A young page slipped in among the shouting soldiers, handed his message over to one, and then placed himself beside the entrance to the room. The tempest of voices lulled to see what direction the new message might blow it.
“Still no word?”
“None!”
“Our ears in the capitol suggest the Confessors’ position is likely to be accepted at the Conclave. Our contacts inform us, in world after world, the spread continues of this blight some call The Hunger. This latest message reports the last of the Rangers have returned. They confirm all of this. And yet, nowhere could they discover a sign of the Legion…..not one sign!”
“An entire host of Centuriae could not have simply vanished. They change worlds by their presence. They would have been marked in obtaining supplies. Who would have erased their cairn and camp remains on each of the worlds they passed through? We simple do not have enough Rangers. Send them back out, for surely they missed where to….”
“They may be few, and old, but they have served the Legion with distinction in their day. Do you mean to suggest that only now have they begun to forget their work?”
“You know I…..”
“Lord Agaid cannot die, nor any among the Centurion! Do you say they vanished? Why would they not have returned? Surely they have been imprisoned somehow. We must raise aid, so that once they have been found…..”
“Found! I tell you! The Rangers tell you! Every report in your bloody hands tells you! They are nowhere to be found.”
“Lord Agaid will find a way, yet again. When he does we must be ready with…”
“We! Who are we to do this! The old, the lame, those too young to campaign, the scraps!”
“ENOUGH!”
Around the table, each of the Optio leaned back from their maps and papers to stare at the young page who had suddenly dared gain their attention. When he spoke again his words burned with a shocking authority for a boy not yet to have shaved.
“The All-Father is lost to the Races. This the Conclave debates, but I declare it unto you. Likewise, Lord Agaid, his servant, and the Centuriae who follow his banner have fallen. The Hunger comes to consume the worlds they had guarded. Soldiers of the 13th, will you despair? Will you abandon your duty and oath? Hard is the path before you, and hard the tasks you must perform to remain on it. Leave now if age or pain weakens you. For your years of service, may you find some restful corner of a world and await….await The Hunger. ”
Awe filled those present in the room. At first one, then another, then the entire assembly rose from their chairs and fell to one knee before the lad. Not one even glanced towards the door. The light of the room grew dim, as somehow each lamp threw its glow against him as he continued.
“Scraps you may be. Scraps you must be. Gather unto you any who will march under your banner. Assemble the Cohorts! Seek any excuse or purpose to send them out into the worlds. As scavengers, raiders, merchants, mercenaries, soldiers, zealots, or the final honorable remnant of cohorts of Lord Agaid’s 13th. YOU will face the onslaught of The Hunger! Seeking the path of your fallen Legion or seeking a pile of wood to warm you one last time, you WILL face the onslaught of The Hunger! Alone, with neither sandal nor cloak, you will FACE the onslaught of The Hunger. In a new Legion of Cohorts, shield over shield, swords bared, spears thrust over shoulder, YOU WILL STAND AS ONE against the onslaught of the Hunger! The 13th has fallen. The 13th must arise once more from the scraps of the worlds!”