Rom slid down the trunk of the tree, rough bark scraping at his back, and sat on the frozen ground. He raised his knees up under his chin and tucked his hands neatly under his armpits, watching his breath curl up in tendrils like smoke as he gave a raspy exhale. He had never known a cold like this. It seeped through his clothes, numbed his fingers, and made his teeth chatter. A few of the other soldiers had died from the chill over the past few days. They were left where they fell, frozen and forgotten. Just like me.

  It came as a small sniffle at first, a sucking of snot to the back of his nostrils, then a heavy feeling in the chest, and finally ended with wet eyes. At first, it was just a little moisture at their corners. But soon the tears were rolling down his cheeks, falling to the ground, leaving little wet spots on the dirt. It reminded him of watering the fields back on the farm. How he wished he were still there. Rom had thought of running more than once, but to be caught was to be hanged as a deserter.

  “ROM!” Someone shouted.

  He hurriedly wiped the tears on the back of his coat sleeve, stood and brushed the dust from his trousers, and steadied himself. The crunch of boots on the ground grew closer. He took one last shaky breath and stepped out from behind the tree.

  “What you hidin’ back here for?” Old Jin asked.

  The corner of Rom’s mouth twitched; there was a burning in his cheeks. “Um…” he stammered.

  Old Jin placed his hands on his hips and stood there for a moment, head tilted, as if pondering something. After a few moments, a yellow-toothed grin broke out from behind that big red, scraggy beard. “I see. Well, certainly can’t fault a man for wantin’ to have a wank, especially with the lack of womenfolk hereabouts.”

  Rom felt his face burning even hotter, but made no effort to right the man. What could be said? That he was hiding away to sniffle like a baby? Instead, Rom just stood there in dumb silence.

  “Huh.” Old Jin ran a finger through his tangled facial hair. “Reckon you’ll want to be gettin’ back to camp. Supper's waitin’.” He paused. “Unless you want to finish your business first.”

  Rom sighed. “I think I’ll go back to camp.”

  “Wise choice, I say. A man can empty his sack any time, but filling your stomach's a right rarity around these parts.”

  ***

  Rom trudged his way through the camp. “The camp” was really just rows of fires burning with a few men huddled around each one. Some of the officers had their quarters in hastily thrown up tents. There was a latrine pit that had been dug far too close. All in all, the place smelled of smoke and shit.

  A man sang an old seafaring song around one fire as they passed. Further on, two recruits were fist-fighting over a heel of bread, rolling in the dirt like pigs, until their superiors came to separate them. One old warrior was telling some far-fetched story about the dead rising again.

  Off to the west, the sun was beginning to fade behind the peaks of the snow-capped

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  White Mountains, lending a crimson shade to the sky and outlining the wispy clouds.

  Rom smelled the cooking meat before they even reached the fire. It made his stomach roil. A few rabbit carcasses were laid out beside the sad little blaze; another was turning on a spit above the fire.

  Old Jin slowly lowered himself. “Curse my old bones,” he grunted as he leaned back to prop up on his elbows.

  Rom plopped down next to him, the chill working its way right into his joints as soon as he made contact with the dirt. The scent of the searing meat wafted through the breeze. It almost made him cry again.

  “Find our wayward companion did you there, Jin?” Jarlin asked as he brushed a strand of curly hair from his eyes.

  “Aye,” said Old Jin.

  “Lucky thing. Rook was able to get us a few rabbits.” He smiled over at the carcass heap. “Suppose we’re all a bit famished. You’re a good man there, Jin.”

  “Guess that's got it all cooked through then,” Rook said in his emotionless tone. He leaned forward and carefully removed the meat from the spit.

  The meager portions were passed around. Rom stared at his for a long, drawn-out moment, examining it as carefully as a miser would his hoard. Then he took the first bite. The juices ran down his chin as he sank his teeth in deeper. By the fates, this may be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

  Before he knew it, the food was spent, chewed up and gone. That rare moment of bliss vanished.

  “Good,” Old Jin rumbled as he tore off a last shred of meat and tossed the bone over his shoulder. “Might say you’d have made a fine cook had you not become a soldier, Rook.”

  “A shit sandwich will taste good when you’re hungry enough.” Rook spared just a moment to stop twiddling with arrow flights to look up, his eyes dead as ever.

  “You know, you might do well if you’d just learn to take a compliment every once in a while. Could make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.” Old Jin patted his stomach, and lay down, stretching flat out, staring up at the starry sky, and gave that yellow grin again. “Though as it happens, you’d be right. I’ve eaten some sandwiches of questionable substance in my day. You can always find enough shit in a shitty situation to make shit sandwiches.”

  Rook shrugged.

  “Shit sandwiches,” murmured Creg the Halfwit. Rom would have laughed at that if there wasn’t something he found so terrifying about the big simpleton and the way he held that club of his—as carefully as a mother would her tot.

  “That’s good and all,” whined Jarlin, “but I came here to fight. I came here for action. Not for shit sandwiches. When will we finally get at the enemy?”

  “Pray that you never get the opportunity. Hope that you get to come out of this in one piece.” Old Jin closed his eyes, gave a sad exhale, and then spat off into the trees. “Maybe you get to find you a wife and sire some whelps of your own. Teach all the little Jarlins and Jarlettes how to grow crops or something.”

  “Scared, are you Jin?” Jarlin gave that mocking smirk that always made Rom clench his fist.

  Jarlin pushed on. “Not our Old Jin, surely? Champion of Sigilus and all that? All the stories they tell ‘bout you, I figured you’d be brimful of excitement to get in a battle! Those Northmen are savages. They have no discipline in them.”

  “Savagery is a good characteristic to have in war. Somethin’ to be admired. It’s not about who can form the best lines and who wears the nicest uniforms on the battlefield. It’s about who is meaner, and faster, and stronger. About who wants to live more and how they’ll go about gettin’ the chance. Damn right I’m scared. Any sane man ought to be, even if he is made of puffed-up stories. What do you have to say about it, Rom?”

  Rom was taken aback. “Me?”

  “I don’t see any other Roms about.”

  “Well… I say you’re right. We do what we can to avoid trouble so we can all go back home.”

  “There’s a survivor.” Old Jin turned toward Jarlin. “But I reckon you’ll be gettin’ your fight soon enough. Little doubt the Northmen know we’re here. Be mighty difficult for them to have missed us, wouldn’t you say? Then you’ll finally get your chance to risk life and limb for a patch of ground no one truly gives fuck all about.”

  “Little more than a cock-measurin’ contest, this war,” Rook chimed in, not bothering to look up this time.

  “Better than doing nothing,” Jarlin groaned as he rolled his eyes.

  “Rook has the right of it. This here war’s little more than a cock-measurin’ contest between King Raylan and Chief Sharma. And we’re the unfortunate bastards that have to take the measurements.” He went silent for a long time, and then Rom realized he was snoring.

  “Cocks,” murmured Creg.