The horses galloped hard through the dark, following the Shadow wolves who took turns opening rifts. The group of four would vanish into nothing, only to reappear a mile or two ahead, keeping the pace fast and relentless.
They rode through the late hours, approaching their destination just after midnight.
Cane left Pudding circling overhead and sent both Shadow wolves into the ringworld. As they neared the outer perimeter, he slowed to a walk. The staging area ahead was quiet, its lanterns casting long shadows across the main gate.
Two guards stepped into view—one with a crossbow, the other gripping a spear. They raised their hands to halt the riders.
"Papers," the spear-wielding man said, eyeing the pair in dark armor. "State your business."
Cane dismounted. "Cane Ironheart. Here to assume command of First Company. This is Lieutenant Fergis, my second."
The guards exchanged a look. The man stiffened and handed the papers back without another word. "First Company's on the west side. Last four rows of tents. Evening mess is over, but you might find something still hot in the mess hall."
"Thank you, Corporal." Cane nodded.
The company camp was laid out in military grid—sixteen medium-sized tents, four per platoon. A few soldiers huddled around a low fire, their voices low and anxious.
Cane approached one of them. "Where can I find the platoon sergeants?"
The man jumped. "Uh—you don't want to bother them, sir. Best to just do what they say."
Fergis frowned. "What the hell is this?" Then louder—"TEEK? TEEK!"
A tent flap burst open. A short-haired woman stepped out, face hard—until recognition broke through.
"Bastard," she grinned, walking up to Fergis and embracing him. "Why are you here?"
"Missed you too," Fergis deadpanned.
Her eyes shifted. "Cane? You're here too? Yavo, Raymi, Davon—get out here!"
Cane and Fergis greeted the three platoon sergeants. Around them, the company leadership began to gather. The younger officers lingered awkwardly at the edges.
Cane raised an eyebrow. "You lot the platoon leaders? Get in here."
Inside the command tent, Cane stood before the assembled leadership: four platoon leaders, three sergeants, Fergis, and Teek.
"The chain of command starts with me," Cane began. "Then my lieutenants—each of you—and your sergeants. Everyone here received Fury training. Some of you are green, but your sergeants aren't."
He made eye contact with each of them.
"You follow my directives. You take your sergeant's advice. You let them relay orders. There are three kinds of soldiers—good ones, old ones, and dead ones. The last one's easy to become."
Teek snorted. "I sent a runner to the command tent to grab our orders. I assume you didn't stop by on your way in?"
Cane gave a slow smirk. "Fergis was in such a rush to see you, he wouldn't let me."
Teek's mouth opened and closed like a fish.
The sergeants laughed, and Fergis just nodded calmly. "We forget anything?"
Cane shook his head. "Just one thing—Fergis is my second. If I'm not here, he's in charge."
He looked at all of them—some seasoned, others still stiff with nerves.
"Weeks ago, we trained this company. Set everything you see in motion. Fury Legion doesn't fail. Stick to your training, follow orders, and keep your head on a swivel."
Cane stepped into the officer's tent, tossed his gear on a cot, and dropped into the chair at the center table. Fergis sat across from him, stretching out while the platoon leaders claimed their bunks, checked gear, or mingled quietly.
A few minutes later, the tent flap rustled, and a young woman stepped in. Black hair pulled tight beneath her cap, she paused just inside.
"Captain Ironheart?"
Cane raised the badge he'd been given with his commission. She stepped forward, inspected it with practiced ease, then handed over a sealed scroll.
"I'm Belzi, your runner. You know how this works?"
Cane gave a faint shake of his head. "Enlighten me."
"The enemy cracked our psi-coms months ago. I stay in the TOC—Tactical Operations Center. When your company gets new orders, I'll deliver them personally. Just call me Runner, or Belzi, or Runner Belzi."
"What if you can't find me?"
Belzi grinned. "I'll find you. As long as you're carrying that badge."
Her eyes narrowed with mock suspicion. "You gonna test me by hiding?"
Cane chuckled. "Tempting, but no. How old are you, Runner Belzi?"
"Twenty," she said.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Fine," she grumbled. "Eighteen. But this is my third campaign."
"Got a spare uniform?"
Without hesitation, Belzi accessed a small spatial ring and pulled out a folded standard-issue uniform. "You don't remember me?"
Cane laughed. "Course I do."
He actually did.
Back during the initial training of Fury Company, he'd reforged the standard-issue swords of nearly six thousand soldiers into fire focals. The line had felt endless. He didn't remember all of them—but a few had stood out.
He unfolded the uniform and laid it across the table. From his own supplies, he unrolled a sheet of gossamer-thin adamantium. The weaving felt different now—cleaner, more responsive.
With practiced precision, he fused the fibers into the uniform, finishing with the subtle shimmer of interwoven protection. Then, he summoned Blue and etched the mythic glacial ice rune across the chest. From his satchel, he pulled a spare heartguard.
"Know how to use this?"
Belzi shook her head.
"The heartguard protects your vitals. It's got two enchantments—stealth and cat eyes. Activate one at a time, or both if things get ugly."
She accepted the gear and gave a formal bow—crisp, martial. "Thank you, Captain. But you do realize I'm a jumper?"
"You can rift?"
Belzi nodded. "Only a hundred meters or so, but I can do it almost endlessly. Unless I get unlucky, I'm very hard to target."
Cane smirked. "In that case, give the gear back."
Belzi laughed. "Too late. I'm keeping it. Just consider it… an added layer of protection."
She hesitated near the exit.
"Something else, Runner Belzi?"
"Yes. I'm supposed to watch you read the orders and report back. Protocol."
Cane unsealed the scroll and scanned the contents. First Company had scout duty. At dawn, when the front officially opened, they were to move twenty miles north and secure Topoc Peak—establish a foothold and locate enemy activity.
He looked up.
"All set?" Belzi asked.
"Yep. We'll be ready."
She nodded, but lingered at the flap.
"Do you really remember me?" she asked quietly.
Cane smiled. "You were carrying a white chicken."
Belzi burst out laughing. "That's right!"
"I assumed it was dinner."
"I'm not saying."
After a solid night's rest and a quick trip to the mess hall, Cane and Fergis returned to the officers' tent to do what the military liked best—hurry up and wait.
Cane unrolled a map across the table, smoothing it with practiced hands. Their objective lay twenty miles north. A shallow sweep into enemy territory. The likelihood of immediate contact was low—but taking Topoc Hill would raise their profile. Once entrenched, they'd be a prime target.
The tent flap opened, and Runner Belzi stepped in without ceremony. "Orders, Captain."
Cane took the scroll, scanned it, then gave a sharp nod. "Understood. We're heading out."
Within minutes, 1st Company was on the move, heading north on foot. They didn't march in tight formation. Instead, they spread out naturally—five meters between each soldier, scanning the terrain without needing instruction.
Teek moved beside Fergis, her tone dry. "You think Cane knows we can double-time?"
Fergis didn't look up. "I assume so."
She glanced over her shoulder at the long, loose trail of soldiers. "Then what's he waiting for?"
Fergis leaned forward on his saddle horn, grinning. "For us to be out of view."
Sure enough, as the company crested a low hill, Cane halted the march at the base.
"Fergis!"
He rode forward from the center of the formation. "Yeah?"
"Brief them inside. Keep them orderly."
Fergis nodded, unfazed. "Not a problem."
Seconds later, Cane stood alone at the bottom of the hill. He raised a hand, summoning Moxie, who appeared beside him in a blur of shadows. Without a word, Cane stealthed and vanished into a rift with the wolf.
"What the hell?" Teek turned in a slow circle. "Where'd the front go?"
"FORM UP!" Fergis bellowed before the confusion could spread. "Stop gawking and move!"
To their credit, the company responded fast, shaking off the shock. They gathered in formation—rough around the edges but quick on the uptake.
They were standing in a wide meadow, ringed by living trees. Nearby, a charming cottage overlooked an expanse of half-built structures—barns, stables, workshops. Young workers bustled between sites, pausing to wave curiously at the newly arrived soldiers.
"You are in a spatial construct," Fergis announced loudly. "The Captain has paired with a shadow wolf and is already en route to the objective. Our arrival time is—"
The world shifted again. Light warped, the ground dropped out, and the stunned soldiers were yanked forward as Topoc Hill surged into view beneath their feet.
"—now," Fergis finished, grinning.
Cane stood near the summit, spyglass in hand, scanning the surrounding ridges.
"Teek," he said without turning. "Assign squads to scout north, east, and west."
"On it," she called.
"Davon, defensive positions on this ridge. Dig in. Raymi, Yavo, get the camp established. Set a rotating watch—four per corner."
The company scattered into motion. They'd trained for this.
They were the first on the front. And now, the hill was theirs to hold