My teeth are beginning to ache. The column is ready to move out, but we can’t. We must wait.  The horses, loaded with equipment and trophy heads, stand in line, heads bowed. One snorts. They don’t understand why we haven’t left yet. My men, each at attention beside his mount, are doing a better job of suppressing their impatience. Underneath, I know they are seething like me. Sweat beads under my uniform collar. The brief relief of the late season squall is gone and spring is on the charge again. I force my jaw to relax.

I glance at the pastel blue sky. However washed out, any colour at all is a clear sign that we are free of the Kraulickt, the dulling shadow cast across the Borderlands by the Realm of Chaos. Though the night hardly darkens this close to the edge, the sky’s blue is deepening. We really should have left long ago.

It must be soon.

But, we must wait for it. Wait for the patrol to be properly finished. At last I hear marching feet. I turn to watch him approach. Shirt unbuttoned and hair falling in his eyes, he marches heavily, boots splattering the grey slush. He hopes to find some grip in the gravel and stones below, to not land on his arse in front of us, to avoid making an embarrassment of himself.

It is already far too late for that.

He already is an embarrassment, to the Aether Guard, to the Homelands, to the whole of the Rationalle. Likely, even the Temporalis shudders at the thought of him. Not applying procedure during a patrol hand over and commanding no discipline over his rabble is contemptable. Not following uniform regulation is an indictment. Above all else, arriving late is beyond excusable. He should have his commission stripped at the very least. At least the image of that ceremony brings a smile to my lips.

What a pitiful specimen! This is what shall hold back the encroachment of whatever Spawn the Realm of Chaos spits out into the Borderlands? This is what is going to keep the Homelands safe? How did he achieve a commission in the first place, let alone get to lead men into the killing zone of the Borderlands?

Family connections, no doubt. It is a struggle not to spit my rising bile. He stamps to a broad-grinned halt in front of me and beats a fist against his bare chest.

“Shield of the Homelands!” He waits for the return salute before continuing. “I must say, I didn’t expect you boys to stick around quite so long after we turned up. Thought you’d be keen to push off rather than wait for us to settle in. It’s jolly decent of you, I must say.”

The urge to spit has disappeared. Instead, I imagine loosening a section of his grin. It is a pleasant image, but I keep my balled fist firmly banished to the pommel of my sword. “It is not ‘jolly decent’. It is procedure. We have all been looking forward to going home ever since relieving the previous patrol. Every guard does. Patrol is not a fun day out. It is our sworn duty. Nevertheless, as we are not by nature deserters, we never leave our assigned posting until we have been officially relieved.”

A shadow flits briefly across his boyish features. “But we’re here now, and not all that late into the bargain. I don’t see what your problem is.”

“Disregarding the fact that you are late at all, my problem is that we need to be relieved officially.” My teeth threaten to start grinding. “You have to say it explicitly or else we cannot leave.”

“Oh, I see. Oops!” He shrugs. “Okay. Well, consider yourselves relieved. I’ve taken command of Watch Post twelve now.”

I turn to my waiting patrol. “Mount up!” I swing into my own saddle.

Frowning slightly, he looks up at me. “Captain Doneir, may I ask you a question?”

“Ask.”

He glances at all the heads, grotesque in rictus, swinging against our horses’ haunches. “Well, what with your reputation and all.” Reputation or no, our haul must be just about the best we have ever had. It is sure to improve my team’s standing, get us first place at last. He chews his lip. “How much Spawn do you think you’ve actually left for us to claim?”

I look up and down the length of the column. Sergeant Haddar nods from the vanguard. I point down the valley and blow my whistle. “Move out!” The column begins to file down the track. Before looking down at the pup captain, I glance around at the men who travelled up the same way earlier today. They are lounging at their watches. The sentries aren’t even looking out over the wall. “To claim? You really are the idiot you look! There is nothing to claim in the Borderlands. You must fight just to stay alive. If it is not Spawn trying to tear your throat out, then it is the ground itself rising up to swallow you whole. Pray you see nothing and find nothing. Pray that the Borderlands don’t even notice your pathetic existence. From what I have seen of your command today, your patrol is probably going to get taken out by the very first phratt you come across.”

He puffs up like a toad. “I appreciate that I’m new, and my patrol inexperienced, but that’s no reason to be rude. Even the best had to start from scratch.” He tries to look down his nose at me. “Even you, I’m sure.” It is difficult to look superior with your neck craned back like that, so he gives it up. “Aren’t we all in this together, fighting the Spawn side by side? I didn’t need to sign up, you know. Mother was quite against it, but I wanted to do my bit.”

The end of my column is drawing past. I pat my horse’s neck. “Chalka, take me home.” She snorts and falls in at the rear of the line. Behind me the pup’s blustering begins to fade. Soon, I can only hear the echoing of our hooves amidst the bustle of spring in the canyon. With every clop we are one more step away from the Realm of Chaos and its accursed Borderlands. More importantly, we are one step further into the Homelands on our way home.

It is the simple things I miss most on patrol. The things that most people, safe in their little lives far from the Borderlands, take for granted. Things like nightfall.

Cool, black and tangible, dusk creeps up the valley to meet us. Sweet and heavy as molasses, it coddles us. How long has it been since last I felt its gentle embrace? Tensions ease, pain dulls, my eyelids grow heavy. Even better than the kiss of night is the knowledge that true day shall follow. My mind fills with long supressed memories. Light sparkling on water. Wheat rippling in a breeze. Bread fresh from the oven. Mead foaming in a flagon. Linen smoothed across a bed. Tender words whispered. Her smile.

“HALT!”

A shout from the head of the column jolts me awake. It must have rained recently. I revel in the rich loamy smell kicked up by the passing hooves. Chalka is not so thrilled. She snorts at the delay. I pat her neck as I let my dozy mind catch up. We must have halted for a reason. Obviously, not an attack and there are no forks on this track. I blink into the night, judging our surroundings. The column stands at a threshold. Behind us the narrow winding valley exits the hulking silhouette of the highlands, before us a meadow expands out into the lowland plains.

Of course!

I told Haddar we would re-muster the column for the low lands. In the confines of the gorge we were forced to remain in single file with no chance to change station. This field is at the first widening going down valley.

Hooves, muffled by the soft ground, approach from the head of the line. Moments later, Sgt. Haddar emerges from the darkness and draws up next to me. “Captain!” We exchange salutes. “I just wanted to confirm procedure before continuing, sir.”

“I see two options, strike camp or force a night march.”

“Aye, sir.”

“I don’t know about you, but I rather fancy pushing on. We need to make up time after today’s farce of a hand over. The sooner we get back to Afreem the better in my book.”

“Certainly has its merits, sir.”

“How about the men? They up for it?”

“Aye, the majority would even welcome it, I’m sure.”

“Good, we shall ride on then. Buddy the men up to ride two abreast. One man dozes whilst the other keeps an eye open. We shall switch the watch back and forth regularly. Should get us through the night without anyone going astray.”

“Good plan, sir.”

“Very well. Let me know when the men are ready. I shall be waiting at the head of the line.”

Long before my eyes can see first light of daybreak, I know it is coming. Dawn’s chorus fills my ears as the land we pass through awakens. Creatures stir and the trees creak in anticipation. Only when the world is ready does the curtain of night ease back to reveal the day.

I reach for my sword in sudden horror. Tangled grey forms loom from the dawn mist, their twisted limbs reaching out to grasp me. Has the Shadow pursued us? Have we unwittingly stumbled back into the dim featureless grey of the Kraulickt? Is the Spawn about to fall upon us?

Then, as quickly as it flares, the fear is extinguished. Writhing limbs turn into the rustling branches of fruit trees in blossom, blackened heath turns into rolling fields of vibrant spring green, the mist is after all just mist that fades away with the passing of dawn.

Somewhere, a heifer lows and a cowbell clanks in response to a farmer calling his herd to the milking shed. An involuntary yap of joy escapes me, startling the soldier riding at my side. “Everything alright, sir?”

I lean across and slap him on the shoulder. “Guardsman Nevom, we are back in the homelands, we have a massive collection of trophies and first place in the rankings is ours for the taking. Everything is just fine. Just fine.” I call a halt to enjoy breakfast in the golden welcome of the morning light. Afterwards, we continue at the canter and by late afternoon have entered the gates of the Afreem Guardhouse.

---

How exactly can such a dirty clerk’s office be compatible with the discipline and order of the Aether Guard?

Before me, quill wiggling in his right hand, the chief clerk scratches away on a roll of paper. The fingers of his left hand do a little dance in the air as he totals up the numbers. I think it is best not to disturb him. Until he finishes, I try and distract myself with the contents of his office. They don’t offer much in the way of entertainment. Hundreds of scrolls are stuffed into pigeon holes on one side but hardly any of them are glowing. Piles of parchment, remarkable only for their precarious height, are stacked to the other side. His small desk is a shambles of notes, blotters and paper weights. And then there is the dust. Other than the small patch of desk kept clear by his hectic scribbling, it appears to cover everything in a thin matte grey layer. I suppress the desire to scratch my itching nose.

“Aha!” He sits up and scratches his chin. “Hmmm, very interesting. Let’s run through that again, shall we? Better safe than sorry, I always say. Don’t want to get it wrong, do we?” He tugs a piece of mostly unmarked parchment from near the bottom of a pile tottering on the edge of his desk and prepares to begin his calculations for the third time.

I cannot contain myself any longer. “For the love of the Ancients! Is that really necessary?”

The clerk almost knocks over his inkpot as he looks up at me, eyes wide. “You still here? I thought you’d gone.”

It is a struggle to unclench my hands. “I was waiting for you to finish your calculations.”

He looks over his spectacles at me. “I did say it was going to take a while.”

“I had hoped that it would not take quite such a long while. Can you not just tell me already?”

“As I’m sure you just heard, I think it is only prudent to check my workings out first.”

“Did your first two calculations agree?”

He nods in satisfaction. “Oh yes, quite exactly, I very rarely make a mistake, but it is important to be sure in such things.” He finishes with the hint of a frown.

“I would be happy to take the risk and hear what the result is so far.”

He cocks his head. “The result?”

I point at the papers before him. “The result of your calculations. Where does my patrol now stand in the rankings? Have we got first place?”

With raised eyebrows he shakes his head. “Oh no, there’s more to it than just my calculations. After this, I must fill out a report form and get it counter signed before finally sending it off to HQ. There it has to be, ratified, approved, released, entered into the official registers, correlated, consolidated, scheduled for publication, printed, distributed and finally posted.”

I hold out my hands imploringly. “Can you not just tell me?”

“Anything I might say would not only be quite meaningless but also in clear violation of the founding of the Aether Guard.”

“What has an interminable chain of bureaucratic nonsense got to do with killing Spawn?”

He leans back in his chair and crosses his spindly arms. “Captain Doneir, I find your sense of humour a little misplaced in this discussion.” His head bobbles in disapproval.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

A deep furrow has developed between his eyebrows. “I am sure such crude jocularity makes for good morale whilst on patrol, however, here in the guardhouse we generally expect our officers to demonstrate a little more decorum.”

I stare at him blankly. “Decorum?”

He waggles the feather at me. “As well you know, the Guard is founded on procedure. Procedure is our greatest weapon. It is thanks to procedure that one day we shall finally defeat the enemy and repel The Realm of Chaos for good.”

I cross my arms. “And there was me thinking that a strong arm and a sharp sword were the most effective way to kill Spawn.”

“Captain, I implore you! Playing obtuse really doesn’t suit an officer of your pedigree. The real enemy is not the Spawn, they are just the foot soldiers, if you like. Whereas the Realm is the executive command. Its strategy is to infiltrate us with Chaos. To drive it back requires the application of its exact opposite – rational thought, focused discipline, stable structure, clear organisation. In short it requires the establishment of and adherence to procedure. Think of it this way, let’s take your very own patrol as a perfect example. Have you become such an effective force by running around willy-nilly and hoping for the best or through focused training and iron discipline?” His hands put on a little mime to re-enforce the point.

I sigh. He has got me on this one. “Obviously the latter.”

He nods. “Very well. Then you accept what I am saying? Giving up on procedure would be to capitulate the war before even fighting the first battle. Without procedure, we might as well surrender to Chaos straight away and let the Realm overwhelm us. Is that what you want?”

I open my mouth to snap back, but the memory of a childhood tutor interrupts me. When we practiced debating and rhetoric, he used to put on exactly the same haughty superior air just before tangling me up in logic and destroying my arguments completely. I rub my hands over my face. It is probably best to just roll over and acquiesce on this one. “No, obviously nobody wants that.”

He sits as upright as his bowed back permits. “Indeed. So, we are agreed that we are to follow procedure?”

I sigh. “Sure. Great. Procedure it is. Might there be any chance that procedure can get us the result before the next patrol cycle begins? It would be nice if the men could have a chance to celebrate first place before we go back out again.”

The clerk has bent to his desk again. “I am sure, there shall be more than enough time for sufficient celebrations or commiserations as the case may be. It rarely takes more than a few days for the updated rankings to be posted.” He gives me a penetrating stare over his spectacles again. “That is, unless there is some kind of hinderance, such as some poor clerk being kept from his menial bureaucracy by impatient patrol captains. With that thought in mind,” He points at the door, “I believe it is in your best interests to permit procedure to take its due course and go and find something more productive to do.” He is already back amongst his papers. “Please, close the door on your way out.”

(Buy the book to find out what happens next...)