Finding the Right People

"I didn't expect to see you again."

Alab, mid-spin, using his pole like a battering ram against enemy stomachs, heard a voice. He looked up to see Marshal and the rest of his squad. Reinforcements. They moved with practiced precision, a well-oiled machine of coordinated offense and defense. Three vanguards sprinted up the slope, slashing and cutting, two rear guards covering their advance. Reaching the crest of the hill, they formed a tight shield wall, pushing back the Green Rose soldiers who had the high ground, before dropping the shields and lunging with their swords. Even after a single day of battle, Alab recognized the mark of an elite unit. The other Lion Platoon squads mirrored their tactics, but Marshal's team executed with breathtaking speed.

"Get inside our formation!" Marshal yelled.

Alab scrambled to comply, finding a place in the center.

"Slip your pole through the shields to attack," Sonny said with a grin.

Alab followed the instructions, but his pole found only air. Inside the tight formation, he was too worried about hitting his allies to strike effectively. He spent the rest of the brief skirmish using the blunt end of his pole to knock enemies off balance, letting his squadmates deliver the killing blows. The Green Rose soldiers, realizing they were now facing reinforcements on the hill, quickly retreated.

The hill was secure. Alab found himself once again invited to dinner with Marshal's squad.

Back at headquarters, Alab visited the tent of the wounded. Alcohol was being poured onto open wounds, then wrapped with cloth. Alab wondered if they had yet discovered antibiotics. He made a mental note to introduce the concept later.

A man in white robes moved among the injured, his hands hovering just above their wounds. Alab, lost in thought, barely registered the man's actions. But those sensitive to mana could see the man weaving a subtle aura around the injuries, like an invisible bandage. It didn't heal them, but it seemed to slow the spread of infection.

"Hey, you did good as a bannerman there!" a Dragoon Platoon member said, the word "bannerman" heavy with irony. Alab's performance as a fighter had been less than stellar. The Dragoon Platoon, despite the Heartwood Kingdom's impending victory, had been decimated. They would be absorbed by another platoon after dinner.

"I think you did better," Alab replied.

"If only the Giants were here," the soldier sighed, "this would have been a breeze."

Giants? Alab thought. I need to know more.

He began to gather information about the Giants, the first non-human race he might encounter.

The Giants were a forest-dwelling people, long-time allies of the Heartwood Kingdom. They had fought alongside Heartwood in past conquests of Gates, Towers, and Labyrinths. Apolitical by nature, they refused to take sides in the current war against the Green Rose Kingdom. They lived in scattered tribes, not large unified groups.

The Giants who aided Heartwood came from the Ghano Tribe, a small group residing in Kaliko Forest, three days' walk north of the capital. The soldiers described them as a cheerful, incredibly strong race.

On his way to dinner with the Lion Platoon, Alab felt a powerful blow to his back. His Widen Vision, less effective in the darkness, gave him no warning. The force of the impact sent him sprawling, his face hitting the dirt. A foot landed on his head.

"Hey, who are you?" a voice demanded.

It struck Alab that no one had ever asked him his name. He was always referred to by his appearance or association. The lone survivor of the Diamond Platoon, composed mostly of farmers. Perhaps now, after his small role in holding Atop Hill, he would be known as the last man standing from the Dragoon Platoon.

Alab tried to lift the foot from his head, but even with his enhanced Arm Power, he couldn't budge it.

"Help! Some—"

The man sat down on his back, a sharp knife pressing against his neck.

"Answer my question, kid, or this pierces you. I know every soldier's face and name, especially from the Diamond Platoon. But I don't recognize you. Rumor has it you haven't killed any Green Rose soldiers. A spy, perhaps, trying to win our trust? Confess!"

I don't know what to say, Alab thought. Does he really know everyone? Is he bluffing? Maybe he suspects something… I'll play along.

Alab hesitated too long. The knife pricked his skin, a bead of blood welling up.

"Lu—Lucas Terno," he stammered.

Lucas Terno, a late conscript, might have slipped through the cracks. Even the other farmers hadn't known him; they came from scattered, isolated farms across the kingdom. The problem was, did the man on his back know Lucas's face? They looked nothing alike. But if Lucas's body had been recovered… it would be unrecognizable now.

Alab heard the rustle of pages. Was the stranger checking some kind of register? Were soldiers monitored so closely?

"Lucas Terno… I see. Black hair…"

Black hair. That was the only similarity between Lucas and Alab. The people of Gaia had hair in every imaginable color. The stranger muttered something indistinct, flipping more pages.

"Hmm… Okay. So why haven't you killed any soldiers?"

"I'm a new soldier! I don't know how to fight yet!"

The weight on his back lifted, the knife withdrew, but the foot remained on his head.

"Hmm… There must have been a mistake. My friend was wrong. Be a good soldier, farmer. Win a hundred battles, and you'll be rewarded."

The interrogation, which Alab had feared would be lengthy, was over in a few terse exchanges. The foot lifted, and Alab saw a four-leaf clover tattoo on the man's leg as he walked away. He was gone in an instant.

That's what I get for standing out, Alab thought. I should have listened to Merlin and stayed in the shadows.

He was lucky. In this new world, he needed to be careful, to avoid attention. Too many unknowns, too many situations he wasn't equipped to handle.

But who was that man? And how did he know Alab hadn't killed any Green Rose soldiers?

With the blood drying on his neck, Alab continued on to dinner with Marshal.

"Ah, here he is, Mr. Bannerman!"

Alab introduced himself as Lucas Terno.

The platoon welcomed him. The other three squad members introduced themselves. After dinner, Alab asked Marshal if he could challenge Sonny again for a place in the Lion Platoon. Just as Merlin had said, if he found the right people, he could overcome anything. And these were the right people—strong, skilled, elite. With victory on the horizon, being part of this platoon was his best chance of survival.

Sonny and Alab began to arm wrestle, surrounded by cheering soldiers. With his enhanced Arm Power, Alab was confident of victory.

He won.

But it wasn't easy. Their first match had to be stopped when the table they were using splintered under the strain. A second, reinforced table was brought out. Even then, the match stretched on for nearly three minutes, their arms locked at a right angle, neither able to gain an advantage. Finally, with a mighty yell, Alab put all his strength into one final push, slamming Sonny's arm down on the table with a resounding thump.

"I knew you were special," Sonny said, rubbing his forearm and asking for water.

"Welcome, my boy!" Marshal boomed. "These fifty soldiers welcome you! Arrangements have already been made for your temporary transfer."

Sly guy, Alab thought. He'd already arranged it, but he still let me earn my place. Well, he was in.

The Lion Platoon was an elite unit. They were often detached for special assignments, like reconnaissance. Marshal was careful about who he allowed into the platoon, constantly telling his superiors not to simply absorb the remnants of fallen platoons, as it would disrupt their cohesion. But after the battle on the fourth day, he surprised everyone by requesting the remaining members of the Dragoon Platoon be transferred to his unit. No one, not even high-ranking officers, could refuse Marshal. He was a special case. He should have been promoted to captain or lieutenant colonel long ago, but he always refused, arguing, "The higher I rise, the less I get to fight! Where's the fairness in that?"

Marshal had seen something in Alab—or rather, in "Lucas," the farmer with no combat experience. Alab might not be a farmer, but he was just as inexperienced in real war as Lucas. To get Alab into his platoon, Marshal had taken the entire Dragoon contingent. Alab, thinking he was following Merlin's advice to find the right people, had found a good leader. And Marshal, after so long in command, had developed an eye for talent. The lion had found a cub to train, a possible

successor. And the cub had found the protection of his new pride.