Chapter 37
Snow was woken when a rooster heralded Sol's arrival. Their love of Sol made roosters good luck on the Front, and Snow liked to maintain that tradition.
Snow stretched out on his narrow cot. A Shield-General's tent was meant to be luxurious, but Snow considered that a waste when room was limited. Besides, taking only a modest tent with little furniture had allowed him space to land in.
He was still stretching when he entered his tent’s main room and found a steaming bath waiting. Catch had won some battles over how Snow should behave, and not wasting time with menial tasks like pouring his own bath was one of them. Apprentice Shields now took care this, invisible agents of labour. He didn’t like this arrangement, but still used the gloriously warm water.
Breakfast arrived shortly he dried, a simple meal of meat and fruit carried by young Farmers. Their Station had adapted to the cooler climate by growing rhubarb and harvesting the wild cherry trees that grew on the Gravit Mountains. If Snow didn't have time to wash himself, he certainly couldn't savour the meal, but he tasted some of it as he gulped it down and imagined it might have been delicious.
On time, Catch entered the tent. Two young Servants entered with him, his combined Shield and Acolyte robes in their hands.
“Busy day today,” his mentor said. “We start with greeting the new Contegons, then some meetings with the Major Shields and the Farmers. Then there's a whole nest of things you and I need to sign to satisfy the Clerics, so that'll be fun.”
Snow's heart sank, but he chastised himself for that reaction: such bureaucracy was as much a part of being Shield-General as organising, confirming, and taking guidance from his confidants. Not every day would be life and death battles, or long arguments over tactics.
“Do you know when another Acolyte will replace me?” he asked, standing. The Servants stepped forward and began to dress him, sliding fabric over his skin. “Good Morning Roll, Wing,” he said to them.
“Good morning, sire,” they parroted, terrified.
“I don't know about another Acolyte,” Catch said. “With the eastern Front trailing behind, I expect they’ll get each batch until it evens out. Certainty and Grit cover the centre well enough that any secondment seems pointless.”
Snow suppressed a laugh as Roll's hand tickled him by setting his leather armour around his stomach. “That makes sense, but it's a shame. We are still stretched, and we're about to lose another.”
“You'll still count as an Acolyte,” Catch said wearily. “Just... not one on active duty. I would expect you to go out and fight if the Front collapsed, for Sol’s sake.”
He reached up. The Servants hopped onto stools and slipped the robes over his arms. “So I’m a reserve Acolyte on my own Front.”
“Better than being an overworked one on Eagle's.”
That was true. Advancement of the Fronts was a point of pride between Snow and Eagle, a small competition. He'd ribbed his friend in their written communications about his lack of progress for a year now, but uneven deployments would soon guarantee the man caught up. Of course, that was best for Geos, but Snow would not let his friend forget that such measures were required.
Roll and Wing tied his robes around him and stepped back, done. Snow checked his appearance in a shoulder-high mirror: he wore Shield blue and Acolyte gold with a blue cape signifying his rank. At his behest, the Artificers had given the cape straps that could be quickly released, and had added room for the armour that bulked his slender form out.
“A fine job as usual, boys,” he said.
“Thank you, sire,” they both said.
“Dismissed,” Catch growled. The Servants acquiesced and ran from the tent.
“When did the Contegons get in?” Snow asked.
“An hour ago. They've had long enough to drop their travel packs and wash.”
He checked himself in the mirror again. “Let's go then.”
Two horses waited for them outside the tent, held by more Apprentice Shields. Snow had insisted on getting himself around New Call, much to Catch’s chagrin, who had wanted Shields to carry him like horses. Instead, Snow demanded to learn how to ride, and now used whatever beasts were not required for goods and materials when he needed to travel within New Call.
Snow climbed the horse nearest to him and read its emotions to determine its state. The horse was calm and happy: animal’s emotions were big and bold, easy to read. Snow couldn’t distinguish between human emotions yet, his biggest blind spot with Sol's Gift, but animals he got every time.
“Come on, my friend,” he whispered to the horse. “Let's go see some Contegons.”
New Call buzzed around them, always thrilled at new arrivals. It would be a month before the next lot of Shields arrived, mostly young failures from other Stations, so there was almost a festival atmosphere: the Artificers threw their tents open to hammer weapons and armour or carefully brewed new Baptisms; and the Farmers displayed their wares, hoping to catch Snow's eye and gain some prestige. There were no Merchants: inviting them was down to the Shield-General, but Catch had insisted Front were no places for people looking to make money. Though his Dad had been a Merchant, Snow had agreed with that logic.
Some people stopped and gawked at a senior Shield and an Acolyte trotting through the streets. Others waved, hoping for attention, and Snow couldn't help but wave back. New Call appreciated his efforts, validating every meeting he missed and each poor night's sleep. He couldn’t help but feel gratified by this, though he knew in his core that Catch was right about his main responsibilities.
Had Scar been treated like this by Call? The man should have received such adulation, though perhaps he discouraged these displays. Snow could not do so, having been strictly ordered to encourage people to show their faith in him: that was the price of the Gift, inspiring people to follow your lead.
Snow and Catch soon got to the Contegon's sector, a well-organised square of fabric contraptions for those held in reserve, or those who organised and mediated. Faded images of Sol were painted on every surface. Contegons raced about their holy duty, as thrilled as the rest of New Call about the new arrivals.
“They're actually relieved,” Catch said, reading Snow's expression. “They know they'll be more likely to get a tower now new blood is here.”
“What's the split this time?”
“Two Advanced Squad, twenty two normal.”
“Twenty two? That's... a large crop.” Each Front got half of the graduating Contegons, so a record number had Graduated this year.
“Isn't it just?” Catch said, his voice low so as to not insult any Contegons who might hear.
They rode to the central tent, where Contegon Piety welcomed her new charges. The Advanced Squad members might get towers right away, as befitted their status, though it would depend on Contegon politics: it sometimes seemed the Fronts had more Contegons than they needed, and some Advanced Squad members may wait for some time before facing a Disciple. Though, with so many available, Snow could perhaps start thinking about advancement, perhaps even form Contegon cadres. He made a mental note to discuss that with Catch when they next fought their paperwork.
Piety's tent was as large as a Shield General’s ought to be, a spacious structure that comfortably housed tens of Contegons. Prayers to Sol and hymns had been painted on its fabric walls by Contegons with little to do between battles, making it feel oddly like a Lord's tent.
Outside, a young Contegon Snow vaguely recognised from last year's arrivals waited. She smiled when she saw them, and said, “Shield-General, Acolyte, I'm here to collect your rides.”
“Thank you,” Catch said, not having to add 'sire' when he was still Shield-General. He'd find relearning how to address Contegons the most difficult part of the transition.
“Yes, thank you,” Snow echoed.
The Contegon beamed as she took the reigns. Snow leapt down, Catch carefully climbed from his horse. With a click of her tongue, the Contegon led the animals away.
 
; “You're taking this introduction, remember,” Catch said.
“I remember.”
“Give them some history, then say something about Sol. That's all Contegons want to hear.”
Snow waited for his laughter to pass before entering the tent.
Twenty-five sets of eyes turned to him when he pulled the fabric door back. One belonged to Contegon Piety, a middle-aged Contegon who'd lost a foot twenty years ago and found her calling in New Call. Sol had a plan for everyone, and this greying, shrewd warrior had proven invaluable, particularly following the tragedy of the Loss. Before her were the new Contegons, arrayed on low benches. They craned to see an Acolyte, eyes burning with fascination and fear. Near the front, two Contegons sat alone: they would be the Advanced Squad. One of them looked maddeningly familiar...
“Good morning, Shield-General, Acolyte,” Piety said, pulling him from his thoughts.
“Good morning,” the Contegons echoed, bowing and holding their hands above their heads.
“And a good morning to you all,” Snow said, entering the tent. He walked around the benches and remained silent until he stood by Piety. “May I take over?”
“Of course, sire.” Piety sat and gestured for him to start.
“I'm not so arrogant as to think you'll know exactly who I am, so let me introduce myself properly: I am Acolyte Shield Snow. I will, in the next fortnight, be Shield-General Acolyte Snow. People tell me I'm lucky I hadn't chosen a Station before the Second Invasion, or I'd be a real mouthful.”
The Contegons tittered. The very familiar Contegon laughed loudest, her eyes shining.
Snow frowned, tried unsuccessfully to place her again, but didn't let this derail him. “You'll know a lot about warfare from the Academy, and you should be aware of where we are with this war, so I thought I'd talk to you about the Advancement, which you might not know much of. Does that sound okay?”
They all said yes or nod, hanging off his words as a representative of Sol, one given the Gift.
“After the Second Invasion,” Snow continued, “the Council resolved to launch a counter-attack. They wanted to march on Moenian, thinking it vulnerable after the Disciples suffered a heavy defeat. Acolyte Councillor Maya argued caution, though other Councillors wanted vengeance. I agreed with my fellow Acolyte, thinking the Disciples capable of anything. This clash meant we had to reach a compromise, so we moved slowly, but purposefully, north.
“First, we recovered the western Front and old Call, then advanced the line. But we were presented with a problem: the Gravit Mountains, a great unguarded space potentially impassible for the Disciples. Again, the choice was between thunder and calm. I was still learning then, so I chose caution and calm. Catch, your current Shield-General, thunderous in every way, told me this was a mistake. On my order, we slowed to secure the Gravit Mountains. It took us much longer, but I was proven right when a hidden cadre of Disciples were flushed out by our efforts. Thanks to our caution, they did not strike at Aureu unguarded.
“Now, you might think this is a lesson about caution and risk aversion. But it's not, for caution was my undoing during the Turret Scourge.” Snow walked across the open space, carrying the Congetons’ attention. “It was suggested that we go all out to destroy the Turrets, heedless of losses to the freezing cold, to clear them once and for all. I advised caution, not wanting to lose men to winter, which, as you may remember, stopped the first attempt to clear the evil things. My fellows agreed overall so we took our time, were careful. And we failed utterly.
“The Turrets, as we now know, bred: somehow, they spread some strange seed to replace any of their number we destroyed. I was so caught up in the idea of protecting lives and not taking risks that we left some Turrets alive when winter rolled in.” He stopped, looked around at a field of interested faces. “When we returned after winter, every Turret had been replaced. Every single one. My caution wasted another year and many lives. Too many lives.”
Snow stopped and imagined the families of those he was responsible for. For a short while, he was lost with the dead. Then he shook his head and said, “So what am I telling you? Well, first of all, I may be an Acolyte, but I'm still just a man and I make mistakes. Sometimes big ones. If you get into a position where you can advise me, and some of you may, remember that. Secondly, life is always somewhere between thunder and breeze, caution and aggression, and you should always strive to maintain that balance, even against your own nature: after all, Sol both burns and loves.”
He scanned the audience: they were rapt, awaiting his final words. Shield-Generals welcomed new Contegons to instill respect for their role. With any luck, they'd remember his words, and think them wise.
“Finally, never, ever underestimate the Disciples. The Council did, and they sprang the Second Invasion on us. Catch did, but we avoided a tragedy. I did, and we walked into one. Maybe this is just the fear of someone who was at Call when the Disciples invaded, but I truly believe we have only seen what the Disciples have chosen to show us. Lun is just aching to spring more horrors on us, and we should always be ready for that. For it is through us, and especially you, that Sol's will be enacted. Thank you.”
“Praise Sol!” the familiar Contegon shouted, standing. Her fellows joined her, fists high.
“Praise Sol,” Snow replied.
In the corner of his eye, Catch applauded. He almost looked like he meant it.