence officers any farther than he could throw them, but he knew not to say so. "Any chance of getting those galloper guns from Colonel Sanderson?"

Greise shook his head. "The Fifth will be getting ready for a push towards the Skulls next week, Jim. They don't want to give up anything right now."

"I'd like some kind of artillery, sir. These mountain goblins sound a lot better organized than the Skulls. And who knows how those damn Points will respond."

"The Points are harmless as long as we stay away from their sacred groves," Greise told him. "Primrose will steer you clear of any trouble with the elves. Besides, they hate the Talons. They'll probably lead you right to their lair."

Wallace wasn't too sure of that, but once more he kept silent. "I hope so, sir."

"That's the spirit, Jim!" the colonel slapped him heavily on the back.

* * *

Grant Black's head was pounding as he made his way to the Officer's Mess, the taste of his father's finest vintage still sour in his mouth. He was waited on by the young girl, Anna, who dutifully brought him a pot of steaming coffee and a cup with which to drink it. He was well into his third cup when the door swung open and Major Smith strode in.

"Wench!" he demanded. "I want breakfast." He glared at Anna, who seemed to be close to tears. Black winced as Smith spoke. He did not have the kind of voice conducive for recovery from a hangover.

"Ah, Mister Black," the Major growled. "A beautiful morning, isn't it?"

Black nodded. "Yes, sir."

"You look a bit under the weather, lieutenant. Did the colonel keep you up to late with stories of his past exploits?"

"No, sir."

"That's a shame," the major said, sitting down at Black's table. "You know, it wasn't until this morning that I realized who you were, Mister Black."

Black got a horrible, sinking feeling in his gut.

The major gave him a smug smile. "Not a big deal to these backwater gentlemen turned officers, of course. None of them cares about what happens back east."

The lieutenant glared at the major. "What is it that you think you know, Smith?"

Smith clucked. "Temper, temper, Black. That's not good for a junior officer. I shall have to warn Wally about that," he made a show of picking dust off his uniform. "Of course, Wally thinks the world of you. But he doesn't know who you really are."

"Of course he does," Black snapped. "I'm Second Lieutenant Grant Black."

"Yes, the wayward son of the Bachelor of Idlewood."

Black was stonily silent.

"Ah, I see I've hit a nerve. Was it the word, 'wayword'? Perhaps it's what it implies, hum?"

"I don't know what you are talking about, major."

"Oh, I think you do, lieutenant. Grant Black, murderer of Christopher Brickley, second son of the Idlewood Master Steward. It may not be big news out here on the frontier, but I like to be kept apprised of events back home. I get the papers, albeit a few months late. I won't be out here all my life, you know. Someday soon I'll get my own battalion, and I'll be out of this infernal country. But you, you paid your debt to society by joining the army. And by some miracle, you were given a spot at the academy. It caused quite the stir back in the Capital," Smith considered Black for a moment. "So what does it feel like to kill someone, Black?"

"I don't know," Black replied. "Why don't you ask Brickley when you meet him in hell."

"Oh, spare me the histrionics, Black. I'm not afraid of you. You're a miserable second lieutenant in a third rate regiment out in the middle of nowhere. This is the end of the line for you," Smith gave him another arrogant smile. "But for someone like me, this is only the beginning. I'm going to go back to the Capital and become someone's legate, Black. I may need someone like you, for muscle. Someone that people fear."

"Someone like me, a known murderer?"

"Precisely."

"It was self-defense, you know. It was hardly a cold-blooded act."

"That's not what I read, Black. You killed him because he was lying with your whore."

Black colored. "I killed him because he pulled a knife on me and gave me no other choice."

"Ah, an interesting perspective, I'm sure," Smith said smugly. "I can pay you well, you know. I am a partner in a wealthy trading firm in Coastside. When I get my colonelcy, I'm going back and putting out a shingle in the Capital, and I will start my political career. And I'm offering you an entrance at the ground floor."

Black shook his head. "I'm not leaving the army, major. I'm not interested."

"Really?" Smith gestured at the building around him. "This is as big as your world gets, Black. He may have been only a commoner, but Brickley's death will follow you to your grave. You'll never make first lieutenant, Black, let alone a respectable rank like captain or major. I'm offering you a chance to become something better. All you have to do is serve your commission until I'm a colonel, then I request you for my command. I'm sure a bachelor or banoret will be enticed by a lawyer who is also a military man. Just think, Black, you could serve a man who is legate to the lords, a law maker, a man of power in the Capital."

"My father is a lord. What makes you think I'd rather serve you than him?" Black asked.

"Serve your father? After he refused to buy you a commission? I read the papers, Black. Your father threw you to the wolves. It was only because Brickley was a stinking commoner and you a gentleman that you were allowed to join the army. You had no choice. The army our twenty years in prison. I'm offering you a second chance, a chance to rise above a petty lieutenancy and to return to your proper place. You're a member of the gentry, Black. You should be doing your duty to the emperor in a meaningful way, a way that suits your station."

"I've never had any use for politics, sir."

Smith laughed. "So you serve the emperor as a common soldier."

"I'm an officer," Black said, angrily stabbing a finger at him. "Don't forget that, Smith."

"An officer?" Smith sneered. "You're a fucking second lieutenant, Black, marginally better than an ensign, leader of the Fourth Platoon of Wallace's ridiculous Light Company. You're an officer in name, but you are really just a glorified sergeant. I can give you more than that, Black, a chance for power, wealth, influence."

"I'm not resigning my commission."

"Oh, that's mighty big of you, Black. You want to serve the emperor, is that it? It certainly isn't because he pays you well. I'll tell you what, Black, you serve me, and I'll make you rich -- and I won't drag your name through the mud with the colonel."

'That sounds more like a threat than a promise of employment," Black replied dryly.

"Take it how you want to, Black."

"I don't work for politicians," Black said, standing up. "Good day, sir."

"No one says no to me, Black," Smith said, warningly.

"I believe I just did," Black said, then stormed out into the sun.

* * *

The First Line Company and the Light Company spent the rest of the day breaking down winter quarters and preparing for the following day's march. It was hectic work. Entire families had to reconsider exactly what it was that they really needed for the summer and what was weighty junk. Smith sent Wallace instructions that his unit was not to bring along families, as the line company didn't want to be stuck with additional mouths to feed while the Light Company went gallivanting around the mountains. Wallace countered the order by appealing to Lieutenant Colonel Carson, who overrode Smith's objections and allowed the Light Company to bring along their families to the forward fort.

Wallace and Smith made their rounds around their companies, making unannounced visits to their lieutenants to make sure that everyone stayed on schedule. Lieutenants rode sergeants all day, constantly demanding updates on the progress of their platoons. The men in the rank and file were up to their ears in work, delegating as much as they could to their spouses while they themselves made sure they were ready to march to war.

Strummer was in a foul mood. Although the new lieutenant was technically in charge of the Fourth Platoon, it was Strummer who managed the day-to-day details. It was Strummer who did the muster calls, the bed checks, who listened to the worries and concerns of the men. Strummer insured that everyone was fed, that they had enough cartridges, that the soldiers had all the equipment that was assigned to them. Men like Black might command in battle, but it was on the backs of men like Strummer that they stood. And Strummer felt positively stomped on that day. It was the burden of his responsibilities, and the inability of the Fourth's young men to understand their orders, that had made the day such a headache for the big sergeant.

Strummer kept a close eye on the four squads that made up the platoon. Pacing like an expectant father, he waited for something to go wrong. Every few minutes, he spotted something that needed to be adjusted, fixed or redone.

"Buckland!" Strummer bellowed at a private. The young man had been with the 3^rd for eighteen months, and still hadn't learned everything that was expected of him. Whereas other veterans of a year and a half might be musketeers or first class privates, Buckland was one of the unfortunates who couldn't quite master the intricacies of military life.

Buckland looked up from what he was doing, dread written across his features. "Yes, sarge?"

"What in the Prince's name do you think you are doing with that bedroll?"

"I'm rolling it, sarge."

"Not like that you aren't. Didn't your drill sergeant teach you how to roll a bedroll properly?"

Buckland thought about how to respond to that. Strummer snarled, "I showed you how to do it last week. Now stop being so sloppy and do it correctly."

* * *

Black himself was stashing his belongings back in his small, battered chest. He didn't have many things to his name, and his life in the military had made traveling light an asset. His haversack was already packed, his kit safely stowed in it's recesses. The lieutenant was carefully folding his dress uniform when a gangly corporal appeared in his open door frame.

Salutes were exchanged and Black gave the soldier the once over. Dressed impeccably, he was all arms and legs, with a bird-like face and a large, overgrown mustache that covered his lips. He squinted out of one eye at Black; the other was almost completely closed. Black guessed he was in his late twenties or early thirties; he was not one of the young boys typically found at the rank of corporal.

"Good afternoon, sir," the corporal said cheerfully. "I'm Corporal Yorke, your servant."

Black chuckled. "You were Segwick's man?"

Yorke nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Where have you been the last two days?"

"I was with the unit, sir. Lieutenant Segwick thought it was proper that I serve with the rest of the men," Yorke continued. "I assumed Sergeant Strummer told you of the arrangement, and you would send for me when you needed me."

"I see," Black replied, not really thrilled with the idea of a servant. He had lived the past eight years without a servant, and had grown rather fond of the privacy it gave him. Besides, if Yorke served in the ranks in addition to serving his master, the poor corporal was doubtless putting in long days. Truth be told, Black wasn't sure what to do with the man. He gestured at the bed and told the corporal to have a seat.

"Are you ready to go, Yorke?"

"Yes, sir. I was hoping I could help you get your things together."

To rob him, or to earn a little extra on the side? Black wasn't sure. But he was Segwick's servant, which meant he had proven worthy of his predecessor's trust. The lieutenant didn't know if Segwick's instincts were right on character judgments, however. "Where are you from, Yorke?"

"Sussex Acres, sir."

"What do they grow there?"

"Grass, sir. For cattle."

"So you were a farmer?" Black continued to pack as he interviewed Yorke.

"I was, sir. We had some tough years, weren't able to pay the landlord. I joined the army to get away from debtor's prison. I've been serving for ten years now, sir. I could do that for you, sir."

Black waved him off. "Are you married, Yorke?"

"Yes sir. Wife and three boys. Here in the fort."

"So you do double duty to support them?"

Yorke nodded. "Those boys will eat me out of house and home, sir."

"It's only going to get worse, corporal. Do you want to continue to do double duty, Yorke?"

"If I could, sir, I would like to keep doing both jobs. You can ask Sergeant Strummer if you need a reference."

"That's not necessary, corporal," Black replied. "You can continue to draw pay for both positions. I'll inform the sergeant."

"Thank you so much, sir. The money's been tight since the old lieutenant died. I don't know what we would've done if you had turned me down."

"Don't mention it, Yorke. But I expect you to be an exemplary soldier."

"Exemplary, sir?"

"A very good soldier. The best you can be."

"Of course, sir."

"I don't really need you this afternoon, Yorke. I'm sure you have other things to attend to."

"Thank you, sir." Yorke fired off a quick salute and headed off.

* * *

Black spent the remainder of the day getting things in order. His personal affects, hardly disturbed out of their chest, were packed away by mid-afternoon. His platoon, ably handled by it's sergeants, was also soon packed. Black was so pleased with their progress that he gave them the remainder of the afternoon off, free from drills and parade, and retired back to his quarters, he dug out a dog-eared copy of _The Adventures of Nathaniel Drew_ and began to read. He had read the book twice already over the past winter, but he had precious little space in his trunk for reading material.

He ate a late dinner at the officers' mess, then returned to his quarters to bed down for the night. When he arrived, however, he saw light coming from under the door. Cautiously, he opened his door to discover Jane Hershell sitting on his cot. A broad, infectious smile lit up her face as he entered. Black smiled back. He couldn't help it. "I was wondering if you'd come back," he told her.

She smiled at him, like the cat who had swallowed the canary. "I've come back for an encore, Mister Black."

"Oh, really?" Black responded, raising an eyebrow. "What makes you think there will be a repeat performance?"

She chuckled as she stood up. "Because last night we hurried, and I know you'd like a less rushed encounter."

"You speak very well, Miss Hershell. Where were you educated?" he asked, watching her unlace her pale blue stomacher. There was no hiding his evident interest; a bulge was appearing in his tight trousers, and his eyes were watching her slowly disrobe.

She tossed the stomacher aside. "My mother taught me to read. She was a teacher, remember."

Black removed his shako and began to undo his silk stock. "She taught you well. You speak like a lady who has been to a fine finishing school."

Her fingers went to work on her corset. "You flatter me, as always, Mister Black."

"It's easy to flatter one as beautiful as you," he replied, removing his steel gorget.

She pulled her corset up over head and placed it next to her stomacher on Black's camp chair. "You are a honey-tongued devil, Mister Black."

He unknotted his cravat and placed it next to stock and gorget on his desk. "And I'm like a bee to your honey, Miss Hershell."

She rolled her eyes and blushed slightly. "You really are good at talking a girl out of her clothes," she said as she pulled her dress over her head.

She wore a long chemise underneath, but Black could see her shoes and stockings. He shrugged out of his gold coat, then quickly removed his tunic and boots. He was now naked from the waist up. He pulled his socks off as she delicately sat on his cot and removed her shoes and stockings. "You are moving out tomorrow?" she asked.

"First light," he replied, removing his socks.

She watched him expectantly for a moment, admiring his hard, lean frame. She stood up and moved towards him as he began to undo his breeches. She gazed upon his crotch in unveiled fascination as he lowered his pants and exposed his raging erection. With a smile, she lifted her chemise up and over her head, baring herself to him. Black shook his head in wonder. "You have a gorgeous body," he told her.

She wrapped her arms around him, bringing her body into close contact with his, the warmth from her breasts and genitalia arousing him more fully. Their lips met, softly this time, gently. There was no hurried rush for entry, no overwhelming desire, just a slowly burning passion that suffused them with warmth and want.

He let her tongue dance across his, play across his teeth, probe deeply into his mouth. Black's arms embraced her at her waist, his fingers fanned wide, his rough calluses against her smooth back and sides. Her own fingers entwined themselves in his hair as her tongue poked and prodded in his mouth. He slipped his hands across and over her back, reveling in the texture of her skin, delighting in the feel of her spine underneath the pads of his fingers.

Black broke liplock and moved his lips to her neck, gently teasing her silken throat. Like Black, her face and neck had become tanned in the Mountainview sun, but beyond the low décolletage, she was a milky white. Black kept to the tanned skin of her neck and throat, dipping briefly down to kiss the slopes of her breast before returning to her neck.

She made a satisfied sound in her throat as Black's ministrations became a little more forceful. Teeth now nipped and nibbled, his kisses were a touch more passionate, his tongue licking strongly instead of lightly flicking. She ran her hands from his head down his back, her soft hands feeling the mass of scar tissue over his left shoulder, and the smoothness of his otherwise virginal back. Her fingers raced to his wonderfully shaped buttocks, full of power and tight from work, and she squeezed them powerfully.

Black returned to her lips, feeling his hardness pinned between their warm bodies, luxuriating in the satiny feel of her pale belly. They kissed once more, this time more passionately, power and need behind their tongues where teasing and exploration had been before. Then he dipped to her throat once more, nibbling and kissing his way down to her clavicle, then lower, to her breast.

His tongue and lips made their way across the swells of her bosum, ignoring the aureole and the hot tips of her nipples. She could feel his day's growth of beard rasping against tender and sensitive skin, the moisture of kisses rapidly cooling as he moved across her body. She moaned when he came close to the centers of her breasts, then moved away. She moved her hands up from his buttocks to push his head closer to those erogenous centers.

Finally, his tongue lapped against her nipple, and she gasped in pleasure, the mewed softly as his teeth ever-so-gently nipped. He drew her nipple into his mouth, causing Jane to gasp as powerful waves of pleasure shot through her body to her core. She felt his penis against her knee, then part from her, as he stooped slightly to get better access to her breasts. Longing to feel it, she reached for it, wrapped her fingers around its smooth, warm shaft, and sighed lovingly. His fingernails ran gentle trails down her back, the caress as powerfully arousing as his mouth on her breasts.

Suddenly, he gathered her up in his powerful arms and lifted her from the cabin's earthen floor. He lowered her onto the bed, kissing her lips passionately, driving the breath from her lungs. They were both breathing heavily now, intoxicated by each other's scent, delirious from the caresses they were sharing. She reached for his cock again, stroked it slowly and delicately, almost as if she were afraid to break it. Black moved in for another kiss, his lips scorching hers with the heat of his desire.

She could feel his rough hands against her hips, then sliding up and down her thighs. A delicious tremor shot through her again, and involuntarily, her pelvis twitched. She sighed, reached between their bodies, and cupped his balls in one hand while other continued to work against him in a gentle milking motion.

His hands slid back up her thighs, across her hips, up her sides and then up to her breasts. His tongue danced against hers as his rough palms concealed her nipples, brushing against the sensitive nubs with a mixture of pressure and smoothness, just enough to send a spark to her core once more. His lips captured her lower lip and sucked on it, and Jane moaned, the sensation overcoming her own urge to stay quiet.

Then he was moving down her body, and her hands left his erection. She felt the wetness of the tip, the lubricating pre-ejaculate, and this excited her more than his kisses on her breasts. Hungrily, she gripped his head in her hands as his mouth worked against the summits of her breasts, tongue bathing her pink aureole, the lashing her nipples. She sighed softly as his mouth kissed the underside of her breasts, then the upper swathe of her flat, hard belly. It was so pale compared to the skin of her neck; a milky white, untouched by the sun's darkening rays.

His kisses traveled lower, and her stomach quivered in excitement and anticipation of what she was sure was to come. His tongue darted into the blonde thicket of her pubic hair, and she cooed as his breath tickled the skin between her legs. Soon, his tongue was rasping against her delicate folds, seeking out her centers of pleasure with the skill of a surgeon in an operating theater. She gripped the blankets on his bed and ground her teeth to keep from screaming out. Her thighs clamped down on his ears as he found her clitoris and soon she was climbing the heights towards orgasm.

Black was kneeling on the floor now, knees on the dirt, rough cheek against her smooth, well-toned thigh. His tongue tickled the folds of her labia, which his fingers had thoughtfully spread open, and would every so often rise to the tiny nodule of flesh that was her clitoris. She groaned each time he licked her clit, wallowed in the sensations of his tongue against her nether lips, clenched her fists each time he found her center and drove her closer to climax.

His tongue swirled and lapped, tickled and teased, circled and flicked. One of his hands left off its spreading duties to gently tease the delicate stretch of skin between vagina and anus. She wriggled her hips in delight as she felt his index finger softly probed her entrance, so damp from his ministrations and her excitement, then gasped as it entered her in a single, liquid movement.

Black rested his tired jaw for a moment as his finger entered her tight, wet cavity. He looked up at her, her shapely breasts rising and falling in pants, her face a mask of rapture. He slowly began to move his finger in and out, out and in, substituting his digit for his manhood as he she continued to writhe above him. He turned his wrist, ran his finger to the spot on the front wall of her vagina, and rubbed.

She cried out loud, startling herself with the ferocity of the sensation and the strength of her vocalization. He continued to rub, and she almost sat up. Her stomach pulsed with each cry, her breasts quivered, her eyelids fluttered. She was getting close now. He leaned forward and licked a circle around her clitoris, then enclosed it between his lips and gently sucked it in.

Jane's legs scissored around his head, thighs clamping powerfully against his ears, calves taunt against his bare back. Her hips drove upward into his face, banging his own hand against his chin as his finger felt her clamp tunnel down spasmodically. Her back arched and she screamed out with delight. Anyone within a hundred yards knew someone had reached the lofty heights, as this was a powerful, gutteral scream, a passionate scream. Hershell, flushed by her exertions and embarrassed by the strength of her response, turned a flustered shade of pink.

She crashed down on the cot, her bosum heaving, trying to catch the breath that Black's tongue and hands had driven from her. He gently slipped his finger, coated with her fluids, from her vagina and crawled onto the cot with her, wrapping her hot body with his equally hot self. She could feel him hard against her buttocks, still engorged with his need, and she turned to face him -- a graceless feat on Black's cot -- and kissed his lips again. She could taste herself on him.

She reached down between them and began to gently tease herself with the tip of his erection. Pre-cum had oozed from it and coated it with a film of fluid. She lifted her leg over his hip and pointed his penis into her opening. Soon, he was inside her.

She pressed on his shoulder, laying him flat on the cot as she rolled to get astride him. Her breasts were hot points against his chest, her skin silky soft and surprisingly warm despite the coldness of the night. He was soon fully inside her, down the base of his cock, and she gently began a slow rhythm of her own devising.

Her lips came against his again, her tongue lapping up her own sweet nectar. Her hands ran through the mat of dark hair on his chest, gently squeezing his powerful pectorals, lightly teasing his nipples with her fingertips. All the while, she gently rocked over him, his own hips matching her thrust for thrust, his desire building in ever-so-slight increments as Jane slowly built up speed.

Soon the gentle rocking had become slow thrusting, then a leisurely rut. Speed was increasing exponentially, and in no time at all she was driving her hips powerfully down onto his while he thrust, almost spasmodically, up into her glorious wet channel. She could feel his muscles tense below her, wondered at the raw power in his body, felt a new excitement grow deep within her. His penis, deep inside her as they merged fully, drove delirious waves of excitement through her liquid core. She felt herself begin to clench at him wantonly, without any conscious effort, hoping to draw out the sensation of him deep within her.

Soon, she peaked, and Black was driving up into her so powerfully that her insides felt like jelly. She cried out as her orgasm swept over her, heard him groan below her, then felt him lurch within her depths as he jolted up into her with a maddeningly strong thrust. Then the pulse came, Black quivered below her, and she knew he was spent.

* * *

Black woke to the shutting of his door. It was dark outside and the lantern was out. Somehow, Jane had managed not to wake him when she got up and dressed. It had only been the opening of the door that had caused him to stir.

He yawned and stretched, then rummaged around in the dark for his trousers. He put them on, felt around for his coat, then opened the door. It was dark outside, but the light from the two moons was bright enough to read a watch by. He took out his pocket watch, glanced at the time, and stretched again. Time enough for a cup of coffee before heading over to the platoon. He returned to his quarters, dressed properly, and headed for the officer's mess. He wasn't sure it was open at this hour, but he was in luck.

The cook gave him a weary glance. "Good morning, sir," he yawned. "Yer up early this morning."

"Moving out today," Black replied. He could see the cook had just relieved the scullery maid, who was putting on her coat to head off to her own quarters. "You wouldn't happen to have a pot of coffee on that stove yet?"

"I'll get one goin' fer ya, sir," the cook responded.

Black plopped down heavily on a nearby bench. His saber bounced against his leg and he yawned again. He had dallied far too long with the fair Miss Hershell, and was now paying for it. Black removed his shako and set it on the table. Then he cradled his head in his hands and waited for his first cup of coffee.

The cook arrived with a steaming pot of coffee and put it on the table along with a ceramic mug. "Here ya go, sir."

"Thank you," Black said, truly meaning it. He poured himself a cup of coffee and relished the first few scalding hot swallows. In no time at all, he had thrown back the first cup. Within half-an-hour, Black felt vaguely human again, stood up, thanked the cook once more, and headed off to the Fourth Platoon's encampment.

Strummer already had the men up. Or, rather, he was attempting to get them up. There were a few souls already moving around, helping their women break down tents, dressing, cleaning muskets, making breakfast. It was four o'clock in the morning, and Black was surprised to see so many cheerful faces. Black suspected it was the prospect of something different, something new, that made getting up such a promising enterprise. He knew that many of them had to have been exceptionally bored over the winter.

"Hawkins! McCormick! Gruebber! Come on, ya lazy bums!" Strummer was hollering in the general direction of three dark tents. "We haven't got all morning!"

Black watched as the tiny tents that had served as his mens' winter quarters started coming down. Men in their uniforms and great coats worked next to their wives and lovers. Young children screamed with excitement or fear at all activity. Other soldiers stopped to place a pot of coffee over a fire pit. Black counted forty-five men in uniform, was satisfied they were all up and present, and left the real work to Strummer. The lieutenant looked for Yorke and spotted him helping a woman take down a tent. He noticed three young boys, the youngest a toddler, the eldest perhaps six, sitting nearby, playing with crude, yellow-painted dolls; toy soldiers.

Black approached Yorke, noting the disapproving stares from his yellow coats. "Good morning, corporal."

Yorke looked surprised, and snapped to attention. "Good morning, sir!"

"At ease, corporal," Black told him. "When you are done here, I have a chest and a pack that need to be delivered to the platoon's wagon. Can you take care of that?"

"Certainly sir," Yorke said.

"Good," Black said, looking around. He spotted a soldier tying his long hair back in a ponytail, the style of the Imperial military. "Private, what's your name?"

"David Futrell, sir."

"Okay, Futrell. Corporal Yorke will have need of you this morning. There's a chest and a pack that need to be brought to the baggage wagon before we parade this morning. You are tell help him with it."

"Yes, sir."

Suddenly, all the men in the vicinity snapped to attention. Black turned to see Captain Wallace approaching him, greeting the men with a relaxed salute and a smile. The men began to relax and soon had returned to whatever it was that they had been doing before he appeared. Wallace was wrapped in his bear-skin great cloak, and was clearly shivering.

"Nice to see you up and around, Lieutenant Black," Wallace said, returning Black's salute. "I trust you slept well?"

"Like a log, sir," Black replied. He added, "The Fourth Platoon will be ready by dawn."

"Good. I'll have you know this platoon was the first one up this morning, and you are the first officer of the Light Company into the breach, as it were," he smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. There was tension in those eyes, a tension born of wariness and caution, and the certain knowledge that things were never as simple as they seemed. "I hope I can count on you out there in the mountains, Black."

"You can, sir."

Wallace seemed distracted. "Good," he replied, clapping a hand on Black's back. "I'll see you a bit later, I have to check on the rest of the company."

And Wallace was gone, leaving the platoon to its own devices. An hour later, the sky just starting to turn gray in the west, the second moon beginning it's descent in the east, the Fourth Platoon had nearly broken camp. Black stood near the baggage wagons that had been assigned to the platoon, and carefully supervised the loading of the platoon's cargo. Teamsters were eyeing Black warily, and Black looked at them with just as much suspicion. One of them was a particularly burly looking half-orc named Jed, and it was apparent to the lieutenant that Jed would like nothing better than to be left unwatched. Aware that teamsters often robbed the baggage trains, and given that Jed looked like an unsavory type, Black stood his ground.

A young PFC jogged forward, saluted Black, then gave his pack to Jed. Black gestured him over. The PFC, laden with only his musket, canteen and magazine, came over, a look of concern on his face. Obviously, he thought he had done something wrong.

"What's your name, soldier?"

"P.F.C. Collins, sir."

"Fourth Platoon, Light Company?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. I want you to stand here and watch these two men," Black told him. Jed shot him a dirty look. "I don't want them getting any ideas with our baggage."

Collins eyes opened wide when he glanced over at the massive Jed, then nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Is your gun loaded?"

"No, sir."

"Load it. If they do anything untowards, shoot them."

This time, it was Jed who blanched.

"Shoot them?"

"You heard me, Collins."

"Yes, sir."

Black left Collins with the two wagons, heading for the stable. The stable was a vast building, easily the largest in Fort Armstrong, made of mudbrick and mesquite boards. It housed hundreds of horses in its spacious interior. Its earthen floor was strewn with hay and horse droppings, and the animals themselves seemed anxious and jittery. They knew something was up, could sense it in their handlers, could feel it in the hum of activity around their home. Black found his horse, already saddled up, mounted her and took her out of the building.

He guided her back to his platoon, letting her set her own pace, happy that she seemed more curious by the activity than frightened by it. Jessie was a good horse, inquisitive without being overtly curious, calm without being overly sedate. Given how uncomfortable Black was riding, it was a pleasure to have found a horse that fit his needs. It somewhat assuaged the pain of parting with so many crowns to buy her.

The next few hours were full of hectic activity for the men of the Light Company. Black watched them with professional interest, gauging his sergeants, learning the names of those who seemed to have the most difficulty following their directions, watching those who seemed too clever to still be privates. Black started learning names, observed weaknesses in the platoon's operating procedures, noted which men had wives, lovers and children. In short, Black was studying his platoon and how it worked -- 40 enlisted men, five sergeants, two dozens wives/lovers, a dozen children. Black was responsible to them all, and he never felt more acutely cognizant of that fact than at that moment.

By dawn, the Light and First Line Companies had already put in three hours of work. Baggage was stowed, tents were packed, guards were posted at the wagons to watch the untrustworthy teamsters. Officers were mounted on their horses, and the forward courtyard was now lined with men eager to watch the spectacle of several hundred people marching off to war. In a fort still suffering from the long boredom of winter, there was an almost celebratory air. Many of the fort's inhabitants had risen, although the fact that reveille had sounded a quarter hour before may have swelled the spectator's numbers some.

Two squares of yellow coats stood in the courtyard, a long line of camp followers and wagons waiting just beyond. Each square numbered 180 armed men, enlisted and sergeants, before which stood three men who made up the company's staff. Next to them were two drummer boys. The unit's officers rode nearby on their horses. There were two men on horseback next to the Light Company's staff, but Black didn't recognize either of them and noted that they weren't wearing the epualets or lanyards of an officer. Black took up his position off the back right quarter of the Light Company, the Fourth Platoon, and watched as Wallace, Smith, Greise, and Carson rode past their troops, making a final inspection before sending them off into the mountains. A soldier in Black's platoon said something; Strummer hissed for them to shut up. The great gates opened, and Wallace split off from Greise, Smith and Carson to ride to the front of his company. Smith stayed a moment longer, said something to the colonels, then rode over to his company.

Smith said something to the company's first sergeant, who turned and bellowed, "Column of Half-Squads!"

Smith's drummer boys began to beat a slow marching cadence, and the first squad of the First Line Company began marching forward, half of them waiting three steps before falling into line behind the first. The second squad of the First Platoon followed, and soon, a column formed, five men wide, marching right by the drummer boys, the staff, and Smith. A young first lieutenant clicked his horse forward and rode alongside the men of his platoon as it went forward. With mechanical precision, the square that had been Major Smith's company broke itself down into a column five men wide. Dust was kicked up by hooves and boots, and many of the bystanders coughed as they huddled in their great coats.

The Emperor's men were off to war.

* * *

The two companies marched all day, stopping every few hours to take a rest. After the first rest break, the Light Company took over the lead, three of the four platoons marching in column, led by Captain Wallace. The First Platoon broke up into teams of two men, and they marched outside the edges of the column, some as many as several hundred yards from the main body, their muskets loaded and ready for trouble. The Light Company did not fight in rank and file, but instead in skirmish order. The First Platoon were acting as mobile pickets, and were intended to spot trouble should it appear.

Black rode only briefly, instead preferring to walk his horse beside his men. Several of the men smiled briefly in surprise as Black shared their lot, but Strummer found the new lieutenant's actions a naked -- and pathetic -- attempt to win favor with his men.

After half-a-day's march, the mountains seemed no closer, the First Platoon rejoined the column, and the companies intermingled to share lunch. The wagons, pulled by oxen, lumbered along behind, the teamsters accompanied by a soldier, ostensibly to protect them from goblin attack. In truth, they were there to guard the baggage from pilfering hands. Each break was just long enough to allow the wagon train and camp followers to close the distance between them, although the midday break was long enough for the teamsters to unhitch their animals and allow them to graze.

Black ate lunch with the Jacksons -- Mary, surly as always, continued to berate and belittle her husband both to his face and behind his back. Jackson himself was not drunk, although his pores reeked of alcohol and he looked exceptionally miserable. Black and Jane Hershell ignored each other, hiding their intimacies from her master and mistress. Black, especially, found the fiction difficult, as he enjoyed the playful banter he shared with the young chambermaid. Thankfully for him, Jane ate with a group of other servants nearby after seeing to her mistress's needs, and the encounter was distressingly brief. After lunch, the First Platoon rejoined the main body, replaced on the picket line by the Second Platoon. The process repeated itself, with a break to rest the men and allow the wagon train to catch up with them.

They marched until a quarter till five, with the sun low on the horizon. Camp was made; officers sleeping in tents, the sergeants and enlisted men sleeping on the ground under the chilly sky. Kitchen fires were lit, and the wives and lovers of the men began cooking. Soldiers, released from the day's long walk, began playing cards or dice with each other. Others played with infants, while still others told tall tales to older children. It was army life at its finest, Black decided, and felt a pang of loneliness. As a newcomer, he had few friends among the officer ranks, and the enlisted men and sergeants looked at him as they did all other officers; aloof and well beyond their station.

Black listened to Strummer's report -- everyone was present and accounted for -- and headed over to Captain Wallace's tent to deliver the news that all was well with the Fourth Platoon.

Inside the tent, chatting with Wallace, was Major Smith.

Wallace looked at Black with stern scowl. Black stood at attention and saluted the two officers. Neither officer returned the salute. "Is it true, Black?"

"Is what true, sir?" Black felt a lump forming in the pit of his stomach.

"Dammit man, you know what we are talking about. Is it true you joined the army because you killed a man?"

"Yes, sir."

"Prince Mercosa," Wallace swore. "You lied to me."

Black stood mutely at attention. Smith had a huge grin on his face. Black wanted nothing more than to wipe that smile clean of the major's face.

"I can't have you in my company, Black," Wallace continued. "What's wrong with this army, major? A common murderer a officer?"

"I told you, Jim, the Academy is a bad idea. They should stick with the ensign system. It's much more proper."

The captain shot the major a look, then looked disgustedly at Black. "After this mission, lieutenant, I'm informing Colonel Greise that I'll need a new second lieutenant. I can't have you commanding my men. I don't trust you."

"For what it's worth, sir, I'm sorry."

"Good Gods, man," Wallace looked betrayed. "You are supposed to be a gentleman. Now get out of my sight."

"Yes sir," Black turned and started to go. "Sir?"

"I told you to go, lieutenant."

Black nodded and left.