General Alessa walked the battlements of the High City of Romitu. She did not do so every evening, but she tried to make it a habit in whatever city she was stationed. It was the sort of thing General Scioni would have done. It was not hard to emulate. She could see it would have a beneficial effect on the troops, but she also found it particularly rewarding for two reasons.
Firstly, as the sun set over the world's largest city, the view from the High City was spectacular. The low light brought the buildings into high relief. It shone over the white marble of the immense buildings lining the forum, the terracotta roofs of the tower houses and finally the mud brick of the outskirts. Smoke from cooking fires rose up to greet it. The various monuments that studded the city from over a thousand years of history cast lengthening shadows over the neighborhoods they ruled.
In a sort of ironic modern inverse, two long snaking rivers of green wound their way into the city from the south and north. The old aqueducts had been demolished and replaced with parks when they replaced their water supply to one driven by new magic. The Queen would not hear of erecting new monuments. With the capabilities they had, anything new would stand head and shoulder above the old. She did not feel they had yet done anything worthy of that. There was talk, from time to time, of an appropriate memorial for General Scioni. But he was, perhaps, least loved in his own city. And Jesca felt he would rather the effort be put into civic works.
General Alessa would pick a spot, and study it closely. Thinking on what she knew of the people who lived there. This was her city. She had grown up here. It hadn't been terribly pleasant. The only daughter of an Amazon immigrant, trying endlessly to live up to a mother's inflated notions of her invented past. The best she could do was a government hired mercenary. Only by an amazing quirk of fate did it lead her to the military prowess her mother had dreamed of. She was probably down there now, getting drinks bought for her, bragging of her daughter. It didn't give Alessa any sense of pride, though.
She moved on down the wall and approached one of the many corner towers. She was quickly seen and she could hear calls of “The General!” spread amongst those on duty. As she drew up to it several soldiers presented themselves, saluted enthusiastically, and cried “To hell and back!” It was almost becoming the army's motto. She grinned and returned the salute, passing into the tower.
Several more troops stood to attention as she passed through the tower. Less formal cries of “Huzzah Romitu!,” “Sharp Blades,” and “We Stand Ready,” greeted her there. She waved to them in acknowledgment and left them with a “Lucky Dice to You,” quickening her step. It would not do to have them see their general with a tear in her eye.
That was the second rewarding thing for her. She had not earned her position; it had fallen on her. When thrust into a crisis, she had no idea what she should be doing and, in terror and panic, had just done what she was told, or what she expected she would be told to do. It took her a long time to learn that this was exactly what leaders did: they lead. Commanders plotted strategy, subordinates logistics.
Dismayed to be put in charge of so many lives, she had thrown herself first into any engagement. If it went disastrously, then she would be amongst the fallen and would not have to deal with the failure. But her troops saw her as fearless, and threw themselves after her. As they cried now: they had followed her to hell and back and lived to tell the tale. They loved her for it and would do it again, eagerly, if she asked. That was what gave her a sense of pride. It brought a tear to her eye as night fell across the city and made the long circuit of the battlements worth it.