A Janissary's Notebook

[Blue41]

Keeping the pressure at bay is important. Vital, these days. I wish I had the time or the faith to indulge in mizzar again, but it's not a great look to spend time in Elossi's presently, and if I started, I'm not sure I'd know when to stop. Telling myself that things aren't as dire as others make them out to be used to work, before I was selected for this role. Now the opposite is true.

In a few days, I'll be leading a 'suicide' mission with a group of relative unknowns into enemy territory, and this time I won't be leaving a Kythaela or Isotta behind if I catch an orc arrow to the throat, I'll have Mirielle. A hobgoblin with enough cunning to figure out how to kill someone with a book rather than read it. A problem that I can't solve if I end up dead...but there's no one else I can trust to lead this. It was hard enough finding the right team in the first place. And there's a weight in my gut that's growing heavier and heavier.

I don't want any of them to die, but they will, eventually. That's not what nauseates me, paralyzes me. What  turns my stomach is the cold, Wroth-eaten part of my brain that will move on past their deaths, analyze the chances for success or failure if an earlier sacrifice is called for, calculate what we stand to gain or lose if I do this, or that...It makes me just as bad as Marcellus, I suppose. I don't have an Axe to blame atrocities on. I have ghosts at my back. And the number's growing all the time.

And yet, I still believe I'm the best person for this job; that it would be worse with someone else in this position. Arrogance, maybe. Hilarious, definitely.

[Blue41]

I've been distracted. There were signs of the growing rift, in hindsight. Ashworth's tactful silence when Reyer discussed Operation Gold Dust. Reyer's tactful omission of the casualties inflicted upon the populace. I didn't expect things to come out the way they did, however-- I was half expecting Reyer to throw a punch, and I don't want to imagine where things might have deteriorated from there. They both knew better than to have it out in front of the men, much less me, so the fact that it did means we're long past the point of an easy resolution.

And to be honest, I don't know if I have the time to settle this for them. Really feeling the limits of being a single man pulled in every direction, to deal with every threat. Keeping the Astronomers and their lackeys out of the depths. Keeping the Legates from choosing the safest, risk-free choice every time. Keeping the Banda Rossa in check. Keeping the Council motivated and productive. Keeping myself running on the handful of hours of sleep I can scrape together.

Delegation is tricky enough when job security relies on being suspicious as possible, all the time. So this particular issue is going to fall to hope and a handful of ash. Maybe it will solve itself with time and distance.

[Blue41]

Times change. People change. But if you told me that I would be discussing politics with Stern and sharing a drink with Naelin and Aubrey without being compelled to, I would have called you crazy. But here we are.

No one betrays you quite like a friend, I told Naelin-- same thing Ellanher told me, so long ago. And I can recognize the intentions behind my own actions. I keep people at a distance for their benefit as well as mine, because if ever the work requires me to take action against them, I can't let sentiment slow me down. Last names. No drinks shared, only formalities exchanged. All to protect myself from feeling that sting-- again. Letting those walls down, even for a moment, feels like a mistake. Or it would be, if I was still just a Lieutenant. Warmaster requires a different train of thought.

[Blue41]

"Alejandro's practically half-Drink, Lieutenant."

I didn't need him to tell me that, really. I think that when it comes to addiction, like recognizes like to a certain degree. All his talk about not hesitating when that door opened, just leaping through without a second thought of the consequences, caution to the wind...that's not something you do if you treat your life like it has any value. Or perhaps that's too harsh. He's certainly in no hurry to die-- it's just that his life isn't as valuable as the knowledge he seeks.

There's where we're similar-- we both open doors. I just prefer the interrogation cell, a heaping helping of pressure, and my notebook at hand, while he prefers his sketchbook, songbook and dossiers. I cracked her open-- just for a second or two if that...but it was enough to know that I'm on the right track. Perhaps I'd feel worse about pressing the writer the way I did if he wasn't so blindly devoted to protecting them. Except he's really just protecting himself in the end. No Selsi means no more trips into the dark. No more high.

Part of me wants to blame her for this, for how conveniently it all fell into place after. The Tormented, striking for no reason I can fathom-- at me, specifically. Marcellus snatched away again, with only the Sisterhood to depend on for his rescue. That kind of conspiracy belongs in back-alley scribblings read by moonlight, but I can't help but wonder how much longer it would have taken to have gotten something of use out of him. And if I should return to the matter, how much longer it would take the Tormented to appear soon after.

Patience goes far in this profession, though. I can wait.

[Blue41]

Apothar Mendista. Shahlil. Bestworth. And of course, Teg.

I don't give those names the same amount of consideration I used to. I had largely put that part of my career behind me, but it all came rushing back the moment Oro came calling with Azimi in tow. Somehow, I had gone from suspecting the man who entertained Astronomers for drinks while discussing cases to being that man. And while that situation and this one are very different...there's more parallels than I care to believe. I let Daoud explain his reasoning to me-- and to his credit, he handled the situation with more grace than I did. I weighed the chances of a guilty verdict against that of a civil war...even as Ashworth must've been weighing the decision to quit in his own head. Just like I had.

Only he decided to speak the words I had swallowed. What does that say about us? I was ready to throw away my career over the death of some anonymous scumpicker in the Creep, because I didn't like the thought of letting the Astronomers get away with it. No, more-- I didn't like them feeling entitled to protection from us, even if it guaranteed their cooperation for a few more days, weeks, months. Until the next argument blew it up. Ashworth's ready to throw away his career because he wants "to right wrongs, and seek justice."

Was I ever so idealistic? No. I think Zakar knocked that part of me out of my head, and I'm lucky he didn't take my head off in the bargain. Whitworth wasn't about justice. Gallows and Merizad. Shadowbrook. Volandis. I wanted to hold them accountable for their actions, because I know that when I die, it's Urazzir who will hold me accountable for mine. I've never fooled myself into believing I could stay on the 'right side' of history, and never tried to. Reyer says he's dirtied his hands, and I believe him, because my hands are no better. It would be something of a requirement for rank, if it wasn't for Ashworth.

I have until the end of the day to try and dissuade him from the path I didn't take. To shatter his illusions about the work; hardly enviable work. If I fail, it will mean a court martial, to say nothing of the effect it will have on the rest of the men. On the war. If I succeed, it will mean... well, Teg and I found our way to a working relationship eventually. It should be possible for Ashworth and I to do so as well. But it will likely never be as it was.

That's worth mourning, but it's like I told Stern. You can ward off grief as you would the Wroth, and I don't have room to let that affect me right now. I can't.

[Blue41]

Nobody betrays you like a friend. Strange thing to be on the other side of that statement for a change.

I could see what my words were doing to him, even as I spoke them. Tearing down the myth, the miracle, the legend of Lieutenant-turned-Warmaster Colmes, a second at a time. But I couldn't stop myself. I'd like to think there is a perverse kind of joy in confession. Perhaps it's similar to stuffing yourself with sweets to the point of sickness. I will regret this, you might think to yourself at the time, but it's what I want right now and I won't be denied.

I told him about Zakar-- the messy, unvarnished truth, as well as the version we told the public and what came of it. I hadn't thought about Karath in months; so much so that I ended up reviewing what I had written so long ago and had to laugh at the irony of it.

No more Zakars. Bloodthirsty idiots who act without care for consequence.
No more Karaths. Too soft-hearted to focus on what matters.
No more Quentins. The fact that I can't be sure of what you did that gnome speaks volumes.

They'll be better--the ones that come after.

Who the fuck was I fooling?

In the end he decided to stay, because the alternative was painful for all involved to consider. I've put enough of my men in the ground, and I'm to blame for each and every one of them to some degree. If I didn't stick the dagger into their backs, then I put them in front of the ones who did. Ashworth's disillusionment is on me, too. I don't think we'll ever return to that same level of easy comfort we had developed in the last few weeks. I would mourn it, but that's not my particular patron. Instead, I'll add it to the list of transgressions.

There won't be a Magistrate Ashworth, just like there wasn't a Magistrate Amenya. You don't move up in this job without getting your hands dirty, without using secrets like knives. Without being a battering ram when it's called for. I had forgotten that, but maybe that's what growth is. Learning and re-learning the hard lessons until they stick.

When it was over-- when my mouth was dry and there was no more truth to tell-- he thanked me for the speech. He still believed that I was the only one who could take on this task, this role of Warmaster. He no longer believed he could play his own part, though. Like Bashir, this was a man who would go through the motions, until it broke him. And I, callous as ever, would do what was necessary until that happened.

[Blue41]

Hand's actually aching a bit from all the writing last night. Reports and reports and reports, and no end in sight. That is truly the work. It's not often I set aside the chip for a bit and just focus on paperwork, but from the sounds of things, it was the right call. Upside of all this nonsense is that it's served to pull the Legion together when five days ago in ways only a common enemy can. Reyer and Ashworth have buried the hatchet. Ashworth has seemed willing to put the matter with Azimi aside in light of bigger fish, so the old rapport has returned.

Now there is simply doing what I do best.

[Blue41]

Kardesler, again.

By all rights I should not have been present for another one. If not for the hex of the Tonsured and the gaze of the Wroth, I likely would been in the trenches at Red Hill. And, I imagine, become part of the Goreheart after dying on the end of a lizard spear like so many of my brothers-in-arms. But no, that wasn't the plan the Wheel had for me. Instead I was to attend the second Kardesler in my memory, and perhaps the only Kardesler in history to welcome a slab of ox meat as one of the attendants.

I was expecting the worst after the Council meeting the night before. Ephia's Well being able to unite and stand together when it mattered most is the stuff of storybooks; Balladeer bullshit. But no one could have predicted the arrival of the dwarves, and the location of the southern holdfast revealed at last. Nor could anyone have predicted Kha'esh's demands to see a union formed. I let the canyon feeling a bit of lightness for a change. The idea that things might turn out to be alright for once.

Toss the ash. It will not last.