Chapter 40.1: Leadership

It was nearly midday, the sun high enough in the sky to bathe Captain Gelwin’s little camp in light, despite the ravine walls surrounding it. The battalion was already well into its daily perimeter sweeps, equipment checks, and defense maintenance. Behind his thoughts, Orell Gelwin could hear the symphony of sounds that told him everything in his camp, and at the Ulta Metamagicals research station behind it, was running as smoothly as he could hope for. That was good: one less thing he had to worry about.

Gelwin stood alone at the top of the forward guard tower, a rickety thing that had been constructed as quickly and minimally as possible just after they’d established the camp—there still hadn’t been time to reinforce it. He stared down the ravine, still just able to make out that odd, brave party as they headed toward Thaumacore and the captives he had reason to believe it held. Gelwin put a hand to his temple, wishing for the hundredth time he could have helped them more. Whatever command might have said about politics, that group’s mission should have been a Vigil responsibility, and it was certainly a friend’s responsibility.

Sergeant Ventyr, after all, was more than just a subordinate. He was as committed as any soldier that Gelwin had met over his long years in different military groups. It was true that Ventyr’s commitment was always to order, to honor, and to what he saw as justice, more so than any bond he shared with his Vigil brothers and sisters. That, Gelwin knew from their conversations, was what had driven the sylvari out from under the boughs of the Pale Tree to begin with. And it was precisely what made the sergeant such a trustworthy aide. It would have only been a matter of time before he’d achieved enough promotions to stand beside Gelwin not just in post, but in rank.

He shook the thought away and gazed back down the ravine to where the asura had disappeared beyond the vine-encrusted trees and shrubs that lined its walls. It was easy to overlook, he knew, but those little clumps of foliage had a useful way of hiding things that didn’t wish to be seen. In fact, he thought he saw a shadow passing through them now. Allowing himself the slightest grin, though, he shrugged it away. It was unlikely those travelers would encounter anything worse than what they were already walking toward, and one never knew where he might find unexpected help.

A sudden, rhythmic pounding reverberated up the rough, wooden structure, announcing someone climbing up from below. It drew the man out of his thoughts, and he turned to find exactly the person he’d known the steps belonged to—she seemed to like slamming her flowery weight down when she was upset.

“Yes, Liæthsidhe?” He knew his lieutenant; she would waste neither time nor words. “Is there something you need?”

She saluted dutifully, and he reciprocated, releasing her. There was a heat underneath her observance of the command structure, but she was already on to her next thought, scanning the interior of the small platform at the top of the guard tower.

“Sir, with all due respect, where is your security detail? That oaf Yult should be—”

“Did you forget, Lieutenant? I relieved Crusader Bjornsson of his post last night.”

“The new human, then,” she quickly rebutted. “Shouldn’t she be here at her post, sir?” In truth, Orell had forgotten he’d assigned Jindel Valliford to that task the night before; the night had been a blur in some regards. But it wasn’t at all unlike his lieutenant to remember every last detail, and that detail posed particular promise.

“Hmm.” The captain mused. “I suppose you’re right at that. We’d best find her and get her into place.”

“I’ve looked,” she said, scouring him with her eyes. Black and pupil-less, they still unnerved him a little, but somehow he could always read where they were focused, and they were dead-set on his face. “She is nowhere she should be, and neither is the norn.”

“I see.” Captain Orell Gelwin suppressed his satisfaction. “Well, losing two Crusaders is a problem. You have my permission to reassign duties as necessary as you seek them out.”

She didn’t move, though. Instead she remained fixated on him, so he gave her a moment to collect whatever thoughts she was mulling over, but only just a moment. Lieutenant Liæthsidhe wasn’t particularly intuitive, but she had a mind for tactics, and she would see one if left at it long enough.

Brushing back a thorny stalk of hair, Liæthsidhe rubbed at her temple. “Both of them, sir? Really?”

“Of course both, Lieutenant.” Gelwin forced a scowl. “Why would I have you search the camp for one missing Crusader and not the—”

Clasping her hands behind her back, Liæthsidhe interrupted. “With due respect, Sir, sending even two Crusaders into this conflict without the express clearance of a Warmaster will be seen as willful insubordination. With your knowledge of our primary objectives, it is insubordination.” She’d puzzled him out faster than he’d anticipated, or nearly so. There was a reason this sylvari was on a track to higher leadership.

Gelwin imitated her posture, thrusting back his shoulder and rising to his full height. “Lieutenant, as usual, I appreciate your candid concerns, and I daresay I’m pleased at how quickly you’ve fit the pieces together. But you’ve reached the wrong conclusion.”

“Have they not gone after the travelers, Sir?”

The aged captain cast a glance over his shoulder, toward the shadows he’d seen slipping through the foliage after the group on their way to Thaumacore. As was the case with so many of the actions the man’s career required of him, the lieutenant’s question pulled his heart in disparate directions: regret and acceptance, grief and pride, hope and callous calculation.

He turned back to her and answered plainly. “Given your report, I assume so, but I genuinely do not know. I issued no order to any of our crusaders, other than the order not to engage.”

“Mother’s grace.” Anyone else would have sounded shocked at the realization, but not Liæthsidhe. “You knew that if you forbade them, they would go of their own volition, didn’t you, sir?”

He smirked. She was a clever one, and this was a teaching opportunity.

“No one can know for certain what a soldier will do on his own,” he said, “but a good commander knows each man well enough to have a good idea. Once Yult heard the Sergeant’s friends talking about the Inquest’s responsibility for his team’s deaths and their plan to retaliate, the hourglass was turned. It was only time until his rage got the better of him. I’m only glad he didn’t hurt one of them more seriously in the process.”

He leaned back against the rough-hewn handrail, and she frowned at him, thinking through his words. “And the woman?“

With a sniff, he shook his head. “Truly, Lieutenant, I had no idea Valliford’s loyalty to the Sergeant ran so deep—assuming, of course, that either of them actually did go AWOL, which I can neither confirm nor deny without a fuller inspection of the camp.”

She caught the rise of his brow and visibly choked back her indignation. “Sir,” the sylvari demanded, “this level of insubordination is punishable by demotion and brig-time, if not full expulsion from the Vigil, and you knowingly gave them an order they would disobey, bringing that punishment down on their heads. Which, of course, is assuming they survive the struggle with those magic-addled asura in the first place. You defied command and jeopardized your men!”

She was right, of course. At least in part.

“Lieutenant Liæthsidhe,” Gelwin said, slowing the pace of the exchange. “I know what I said last night, about politics and national relations and unity against the Elder Dragons. It’s all accurate; our battles against Kralkatorrik and Zhaitan are the sole purpose of our order, our first and only priority. And building international unity is a major path the Warmasters have established toward that end. But another is the loyalty of brotherhood.

“I never said that trying to rescue Sergeant Ventyr and the Priory scholar wasn’t the right course of action. Nor did I say it opposed the values of the order or of this detachment. All I said was that politically the Vigil couldn’t sanction an action against the Inquest. And we never did.”

Gelwin let that notion hang in the air for a moment. Unconsciously, he glanced to the ground below the tower, trusting he wouldn’t find any other members of the battalion within earshot. He didn’t doubt the rightness of what he’d allowed, but he also would rather not deal with the fallout of others getting wind of it.

Liæthsidhe’s mouth tightened; she chewed on all that he’d said.

“Captain,” she finally argued, letting her shoulders fall, “we’re talking about four civilians and a pair of insubordinate crusaders. We don’t know much about that complex, but we do know its staff and armament aren’t small. Even if their machine accomplishes what they hope it will, and should they find the Sergeant and this scholar alive, slim doesn’t begin to describe their odds of success. You have to know that.” 

The thought had occurred to him more than once, and yet, there was something to all this. Something he couldn’t name but also couldn’t ignore. “Maybe.” He shrugged in earnestness. “But then, maybe not.”

Clenching her teeth, Lieutenant Liæthsidhe shook her head in exasperation. This wasn’t the first conversation they’d had like this, and he was confident it wouldn’t be the last. She was a gifted thinker and leader, but she was still bound to every rule anyone set over her. She and Ventyr had that in common.

“You’ll learn,” he said, leaning forward. He worked patience into his voice. “You see, your average tactician believes every battle can be broken down to nothing more than a series of numerical calculations and strategic advantages. There’s some truth to that, I suppose, but a good commander knows it’s not strictly the numbers that matter; it’s the look in each soldier’s eye. And sometimes, success rests on releasing the right soldiers to the right tasks, even when someone tells you it’s the wrong time.”

It was a pretty good speech, or at least Orell thought so. His lieutenant seemed unimpressed, though.

Coldly she asked her real question again. “Do you genuinely believe they’ll survive?”

“I believe they’ll succeed,” he said.

“Sir, that’s not what I asked.”

With a sigh, Gelwin turned back to the ravine. He took one glance and closed his eyes soberly. “I know.”