Chapter 10
Captain Bondson sat in the chair in front of his desk. His quarters were cramped. All quarters on a frigate were cramped, but at least he had his own quarters. The only other occupant of the room was sitting on the bed looking around. “I’ve never been in here Captain,” she said.
“Welcome Sergeant,” Bondson said. “It’s small, but it’s mine. I thought about requesting a bigger cabin when I advised on the Wind’s Oath design, but it just made more sense to reserve more space for the hold.”
The sergeant’s eyebrows raised. “You were involved in its design?”
“Just as a subject matter expert. I may hold the ship’s charter, but it’s not mine.” He shrugged. “Though she was made with me in mind.
Nesbred whistled. “Impressive.”
There were a few trophies on the walls. An orruk skull, a stormcast facemask, the cabinet on the wall was carved from a skull almost as tall as Bondson was. Plus a few sketches done with graphite on paper. Nesbred looked at those a few moments. His own? They aren’t half bad…
Bondson unlatched and opened a drawer on his desk and pulled out a little flask and two tumblers. “The ale may be in the mess, but the privacy is here.” He poured a little bit in each tumbler and handed one to Nesbred. “It’s Life-vin, straight from the Lady’s groves in Ghyran. Worth its weight in aqua-ghyranis.” The sergeant’s eyebrows raised, but she took the tumbler.
“Now sergeant, what did you want to talk about?”
“Why do you put up with him captain?”
“Who?”
Nesbred scowled. “You know who.”
The Captain pursed his lips. “Camron?”
Gabriel Nesbred nodded.
“Let’s just say I owe his father one or two.”
Silence stretches.
“Sergeant?”
“Aye. I owed his father too, which is why I accepted him in the grundcorps. But I knew his father almost 70 years ago, and he had no son then. This beardling isn’t 70 yet. He doesn’t meet the minimum age requirements of the Burnished Silver Chapter of the Grundstock Corporation.”
“Oh?” said the captain, raising an eyebrow. “How old did he say he was?”
“70. On the dot.” Sergeant Nesbred took a gulp of his ale.
Bondson grunted. “The lad is around six decades. Mature for his age. But still young enough that that only counts for so much.”
The two sat in silence, occasionally drinking another sip before staring out the lone porthole in the cabin.
Nesbred took another sip. “It really is excellent.”
“It is, isn’t it.”
She gently placed the empty tumbler on the desk.
“Well,” Bondson said, “you do what you need to do. I may suffer some attitude, but I won’t be shielding the lad. All actions have consequences, some good and some bad.”
With a sigh, Kraeg Bondson drained his cup and moved to stand up. “Oh, and Nesbred?”
“Aye captain?”
“I said it before, and I hope I don’t have to say it again. Any duardin willing to serve and die on this ship is old enough to not be called a beardling.”
“Aye captain.”
~~~
Camron stood on the prow, watching Barak-Torin approach. The wind rustled his hair. He’d taken off his helmet to help savour this moment.
Barak-Torin was small still on the horizon, but he knew soon it would expand. Vastly. Big enough to fill the horizon end to end. The kharadron skyports were floating cities, and though Barak-Torin wasn’t considered big by the standards of his kind, it was still beyond massive.
His heart swelled with pride as he watched it get closer.
He’d returned to Barak-Torin from voyages before of course, but never as a grundcorp marine. “This is my first journey seeing it as a grundcorp.” Now a marine. Later a sergeant. And later still a colonel, all the while triumphing on adventure after adventure.
He’d always imagined this day, and it felt as good as he’d imagined it would. Sure, it wasn’t always easy, he thought as he reflected on the trip and on the friction. And he’d been sure (or at least half sure) that the Wind's Oath would break apart in the storm and the only question left would be whether he plummeted to his doom or whether a lightning bolt would fry him on the way down. And then there was Sergeant Nesbred who seemed to notice every little thing he’d done wrong.
“Camron.”
He nearly coughed but managed to stop himself. It was Sergeant Nesbred. Had she heard him? No. He’d only thought that, not said it. Camron turned and saluted smartly. He’d made it through the worst of it. The only way forward was up.
“Camron,” she said, “I think you need to resign from the Burnished Silver Grundcorp.”
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