Chrysalis

Morrelia drew a deep breath, letting the spray rising from the lake wash over her. Stood at the bow, she had a perfect view of Freehill as it drew ever nearer. Home of the fearsome blademasters and legendary sword schools of the Folk who trained them, it was not a place she had expected to visit, especially in circumstances similar to these.

“We’ll be docking in ten minutes,” roared Commander Chyron. “I want every Legionary prepped for battle. We don’t expect a fight, but that doesn’t mean we won’t get one! Tribune!”

“Here, Commander!” Morrellia turned and snapped out a crisp salute.

In one glance, the grizzled veteran took in every detail of her appearance. As always, Morrelia was prepared for a fight. Both swords had been cleaned and oiled, waiting in their sheaths. She wore full Legionary armour, even on the boat, and that too was in immaculate working order.

“I want you to head below decks and make sure our troops are prepared, then report back to me.”

“At once.”

No doubt a similar check would be performed on each of the ten ships that housed Chyron’s legion, but she was only responsible for this one. Morrelia’s armoured boots thudded against the wooden deck as she hastened to follow orders.

Under her command, Morrelia had quickly learned that her father was not the only officer in the Legion with a well-earned reputation for demanding perfection. Commander Chyron worked herself to the bone to ensure her Legion was operating as flawlessly as possible, and she expected the same effort from every Tribune, Centurion, right down to the individual soldiers themselves.

Below decks was cramped and stuffy, everything packed in as tightly as could possibly be managed. It reminded her of nothing so much as the nests of the Colony, where the ants were more than happy to climb over the top of each other to get from A to B. There was a flurry of activity as final checks were being performed by every squad, centurions marching back and forth barking orders at any laggards.

“Ten minutes until we hit the dock,” she bellowed, cutting through the noise in an instant. “If you aren’t on deck in parade-worthy kit in five, I’ll make you wish the blademasters had you!”

There was one clear path down the centre of the ship, and she marched down it glaring in every direction as her troops raced to finish their preparations.

“Tighten your damn straps!” she roared at one soldier. “Your chestplate is loose!”

that’s muck and not rust. One spot of rust on that armour and you’ll be buried up to your neck in the latrine,

LEGIONARY!? If your answer doesn’t involve an unfortunate surgical mishap, then

disciplined and professional troops, Legionaries one and all. In less than five minutes, they were lined up beside their bunks, weapons and armour gleaming while the officers prowled through the ranks, ensuring everything was perfect. When they were satisfied, they let Morrelia know

story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from

Folk. There will be zero tolerance shown to any

“Yes, Tribune!”

approval to the officers and made her way back to the deck. Freehill loomed even closer now, the chaos of

are

gave her a glance before

“Good.”

radiating a tense energy, almost scowling at the sprawling city of

memories, Commander?”

taking her eyes from the figures

against the Folk,

“I’m aware,” Morrelia nodded.

history of her new

about them. I’ve fought against

“I did.”

I suspect that’s why I was given this command. I fought in

Morrelia shook her head. She’d read the reports,

anything that we’ve seen before. A tier seven mythic beast leading them. That’s