<b><i>In Command</i></b>

Intra Noi sat at his makeshift desk, two versions of his manuscript before him. Jeld had said that all his latest edits were wrong. He didn't know where to start correcting them, though. He flipped through page after page of both documents but couldn't for the life of him figure out how the changes he'd made were bad. Every page had at least two grammar fixes and one completely rewritten sentence.

Intra scratched his head as he glared at the manuscripts, scrutinizing them. Maybe there was something wrong with Jeld, maybe she'd confused her grammar rules.

"It's not me, is it, Del?" he breathed softly.

Half an hour passed and he had finished going over the second half of his book a third time. No matter how many times he checked, the results were always the same. He couldn't help but feel that the new version was a vast improvement.

"There must be something wrong with her, Del," Intra muttered, removing his glasses and rubbing his weary eyes. "Not everything can be my fault, right?"

Intra placed his glasses atop the papers on his desk and closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. He wondered if maybe Jeld had become confused after spending too much time reading his writing. It was understandable, he reasoned. She was young, she needed to spend more time in the field, more time digging, more time discovering. He nodded to himself. When he was her age, he hadn't been editing the books of geezers in his field. He'd been competing with his classmates for a chance to go on a dig with his professor. He nodded again.

Intra opened his eyes and stood, ready to go outside and speak with his assistant.

Then he remembered that he'd been reading by lamplight and that it was past midnight. Jeld had been working hard helping the sick all day. He was sure she was fast asleep.

"Might as well get some fresh air since I'm standing," he said, a heavy sigh revealing the fatigue behind his cheerful words. That said, he shuffled over to his bed, grabbed the blanket from it, wrapped himself in it, and exited the tent.

"Grandpa Snow!" exclaimed Jeld. Intra looked down and saw his assistant huddling by the tent flap, a pile of blankets and assorted garments shielding her from the cold.

"What are you doing there?" he asked.

"Um..."

Intra looked away from Jeld and gazed out into the dark. With the able-bodied workers off to the new site, the field was deserted. He knew that the roping around the excavation was still in place, but he could not see it. All the torches and extra lamps had been taken by the expedition when it had moved on in his sleep. With no stars in the sky and the only light coming from inside the three remaining tents, the open expanse of snowfield felt like a void.

"I... I felt bad," Jeld said after several minutes.

Intra grunted, not because he didn't appreciate Jeld's words, but because he couldn't think of any words of his own.

"You've always done so much for me, Grandpa Snow," Jeld continued. Intra looked down, one eyebrow raised in his usual expression of surprise. Jeld laughed softly, and the mountain of cloth seemed to grow smaller. "You took me, who couldn't do anything for myself much less the kids who were relying on me, and you took them too, and you gave us shelter and food. You gave us life."

Intra gritted his teeth.

"I... I've always been grateful, and I've wanted to repay you... I thought, maybe if I succeed you in your field you'll be happy. 'You invested in me, and it's paid off,' or something. So I tried to become good at archaeology, but before I knew it, I started..." Jeld paused to breathe deeply and then didn't start talking again.

"You'll be a fine archaeologist," Intra said after it became apparent that Jeld was done. He didn't know what was right to say. He knew he should apologize for his recklessness and anger, but he didn't know how.

"You think?" Jeld laughed.

"Honesty is an archeologist's soul," Intra declared. "Be your own archeologist, Jeld." He closed his eyes and turned his face to the sky, briefly enjoying the sensation of the chilly breeze before turning back to his tent. Standing in the entry, he spoke slowly. "I'd like for you to go south in the morning, Jeld."

A dozen possible lines flashed through Intra's mind.

<i>You don't need to stay for me.

There's no reason why a young mind should waste away tending to the old.

A good archeologist needs to accumulate experience at a young age so that she can begin teaching others as early as possible.

I can write my book without you.

You have nothing to gain here.

I wish I could go with you.

I'm sorry for keeping you here.

I'm sorry for yelling at you.

I'm sorry for being obstinate.

I'm sorry for being insensitive.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.</i>

Intra stepped the rest of the way into his tent and let the flap fall closed behind him. He collapsed onto his bed, sure that he had imagined a soft "thank you" from his assistant. He curled up into a ball and shut his eyes as tightly as he could.

"Why is it, Del, that everyone I wrong is so thankful?" He touched withered fingertips to his wrinkled cheeks and wondered at how dry they were.

***

The carriage skidded to a halt in front of a large warehouse. Tomora Ynthon hopped down, smiling as his boots made contact with the rough stone. His assistant, Jung, followed suit and winced as he landed.

"The ground is hard!" he exclaimed.

"You grew up where everything was dirt and grass, Jung." Tomora extended his hands toward the snowy peaks in the distance. "This is a place of rocks." 

It was as Tomora said. There were shrubs and unhealthy-looking trees scattered about, and a few beaten blades of grass poked out between cracks in the ground, but the scenery was entirely different from the meadows and forests Jung was used to. He'd heard that the north was a mountainous place, but he'd always imagined that to mean hills that were larger than the hills back home. These mountains weren't covered in grass. These mountains didn't look fun to roll down on a summer day. They were tall, they were dark. They looked evil. They loomed above everything. Jung wondered if they were trying to pierce the sky.

The wind was different, too. It was a biting, chilly wind, unlike any he had felt before.

Tomora turned to the carriage driver. "Thank you kindly, sir."

"Not at all," answered the man, a south-easterner judging by his brown complexion and hair color, saluting. He made to flick the reigns, but Tomora reached up and grabbed his wrist, holding it still.

"This terrain is hard on horses' hooves," he explained. "Rest the night here, and return in the morning."

"I can't—" The driver's objection was cut short.

"There is plenty of hay at the camp here, and you can choose whether you'd like to stay in a tent with soldiers or in the carriage."

"Thank you."

Jung whistled.

"What is it, Jung?" asked Tomora as the driver dismounted and began unhitching the carriage.

"I was just thinking, I didn't expect my first assignment in the military to be so surreal."

"Surreal?" Tomora laughed, and his laugh didn't send shivers down Jung's spine. He noticed that the driver seemed to be hesitating. "What is it?

"Where're the stables, Commander?"

"Jung, you have a map of the camp, right?" Tomora asked. His assistant nodded. "Show this gentleman the way." Jung saluted, produced a wrinkled map from the pouch at his belt, unfolded it, scanned the surroundings, pointed at a cluster of shacks adjacent to the warehouse, and began walking toward them. The driver followed with the horses in tow, nodding respectfully to Tomora as he passed.

<i>Well then,</i> thought Tomora, <i>time to go greet the troops.</i>

He tightened his cloak, ran one hand through his mid-length brown hair, put on his grimmest smile, walked up to the warehouse doors, and pushed them open.

A hush fell upon the gathered troops. They were a ragged group, sitting around makeshift tables built from scrapped crates. Their military uniforms were entirely concealed by the thick blankets they were wrapped in. Pointless games of keys with no stakes involved ceased as Tomora cleared his throat.

"I'm back from the capital," he said.

"What's the news, Cap'n?" asked an intimidatingly large man whose face was covered in scars. His one eye—red, like Tomora's—was bloodshot. Tomora wondered if the men had discovered the stores of wine left behind by the former inhabitants of the camp. Then he wondered if his displeasure was apparent on his features as half the soldiers cringed in unison.

"I'm not a captain anymore," answered Tomora. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, imagining a drumroll. His right hand twitched furiously below his cloak. After ten seconds he opened his eyes and addressed the troops. "I'm a Commander."

"WHAT?!" exclaimed the one-eyed man. "One of us, a Commander?!"

"Don't group me with you," sniffed Tomora. "It's unsightly."

"Come on, Tom, we're all buddies in this together, right, us Cress—"

"One word more from you, Jyunor, and you're dead."

The man seemed to shrink back in his seat. Though he was by far the largest man in the room, he was no longer intimidating at all.

"Commander Ynthon, may I ask a question?"  Tomora knew the speaker, a man with skin and hair similar to the carriage driver's, to be a Harnecian. The fellow had joined the wizard unit earlier that year, and had already demonstrated that his magic was devastatingly strong, having leveled entire towers in the last siege Tomora had laid. Though he did not know the man by name, Tomora viewed him as his most valuable resource, and respected him. 

"Do so."

"Why would a Commander come back to a unit like ours?" asked the man. "Commanders are the highest-ranked military officers in Byhr; surely they lead more than a single unit of forty men, auxiliaries at that."

"Indeed." Tomora nodded approvingly. "I am to lead more than a single unit. As we speak, the Council is diverting a large portion of the eastern division our way. I will take charge of these reinforcements in addition to the entire northern division. As for why I have returned to this unit, it should be obvious.

"Every officer in leading multiple units can select one of those units to be under their direct command. What better unit for me to pick than this?"

The Harnecian nodded understandingly.

"If I may ask a question," offered another Harnecian, "what lies in our future?"

"An excellent question," responded the commander. "Men, come with me. There is something I should like to show you." He turned and strode from the warehouse. Silently, the entire unit rose as one and followed him.

Once outside, Tomora flung his cloak over one shoulder and extended one arm northward, pointing up at the looming mountains.

"Those mountains!" he cried. "At their heart lies the heart of Cresso! We are Byhr, and we will stop that heart!"

The forty soldiers in the wizard unit of the Byhrate military's northern division raised their fists in the air and cheered. Jung, having returned from delivering the carriage driver to the stables, looked on appreciatively. The unit seemed a rough lot, but the commander had them under control. 

Jung shivered and noticed that the wind had grown colder yet.

***

"Well then, I'm off," Jeld had said cheerfully. Intra had merely nodded in response. Then she was gone, her back turned to the camp as she walked due south. Intra had spent the morning poring over the two latest versions of his manuscripts. Upon closer analysis, he had realized that he had confused the chronology of the two revisions, and had been looking at the second-latest version as if it were the latest.

"So that's why Jeld said what she did," he had laughed upon gleaning this. "The newer version is real trash."

A week passed, and Intra sat in his tent as usual. He had a new version of his book in front of him, almost complete. He had reverted to the version before Jeld's critiques and from there made a new set of edits, and he was confident that this time these edits were improvements. There was one major decision he still had to make before calling the revision done: whether or not to keep the foreword Jeld had called "riveting." He knew that if he wanted to keep it, he'd need to change it, but he didn't know in what way.

At a loss as to what to do, Intra simply sat there, reading and rereading the legend of the Shaded Orchard.

"Grandpa Snow," came a friendly voice. "Grandpa Snow!"

Intra looked up in surprise, both bushy eyebrows reaching for his white mane.

"Huun Koul!" he exclaimed, leaping up with as much agility as he could afford.

Standing just inside the tent was a man dressed in the garb of a Harnecia Royal University professor, a long ochre robe with dark red trim. The man looked to be in his mid-fifties, with thinning brown hair and a hefty gut. Intra extended his hand toward the man, who ignored the gesture and pulled Intra into a tight embrace.

"C-can't breathe!" gasped Intra, and Huun released him.

"You look like you're doing alright," said the younger professor, sizing his elder up.

"You too," Intra sighed, ruefully rubbing his ribs. "The harvest this year must have been splendid."

"This year?" questioned Huun, drawing back from Intra and furrowing his brow. "Just how long <i>has</i> it been since you came home?"

"Maybe eight, nine months."

"You should really visit more often," Huun said. "Funny, you're gone so much I call it 'visiting,' even though it should be 'coming home.'"

"'Coming home' means returning to border skirmishes with Cresso and trade balance tensions throughout the midlands. The South is my sanctuary."

"Yeah, yeah. Say, what's this you have here?" Huun indicated the stacks of papers on Intra's desk. "What, are you writing a book?"

Intra shrugged.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"At the time! Hah!" Huun strode over to the desk and peered down at the papers. "The ink's still wet in places."

"You got me," sighed Intra. Huun was one of the few people he felt truly comfortable around. He had known the man for many decades. He had taught him for four years and had taught alongside him for many more. Huun could find humor in almost any situation and play it up to lighten the hearts of those around him.

"You're not very honest in your old age, Grandpa Snow," he chided with a wink. "What's that thing you always say about archeology and soul?"

"Honesty is an archeologist's soul?" Intra asked.

Huun just laughed in response. Intra cracked a smile. Then he remembered Huun's letter, and the reason why the professor had come to visit.

"Is Tyff with you?"

"He's outside, in the wagon. Fell asleep sometime mid-morning. He's quite something, your grandson."

"How long will you be staying?"

"I have to leave as soon as possible, really," replied Huun. "I'd love to stay longer, and hear the story of why you seem to be missing half your team, but I've got a seminar in eleven days and I'll barely make it back in time."

"It would be nice if—"

"It would be nice if you'd come home sometime, Grandpa Snow." Intra had nothing to say to that. "Come on, let's go unload your grandson."