2 Chapter 2

The cart bounced sharply as a wheel sank into the forty seventh hole in the road that day. Cadryn sucked air through his teeth and rubbed a sore shoulder. "Whoever's responsible for this road should be hung," he grumbled, pulling his wool cloak tighter against the chilling fog.

"Then you ought' hang yourself!" yelled back the cart-master, "Your damned Imperial Engineers are responsible!"

The man was right, if annoying about it. The road north had taken the better part of a month, every day of which made Cadryn all the angrier for it. This was a mistake, it had to be.

Partly from habit, and, partly for something to do, he removed the scroll containing his orders of deployment from its case. Unfurling the oiled vellum he read the words for what must be the hundredth time. Yet they remained the same. "Report to the North-Eastern Extreme Frontier Tower for Guard duty . . ."

"I bloody well know where I'm taking you!" the old codger yelled back, as the cart bucked its way over an uneven patch of stone. "And we're nearly there, boy!" he added pointing into the grey wall of mist ahead.

Cadryn twisted around the face forward in the bed of the cart. They had just begun crossing a narrow bridge, the span disappearing into the swirling clouds of mist as if they were leaving the world of the living. Cadryn's chest tightened, and the hand of his sword-arm fell to the pommel of his blade.

They advanced until nothing but the bridge existed, and the sounds of donkey and cart echoed back from vapor around them in distorted proportion. He was about to ask how long the bridge was when the far side loomed into reality, and rising above it, the shadow of the tower.

Visible only as a darker patch of fog at first, the tower seemed almost a living colossus standing sentinel at the edge of the abyss they now crossed. As the cart drew closer however, the edges of walls and outbuilding emerged: Stables, and a walled two-story Caravan Tollhouse straddled the road. The thick oaken doors of which hung open to the bridge like the maw of a vast creature.

A sign hung below the gate: 'Welcome to the Neeft!'

The cart rattled its way across the threshold and into a neatly tiled courtyard, the mosaic image; that of mailed fist, occupied the entirety of the space. No other carts waited, and the far gates stood open too.

"Well, here you are! Now get my pay, boy." The cart-master's demanded.

Cadryn threw him a knowing smile, "So now you're in a hurry?"

The man cursed, made the sign of the Devourer of Wayward Travelers. "They didn't pay for speed, just that you arrive intact . . . what happens to you now isn't my problem. My coin, however, is your problem, now."

"Alright, hold your— erm," the more belligerent of the two donkeys brayed loudly. The sound was followed by a pair of shutters slamming open on the second floor of the Tollhouse, a beady-eyed man with a pallid complexion appeared.

"You there!" he yelled out in a shrill voice. "State your business."

Cutting off the cart-master, Cadryn spoke up first. "My name is Cadryn Bence, and I've orders here to report for Duty." In the pit of his guy he hoped against all odds that the man would claim he was mistaken, would have word from Throne-home that there'd been a mix-up and he was to report immediately to the southern fronts. Anywhere but this backwater, instead, the man merely nodded.

"Ahh, yes, Guard Bence, you are expected." With those words, Cadryn's heart sank into the depths. "Come up to my office," the man added, "We have much to discuss."

"My name is Sefton Atwood," said the man, who remained at the window, as Cadryn entered his immaculately arranged office overlooking the courtyard. "I am the Tax Collector for this Frontier Tower, and the nearby settlement of Kellen's Veld." he added, matter-of-factly.

"You must be the highest Imperial official in the entire region," Cadryn said, more sarcastically than he intended, but Sefton either didn't pick up on it, or ignored it.

"How astute," Sefton said glancing past Cadryn as if checking for someone eavesdropping, "but I should expect nothing less from the top graduate of the Academy."

Cadryn bit his tongue.

"Quite," Sefton said, gesturing to the empty chair, "shall we discuss your assignment to my humble corner of the Empire?"

Taking a seat, Cadryn sighed, the weariness of the road blending poorly with his own frustrations. "Yes, why, WHY am I here? I was sure that it was a mistake—"

"The Empire does not make mistakes," Sefton interjected, and slid a document across the surface of his polished desk. "As you can see, your commission clearly states that you are to serve her for a term of no less than one year. At which time you may be reassigned."

"'May be'" Cadryn said, snatching up the vellum. This was his actual commission in the Imperial Army, sent separately to his posting, a process the Empire had developed to prevent newly commissioned officers from merely going rogue in the country under false authority. Someone had to actually report to where their commission waited in order to receive their proof of office.

And his was as a Gods damned guard on the Frontier.

"As you can see," Sefton said, drawing his robes tight over his thin frame. "All is in order."

"This is a mistake," Cadryn said flatly, refusing to accept the reality before him. "I graduated top of the class, you said it yourself, why would they send me here!?"

"I don't know," Sefton said, retrieving the commission.

"Well it's a lie, or a deceit! I won't stand for this!"

"Then you won't be serving in the Imperial Army."

Cadryn felt his sweat go cold at his nape, "You can't be serious. . ."

Sefton folded his hands and fixed Cadryn with grey, watery eyes. "Do I look like a lazy man to you?"

"No," Cadryn replied, the man was the very image of collected thought. Clean clothes, cleaner desk, rows of neatly labeled tax records sat on the shelves lining an entire wall.

"Do I seem incompetent to you?" Sefton asked.

Cadryn shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "No, you seem to have things very well run here, well, aside from the lack of anyone manning the Gates."

A scantly noticed smirk tugged at Sefton's lip, and was gone. "Just because you don't see something, doesn't mean it isn't there."

Realization flashed through the storm of Cadryn's anger like a lightning bolt. "You're saying there's a reason I'm here?"

"Of course, as I said, the—"

"'Empire does not make mistakes.' I know."

"But you don't, if you did, you would not have seen fit to question the logic of your assignment here. At the very least you would have guessed that there may be some reason for it, and sought to discover that reason, while an appeal of your posting here is being processed."

It felt like the sun had come out of the clouds, Cadryn straightened, "An appeal, is an option?"

"Naturally, the Empire is not without its mechanisms for the redress of grievance, upon seeing your records, I expected you would arrive with a strong desire to leave. So I took the liberty of preparing a challenge of the posting."

Cadryn sat back, and took a moment to really look at Sefton Atwood, beneath the soft robes, and manicured appearances, moved something much more dangerous. Behind those watery eyes lay a calculating mind. "What do you want?"

Sefton Atwood smiled, and Cadryn saw the familiar in the unknown: An animal of court politics in a place without a court. "I want, what you want, a return. For that to happen, I must maintain this region in a peaceful state of Imperial control. For this I need everyone here to complete the tasks assigned them. If you do your part, I will do mine in facilitating your appeal."

"And if I don't?" Cadryn hazarded.

"Then you'll never leave the Neeft."

Cadryn rose, and, picking the quill out of Sefton's inkwell, signed his name to both the commission, and the request for appeal. "So," he said, replacing the quill, "Where do I begin?"