Sun burnt down. Gleeks grumbled. He was a grumbler. Many of the villagers despite their reluctant appreciation for his dedicated service to the region had long since dismissed him as a grumbler. Today was different. Today he had something to grumble about. “Grumble grumble,” he said without a trace of his usual good humor.

Gleeks was a country man on the outskirts of West Assol. The Grasses, they called it out here. A wheat farmer near the village of Hurgabitackus, he’d spent 40 years cultivating both his reputation and crop for most of Assol’s west coast. Wheat was suddenly valuable in the mountainous west. Unexpected tariffs had surfaced in the last month, targeting wax, ore, and wheat. Importing was too expensive now. Gleeks could appreciate the apparent randomness of the taxed goods, the elegance of the Crown's subtle scheme and could perceive the motive behind raising the prices on three disparate commodities; whoever was responsible for these shady levies knew how to drain a populace without being obvious about it. It was not a good time to be poor in Assol.

Nobody knew how the eastern citizens fared. With the resurgence of the Dusk, communication and travel had been effectively shut down, and the country had fractured into self-sustaining provinces. Brigands terrorized the country roads, sensing opportunities in the loosened order. Less fortunate Assolans had died out in recent weeks, victims of their own fear and paranoia. Toxic rumors were as effective a weapon as the Dusk’s war machine. Confounded war!

Gleeks wiped his brow and tried to free his mind from the cynical thoughts that plagued it. “How we managin’ back there, Caffer?”

Caffer huffed. The sun was burning down today. “Sun’s burnin’ down today, boss.” He inspected the wagon and its contents. “Wheat’s in fine shape though. Reckon we got ourselfs a right profit if we can make it to Square before noon!”

Gleeks nodded. The Green Road led right into town and was a square 30 minutes to the gates. They would make it if the wagon held together and no bandits came on down from the hills. Not likely in the clear morning, but the rumors had been a flyin’. Gleeks thought of Dermi… poor lass. Even the graycoats had effectively stopped their inquiries.

Their crop would net a princely price in Hurgabitackus! Not that he would charge one, though. Part of the secret to remaining in business for forty years was maintaining a relationship with your customers. And if he was suddenly one of the few wheat suppliers on the coast, well, people would appreciate an honest exchange, particularly with someone whose reputation defined the business. Give and take. Gleeks was always one to appreciate balance. He would try to get a message through to Kikirio, see how she was managing.

“Got ourselves a right ol’ situation now don’t we, huh boss?” Caffer called.

Gleeks puffed his cheeks, gave em the ol’ Gleeks treatment. Caffer was a stubborn one, but a solid hand to have out here. Especially nowadays. “Aye but Boon’s Curse if we do. Won't last long, Caffer, they'll lose their spirit soon enough when they find muckin' the camps ain't all they thought it'd be." Caffer was referring to the other farmhands and their impulsive decision to join the Assolan militia. Inspired by the recruiters that had come by hollering about glory and gold. No young man could resist that. Not the farmhands whose only excitement out here in the Grasses was a bit of goat-baitin’. Who doesn’t like a good goat-baitin’? Well everyone does it’s true but compared to war heroics, it ain’t but nothing!

"Impressionable youth,” Caffer spat into the road. He could not keep the derisive tone from his voice.

“Now Caffer but you were young once same as them. We lived through a number of these wars now.”

“Didn’t run off to fight in ‘em though, we had a head on our shoulders back then.”

“Suffered losses just the same.” Gleeks grimaced. “And I daresay you’d be croonin’ a different tune if Sayshie and Timvur made it through, ha? War don’t change, ‘cept maybe who's gettin’ rich from it.” Those thoughts again. He really hated thinking about it. When you’re a wheat farmer looking back at your life, at the lost dreams, you wonder if you could have made a better go. It had been 30 years since Blember’s Rebellion tore across the west. How would his life have gone if he’d run with Oria that day? So many names. At his age, names from his past came and went through his mind, confused the younger ones he talked to. He grumbled to himself. Grumbles always perked him up.

“War do change, boss,” Caffer insisted. Hey but he was a spirit this morning. Must be the sun burnin’ down. Get this guy some water. Or spirits. “Got ourselves that new conscript law, for one,” he prodded ominously.

Gleeks remained silent. Considered grumbling. Didn’t.

“Like as not those farmhands’d be sucked right into the army anyway,” Caffer continued, "with this new forced service measure what they be runnin’ in the country these days.”

Gleeks kept his eyes on the horizon, mouth still shut. He didn’t like these conversations. He missed his wife. Suddenly his stomach dropped like a lead ball. “Stuff it, Caffer, we have bigger problems.” Ahead, he saw smoke.