Throne of Steel
Chapter 5 -Legions March
Not all Charr had a legion, or ever joined one. Whether it was because they were ousted for breaking the chain of command, dismissed over failures at significant cost to others or because their Fahrar wasn't under the legions' instruction to begin with, any and all Charr that were not sworn to a legion, intrinsically held the lesser rank of a 'Gladium'. Because not having a warband was key to being a gladium, many of them didn't even have second names, for lack of a warband name to refer to.
The gladia populating the Ascalonian countryside were regarded as social pariahs to the legions and in every settlement operated by the legions, treated as such. With no larger structure to provide them work and compensation, gladia were forced to earn livelihoods of their own, often resorting to agriculture or craftsmanship, producing the supplies the legions needed to operate with, in exchange for a pittance. Some, for lack of other skills, had to offer their services as freelance mercenaries, offering their lives in other people's conflicts at a fraction of the pay a warband would have earned.
"I've had enough!" The Commander wanted to spend a little more time in the Citadel so he could pay the factories a visit without drawing too much attention. Rytlock clearly didn't feel the same way. In the last few days, the Commander had joined the Tribunes' meetings in Goreblade's makeshift office outside the Core. On the morning after the Citadel received signal that the artillery had a sufficient head-start, the furious Blood Legion Tribune drove one of his knives into the wooden table. "It's been weeks now. We've been sitting on our backsides twiddling our thumbs here for long enough. This is shaping up to be one of the biggest joint legion field offensives I've witnessed in a long time, it's the day we're set to move out and Smodur is nowhere to be seen."
Tribune Goreblade shrugged. "It's been like that for over a year now. I don't know what to tell you, most of us have gotten used to it."
"This is nothing to get used to! The Flame Legion won't stop their advance just because our Imperator decided to take an indefinite vacation." Rytlock was left this restless, because he had nothing to occupy himself with. While all he could do was sit there and maybe comment on some of the smaller details in Goreblade and Siegeblast's strategy, the Commander had ways to keep busy, exchanging stories with Rox and writing and reading correspondence with Pact Marshal Trahearne. Much like previously with Kryta, the Pact would have been happy to send out the fleet to back up the Commander. But Scarlet Briar, now self-declared 'High Admiral' in title, threw a wrench in that plan, once again threatening to withdraw Lion's Arch's support and accommodations for the Pact, should they depart without her say-so. So once again, the only helping hands the Commander could provide his allies were his own.
The Iron Legion Tribune was about to try to calm Rytlock back down, but this time, he cut him off: "You know full well that this can't fly. If this huge a number of our forces are putting their lives on the line for an all-in strategy like this, the Imperator better be spearheading it."
"You know the situation, there's nothing we can do to change it."
Rytlock got up from his personal chair. "You watch me change it! It's what I came here for in the first place. I helped the humans with their countess just so that there would be enough legionnaires here to do something about it. The Sylvari can dismiss and threaten us if we're few in number. But now there's plenty of Charr here to draw from." He marched to the front of the tables, raising his voice to reach all the surrounding Charr as well as any on the catwalks below the road. "Soldiers of all three legions, listen up! Today is the day we move out and not only do the lives of our forces depend on our success, but the Citadel as a whole is on the line here."
It was a common understanding between the Charr of the Citadel that when Tribunes marched through the streets giving speeches, they were preparing to rally troops for an offensive or a planned mission. This was a more spontaneous occasion, but it was the morning of their deployment, so people followed suit regardless. Rytlock waved at everyone to follow him while he descended to one of the lower districts, rallying more and more Charr as he moved along with his speech. "An army is nothing without its leader, we need one unifying head at the top, directing all three legions in unison! The Citadel has a rank for such a person and that is that of the Imperator. We need our Imperator at the head of our army and we need him NOW. Not tomorrow, not in a week, but right this instant!"
He led the growing crowd on a steady march from an Iron Legion training compound to a set of resting quarters, past the mustering grounds for Iron and Blood Legion and then towards Hero's Canton. "Since the Searing of Gendarran Fields and the Imperator's arrival in Ascalon, he has not been seen or spoken to by any Charr! Self-important Sylvari, sent by Lion's Arch, block the way of anyone trying to contact the Imperator! They think themselves and him too high and mighty to even talk to anyone here! Even Tribunes are treated with the same spite and dismissal as the most untrained factory worker! Is that the way of a soldier to treat his subordinates? I say it is not! Disrupting work and communication just to fellate one's own self-esteem may be a luxury they can afford in the offices of Lion's Arch, but this is the Black Citadel!"
He pounded his chest without stopping. "We are Iron Legion, Blood Legion, Ash Legion! So do we just accept this? Do we accept charging head-first into a battle to decide the fate of the Citadel while our leader cowers within the comfort of his office, just because we can't muster the nerve to tell off his gatekeepers? No! Come with me, and we will bring an end to this silence! I won't let a bunch of upstart plants be the death of the Citadel!"
He made sure to space out the parts of his speech to make time for his march through the streets and give legionnaires hearing him some time to join the crowd. When he looped back to the tables outside the core though, a group of Ash Legion Charr went out of their way to intercept and stop him. One of them, a female Charr with greyish fur, only one fang and a deeply reddened right eye, was pointed out by Rox to be Torga Desertgrave, the Tribune in charge of any Ash Legion troops stationed or traveling in and out of the Black Citadel.
Torga raised her hand to point her claws at him. "Not so fast, Brimstone. I'm very concerned about the things you've been blaring about around the Citadel just now. You've been speaking very harshly of the Imperator, you are acting way out of line."
He snubbed at her with his teeth bared. "I'm acting within my duties as Tribune. If you have something of actual substance to say, then out with it."
"I can't help but sense a disloyal undercurrent within your vitriolic diatribes."
"If I was disloyal to Smodur, I wouldn't go through the trouble and rally troops to talk sense into him, I'd blast open his window, kill him and take his place." The Ash Legionnaires looked disappointed, as if they expected him to just buckle and abandon his ambitions to talk to the Imperator. "If you've got something to say or do, get it over with or get out of my way."
And his unwillingness to be intimidated into inaction by them was met with great disapproval from Torga. "Your disrespect didn't go unnoticed, mark my words." Torga was acting strange. Even the Commander understood enough about the Charr's military structure to know that this was out of the ordinary. Torga was a local Tribune, Rytlock's equal. But her tone and demeanour were laced with an air of superiority so thick, you could cut it with a knife. And unlike with any Charr around here, her armor was completely covered in tiny ribbons, badges and medals, many of which bore the emblem of Lion's Arch.
With the Ash Legion's disruptors out of the way, Rytlock's veritable army entered the Core and ascended the spiral ramp. The snooty Sylvari were still in position around the closed iris barring their path to the Imperator's seat. And they only showed minor apprehension at the insurmountable crowd swarming the hall. Even when Rytlock went right up to the man in the middle with Goreblade, the Commander and Rox following closely, the Sylvari only dignified him by looking roughly in his vague direction, refusing to look at him directly with his head held high as a sign of his perceived status. "Can we help you?"
"I wish to speak to Imperator Smodur."
"His High Authority the Imperator is not receiving visitors at this moment."
"And by what rank do you presume to speak for him? What rank, what legion?"
The Sylvari rolled his eyes. "Our positions are those of his High Authority the Imperator's consultants. Which places us far above where unwashed grunts like you lot could have anything of import to contribute."
Rytlock ran out of patience and drew his burning sword, its fires laid bare for the Sylvari prompting them to back off ever so slightly. "I wonder what happens when an unbreakable sword meets an insufferable cabbage."
The Sylvari, obtuse about the severity of the situation up to this point, now understood his threat very clearly and panicked: "Guards! Guards!" The Iron legionnaires guarding the sides of the hall were about to act up, but when the soldiers that had followed Rytlock up here drew their weapons, they were quick to realise that trying to attack or apprehend Rytlock's entourage was a losing battle. They were outnumbered by at least two dozen to one of their own.
Once the Sylvari understood that there was no way of handwaving Rytlock's demands, he laid out his conditions: "Open the door and get out of the way or you're going from 'consultant' to 'kindling'."
At last, they understood him loud and clear and went through the long-awaited motions. Levers were pulled, switches were flipped and the steel iris retracted itself, allowing the Charr to pass through the circular hole onto the steep ramp leading onto a wide balcony overlooking the east side of the Citadel, all the way to the front gate.
After ascending another ramp, they finally came to the arc hanging over the 'Command Core', the fourth floor of the Core and beyond a bridge in the middle lay the central platform that made up the Imperator's seat. Most notable was the giant bullseye behind the throne that took up the entire wall behind it. The Charr that usually guarded it or gathered at the seat, were all gone. Instead, more Sylvari in office clothing came out of all the side rooms gawking at the horde of Charr entering the top.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"What gives you the right to barge in here?"
Several cries of outrage came from the Sylvari, only for the legionnaires filling the platform to draw their weapons and intimidate them into silence. Save for the Claw of the Khan-Ur, the ancient relic recovered from the catacombs, kept in a glass showcase in the middle of the main table in the middle of the room, any maps, important tools or other things useful to the planning of the legions' operations were gone. Instead, it had held a range of dishes arranged around where the Imperator stood.
Among the many things delivered to the Core to keep the Imperator supplied and fed in his isolation, were small crates imported from somewhere else. An entire wing of the office formerly occupied by display stands lined with valuable Ascalonian artifacts, had been cleared out and filled with stacks upon stacks upon stacks of these strange blue crates. One of them stood on the table - open - and was filled to the brim with small tea boxes.
A Sylvari stood beside the Imperator with a teapot, about to pour another cup just as the Charr began to fill into the office.
The Imperator himself, tilting backwards where he stood, much more malleable in his stance than he had been on the day of the searing, stared at Rytlock, his wide-open eyes twitching about from time to time. "What IS the meaning of this, Brimstone? Why are you breaking in here with half an army in tow?"
Rytlock responded with his sword still drawn. "Breaking in and bringing an army is what it takes, just to get here. I've tried asking nicely before."
More and more Charr began to speak up from within the crowd. "A lot of us did!"
"What's going on?"
"Why are you hiding here?"
The Imperator slammed the table. "Enough! I will not be disrespected by footsoldiers, much less so in these very halls."
Rytlock answered for the others. "They're not disrespecting you, they're questioning your motives. They wouldn't care about your motives if they didn't respect you."
"Then I hope for your sakes that you didn't come here just to complain about not getting enough attention like a bunch of spoiled cubs."
"The Flame Legion is on the move, with a bigger army than anything they've thrown at us for as long as I can remember. If we let them lay siege to the Citadel unhindered, our defenses won't hold up against them. Our heavy artillery has had enough of a head-start to be in position by the time we get anywhere near them, but we have to move out today."
The Imperator wove them away with both hands. "Then what's stopping you? Off you go!"
"You're expecting all our field troops to put our eggs in one basket while you hide away up here?"
Smodur looked furious. But it wasn't just anger, he would have closed in on Rytlock otherwise, instead he was inching further away. "Are you - are you accusing me of desertion?"
"I'm accusing you of not fulfilling your role as Imperator of the Iron Legion. You have a duty to your legion as much as I do to mine. By every past statute and directive, in a field deployment this size, it becomes an Imperator's duty to direct his troops in the field."
From the looks of it, the Tribune had Smodur dead to rights. The Imperator froze, his eyes darted about for a few moments before he could muster up a response. "I - You - So be it then, have it your way. But thi-thi-this…" He took a sip from his teacup. "...this better be as serious as you say." The moment he drank from his tea, the momentary stutter was gone.
"You didn't know about this?"
The Imperator's eyes widened for a moment. "...I mean yes, I knew about it!"
"I would hope so, because if these 'consultants' of yours didn't tell you, what else have they not told you?"
"I won't have you come here and insult my trusted experts! Now if that is all you were here for, I recommend you give me some space to make preparations."
Before it got to that, the Commander decided to stop him and ask one question first. He pointed at the tea box and asked. "What is this anyway?"
The Sylvari holding the teapot answered in the Imperator's stead. "Redbriar tea, only the highest quality. It calms the senses, perfect for a highly busy leader like his High Authority the Imperator."
"We could do with a little more leading and a little less drinking tea." the Tribune grumbled.
"That's enough, Brimstone, " the Imperator said. "Your business here is concluded, now leave the seat or I will treat this intrusion as what it is." His words were clear. To stay and press the issue without giving him a chance to keep his word, meant to be put to death, so the Charr cleared out of the Command Core. Every single one.
Perhaps it was for the best, because there were a lot of preparations to be made to get the convoy and the army ready and only a few hours to get them done.
To the surprise of many, the Imperator kept to his word. When the army was already getting into formation on the roads outside the Citadel, he joined them. Though he walked ahead only very hesitantly and accompanied at all times by a dozen of the Sylvari consultants to tend to him. By the time he got around to assuming position, it was already time to depart and so they did. Eastwards across Diessa Plateau, along roads that started to fade along the edges.
When traveling from city to city, it was easy to lose track of just how vast Ascalon was. The Commander was amazed by how many little outposts, castra and settlements there were, with Charr herding cows, keeping gardens or simply hunting wildlife. In hindsight, it made sense. The Citadel didn't produce any food, the legions generally didn't, but all that beef had to come from somewhere. Wherever there was even a tiny patch of moderately arable land, the Charr seized upon it and put it to use. And for what little fruitful parts the land had to offer, the land was very densely populated - often by Charr that had no affiliation with any of the high legions.
Or at least, the Commander wished this was the case. For all the silence and the isolation of the Imperator, the swaths of Charr quietly moving out of the Citadel to escape the impending bloodshed under a weak and absent leader, had not gone unnoticed. Under the instruction of one of the Sylvari, several Centuriae ordered troops to search every house in the settlements they came across, in search of deserters. And not long after their first stop, they found what they were looking for. And as they made camp outside one such village, a commotion within the village drew the attention of more and more people from the army.
When the Commander got close enough to see what was happening, a group of Charr dragged another one out of one of the many loosely thrown-together metal boxes the gladia had for houses and threw him onto the street. "Leave me alone! I'm innocent! I'm just a gladium! I herd cows!"
His protestations went ignored and within moments, he was cuffed and held in place by several Iron Legionnaires. One Sylvari stood over the villager and announced. "Arvor Powderpincher, formerly Iron Legion, you stand accused of desertion. There is no point in claiming innocence, you've been recognized by multiple former comrades. You have abandoned the legions and you have abandoned your Imperator."
When the struggling villager understood that he couldn't confuse them about who he was, he started speaking openly. "What Imperator? Kryta faced a revolution, the Flame Legion is marching towards the Citadel and our Imperator is nowhere to be seen! Fess up to it already, Smodur abandoned us! " The Imperator soon came along as well, led by three more of his consultants. "Imperator…"
"I don't appreciate being taken for a coward. What do you have to say for yourself?"
"It's all but too late, why do you choose now to show your face?"
"I have important business and am under no obligation to talk to anyone! I am above people like you making assumptions about me! I did not abandon you and I was in no way hiding!"
When Rytlock arrived, he cut off Smodur right there. "That last part's debatable."
The Imperator immediately turned his eye to the Tribune. "Do you have something to say, Brimstone?"
"I don't think we can fault him at all. I didn't commit to it, but I had the same suspicions. If I hadn't broken into the seat, you would still be cooped up inside the Core."
Rytlock's broad-mouthed superior snarled at him. "I'm not - I'm-I'm-I'm…" He waved at one of the Sylvari to pour him another cup of tea and his sudden twitching fit would only stop after he was done taking a sip. "I am not one to be spoken to like this! You will render judgment on this deserter and it better be to my liking!"
Rytlock was in dangerous waters, this much was obvious. And to avoid escalating his fights with Smodur, he began to act accordingly. "I don't think we should punish him for making a reasonable inference."
"IT WAS NOT REASONABLE!"
Rytlock hesitated. To say it wasn't, was to sentence this Charr to death. But to further insist it was, might have cost Rytlock his life as well. Very hesitantly and very slowly, he weakened his stance and agreed: "Of course, you're right. It was not reasonable."
The look in the prisoner's eyes was filled with just about the despair and disappointment one would expect from someone who saw a man he trusted with his life, condemn him to an unceremonious execution. The Imperator's indignant consultants sent one of them forward with an axe, who with visible pleasure raised it while legionnaires pressed the prisoner against the ground. He swung down the blade, burying it into the captive's back, pulling it back out and then repeating this again and again until the prisoner bled to death.
This was only the first of many instances of this happening. Many of the Charr that saw the Citadel as a sinking ship in the previous months had been hiding in the countryside. And the Imperator was intent to retaliate against Rytlock for forcing him to come out here, by parading him in front of the legions and forcing him to spell out the death sentence of every single deserter they found. Unless relieved from duty by a Tribune or Imperator, a Charr's allegiance to their legion was for life and now that the Imperator had been forced to abide his own legion's rules for once, he made it a point to repay this gesture tenfold and prosecute everyone he could with great prejudice.
Needless to say, Rytlock was not happy with the situation. The Commander deliberately chose locations for him and Rox to make camp, far off to the side of main legion encampments. More often than not, Rytlock would join them at their campfires and vent his frustrations with the situation. The parts of Goreblade's strategy left unclear because of how elusive Varrock Siegeblast was about them, the legions' overall inaction in his absence, the Imperator's vindictive spoiled-child act where he looked for passive-aggressive ways to get back at Rytlock without outright confronting him and most of all the tea.
In the very beginning, the tea had only been a minor thing, not warranted a comment by anyone except maybe the Commander one time. But wherever the Imperator was to be found, he was also drinking this tea. The Sylvari brought a whole fleet of carts full of these crates with them along with Dolyaks to pull them and carry even more crates by themselves. And it was obvious why they needed this much of it, because Smodur was drinking it constantly. With every meal, between meals, when talking to people and even during their marches in the day. The longer it remained a constant in every interaction with the Imperator, the more it was on Rytlock's mind.
"If all this stuff does is calm the nerves, how much of a nervous wreck is he if has to drink it all day? What is his idea here anyway? Is he going to charge into battle with a teacup in one hand?"
As usual, the Commander tried to calm him down. "It's not like we can change much about his drinking habits right now. At least it isn't booze."
"How can you be so calm about this anyway? You're always trying to talk me down, but you can't just be sitting here and not thinking about anything, what's so important to you that you don't pay attention to this?"
"Do you want an honest answer?"
"Sure! Try to take my mind off of this death trap we're walking into!"
Throughout his time in Ascalon, the Commander had tried to keep them to himself to not worsen tensions between the Charr and possibly get in trouble with the legions himself. But now, he was outright asked, and there were only Rytlock and Rox here to hear him anyway. "I keep thinking back to last year in Kryta. There's a few things Aldryn said - I try to not bring them up around the Charr. He was only in charge of the Krytan Separatists at the time, he said the real leader was in Ascalon. Then when the Renegades helped us with the Lionguard, he said that their ties with the Renegades run deeper than we think. When we arrived at the Citadel, the Iron Legion Tribune said that Renegades AND Separatists are gearing up and hitting Ash Legion patrols - instead of each other - it's almost like they're working together."
"You're worried that if they are, the Legions will take Divinity's Reach for an enemy?"
"I hope this doesn't happen. I've sent a letter to Divinity's Reach to ask about the Krytan Separatists' relations with the Ascalonian ones, but you know how cryptic Aldryn can be."
"What did he say?"
He pulled out a letter hidden deep beneath layers of random clothing and tools inside one of his backpacks and read out the relevant line: " 'While not mutually opposed, our goals are separate from each other.'"
"Sounds about right."
"I wish I could just talk to one of the Ascalonian Separatists. I'm sure I could find out what happened if I just had that chance. Find out if there was some kind of split. Maybe the Ascalonian Separatists broke from the Krytan ones to work with the Renegades."
"Not much of a point wracking your brain over it until you get that chance."
"I feel the same way about you and the tea."
Rytlock sighed. "Touché." It was understandable to be on edge. They didn't have the advantages of hindsight, they had to sit through each night, not knowing whether the next day would be a marching day like normal, or if they were in for something much, much worse. But after this short fireside talk, the Tribune reeled himself back in, at least for a little while.