Speculation
Laurence crouched in the brush, his sore rear leaning against a felled tree. His target sat, squat and decrepit, off in the distance, down slight from the copse he had stopped in. Tolos. It was a beautiful city, despite itself. Even in its withered state, grey with age and war, it managed to look stately. A city worth capturing, he supposed.
"Spyglass, Calib."
He held his hand out to his left, and a metal cylinder deposited itself in his grasp. Laurence peered through the device, adjusting his aim slightly before his gaze fell on the field of stars glinting in the afternoon sun. An army, and a large one at that. Laurence was never good at estimates, least of all from this distance, but eight thousand seemed a fair assessment. Such a host was nothing but bad news for Gordon and their new God, but at least it was not his business.
"They look fine enough, sir. Can they fight?"
Major Bayaz was sat against a tree, his spyglass already to his eye, gazing thoughtfully down at the grey sprawl. His intonation broke the quiet, like a knife through fine silk. Laurence knew he had no need to be quiet: there was not a soul around for the better part of three miles. Even concealing themselves in the copse was likely unnecessary, unless some damn fool down there decided to look at their exact position with their own glass. Regardless, it just didn't seem right making noise and showing oneself when trying to remain unseen, no matter how pointless. Laurence responded in kind though, the magic rule of quiet broken beyond repair.
"I certainly hope they can, Major. I hope they're every mean, crafty, dangerous whoreson in the city. Let God deal with them, I say."
Laurence's two companions chuckled slightly, and as he joined them he lumped back against the log, his sight of the city now blocked by some sort of speckled bush.
"No matter how tough they are, it's good news for us. They'll be off in a day, maybe less, and with them gone the General can snatch the city as soon as she likes."
Laurence passed the brass tube back to Calib, who pocketed it and in its place produced a flask, from which she drank copiously. Everyone in the army knew Calib's habit, but Laurence had never once seen her anything less than needle sharp, so he figured it wasn't his business. While she drank, Bayaz spoke in a quieter voice, less self-assured and certainly more respectful. Laurence braced himself.
"Colonel... do you really think that bandit can be trusted?" His gaze was half pleading, half accusatory, clearly searching for an ally. Certainly, it would have swayed weaker men. Or the less loyal. Calib just looked confused.
"He's talking about our new recruit, Lieutenant Myra Tavellan.". Calib's face morphed from confusion, to surprise, to understanding, to a sort of stoic worry. The scar on her left cheek danced with every contortion.
"I understand what you're thinking, Aliden, and I don't blame you. When I was seven years old, the Winds executed my father."
Perhaps Laurence should have been more subtle. The pronouncement certainly had an impact, but perhaps not the intended one. Too late to change things now, he continued.
"I still don't know if he did what they said he did. All those years ago, I couldn't believe it, but I know now soldiers sometimes act mad. They killed him, and that was the end of it. I didn't quite know what to do. I nearly got myself hanged trying to stab the General to death."
Laurence was starting to wonder where he was going with all of this. He'd certainly not talked about this to anyone in a long time, but for some reason he had felt it was a good time to bring it up. The only way through was forward, now, and Laurence was not one to quit something he'd started.
"Anyways, I got over it. The world isn't fair, and I had to realize that. I just found something else to trust, and I made it through. I know you hate her, and I've got no reason to fault you for it. But, I'm sure there's things you want more than revenge."
The Major, quieted by the impromptu story, only nodded.
"We've all got something like that. If we didn't, we'd be growing potatoes rather than soldiering. Hold on to that, whatever it is, and don't throw it away for revenge."
Laurence sighed, his tone shifting from somber reverence to a more neutral pragmatism. "As for trust: do you trust the General".
A firm nod, confident this time. Aliden's mouth opened slightly, but Laurence silenced him with a gesture.
"I do too. She's never steered me wrong, and she hasn't you either. She trusts Lieutenant Tavellan, and that's all that matters. What we think doesn't matter, not once the General makes up her mind. Remember that, Major, and there'll be no problems."
The Major nodded, and stood up, striding back to the horse he had hitched a number of yards away.
Laurence and Calib stood in unison. She spoke carefully, clearly not sure what to make of the previous scene. "I'm sorry to hear about your father, Colonel. The Major seemed to take it to heart, at least."
Laurence looked back at the city one more time, and strode after his subordinate. "Calib, I honestly have no idea if he did or not. Thank you, though.".
As he walked back, he checked his mental list.
Captain Harker, Captain Jones, Lieutenant Mexas...
----------------------------------------------------------------
Claes, on the forecastle on her particular transport, caught sight of land. It was just a speck at first, a shimmer on the horizon. Its apparent insignificance did nothing to dull the relief she felt at its arrival. Her journey had been even worse than she had feared, a nighttime storm blowing the arrayed ships with the force of an angry god, tossing them on the waves for hours. Claes never started counting the amount of times she had vomited, and that had been for the best. The land now was clearly visible. She could make out the inlet they were going to land in, and if she squinted she could see the remnants of guardtowers, confirming the completed work of her van.
It was an hour and a half until her ship pulled into the inlet, and the General was the first off the vessel. She left the unpacking and the terrible job of leading the horses from their wooden prison to her subordinates. She was too busy getting off the floating hell and onto dry land. She walked down the gangplank and into the shallows with a wobbly step, and after a moment of fumbling did her best to look as in-control as possible. She stuck her chin out confidently and stood up straight, walking onto the beach with long strides. One barely-contained wave of nausea made her realize she didn't really need to walk anywhere. She stood in her place on the beach, turning to the sea to pretend she was surveying something. If someone really needed to talk to her they could come to her, she figured, at least for the next few minutes.
