“It’s bloody boring here.”
“We get to spar.”
“We’ve been sparring for four hundred years! Aren’t they going to get themselves sorted out any time soon?”
A cough sounded in the grey, and Locsyn and Gwyth looked up as Rhyfelwyr stood over them. He gestured, and the two soldiers went to spar once more.
“The time is close. I’ve been watching and talking. It will happen in less than a year.”
“I know, Taflen. That’s why I want them to spar more than ever.”
“You could let them rest. They won’t fail you on the battlefield. You know that.”
“They never have.” Rhy shook himself for a moment. “And I’ve never let them rest, either. Where’s Rhocas, by the way?”
“Practising with his group. He hasn’t changed his schedule in the fifty years since he knew this day was coming. So why are you suddenly worried?”
The sergeant gestured about. “Because of this. Because of everything that’s happening. Those idiots are trying to resurrect Hymerodraeth Heula by pissing on everything it stood for.”
“Why do you think the best of Glanhaol Fflamboethi chose the side they did? The rest of us know it just as much as you do.”
“And the others?”
“There’s only so many of us as can go. But our whole squad was picked. Even Rhocas and myself.”
“I’d be a damn poor sergeant if I couldn’t get my whole squad into this lottery.” Rhy spat on the ground.…
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