In the morning, I woke up to the smell of burning bodies.

I opened groggy eyes to streaks of sunlight beaming through the windows and doorway of our small home. I rose out of the straw bed, disturbing motes of dust floating around me. The bed on my right was empty, and quiet conversation murmured past the doorway.

How long was I asleep?

I slipped on my boots and weapons belt, walking through the entrance of the house to a village transformed. Crews of mercenaries threw bodies into a large bonfire. Others cleared rubble off the roads. The holes in many of the houses were filled in with hard-packed dirt, and tall earthen walls created a fortification against intruders. They wrapped around the village, ending at pillars at each side of the main road.

"Jacob, over here!"

Isla waved me over from a long table pulled out of one of the houses. She sat with the rest of my party and a few others, picking at the remains of field rations laid out on her wooden plate. Dugan passed pieces of hard tack to Thor under the table. Mother Geslin and the mercenary with streaks of white hair sat in conversation with Castille.

I walked over.

"Morning."

"Afternoon," Geslin said, correcting me.

I squinted at the sky, noting the position of the Sun.

"Huh..."

I must have been more tired than I thought.

My stomach rumbled.

Castille smirked and jerked a thumb to the plate of jerky and hard tack beside her. I couldn't wait to get out of the Dellends. It had been almost a month since I ate anything fresh.

"Jacob, you picked a good time. Marcus here is going to tell us everything he knows about Rugar's plan."

The mercenary frowned.

"We never agreed to that."

I sat down beside Castille, picking up a square of jerky.

"Why not? You've helped us so far."

The mercenary shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with my presence.

"Look. You saved our hides. We won't fight you, but that doesn't mean we'll help you."

I gestured around to the mercenaries cleaning the village.

"Could a fooled me."

Marcus scowled from across the table.

"We didn't do it for you, elf."

"Aye, you did it because you're stuck—because Rugar will want you dead for turning traitor. The sooner you tell us what we need to know, the sooner we can get him off your back."

On the other side of Castille, Isla flashed her most disarming smile.

"Maybe you can tell us something simple. Like where he is or how many people are looking for us."

The mercenary pressed his lips together and then sighed, staring down at the old table.

"If I tell you, you have to promise that you won't tell anyone I told you."

Say that fast five times.

"Of course. On my honour," Castille said.

"I used to have that," Marcus grumbled.

He sucked in a deep breath.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"Rugar has set up a camp at Miller's Hill. There are patrols riding up and down the main roads around the capital."

Castille scoffed.

"He's still playing general."

Dugan grunted in agreement.

"And the city guard are just allowing it?" Isla asked.

"They're looking the other way. Rugar is one of the biggest weapon suppliers for the war effort. Centovian steel has meant the difference between life and death for many of us on the border. Then there's the beastkin. They've been raiding more than usual. Way things are now, no one minds the extra security on the roads."

"It's a good cover," I said.

"No one asked your opinion, elf."

Castille raised an eyebrow.

"I called him here for his opinion. Do you understand, soldier?"

"Yes."

"Anything else you can tell us?"

"No."

"Then, you're dismissed."

Marcus nodded once at Castille and then dipped his head lower at Isla.

"My Lady."

She smiled, waving goodbye as he walked back to the mercenaries at work.

"Prejudices aside, he's a nice man."

I scoffed.

"Easy to say when the prejudice isn't aimed at you."

I eyed Geslin as she turned to watch Marcus leave.

"Geslin, how are my clothes?"

She answered without turning around.

"They're all washed and drying on a pole. That jacket gave me some trouble. What's it made out of?"

"I don't know."

Geslin turned to look at me and narrowed her eyes.

"Fine, keep your secrets."

Isla cleared her throat.

"So, what's our plan?"

"We need to go back to the capital," Castille said. "Jacob has his debt, and I haven't gotten my reward."

"A noble status to save your brother?"

"Aye. Every second we wait is another second he's fighting… or dying."

Castille grimaced, her lips pressing together in a tight smile.

Isla touched the older woman's scarred hand.

"We'll get you to the capital."

"We just have to avoid the patrols and whatever else Rugar is planning," I said.

"Wwwe should stay off the main roads."

Mother Geslin raised her eyebrows. A common reaction to hearing Dugan speak for the first time.

"We could camouflage the wagon," Isla said.

"Have no fires at night."

"K-K-Keep Thor in the wagon bed."

The boar grunted in agreement.

"And I can scout ahead."

Castille crossed her arms.

"We just might make it."

"Sounds like a plan," Geslin said. "You know… If you have any second thoughts about that gold-"

"No," Castille and I said in unison.

Mother Geslin cackled.

"Suit yourself. To be honest, I already got what I wanted..."

She turned, casting a hungry gaze on the old mercenaries working around us.

"Company."

# # #

Rugar tapped his finger on the sheet of paper in front of him. The even rhythm was like a hammer striking an anvil.

He growled, the sound echoing in the large tent his men raised for him. A gust of wind blew through the flap, bringing in the night air and making the candles around him flicker.

He leaned forward in his chair, taking a closer look at the beige paper. According to the High Sanctifier, it was enchanted—bound to three other pages he had given his most trusted men. He sent them to watch the roads in and out of the Dellends with Took leading the main force.

It was a simple system—simple enough for idiots like them to follow. They would each mark a tally at the end of the day to check in. If they encountered the elf, they would mark an "X". If they captured him, they would mark a "C". Took's string of tally marks ended with an X.

That was a day ago.

"Boy!"

A lanky youth slipped through the opening. Rugar didn't bother remembering his name. He was one of Took's street rats, undernourished and unpolished, with a head of light brown hair hanging limp at his shoulders. Unlike most of the half-wits who surrounded him, the boy had proven useful.

"Yes, boss?!"

"Took is dead. Wake up, Arnoll and the others. There's a change in plans."

The boy's face paled. He stared at Rugar with wide, glossy eyes.

"If you want to avenge Took, then follow my orders."

The boy nodded, blinking away his tears and snapping an awkward salute.

"I'll get them right away!"

He pulled back the flap and disappeared into the night.

Rugar puffed out his cheeks and pushed himself away from his table. He paced around the tent, his polished boots brushing against the wool rug covering the grass.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

All his life, Rugar did what his father wanted. He denied his rightful place on the battlefield to build their growing business. His father, ever the merchant, sold him the sweetest lie. He told Rugar that there was honour in this path. That the weapons he forged would kill more Dahlgeshi than one lone soldier ever could. It was a convincing lie, but still a lie. A way for a scared old man to fill his coffers and secure a future for his son.

Rugar shook his head.

His father was wrong. He was no common soldier. He was a leader who men would kill and die for. Even after his father's death, Rugar wasted his talent at the forge instead of the field. His best years were spent covered in soot while other men wrapped themselves in glory.

Now, he was old, and this was the closest thing he could get to a war. And these were the closest thing he could get to soldiers: men too old for a real battle and children who never fought in one.

So be it.

He would punish that deserter, Castille, and that elf would pay for his disrespect.

Rugar's face twisted in disgust.

He always suspected their pacifism was an act. A way to lower the guard of Luskainians while they rebuilt their empire in secret. Yet, the King was doing nothing. He let them fester in the West when they should be cauterized and burned from the country. Once his men captured Jacob, Rugar would have a witness, and all of Luskaine would learn the truth about the elves.

Rugar walked over to the chest at the foot of his bed. He flipped over the golden clasps and raised the lid. In the candlelight, his full plate of armour gleamed.

Rugar smiled, his face reflected on the steel surface.

If this was his war, he would make the most of it.

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