Alaric stifled a powerful yawn. He was drop-dead tired. Around him, his army was hard at work constructing the nightly fortified camp. The rhythmic sound of shovels mingled with the steady thuds of axes biting into wood as the forest was being cut back. The sun had already begun to set, working its way toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the budding camp.

Having traveled through the night to reach the army and then marched the entire following day, they had reached and crossed the border of Kanar and Urburn. Knowing the enemy was active nearby, Alaric was leaving nothing to chance. He could not afford to. Each evening, they would construct a fortified encampment, one with significant defenses designed to discourage a surprise assault, a wall, complete with a barricade and fighting platform, all surrounded by an outer trench filled with sharpened wooden stakes.

As he gazed around at the rapidly developing camp, his attention was involuntarily pulled toward Duncan, who was engaged in what appeared to be a serious discussion with Jaxen about a hundred yards away. From his position, Alaric could not catch their words, but the distance did little to mask the intensity of the exchange.

Alaric’s brow furrowed into a scowl as he observed Duncan’s animated gestures, his hand pointing emphatically toward a group of men nearby and then touching the side of his temple as if to communicate to his son “to think.”

Alaric supposed these were Jaxen’s troops that Duncan was indicating, digging into the ground, doing their part to help build the camp’s defensive trench and berm. The soldiers, coated in dust from the road, dirt, and sweat from their toil, were clearly doing their best to ignore the exchange as they worked.

Alaric’s scowl deepened. It was clear from Jaxen’s rigid posture and the tight set of his shoulders he was not pleased with whatever Duncan was communicating. The scene hinted at a clash of strategies, a valid critique not well received, or more likely, Alaric thought, a displeased father who had unreasonable expectations of his son. Alaric had personal experience with that.

The conversation seemed to reach its climax as Jourgan and Keever arrived, joining Duncan and Jaxen. Their arrival did little to defuse the situation. After a brief, intense exchange between father and son, Jaxen responded with a sharp, heated retort and abruptly strode away from the group toward his men and the work they were doing, leaving Duncan shaking his head.

Alaric watched as Jaxen stalked off, his mind racing with the potential implications of the dispute. Was it a simple disagreement? Or was it symptomatic of a deeper issue within the ranks, one he’d have to get personally involved in? The cohesion of his commanders was crucial to success. He could not allow division.

“Tea?”

Alaric turned and found Rikka offering him a steaming mug. With a nod of appreciation, he accepted it. The aroma of the black tea wafted up, and with his first sip, he felt a wave of rejuvenation wash over him. It was not only tasty, but surprisingly refreshing, and especially welcome, as the setting sun brought with it an unseasonal chill that had begun to sweep through the camp, likely bringing in the cooler air from the surrounding forest.

“Thank you,” he said, taking another sip and savoring it for a long moment. “You make some of the best tea I have ever had. I swear, it’s almost as if you are using your magic.”

“How do you know I’m not?” Rikka smirked at him and returned to the campfire they shared, where a pot hung over the low-burning and dancing flames. Picking up a ladle, she gave the contents a stir. Smoke from the fire curled and swirled up into the evening sky, merging with the twilight. Their tent had been erected just to the side of the fire and it was beckoning powerfully to Alaric, calling to him for some sleep.

“Either way, I love it.” Alaric waved the mug a little, sloshing around the contents a bit but being careful not to spill any.

Rikka cast a brief glance his way, acknowledging his thanks with a simple nod. They were both worn and beat after the hard ride.

“My lord, am I interrupting?”

Alaric turned to find Duncan standing at the edge of his campsite, delineated more by mutual respect than any physical barrier, though Ezran and Kiera blocked the man’s path forward. Flanking him were Keever and Jourgan. Their presence, usually a prelude to matters of strategy or importance, prompted Alaric to straighten slightly. Their expressions were serious, grave even.

“No, you are not interrupting,” Alaric responded as he took another sip of the tea. “Come forward.”

Ezran and Kiera stood aside, and they moved closer and up to the campfire. All three men were dusty from the day’s march. They also looked weary but not as spent as Alaric felt.

“My lady.” Duncan bowed respectfully to Rikka. Jourgan and Keever did the same.

“How can I help you gentlemen?” Alaric asked, looking to move things along.

“We have been reviewing the new maps, my lord, the ones provided by Lord Ulden,” Duncan began. “We believe it prudent to deploy additional scouts into the field.”

“That is what we are all recommending,” Keever said, glancing at the other two men.

“We already have at least fifty scouts out in the field,” Alaric remarked, his hand holding the mug sweeping toward the forest. “They’re watching the perimeter several hundred yards out. Isn’t that screen substantial enough for our current needs?”

“It’s not the perimeter we’re concerned about, my lord,” Jourgan interjected. “We’re suggesting that it might be wise to send additional men out beyond our current screen, to actively hunt for the enemy.”

“If we can find them before they find us,” Keever added, “it could help us avoid detection.”

“How far out are you suggesting?” Alaric asked, voice tinged with both curiosity and caution as he considered their suggestion.

“Five to ten miles,” Keever replied, his eyes meeting Alaric’s with a steady gaze, “maybe a little farther if they find evidence of the enemy nearby.”

“I see,” Alaric murmured, stroking his chin thoughtfully and feeling the stubble on his palm as he weighed the merits of the proposal. He took another sip of tea. It was a calculated risk, though one that could potentially yield rewards. “You’re also looking for opportunities to strike at the enemy. Is that it?”

“Exactly, my lord,” Keever confirmed. “Small groups of them, at least. We’re aware the enemy has bands roaming throughout Urburn. We’ve all seen what they’ve done. If they present themselves, consider these targets of opportunity.”

On the march from Kanar into Urburn, they had passed several farms that had been razed, the people who’d lived there murdered in cold blood. The image of the last farm was still fresh in Alaric’s mind. The enemy had killed the family that lived there, even the children. Before they had been allowed to die, they’d tortured them. That much had been clear, for the bodies had been mutilated.

Alaric had not much enjoyed what he’d seen. It spoke of an unnecessary cruelty. The enemy had also taken everything they could that was not nailed down—animals, food—then burned the house and barn to the ground, leaving only the ashes and dead behind.

“In addition to that,” Duncan interjected, his tone indicating the strategic importance of their next point, “our long-range scouts could possibly encounter the enemy’s main body or stumble upon a significant force, giving us early warning or possibly a tactical advantage should you wish to act upon the intelligence.”

“I would expect Thorold’s army to be much farther north, possibly moving along the King’s Way. It is the direct route to Cret’s Crossing.” Alaric’s mind raced through various scenarios. “How many men are we talking about? On horseback or afoot? I want to remind you our mounted contingent is quite small.”

Keever responded, “No more than fifty, my lord, and a mix of both, mostly those afoot, though. The mounted contingent can act as messengers, getting word to us more rapidly should these scouts discover something worthy of reporting.” He paused for emphasis. “We also have several gifted—ah, think of them as rogues, former poachers amongst our men-at-arms that each of us took pity upon and brought into our service for one reason or another. They possess the skills to move across the forest and land without drawing attention.”

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“Are you also talking about using any of Jasper’s boys?” Alaric valued the expertise of Jasper’s rangers, who were currently tasked with monitoring the immediate vicinity around the camp and along the army’s line of march while it was in motion.

Their skills were so crucial, he was reluctant to redeploy any of them for the extended scouting mission his bannermen were proposing. Yet to send out fifty men on this venture seemed a manageable risk, especially if his bannermen were in agreement, and they certainly appeared to be; otherwise, they would not have approached him with this matter.

“No,” Keever said. “Just as they are currently, the rangers will remain watching the camp.”

“All right,” Alaric decided, his voice firm, “do it. Make it happen.”

He noticed the slight easing of tension amongst the three men, a relaxing of their postures. It was clear they anticipated a possible refusal or even an argument. In truth, Alaric was too tired to argue the point. It was easier to give in. Besides, the proposal made sense to him, and that was enough to sway his mind on the matter.

“Thank you, my lord,” Keever responded with a respectful nod. “The scouts will go out within the hour.”

“Very good,” Alaric acknowledged. “Is there anything else?”

“Just an update on the camp. We should have the wall and outer trench completed within the hour,” Duncan reported. “I’ve left orders for a standing watch of one hundred men to be placed, rotated every four hours.”

“Very good,” Alaric said as he ran his gaze around the camp, which was quite large, noting the dirt wall that was growing with every passing moment. The communal tents were being raised too. He turned back to Duncan. “How deep will the trench be?”

“As discussed, twelve feet, my lord,” Duncan said.

“Excellent,” Alaric said, well pleased. His mind shifted to supply. The wagons were still arriving, as was the tail of his column of march. They were being driven into the camp toward where a good-sized park had been set up, right next to where all the mules and horses were picketed. “Remember, we must watch the rations. Communicate that down through the ranks. I don’t want overeating, for there’s a good chance little will be available in Urburn. The enemy seem to be picking it clean.”

“I already have standing orders in place, but I will see that reinforced, my lord,” Duncan said. “Concerning water, we are refilling the barrels from a nearby stream where the water seems fresh enough. The men will also top off their canteens and bathe after the wall is completed.”

Alaric nodded. “I want to march at dawn, as soon as it’s light enough to see.”

“Aye, my lord,” Duncan said. “I will come later with a proposed line of march and figures on our strength totals. The clerks will have that after the last of the column arrives.”

“Bring those reports to me in the morning.” Alaric suppressed another yawn. “Is there anything else? As you can imagine, I am tired and thinking of turning in early for the night.”

“No, my lord,” Duncan replied. “I will have the reports ready when you are ready, come morning. We will leave you in peace.”

The three bannermen turned and started to leave.

After a moment’s thought, Alaric called, “Duncan, please remain but a moment. I would speak with you on a personal matter.”

“Aye, my lord.” Duncan halted his retreat and returned to the fire. The other two bannermen glanced at him curiously, then moved off.

Alaric waited.

“What is this about, my lord?”

“Jaxen,” Alaric said once the others were well out of earshot.

“What about my son?” Duncan’s response was tinged with a protective edge, his posture tensing. Then his shoulders slumped slightly. He gave a nod of understanding. “You saw that a few moments ago?” Alaric’s bannerman glanced in the direction his son had gone.

“I did. Care to tell me what that was about?”

“It was a small matter, my lord, nothing of great significance. I would not trouble you with it.”

Alaric had suspected as much. “It seemed you were berating him before his men. That cannot happen. Doing so will undermine his authority and I will not—cannot have that.”

“I am sorry, my lord. I should have been more discreet in the criticism of my son. It will not happen again.”

“Yes, you should have been more discreet.”

“I know it,” Duncan growled.

“He is one of my company commanders,” Alaric stated plainly, acknowledging Jaxen’s role and responsibilities. “Duncan, I would not have placed him in the position he’s in just because you’re my bannerman. He has been trained and I trust him to do the job he’s been assigned. He’s earned that. Understand me so far?”

“Yes, my lord. I do.”

“And you are my second in command. Like the rest of my officers, he has a job to do. He can’t be looking over his shoulder at his father, questioning his own decisions. He must be free to do as he thinks best, or when we need him to, he won’t act at all. He will be frozen in fear.”

“Fear?” Duncan seemed confused.

“Fear he will make a mistake and that you will disapprove. During a fight, any action is better than indecisiveness, inaction.”

Duncan’s gaze dropped to the ground as he wrestled with his emotions. He looked back up and met Alaric’s gaze. “I must let him go. Is that what you are saying?”

“Yes,” Alaric agreed, his voice firm yet empathetic. “He must be allowed the freedom to command his men without the burden of thinking his father might second-guess his decisions. I expect him to excel when given the opportunity. If there is any correction to be given or disciplining to be done, based upon his duties as one of my company commanders, that falls upon me, not you.”

“But I am your second. How can I lead, do the job you’ve given me, if I cannot pass along orders?”

“If you can treat him as you do the other company commanders, then fine, you can order him around when needed,” Alaric said. “If you can’t do that, he reports directly to me.”

“He is my son,” Duncan said, the words heavy with paternal concern. “It is hard—difficult to let go.”

“I know it. But if he is to become the man and leader he is meant to be, one you will be proud of, it has to be this way. He must be given the freedom to command his own men, without worry his father might think there is a better way for things to be done—like digging a simple trench.”

Duncan glanced at his feet again. He gave a nod but did not say anything.

“Understand my position on this matter?” Alaric pressed. “It is unbending.”

There was a long moment of hesitation, then Duncan gave another slow nod as he met Alaric’s gaze once more. “Very well, my lord. I shall do my best to let him be and not question his decisions, nor try to run his company for him.” Duncan fell silent for several heartbeats, his jaw flexing. “You are correct. He needs to be his own man and I am standing in the way of that. Thank you for pointing this out to me. Is there anything else, my lord?”

“No,” Alaric said. “That’s all.”

“I will get back to seeing the camp set up properly, my lord,” Duncan said. He offered a respectful nod to Rikka, then turned and walked away.

Feeling mixed emotions, Alaric watched him go. Like his other bannermen, Duncan was a hard man. Was he capable of leaving his son be? Only time would tell.

“It was the right thing to do,” Rikka remarked after Duncan moved out of hearing distance. Her voice was low but carried a certain assurance.

“I know it,” Alaric responded, “and I should have anticipated it might become an issue.”

Rikka gave a nod of weary agreement as she sat down on a log by the fire, her eyes reflecting the flames’ dance. She held out her hands for warmth. Alaric took another sip from his mug, the tea comforting, yet insufficient in its fight against the pull of fatigue weighing heavily upon him. He yawned deeply. The exhaustion had seeped into his bones. Their tent loomed invitingly nearby, its fabric rustling softly as the evening breeze gusted. By the gods, he needed some sleep.

“I am going to get some rest.” With that, he moved toward the tent and stopped, his hand on the flap, the canvas cool and rough under his fingers as he glanced back at Rikka. She had not responded, but sat unmoving, her gaze now fixed intensely on the flickering flames of the campfire. It seemed as if she were lost in another world, her eyes seeing beyond the ordinary blaze. The sudden warmth of the ring on his finger at the sight of her frozen stirred a deep unease within him. Something wasn’t quite right. Alaric straightened, his concern growing.

“Are you—all right?” he asked her.

Rikka did not respond, her trance unbroken.

“Rikka, are you okay?” Alaric pressed, a note of urgency creeping into his tone. “Is something bothering you?”

Startled, as if snapped from a deep reverie, Rikka shook her head slightly and blinked several times. She looked over at him, her expression one of confusion, as if she did not immediately recognize him. Then the bewilderment, the cloud in her gaze, cleared. She took a deep breath and shuddered. “What? What did you say?”

“I asked if you were okay,” Alaric repeated, his worry evident. “Perhaps you should get some rest as well, join me. It’s been a long and trying day.”

“I am fine,” she replied, her voice weary yet firm. “Go ahead. I will be there shortly.”

Alaric hesitated, observing her closely. Despite her assurances, she seemed anything but fine. In fact, she appeared as if something profound had just occurred. The ring on his finger grew even warmer. The night was coming on. The sky had darkened considerably in the last half hour. The shadows cast by the fire danced across her face, highlighting a troubled expression that he knew all too well.

Worry.

“Rikka—”

“Really,” Rikka insisted, a faint smile attempting to reassure him. “I was just feeling Eldanar.”

“Feeling Eldanar?” Alaric pressed.

“He was—speaking to me just now,” Rikka said, her tone low. “It is a lumina thing… occasionally, we get feelings, emotions, flashes—images. They can be quite powerful to the point of being overwhelming.”

“And this one was?”

She nodded gravely. “Sometimes the meaning is crystal clear.”

“But not this time?”

Again, she gave a nod as she turned her gaze back to the fire. “There is something I must do but am unsure what exactly that is. I—I must meditate on it some.” She shook herself slightly and looked back over at him. “Now, go get some sleep. You need it more than I, as, come morning, you have an army to lead.” She pointed at the tent firmly. “Go. Leave me to worry about Eldanar’s commands.”

Not wanting to go, Alaric found himself hesitating. He had the feeling she was not telling him everything. The ring on his finger had begun to cool.

“I mean it,” Rikka said, her tone becoming as firm as cold granite. “Go. I am fine. I just need time to think.”

“All right.” Reluctantly, Alaric nodded, his instincts still on alert. He drained the last of his tea and placed the empty mug by the entrance of the tent, then ducked inside, the flap falling into place behind him. Despite Rikka’s reassurances, unease lingered in his mind, mixing with the exhaustion that tugged powerfully at his consciousness.

He sat upon his cot and then lay down. He made a mental note to speak with her in the morning about it further. He was so tired, he did not even bother to remove his boots. Alaric cleared his mind of his concerns. He closed his eyes, and almost immediately, the oblivion of sleep took him.