The guards didn't walk Kael to the barracks. They threw him.
He hit the packed dirt floor hard, rolling to absorb the impact. The heavy oaken door slammed shut behind him, the bolt sliding home with a sound like a coffin lid.
Kael lay there for a second, listening.
Laughter. Low, raspy, and mean.
He pushed himself up. He was in a long, low building that smelled of unwashed bodies, stale ale, and copper. Bunks were stacked three high against the walls—rickety wooden structures that looked ready to collapse. In the center of the room, a group of people sat around a crate, playing dice.
They weren't knights. They weren't soldiers. They were the dregs.
A man peeled himself off a lower bunk. He was huge—a slab of muscle and fat with a nose that had been broken so many times it was just a lump. He wore a vest made of boiled leather that strained against his gut.
"Fresh meat," the man grunted. "You look soft, boy. What are you? A pickpocket? A deserter?"
Kael stood up, dusting off his hands. He checked his boot. His knife was gone. Vane had taken it. He was unarmed.
"I'm a survivor," Kael said.
The big man laughed. "We're all survivors here. Until we ain't."
He stepped closer, looming over Kael. "This is my bunk. You sleep by the latrine bucket."
Kael looked at the man's hands. They were big, calloused fists.
Math.
Big man. Slow. Heavy center of gravity. Likes to intimidate.
"No," Kael said.
The room went quiet. The dice game stopped.
"No?" The big man grinned, revealing a gap where a tooth should be. "You think you have a choice?"
He reached out to grab Kael's tunic.
Kael didn't back down. He stepped in.
He dropped his weight, driving his shoulder into the man's solar plexus, just like Elric had taught him. At the same time, he stomped hard on the man's instep.
The big man wheezed, the air rushing out of him. He stumbled back.
Kael didn't stop. He swept the man's leg, and the giant crashed to the dirt floor with a thud that shook the bunks.
Kael stood over him, breathing hard. "I sleep where I want."
Slow clapping broke the silence.
Kael spun around. A wiry man was sitting on the top bunk, legs dangling over the edge. He had a shaved head and a tattoo of a slit throat running across his neck. He was flipping a throwing knife between his fingers.
"Not bad," the man said. "He's slow, but he's heavy. Taking him down without a weapon? That's skill."
The man hopped down, landing silently. "I'm Jax. That lump of suet you just dropped is Horg."
"Kael."
Jax looked him up and down. "You don't look like a criminal, Kael. You look like a church boy who got lost."
"I'm not lost."
"Sure. That's what they all say." Jax pointed a knife at the back of the room. "The Sarge wants to see you. Don't keep him waiting. He gets cranky when he's sober."
Kael walked to the back of the barracks. A small area was partitioned off by a hung blanket.
He hesitated, then pushed the blanket aside.
A man sat at a small table, sharpening a massive battleaxe with a whetstone. Shhhk. Shhhk.
He didn't look up. He was older than Elric, his hair pure white, tied back in a warrior's knot. His face was a map of scars. He wore the black armor of the Vanguard, but the sigil on his shoulder had been burned off.
Sergeant Karn.
"You're the Ashland rat," Karn said. His voice was deep, devoid of emotion.
"I'm Kael."
"Vane says you're valuable. Says you know about the Banner." Karn stopped sharpening. He looked up. His eyes were milky white—blind.
Beast-blind.
"I know enough," Kael said, unnerved by the blind gaze.
"Good. Because you're going out tonight."
"Tonight?"
"Vanguard doesn't sleep, boy. We scout the dark so the Knights can sleep in their silk sheets." Karn stood up. He was massive, moving with a terrifying certainty for a blind man.
He tossed a bundle at Kael. Black leather armor. A short sword.
"Put it on. If you live through the night, you get a bunk. If you die, Horg gets your boots."
Kael caught the gear. It smelled of old sweat and oil.
"Who are we fighting?" Kael asked.
Karn smiled. It was a wolf's smile.
"We aren't fighting, rat. We're hunting. Vane wants a prisoner. A live one. From the Staging Ground."
Kael felt a chill. Go back? To the factory?
"That's suicide," Kael whispered.
"No," Karn said, picking up his axe. "That's the Vanguard."