The Captain spoke, and Kaerun did not listen.

It was not out of malice, nor any sense of disloyalty; rather he'd had his fill of imperious speeches and the justifications that commanders made to their soldiers. Those around him might allow themselves to be convinced or cajoled into believing that what they did mattered, or that their actions might somehow tip the scales or bring some good to the Company, or whatever it was the Captain needed them to believe.

Kaerun only anticipated the coin. Or perhaps the grave, at long last.

What else was there?

Around him the others paid varying degrees of attention to their leader. He knew them all by sight and by reputation, though he could not always remember one or the other in any given moment. He knew that one of them reminded him of a lover who'd spurned him in his youth, and that another had the same grimace as a man he'd killed in the alley of a city long since fallen to ruin.

His attention caught for a moment on the elves, for he could remember their faces more clearly: Triala, the foul one with a savage temper. Colette, the toddler who by all rights should not be wandering unaccompanied. Despite himself he grinned; he had no right to decide such things, nor even think them. Some habits, some beliefs, were engraved too deeply in the mind to be worn away even after so much time.

And a very long time had passed since he'd felt himself worthy to make such judgments. A very long time indeed.

But then his attention fell to the crimson-haired sorceress in their midst, bearing a staff of dragonbone and an aura of command equal to that of the Captain himself. She was swathed in the clothes of a traveler and would have blended in with the Company's … [i]finest[/i] … had it not been for the way she carried herself. The way she commanded the attention of the space around her, daring any to refuse their obedience on pain of her terrible wrath.

His first thought was that she was older than she appeared, and that tricking the world into believing her lie showed a degree of animal cunning that bordered on vanity. 

Vanity, or a brazen and irresponsible display of power. 

A desperate bid to show the world that she was a master, that in her hand was the beating heart of mortality itself. Arrogance rode her like a storm; thunder and lightning scarce-restrained, a force that pushed her forward and might one day claim her life. He'd met many like her. Served with some, fought against others; seen them rise and fall and sometimes rise again, and never once did it end well.

Kaerun knew her by reputation. Knew that she was considered a serious player in the games of the court, that she had a grip on the beating heart of the Vorstagian Emperor … and by extension the heart of the Empire itself. How she'd ensnared the Empire's master Kaerun could only guess, but the power she wielded – physical and arcane – couldn't be denied. 

A bloodhound? Perhaps. But he felt it was something more. She would not be the one held to heel; she'd be the one with the leash in her hand. And it would only mean trouble for them. People like this were temperamental. They were used to being in charge and obeying no order but their own. Should worse come to worse it would be difficult to protect her, and doing so might cost many of the Wolves their lives.

It wasn't a fair thought. He didn't really know her. But he knew others like her, knew what they were capable of, and awoke some nights to nightmares born of their works and deeds. [i]Better a cynic than a fool[/i], he mused.

Yet for all of this, for all the thoughts that swam in him and the distant, echoing concern he held for how badly she might screw this up for the Company, he couldn't help but be drawn in by the crimson of her hair and the blue of her eyes. 

Once, long ago, he'd seen a forest set aflame and wandered into its heat, drunk on the smoke and the sweat and the fear that pounded in his chest. All around him burned the world, the air itself carrying the licking flame from branch to branch in great sweeping arcs. As death stole upon him and the strength fled his body he'd stumbled, tripping blind through the chaos that consumed his mind, and found himself plunging deep into a river that cut through the ancient wood.

From beneath the water he'd looked up at the sky and saw a clear, cutting blue so deep it made his heart ache, framed in roiling flame, soon lost in a howling blast of smoke that ate the sun and doused the world in darkness.

She was that moment. 

That fear, that power, that crystal-clear thunder of beauty in the midst of terror. Crimson and azure in counter balance, placidity and tumult in a dance against one another, caged in mortal flesh.

[i]A ray of candlelight upon rough waters … but she's the stone that's been cast. She is the heart of the water's ripples.[/i]

Was there a stirring of attraction there? Did an ember smolder in him for this sorceress?

Or was it just the whiskey settling in, bringing warmth to the ice in his bones?

Time would tell. Or he would soon forget, or lose interest. Perhaps. Would that he could claim to know himself well enough to predict his future, or read his own mind. How long ago had he given up the arrogant claim to self-knowledge? He was well rid of it, whatever the answer.

Kaerun's attention snapped back to the world at once, his thoughts catching and stopping dead on something the Captain had said. What was it?

[I]...the one thing that will end a man before he even marches his army off to war is predictability...[/i]

It struck a nerve. He could hear the Captain's words in his own voice, a younger voice than the one he now possessed. A voice that would tell all who heard it that it knew all the answers. That it spoke the truth – immutable truth – and that any who would seek wisdom would do well to listen.

Not that the Captain was wrong. There was something to be said for cleverness and craftiness on the field of battle. Some wars were won and lost on tactics too unique and eclectic for the enemy to counter. 

Yet, another immutable truth was often thus: The largest army usually won. The superior force under a competent commander stood a better chance at victory than the small, clever band of rebels. Though it might slaughter the innocent vision that some held of heroic warfare, though it might crush the dreams of those who dreamt of impossible victories, the truth was often cruel that way.

Without thinking Kae's hand fell to one of the pouches at his belt, and he fished about until his fingers closed on one of the precious items within. A quick debate began on the propriety of using it here, or if he should wait until it really became necessary. Perhaps the whiskey would suffice for the time being … better to wait and see.

The Captain's voice had deepened into a growl, the weight of his words told Kaerun that their briefing was at an end.

“So any questions before you all set out? Or are you all just gonna stare at me like a doe that just came out of its mother's womb? No?” 

None of his soldiers answered, naturally. Would it not be a gesture of disrespect to speak out in the midst of a monologue? “Good, then, because you don’t get paid to ask questions and talk back; you get paid to do your bloody job. Dismissed.”

They gave their perfunctory (or heartfelt) salutes. 

As they began to filter towards the entrance of the Captain's tent the sorceress spoke up, her voice like smoke and embers: “Well I know you mercenary types are slow and all – getting hit in the head enough times will do that to you – but shouldn't we be heading out? Time's a-wasting after all. And the sooner we get the northern barbarians to open the gates for us, the sooner we all get the pleasure of not having to deal with one another again.”

Oh, he liked the sound of her voice alright. She'd be trouble, yeah, but sometimes trouble was more fun. 

[i]Unpredictable[/i], the Captain had said, and that echo came back to Kaerun as he finally pulled the smoke out from the pouch at his side. He sniffed it briefly before putting it between his lips, making sure it was one of the strong ones. It was, and it hadn't yet gone bad. Harder and harder to find the right herbs as they traveled further north – would be a pain to replace his supply, but ultimately this whole endeavor called for at least a little relief before the proverbial boulder started rolling downhill.

One way or another this whole mess would shake out in strange and unusual ways, and he found he was actually looking forward to seeing how it all wound up. A smile took him in full force as he struck a match and set flame to his smoke.

Though even as he steeled himself to make smalltalk with his fellow soldiers and tried to remember who all of them were, one small nagging thought rose up in the shadows of his mind. Was there something else he was forgetting? Something he wanted to talk to the Captain about?

Well, whatever it was, it would probably keep. It fell back into the darkness and was forgotten again.

He took a deep breath. 

And exhaled.