The Jingoist: Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The Assignment

The newspapers said it was a Glorious Victory. It was not. Any soldier can tell you that there is no such thing, capitalized or otherwise. No man in his right mind can call the loss of over a thousand men glorious. It’s hardly even a victory.

One thousand, two hundred and eighty-three men fell in that last week alone, my older brother included. The graveyard on the outskirts of Lena, the enemy’s capital, was full of freshly dug graves, bearing only a name and date hastily scratched into the cheap stone. The common foot soldiers were put to rest in a few simple mass graves. The officers, both commissioned, like my brother, and non-commissioned, were given neat, six foot deep holes in which to spend eternity. It seemed a lousy way to go. I decided, that day, as Ben and I stood silently by our brother’s headstone, that I would be cremated. I wanted my remains scattered to the wind, not placed in an earthen prison like Alex’s.

I looked up at my little brother, half a foot taller than I was, though two years younger, and felt an odd surge of pride to see the mask-like setting of his face, the rigidity of his spine even as he fought back the waves of grief I knew plagued us both. It was the way my father had taught us to conduct ourselves, years ago. Sanderson men do not show fear, pain, or despair. It’s easier that way, I suppose, to cope with the wars.

The damn wars. The Empire had been sending it’s men off to some country or another for centuries, conquering those smaller than itself and slowly infiltrating the larger ones. My family had been thrust into the middle of it six generations ago. My great-great- etc. grandfather had been the king’s captain of the guard. That position doesn’t even exist anymore, and we’ve nothing to show for it. All we got was some old medal that I suppose is mine now, though my mother still keeps it on her mantel and I let her. All those bloody wars, and the Empire was really only a bunch of separate nations strung loosely together by fear of the Tyrant, so called because no one can remember what we’re supposed to call our ruler. Tyrant just fits too well. I pulled my jacket tighter to fight off the chill, though I wasn’t at all sure it came from the crisp air.

“We’re going home, Will,” he said, as much to reassure me as to test out the idea for himself. “No more hardtack and dried peas for us.” He gave me a weak smile and I almost returned it at the thought of our mother’s famous beef stew. The thought of the empty chairs stopped me. I sucked in a breath of cool autumn air and held it.

Pull it together, William, I commanded myself. I wanted out. I needed to get out of that graveyard, where the stench of death accosted my nostrils and made my head spin. I wanted to go to bed, a real bed, and just sleep. I wanted to wake up from the nightmare.

It shouldn’t be this way, I thought bitterly as we picked our way among the markers and toward the ancient dolmen that served as a gate, the only trace of the ancient stone circle that once stood on the site. All my life I’ve wanted the damned war to end. I dropped my left hand to the scabbard at my waist, and felt the green embroidery with my fingertips, and some tiny, rebellious part of me responded, Not at that price. Nothing should come at that price.

Peace was - and still is - a foreign concept to me. I never seemed to get the grasp of what happened when there was no war on. It didn’t make sense, to my mind. There was always war somewhere, if you looked hard enough, so how could you ever truly have peace? Therefore, I had no answer when Ben asked, fifteen minutes later, “What now?”

I had suggested we go for a bite to eat. We found a tavern in a likely looking part of the city, and sat at the sticky bar. We weren’t alone. Nearly half the other officers that had come out of the battle alive were there as well, and the tables were dominated by green and white uniforms. The men sat poking at their food with looks of mild curiosity and concern; nothing was immediately recognizable, and I sincerely hoped I was wrong about the things I thought I could identify.

The little man behind the bar sidled up to Ben and asked, in a heavily accented, reedy voice, “What does sir wan’ for eat?”
Ben considered, and replied, hesitantly, “Whatever’s good.” The man turned to me, and I nodded toward my brother.
“Same. But with a beer.” Ben raised his eyebrows critically at me, but for once didn’t challenge it. “I need it, Ben,” I told him. “Just one, and you can hold me to it.” He rolled his eyes and watched the little blond man disappear behind the curtain that separated the kitchen from the bar. I pulled off my jacket, and Ben did the same, folding his carefully and placing it over the back of his chair. I let mine dangle over the arm in a heap.
One of the other soldiers, a lieutenant like Ben, came up to us and swapped rumors with my brother. I listened with mild interest as the two of them spun tales to make your hair curl. They talked mostly about the battle; apparently some corporal had seen the ghost of one his slain comrades get up and kill the poor bastard attacking him, and one of the other lieutenants, who had sustained a concussion, swore that the Great Mother had taken him into Her arms and told him that he must go back, as it wasn’t yet his time. Rubbish, I call it. I stopped listening to the words and studied the grain of the wooden counter, daydreaming about a girl I’d left back home.
“And Harry says they just cut off his ‘ead, quick as you like,” the lad was saying. He was oddly earnest about it, I thought. He’d probably never seen it happen. I had, and was slightly sickened by the thought.
“Who’s head?” I asked, thanking the Mother that the little man hadn’t yet brought my food. I wouldn’t have been able to eat it.
“Why, their king’s!” Ben said. “Haven’t you been listening?” I shook my head apologetically. I hadn’t, not really. My thoughts had been extremely Aileen-centric in the past few minutes. “The general cut off their king’s head,” Ben told me, far less enthusiastically than his friend. “So he wouldn’t get in the way.”
I nodded. We’d done the same thing when we’d conquered Kytch. Extra rulers always cause problems, so the trick is to do away with them early. I’ll admit that cutting the man’s head off is perhaps a bit dramatic, but it’s efficient.
The other boy continued. “They’re saying the people will revolt if they kill the prince, though. Apparently he’s well-liked.” He brushed a loose curl from his wide eyes. “And someone’s tried to kill him!” I rolled my eyes, ever the cynic. Of course, even when a revolt was around the corner, the Empire liked to finish the job. The lieutenant saw this and shook his head. “No, get this: It wasn’t us! No one from our army was in the palace!” I flashed him a wry smile.
“Just because none of our men were officially inside, it doesn’t mean it’s automatically an inside job.” I paused as the little local man placed our food in front of us. “Who’d want to make his own people riot?” The boy considered this, and conceded that I had a point. He clapped Ben on the shoulder and went back to his table, where his friends were waiting.
My brother and turned our attention to our plates, and ate quickly and methodically. It was actually quite good, provided you didn’t look too hard at it.

Major Barrows pulled me aside as I stepped out the door, pulling on my jacket. Ben had stayed to talk with some of the other men after making sure I wouldn’t order another drink, and I had planned to wander about the city and see the sights, provided there were any. I followed the portly figure through the late-afternoon gloom until we were well out of earshot of the inn.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Sanderson” he began. I noted that I was addressed as ‘Mister’ and not Captain. I stared at him, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, I shook my head.
“We came out of it better than most families. The Watt’s lost a father and four sons. The Erikson’s lost three sons, and as it turns out, a daughter. That was a bit embarrassing sir. We’re working on ways to catch that sort of thing.” The man looked nervous.
“Erm… I wouldn’t know…” He paused. No, I thought. You wouldn’t, because you delegate that sort of thing to me. I watched him sweat, keeping my face determinedly calm, not allowing the flicker of fury to show there. You weren’t the one who had to write a letter to the Widow Watt’s to explain to her that none of her men would be returning home. You didn’t have to tally our losses or talk to that obnoxious man from the Gazette. That was my job.
The major looked miserable, and a surge of pity replaced my anger. “You were saying sir?” I asked kindly, trying to relieve him.
“Ah, yes. Of course.” He fumbled with his pockets for a moment and pulled out a scrap of paper. He squinted at it for a few minutes, and then began, “You and your brother…”
“Ben,” I say helpfully. Good grief, he didn’t even know which one was dead, did he? You were just looking for the first Sanderson to walk past you, weren’t you? I still wonder if he knew which one I was. “He’s inside. Should I get him?”
“No, no, that’s quite alright.” The major handed me the folded scrap of parchment. “Just tell him that the two of you have a new assignment. Good day, Mr. Sanderson.”
I unfolded the letter, scanned it quickly, and watched the man walk off into the thickening fog and thought, Damn him.

“Why did you say yes, Will?” Ben demanded, taking shaky, shallow breaths as he handed me back the letter.
“I didn’t,” I said. “He just handed it to me and walked off.” I sighed. “It’s not as though we really have a choice, is it? It’s not a request, it’s an order.”
Ben slumped back into his chair, knocking his jacket to the floor. He left it there and glared at the piece of parchment in my hands.
“So we’re bodyguards now,” he said dispassionately. I looked down at the note.
“Protectors, it says here.” I shrugged. It’s the same thing, really.
Ben glanced at his fallen jacket as though seeing it for the first time. “Why does the word ‘thug’ come to mind?” he enquired.
I ignored this comment. “D’you want the princess or the prince?” He shrugged, then considered it.
I’ll take the princess,” he said. “Aileen would kill you, and Ned,” he nodded to the boy who had shared his gossip with us, “Says she’s beautiful.”
I nod. Aileen wouldn’t kill me, but she wouldn’t hesitate to make my life extremely difficult. Sometimes I believe Ben have been on to something - He’d sworn to remain single his entire life, for the fear of creating a third Sanderson Widow. Every time though, my thoughts turn to that goodbye kiss, three years ago in front of the temple, and I know I’d never manage.
“On the bright side,” I said with a brittle grin, “We don’t have to sleep in tents anymore.”