Father chuckled then clasped his old soldier on the shoulders. “At ease commander, and be careful with those Bio-Mechs.” Bernard nodded then relaxed slightly.

“Father,” Jason shouted mocking a lazy solute for his instructor. Bernard grimaced, giving the Jason a sidelong glance. The General stalked over hands clasped behind him as usual, so regal in his imperial red cloak cut to perfection it’s seems pressed in to blades on either arm. His rich black beard morphed around a deep fatherly smile.

“Young one,” the General said patting young Jason on the head. Jason’s heart raced, it always did when the General came around. Being the General’s son had its perks––benefits some might say––but to Jason, General or not he was just delighted to call this man Father. “At ease son,” the General said. Jason didn’t realise he was still at attention––fake though it was. Maybe that’s what happens to the soldiers when they are around the General, so captivated by his commanding presence. A presence that so filled the entire room they literally forget themselves. The General stooped to his level his welcoming eyes regarding him. “Hope you have been training hard son, many people need our help yet.”

“Training!” Jason scuffed pursing his lips, he shot Bernard a sidelong glance, “we are just here wasting time Father,” Bernard gaped at him, but Jason continued “I want to make Bio-Mechs with mother, the only thing I did today is kick this pole, I don’t think commander Bernard likes me very much. Or maybe he has run out of things for me to do but afraid to tell you.”

The General laughed, a haughty guttural roar. He clasped his hand on Jason’s shoulders, the share weight made the young lad stumbled. “Oh Jason, you always make me laugh.”

“I am not joking father,” Jason replied “Look,” he presented his battered shin.

The General nodded inspecting the leg “Nice. You’ll be a top soldier in no time, good job Bernard.” The older man nodded, his chest a bit more pronounced after that complement.

“Nice!” Jason exclaimed. “What use is this when we have guns and Bio-Mechs?”

“You ungrateful little––

Father’s laugh interrupted the older man, “Relax Bernard, he is young yet.”

Bernard mumbled something under his breath, “you smart-mouth, milk-sipping…”

“It’s all for a reason, son” the General said. “You’ll see the use one day.” If father says it’s so then so it is. Jason nodded.

“He is a little rebel, that’s what he is, Sir. Sure didn’t have this hard a time with John now did we.” Bernard’s glare should have borne a hole in Jason’s head.

Father glanced at his wrist watch, “Speaking of John he should be…” he trailed off.

“John is late?” Bernard asked, surprised.

Jason stiffened, folding his hand. “It’s barely seven thirty but he’s probably somewhere doing pushups or running a mile, well he can do that since he’s not tied to a trainer.” Jason glared at Bernard. Jason’s older brother was three years his senior and a prodigy at almost everything he touched.

“No, he’s not,” Father replied, “I am early it seems.”

“Well, then General,” Bernard said pointing at the pole, “if you don’t mind we still have some kicks to complete.” Bernard narrowed his eyes at Jason. Oh boy. The General retreated to the seats that lined the walls of the sparring room, but of corse he didn’t sit. “Ready now!” Bernard barked.

Jason sighed. “Again? It’s still bleeding,” he pleaded. The blood was dried, and save for a slight sting around the area, he was fine, but he’d do anything to get out of this.

Bernard’s wicked grin sent chills down Jason’s spine.

He is going to kill me, Jason thought.

“You have another shin, don’t you?” Jason glanced at his father, who shrugged and nodded to Bernard. Why did his father leave his training to this monster? He trained John personally, though John had little supervision; Father saw to his training personally. Maybe he’ll train me when I get older. And the faster I graduate from Bernard’s tutelage, the faster I get to some real training.

Jason turned to Bernard, “Wait, can’t we just––”

“Kick!” Bernard shouted and so the strikes began, no doubt he wanted this leg to bleed as well. Jason sighed as he kicked.

“I am sure somewhere this is some form of child abuse.” Jason shouted.

The General chuckled as Bernard screamed. “Kick the pole boy! Harder! Harder!”

Jason kicked with all his might. If he couldn’t talk himself out of training, he would get to bleeding faster, fewer kicks that way. Jason grinned beneath the pain, Bernard just shook his head.

The General marched over to stand beside Bernard. It always looked like marching when he moved. “Those are some good strikes, Commander,” he said. The older man gave a reluctant nod. Wait, I am the one doing the kicking, why is that gray-haired hulk taking my praise? Regardless, Jason smiled and struck the pole even harder.

“The youngling has potential, sir,” Bernard replied, “but too much mouth on this one.” Bernard barked another command to kick harder, but Father just smiled. Soon after, some servants entered, not before acknowledging the General, of course. Are all the servants old veterans? Come to think of it, very few on Mount Aven were not military personnel.

They carried a table, and it was set down by the swords. Still kicking, Jason focused on the pole. He somehow felt more energetic, zealous when he was around. The General tends to have that effect on most. His very presence encourages excellence, bolster the will and strengthens resolve. He does, Jason thought, it’s been a whole thirty seconds since Bernard had to bark a––

“Power through to the end! Come on!” Bernard barked. Jason sighed, spoke too soon, he thought. The watch beeped. “Nice! You can stop now.” Jason turned to see if his father noticed the last of his kicks. He didn’t; the General examined the table the servants brought, eyeing the objects on top. He nodded, and the servants marched away. Jason limped over to the General, his freshly ripped shin stung like a viper.

“What’s this?” Jason asked, as soon as the question left his mouth he recognized what they were. “Oh, these are––”

A slap to the head left him stunned. “Let’s go!” Bernard said. “We are not done!”

Jason grimaced at his trainer. “That hurt!”

“Good,” Bernard replied. Jason felt the blow, no blood but this would swell soon. Jason regarded the disassembled pieces on the table again. “These parts would make three pistols in total.”

“Weapons training,” Father said. “How is that aspect of his training coming along Bernard?”

The old commander scratched his nearly bald head. “We have not begun them yet, sir,” Bernard replied. “Not with modern weapons anyhow.”

John got to do the fun stuff way more often than I did, Jason thought, still rubbing his head. The throbbing had begun and the swelling would follow. He glared at Bernard again, but the older man didn’t notice. Evidently, he seemed a little abashed at Father’s question.

“Can I join Father?” Jason asked.

Bernard opened his mouth to speak, but Father––still examining the pistol––spoke first, “Why not,” he said. Bernard snorted at the young lad. The General regarded the stocky metal-limb man with a smile then added, “As long as your trainer is fine with it of course.”

Bernard shrugged, “As you say, General, but as I said I have not taught him anything––”

“I,” Jason said loudly, cutting off the older man, “I have been practicing on my own,” the General nodded approvingly, but Bernard raised an eyebrow. “Bernard can only teach me so much in a day; I try to make use of my free time. So can I join Father?”

“I don’t see why you should not.”

Jason rejoiced with clenched fists. Maybe I’ll be allowed to train on my own when they see what I’ve learned on my own. He would spend days in the Bio-Mech lab, weeks even. Oh, how he wanted to make his own schedule. He regarded Bernard for a moment. And finally rid myself of that monster, or better yet Father himself will train me.

“It’s eight o’clock, where is John?” Jason asked.

“He isn’t usually late,” Bernard added.

“Who isn’t usually late?” The voice came in from the entrance. John, the tall almost-teen regarded the punching bags as though ready to start sparring. John always looked on the verge of action and just as calm at the same time.

“Over here John,” Father said. The older son flexed his shoulders as he strode across the sparring room.

“John!” Jason shouted. He had not had a lot of time to play with his brother recently. Not that John didn’t want to, he was just busy. Jason was glad they could practice together today.

John’s eyes barely acknowledged his brother, “hey, why are you here?” John asked. Jason raised an eyebrow. Jason moved to greet him, but John did not stop. So focused, no wonder he dominated what he touched.

“You two will be training together today,” Father said.

John stopped by the table and examined the contents. He turned to regard his younger brother. “Have you even begun to train with the sword yet?” He did not wait for a response, he turned to Father. “Probably he should start with that first, General.” General? Jason thought. Why did he call Father General? Jason shook his head. John was always so serious. He hadn’t seen him for quite some time, and here they were, and he was all, “General,” “sir,” and “why are you here?” Jason shook his head.

Father’s face tightened. “Are you his instructor now Johnathan?”

“No sir” John replied, his words sharp and stiff. Jason smiled.

“Serves you right,” Jason whispered “why should you have all the fun.” John glanced at Jason with disapproving eyes. Jason stuck out his tongue at him. John’s eyes widened as though he had committed a crime. He glanced towards Father who just smiled. The older brother grimaced, You could melt ice with the steam that came from John.

“Good,” Father said. “Line up.” They took up positions behind the table, the pistol parts in three groups. “You have forty-five seconds to put them together.”

Jason eyed his brother. “After three,” Father paced the space in front of the table. “One, two, three.”

Jason snatched the barrel from the table, snapping the recoil spring into place, then pressed the docking lever into position. A series of clicks, clanks and snaps sounded beside him as John snapped his pistol together. Jason focused on his own. The parts flowed as he went, sliding, slipping and snapping into place.

“Good going, Jason,” Father said, and he smiled. John snorted at the comment. I am going to beat you this time, brother.

More than halfway through, Jason paused, searching for the magazine spring. It should not be that difficult to see. There it is. He grabbed it and continued. John may be older but he was not––

“Done,” John shouted, then slapped his pistol on the table. And as if to make a statement, he moved to the third pile of parts and began to put that one together. Jason grimaced. His hands shook as the parts suddenly became slippery. The trigger slipped from the table and he fumbled to retrieve it.

“Time!” Father announced.

“Done!” John said again eyeing Jason as he rose. He flung the finished pistol on the table.

“Almost,” Jason said, smiling. John shot him an icy glare. Clearly he was not having as much fun as Jason.

Father examined John’s first pistol. He grimaced as he pulled the magazine from its slot. “Good but slow, you can do better.” Father strolled past Jason and checked John’s second weapon. He shook his head, “Sloppy, shoot this and you’ll need Bio-Mech hands.”

“Yes I know, but time––

“There will be no time in the field,” Father said firmly. “Win without boast, and lose without excuse, son.” Father eyed John. “You learn fast, John, but practice is needed, go draw out the parts by hand and have it to me by supper.”

“What!” John asked.

“You heard me,” Father said in a calm voice.

John saluted stiffly, then spoke through gritted teeth, “yes, General.” He didn’t move immediately but slowly strode towards the exit. John paused by the door. Father turned to regard Jason’s pistol, almost as an afterthought. Jason braced for a rebuke; his gun was nowhere near John’s, but he would at least take his correction better than John did.

“Oh, good work son,” Father said, a warm smile on his face. “You only just began training and you almost finished.” Jason nodded and feigned a smile.

That’s it? He thought.

A guard burst in, gasping for air. He looked as if he ran all the way from the great divide. He all but collapsed at Father’s feet. Mother strode in behind him. She wore the mechanical apron she used in her study. She was clearly in a rush too, though not the most fashionable, she was still a lady and would not leave the Study like that unless…

“Finally we found you,” she said, all smiles looking up at Father. She smiled but her eyes said something else. Fear? Concern?

The general’s eyes brightened at the sight of her, but the guard’s frantic breaths darkened his gaze. “What is it?” Father said sharply. Father turned to Mother, her eyes heavy with concern. “What is wrong, Love?” he asked in a softer tone.

“Warlords, General,” the man said between breaths, “five of them.”

“In Aven?” Bernard demanded. He almost sounded excited.

“No,” the guard continued still catching his breath “Udral.”

“That’s right on our borders, they might as well be in our backyard,” Mother added, eyes pleading. Warlords knew better than to try anything in Aven; they weren’t brave enough, but the lands around our borders––the ones that did not accept our protection––they would try and take them.

The General sighed heavily, “Have they attacked them?” Father asked softly.

“No Sir, but I am from Udral.” The guard said.

“Have the Udral leaders requested our help?”

“No Sir, but I am from Udral.” The guard said.

“You are a citizen of Aven,” Father replied.

“Have you seen anything that resembled a cry for help?”

The guard looked away “No sir,” he said softly

The General’s voice grew more firm, “Has anyone from that land said anything? Have they called out to our guards at the border? Has so much as a smoke trail been seen in the land?” Father was angry, not with the guard but with the stubbornness of some lands.

“No sir,” the guard replied. “But sir, there are good people in Udral and those wild beasts will not spare young or old…and” tears welled up in the man’s eyes, his voice quivered as he went on. “My parents are still in Udral, General, they are old, they cannot…” He trailed off again, it felt strange watching a grown man cry, this huge soldier all but sobbed. Surely Father would crush these warlords, he has in the past, he is yet to lose a battle. Father has kept Aven and other territories safe, even ones further away than Udral. Surely Father will never say––

“No” Father said softly. Everyone’s face fell, they looked as shocked as Jason felt. Tears flowed down the guard’s cheeks, washing his wide round face in despair.

“But, why?” Jason asked himself. He did not realize he said that out loud until everyone turned to look at him. John and Bernard glared at him as though he just murdered their best friend. “Why Father?” Jason asked again. The General’s eyes held him with an icy calm that gave nothing away, but he could see it was a mask, Jason knew his father wanted to help, he knew he could help, he hoped he wanted to help, so he asked again, “Why?”

“It is not our way!” John shouted, his eyes were even colder, not a mask. “That’s not how we do things.” That did not answer Jason’s question. Jason did not look at his brother, he locked gaze with his father expectantly.

“Maybe we could send a delegation,” Mother said, “a greeting of sorts, it has been a while since we have met with Murdock, it will not be strange for us––

“Murdock is dead, High Lady,” the guard said, still looking at the General. “His son reigns now.” With his voice shaky and his face heavy with grief, the guard almost glared at the General, “and he is not a fan of Aven or its General.”

“Be careful son,” Bernard said slowly. Btu father ignored him.

Father let out a sigh. “We will not lie, or pretend,” he said curtly. “has anyone seen a flair, heard a cry? Even the faintest call from the smallest child will see us intervene within the hour.” Mother shook her head. The guard did not respond, he just stared through sobbing eyes. “Go for your parents, guard, get them to send up a flare or send a letter get them out, but we cannot…will not act unless called upon.”

“Yes, sir” the guard said with a dead stare, then sauntered out of the sparring room.

The others stood there, silent. Bernard stared at nothing on the floor, John peered into the wall as though it held the meaning of life, all but Mother met the General’s gaze, her eyes on the verge of tears. “This is how it is,” Father said softly. He turned to regard the others in turn. “We are not warlords, not conquerors, we are protectors.”

“But Father,” Jason said, “don’t they need protection?” John’s mouth worked as if it rebuked him, and Bernard’s mechanical fists tightened.

“They do, son,” Father said, resting a hand on Jason’s head, “but even the Maker himself does not force men to come to him, so why should we? Are we greater than him?”

They all left after that, those words seemed to satisfy the others, but Jason still thought Aven should help, without being requested.