It was late at night, but Major Marlow of the Ankandela Garrison Regiment was still doing paperwork.
The mission to suppress the rebellion was not going well. He and his troops had kept the rebels bottled up outside Doro Valley for several days, but despite heavy casualties, the garrison regiment had failed to break through.
The rebels inside could not get out either, and he had also pinned down the bandit cavalry that had once roamed far and wide, burning, killing, and looting.
Marlow thought he had done well. He had tied down this formidable elite force, preventing it from ravaging the Republic's rear as it had before.
But Major Marlow also knew what the council grandees in Ankandela were like. From their lofty perches, they did not care why he had halted.
All they would see was that Major Marlow had stopped advancing over a few soldiers' casualties.
Major Marlow sighed, set down his quill, and rubbed his aching eyes. His gaze fell on the map on his desk, a finely drawn topographical map of Doro Valley, with red and blue lines marking both sides' positions and defenses.
Red represented the rebels, blue the garrison regiment. The two were deadlocked at the valley entrance like colliding waves, neither able to swallow the other completely.
"By the earth, this is sickening."
Marlow groaned. It was unclear whether he meant the rebels or the council grandees behind him.
Perhaps both.
Outside the tent came the sound of boots squelching in mud. The young messenger practically tumbled inside.
"Sir, a letter from the Ankandela Council."
Marlow's temples throbbed, his head swelling with pain. What he had feared most had happened after all.
He took the letter and opened it.
"...The grain requisition team was attacked yesterday in Shatterstone County, losing its winter