As the director had predicted, his work intensified the moment the refugees arrived. It probably went without saying that it never let up.
With all the people milling about and the lack of humidity, there was a constant cloud of dust hanging in the air.
When the armed escort from Parte Kingdom arrived with the refugees, the director was shocked. Their commander was a woman. He knew that Parte trained all their people to be warriors regardless of age or gender, but this was his first time meeting one of them.
Parte was southwest of Harland. The Lindsays’ region was in northern Harland, which meant few Parteans could travel all this way.
The director greatly appreciated the commander’s work. Some of his own subordinates were women, but he hadn’t selected them for his team at the training facility because of the difficult nature of the work. Part of it was the need for stamina and physical strength, which made men the more optimal choice. But seeing this commander being assertive and giving orders to her crew, he realized he’d made a mistake. At the very least, he should have asked his female subordinates whether they wanted to work on his team at the facility.
Then again, they grew up in a very different environment than this woman. Women in Parte began military training in childhood. He didn’t think the women raised in Harland were quite the same. In this kingdom, physical labor was for men.
Still, we’re civil officials, not laborers. There might not be as much of a difference in stamina and strength between the men and women in this line of work as I thought there was.
He shook his head.
Something to consider later.
The commander stated that she and her crew would be returning to the conflict zone now that they had delivered their charges; there were still more civilians to save. The director couldn’t let her go without expressing his respect for what she and her subordinates were doing. When he thanked her for her hard work on the front lines, she stared blankly at him.
“So Harlanders think that’s where things are hardest, huh? Everyone has their role to play. For us soldiers on the front lines, it’s those in the periphery who are essential to our survival. It helps morale if we know we have plenty of supplies.”
She smacked him hard on the back, enough to knock the wind out of him. Hunched over as he was, the director managed a nod.
“What matters most to us is that these refugees are given a place to live in peace and safety. That’s what all our toils were for. And this place seems good. They were shocked and delighted when they saw all those buildings you’ve got over there—temporary housing, I think you said? Anyway, that’s all the reward we need.”
Then the commander tacked on her own advertisement, bidding him to hire her and her crew if they ever needed some mercenaries. She’d seen his security team, and she could tell they wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover a group of this size. She was a pro. He trusted she knew what she was talking about and decided he’d scale up security just to be safe. The director had contacted Miguel in advance to request additional mercenaries to shore up their numbers, but the commander’s reaction suggested he’d need more still.
“If we have room in our budget, I’d love to request you,” he told her.
“One of Parte’s mercenaries is worth a hundred regular men,” said the commander. “All the other mercs know that. Appoint one to a high position, and you’ll have an easier time maintaining order.”
Mercenaries came in a broad spectrum. The worst of them were no better than brutes. Putting someone from Parte in the lead would have even the roughest members of the bunch listening and taking orders.
“Might’s got a time and place, and we know exactly when and how to use it!” With a grunt, the commander flexed her arm, showing off her muscles. Hers were impressive enough; she could probably knock him out with a single punch.
“That would definitely put my mind at ease. I’ll consider it.”
“Rumor has it that Director General Darton visited Harland. If he strikes a deal with your superiors, then you can use his name to strike fear into any unruly mercenaries. Even my blood runs cold when someone brings him up.”
The director hummed in thought. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Darton had to be fearsome indeed if he could intimidate a woman as brawny as this commander. While the director wasn’t sure how far his opinion on hiring a mercenary from Parte would get, he made a note to try all the same. While he’d been lucky enough to get a letter from the duke’s heir himself, he was just a lowly civil official working for a viscount.
With a cheerful smile, the commander excused herself and left. The director’s next meeting was with a deacon named Smit, who had fled the conflict zone with the rest of the refugees and was assigned as a coordinator. The other clergy he’d worked with in the conflict zone had split up to accompany the other refugees.
Smit was in his forties—so about the same age as the director—though his brown hair was peppered with gray. He had sunbrowned skin and chiseled muscles, which made him look more like a day laborer than a man of faith.
He looks the exact opposite of me.
Smit had been in fit enough form that he’d looked after the ill and the injured the whole way, traveling with them in a carriage. He still looked quite energetic despite the journey, but noticeable dark circles under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion. The director couldn’t begin to thank him enough for everything he’d done for these people.
“Deacon Smit, you have suffered greatly on this trip,” said the director.
“My suffering is inconsequential. We have the saint to thank for our safe evacuation from the conflict zone.”
“If there’s anything you require, please let me know. We’ll do our best to accommodate you,” the director responded smoothly, grinning. Something about what Smit said bothered him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, so he pushed it to the back of his mind.
“These people have overcome incredible hardship. They’re strong souls, but I’m afraid they may not be very friendly because of how dearly they miss their homeland,” said Smit.
The director nodded. “Of course. I can only imagine how mentally fatigued they must be.”
How much it must weigh on someone to leave their homeland, not knowing when—if ever—they would be able to return.
“I realize this is deeply personal, and as a holy man I hate to admit it, but I can’t help feeling like I’ve completely cut ties with my homeland.” Smit’s own smile was faint. “I had no other real choice, you understand. Yet it still weighs on me.”
Despite being plagued by chaos and unrest, it was still the home where Smit was born and raised. It had its problems, but he would have loved it, no doubt. Had the flames of war never encroached, Smit wouldn’t have needed to run.
The director could think of no delicate words to offer him.
“Apologies. I didn’t intend to put you in an awkward position,” said Smit. “I want to follow Her Eminence’s example. It’s my goal to offer you and the others here as much support as I can.”