Libro swallowed for the tenth time that morning. Morning came like death inevitable, turning the bruised sky  into shades of orange and apricot. He stood with the other guardsmen, donning his armor, checking and rechecking that every strap and buckle was secure.

Damn it all, but his mouth was miserably dry. His tongue felt like a thick strip of cotton sticking to the roof of his mouth. His lips fared little better, all cracked and tight as they were. He swallowed again, but the lump in his throat remained. Worst of all, though, was how badly he needed to piss. He'd relieved himself twice already trying to prepare, and his bladder felt full enough to burst. What irony, he thought. His mouth was bone dry, and yet he was practically swimming below the belt.

What the feck was he doing here? It wasn't right. None of it was. He wasn't a soldier. Well, not technically. Sure he'd practiced the drills, recited the litanies, and brought a cadet to his knees in the sparring ring a time or two, but things were different now. He was a Chronicler. He was supposed to hold a quill, not a shield, and certainly not an ax.

His hand instinctively brushed against the spine of the Archive chained to his side. The cold leather only gave him a semblance of relief, but somehow it was enough. He closed his eyes, remembering the Captain's words. Breathe. Just breathe. He sucked in a lungful and let it out slowly through his nose.

A rough hand clapped him hard across the back. Libro gasped, sputtered, gave a horrid sounding belch. He turned, the daggers in his eyes quickly losing their edge the moment when he noticed Regis.

"Morning," he said merrily, dressed appropriately for battle. His massive body was wrapped in thick furs and chainmail, the metal links intertwined with corded red string, fashioned in the shape of some bizarre winged monster. A Wyrm, from what Libro recalled. Some fire breathing beast that lived up in the mountains of Danic. Utter nonsense honestly.

"Good...morning," Libro said between gasps.

"Well, well." Regis gave him a once over. "Have to say you don't look too shabby in armor. Fits you rather well."

"You think?" Libro asked nervously. He imagined he looked rather comical. The thick wool coat made it hard to move his arms, the chainmail over that even more so. The metal plates of his lamellar coat clicked and clacked like a damned wind chime every time he moved. How anyone could fight in all this was beyond his understanding.

Regis tapped a finger to his chin. "Now that you mention it though, it does feel like something's missing. Ah, I know." He bent down, scooping Libro's cone-shaped helmet off the ground and slapping it over his head.

The world went dark as the lip of the helm fell over his eyes. Libro scrambled to pull it up, faceguard digging into his nose.

"There." Regis brushed his hands together and stepped back to admire his work. "You look like a tried and true Tribune now. Tassel and all."

"More like a tried and true corpse if you ask me," Libro said as he fished up the helmet. "I can barely see in this thing."

"Bah, damn that quartermaster. Hordie couldn't give a man the right fit if he had a tape measure sewed to his ass. Give it here." Regis tore the helmet off Libro and peered inside. "Damn leathers all folded to shit in here. Let me fix that." He stuck a hand into the oversized drinking vessal and fumbled with it before checking once more. "Eh, that'll have to do."

Regis placed the helmet back on Libro before he could protest. The metal pinched a bit more in some places, squeezed in others, but it held its place this time. All the better to see his death coming, he supposed.

"Thank you," Libro said sheepishly, feeling like a child whose father was fussing over a loose knot.

Regis cracked a grin. "Don't mention it. Helmets may fit like a bitch sometimes, but they can save your life. Take it from someone who's had it happen a time or two."

"I think I will." Libro noticed two figures approaching. One stepped lightly in lammellar, wrapped in a burgundy cloak that was one step beyond tatters. The other was dressed in dark leather, the familiar gold-black of the Guard's colors faded from constant wear. Libro's stomach twisted into knots the moment he realized who they were.

Regis followed Libro's gaze, his grin cracking ever wider. "Glad you two could finally join us. Libro and I were just about finished getting ready."

Civis sneered, giving Libro the same look one would give a stinking latrine. "Ready to keel over if you ask me." Culter snorted at that, dull eyes staring at nothing in particular.

Regis gave a dismissive wave. "First raid jitters. Happens to the best of us. I bet you a trembling leaf in your first fight."

Civis scoffed. "As if. The Inquisition breeds that type of nonsense out of you. Not like the Imperial boot camps our dear Chronicler probably trained under." He curled his lip in Libro's direction. "Does he even need to be here? I wouldn't want him jeopardizing the mission once the chaos starts."

Sour bile coated the back of Libro's throat. How dare that trumped-up little nobleman speak to him like that. He squared up towards Civis, trying with all his might to appear menacing. Judging by the look he was given it wasn't quite working.

"Oh my. Finally found some stones under all that armor?" Civis asked, chuckling to himself.

"That's enough," Regis barked. "Leaving the goading for the campfire. Not on the battlefield."

"I have every right to be here," Libro said, ignoring the big blustering Northman. "I'm the one who came up with the plan after all."

"Plans don't mean shit if they've no substance behind them," Civis quickly interjected. "Same as the people who make the plans too. They amount to feck all when everything falls through."

Libro felt keen to punch Civis right about now, but Regis was already stepping between them. He grabbed both their collars, nearly picked them both off the ground with how strong he was. Libro certainly felt his heels kissing the air.

"I said that's enough!" The Northman's bark lowered into a growl, the kind you heard in the darkest edges of the forest. "You two want to bicker like children? That's fine. Do it on your own fecking time. Not on mine." He let them both go. Libro fell back on his heels, wobbling to stay upright. Civis hit the ground with a solid thump.

"Fine," he said appearing to swallow his pride. "So, what is the plan?"

"If you'd decided to stick around," Regis pointed out. "You'd know."

"Then tell me," Civis said through clenched teeth. 

Libro stifled a laugh, not wanting to upset Regis any further. "Right," he said, patting the Archive at his side. "The plan was first enacted by Captain Nothus in the tenth century. He found a means of creating a shield wall that covered the Guard in all directions. Like a turtle's shell."

"I'm wanting a plan," Civis interjected dryly. "Not a history lesson."

Libro bit back a sharp retort and cleared his throat. "The plan, Civis, is that we are going to do just that. We'll form a shield wall that will cover us completely and use it to march straight up the hill. The rebel's arrows will bounce right off, as long as the shield walls remain secure."

"How many men do we have for this?"

"A hundred," Regis cut in. "Mostly Greenhorns, but I have a few Centums from my band mixed in."

"That leaves us with..." Civis mouthed the calculations in his head. "About twenty-five for each of us. Is that enough?"

"More than enough," Libro said.

"Well, I guess you can color me impressed then." Civis sniffed and pulled at his sword belt. "That's a solid plan. On paper at least, but as I said, I've seen good plans go to shit real quick."

"We'll just have to make sure it doesn't," Regis concluded. "Now, enough talk. Let's finish this fecking campaign already and go home."

The Tribunes divided the troop into four equal parts. Libro sighed in relief to see that the men assigned to him were mostly Centums. Battle-hardened and well-trained, these were men who could fight without need for orders, men who had survived a hundred battles and lived to tell the tale.

He gave them their orders, and they listened without question. Shields were set in place, one by one, until the late afternoon sun disappeared beneath wood and steel, enveloping Libro in darkness. Outside he could hear the muffled sound of Regis shouting orders. 

The Centum's shifted in preparation, leaving Libro shaking at the knees. His shield clattered with the front of the pack, the air inside smelling of sweat and steel and unwashed bodies.

They began to march. Libro tripped over his feet and nearly fell over before a guardsman caught him, hoisting him off his feet and planting him back down. He exhaled out of his nose and ignored the heat creeping up his neck. Breathe, he reminded himself. Breathe and march and don't look away even if it's all wrong. Just breathe.

He could see the hill rise through a gaps in the shields. They were moving slowly, but they were moving. Regis and his group had gone ahead. Civis and Culter's were close by, tailing him at a steady pace.

The ground suddenly sank beneath Libro's feet. For the second time, he nearly tripped, his ankle twisting painfully. He gasped, bit back the need to yelp, and marched on. The ground rose and fell with pits and potholes, the dirt well churned into mud thanks to Regis and the rain.

Strange though, Libro realized as he peeked outside again. Plenty of holes in the ground, but no stones in sight. Had the earth swallowed them up, or had something else happened entirely? His thoughts were dashed away as a loud twang hissed through the air before something thudded into the shields. An arrow, given the sharp point protruding out the other end, mere inches from Libro's face. He gulped dryly. It seemed the rebels had finally caught on to the plan.