“My lord, wake up.”

Alaric’s eyes snapped open. For a brief, disoriented moment, the blackness around him felt stifling, unfamiliar.

Where was he?

Then realization settled in. He was in his tent, lying on his cot. Rikka’s arm lay draped across his chest, her body molded tightly against his in a comforting embrace. They had pushed both cots together to form a singular, albeit uneven, bed.

“My lord,” Thorne’s voice came from outside, more insistent this time. “You must wake up. There is a problem. You’re needed at headquarters. Duncan has asked that you come immediately.”

The gravity of Thorne’s tone sliced through the remnants of sleep, pulling Alaric into full alertness. With a gentle touch, he shifted Rikka’s arm off his chest. She murmured a soft protest, the sound tinged with sleep, and rolled away. The sudden absence of her warmth was like a cold draft, and the tent seemed to chill a fraction more.

Alaric swung his legs over the side of the cot and sat up, rubbing at his eyes, trying to force the last vestiges of sleep away. The cot creaked ominously under his weight, protesting the sudden movement. His body ached badly from the day’s march. He’d taken turns riding and walking. He now felt every mile his army had covered.

“My lord…”

“I will be right there,” Alaric responded, his voice firm but low, not wanting to disturb Rikka any further than he already had. The urgency in Thorne’s call promised a situation that could not wait until dawn, and as a leader, Alaric knew all too well that such awakenings were seldom harbingers of good news.

Outside the tent, the soft rustling and crunch of dirt indicated Thorne’s retreat from the entrance.

“What is going on?” Rikka asked, sleep heavy in her voice. “What’s happened?”

“I don’t know,” Alaric admitted, his tone mingling concern with a residual grogginess as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes once more, even as he yawned powerfully. He reached for his boots. “Go back to sleep. I will deal with it, whatever it is.”

Rikka’s response was nonverbal, a simple drawing of the thick blankets around her form. Satisfied she was settling back into sleep, already in his trousers, Alaric slipped his feet into his boots, lacing them up. He grabbed his tunic from where it lay draped over a nearby stool and pulled it swiftly over his head.

Alaric came to his feet and stooped slightly to avoid hitting the low ceiling of the tent. Reaching the flap, he pushed it aside and stepped out into the crisp night air. The moon was not in view, yet the stars scattered across the sky shone with a piercing clarity, casting a muted glow over the encampment. Alaric took a moment to look around. Just yards from his campsite, rows upon rows of tents spread outward. Around him, the camp lay ensconced in a deep silence, the rest of the army oblivious in their sleep to the unfolding situation that rousted their leader from a deep slumber.

Thorne had just stoked the fire, adding logs that had caught quickly and flared to life, casting an energetic glow that sent sparks dancing into the night air. He turned to face Alaric, who approached with the weary and shuffling demeanor of a man untimely awakened. Alaric stifled a yawn, the chill of the night battling the warmth of the burgeoning fire.

“I feel like I just went to sleep—that I just shut my eyes.”

“That’s because you did,” Thorne replied with a hint of sympathy. “Little more than three quarters of an hour has passed since you went to bed, my lord. It is still well before midnight.”

“What’s going on?” Alaric glanced around once more, this time looking in the direction of the headquarters tent, just forty yards away. Bright lantern light spilled out from its entrance, silhouetting two guards who stood watch. No one else was up and about. The alert had not been sounded. Whatever had happened was not an immediate emergency. But that didn’t mean it might not become one.

“I don’t know,” Thorne admitted, his brows furrowed with uncertainty. “A messenger came into camp and then Jasper shortly after. Duncan sent a man asking you to report to the command tent, that you were needed there.”

Without another word, Alaric started for the tent, his stride purposeful. Thorne fell into step with him. As they approached, the guards snapped to attention and saluted sharply. Alaric acknowledged them with a nod and swept past, entering the tent. Thorne remained behind.

Inside, the air was thick with the smell of mustiness, weatherproofing grease the tent canvas had been treated with, lamp oil, and ink, all mingling with the less pleasant odor of unwashed bodies. Jasper and all three of Alaric’s bannermen, along with Jaxen, were gathered around a central table. They were studying a map, their expressions taut with concentration. They looked up as Alaric approached and straightened respectfully. None of Alaric’s clerks were present. They were likely still in their beds. From their grim looks, he had a dark suspicion that would not last long.

The map, one of the ones Ulden provided, was spread wide, held down by small river stones at each corner. Though old and yellowed from age, it was the most detailed map Alaric had of the region, a sprawl of intricate lines and markings.

The flickering light from the lanterns that hung overhead from the posts cast shifting shadows over the map, making the terrain, roads, towns, villages, and other markings seem almost alive. Each man around the table bore the look of one who had been roused from sleep to urgent counsel. No one was wearing their armor.

“My lord,” Duncan said, “sorry to have woken you, but the news we’ve received is important.”

“I have gathered that already,” Alaric said. “What’s happened?”

“There is an enemy force camped within three miles of our current position,” Duncan reported as he made space for Alaric at the crowded table.

That got Alaric’s attention.

“Where?” Alaric’s focus sharpened as he leaned over the map, his eyes finding the position of their current encampment. For the last two days, they had been navigating Beaver’s Run, a back road so narrow and poorly maintained that it had bottlenecked their supply train, delaying their progress significantly. Alaric had chosen the route because of its remoteness. And yet, they were now only two, maybe three days from the king’s designated rally point at Cret’s Crossing.

Or so Alaric hoped. There was no telling what the road would look like ahead of them. There were several rivers along the planned route as well. Though bridges were marked on the map, he did not know what condition they were in, let alone whether they were still there, since the map was an old one.

“Where are they?”

Jasper leaned in, his finger landing decisively on a section of the map, not far from the army’s camp. “Here, my lord, along this road that runs east before turning north.”

The road he indicated ran parallel to Beaver’s Run for a stretch, uncomfortably near where his army was camped, before veering sharply north. It was labeled Smith’s Way, a route Alaric had previously noted but hadn’t given much attention to until now.

He had been looking to avoid contact with the enemy, and Smith’s Way traveled ultimately north, toward the likely line of march of Thorold’s army, while Beaver’s Run moved in the direction he wanted, steadily westward toward the rally point. Alaric noted where, just a few miles ahead of his planned march, both roads came together.

His mind raced through tactical implications, wondering if the enemy had discovered him. Had they anticipated Alaric’s route and chosen Smith’s Way for an intercept, the crossroads for an ambush on his column of march? Or were they moving to simply cut him off from the rally point?

“Though you can’t see it from the road we are moving along, there is a ridgeline between us and Smith’s Way,” Jasper continued, his tone suggesting the strategic importance of this geographical feature, which was marked upon the map. “It is quite steep and rugged.”

“On a hunch,” Duncan interjected, “I sent a team up in the afternoon and onto the ridge, hoping they might find a good point and be able to survey the terrain for miles around.”

“And I elected to go with them,” Jasper added. “We found no clear point, so I had to climb a tree to better see. Not much was visible, but I did spot smoke down the reverse side of the ridge, less than a mile distant.”

“And you went to investigate,” Alaric surmised.

“Aye, my lord, we did,” Jasper confirmed, his demeanor reflecting the gravity of their discovery. “We discovered a foraging party, mounted men with nets affixed to their horses, along with two wagons. They had stopped and were cooking a late lunch. That was what gave them away, the fire. I wanted to see where they would go, so we followed them after they were done. They led us to a camp here, by this lake.” Jasper’s finger pressed against the map again.

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“Mirror Lake,” Alaric said, reading the name etched onto the map. The location was alarmingly close to their current position. He looked back up at Jasper. “How large is this camp, the enemy force there?”

“More than two hundred cavalry, and three hundred foot,” Jasper reported, “light infantry.”

Alaric sucked in a breath at the news. It was a significant force, one to be concerned about.

“They have fifty wagons, along with a substantial train of mules,” Jasper added. “This is the force that has been raiding and looting the region clean. I am sure of it.”

“My lord,” Duncan began, “this camp has no defenses to speak of.”

Alaric looked sharply at his bannerman, his brows knitting together. He found that news even more surprising. It created the potential for an opportunity.

“They didn’t put out any scouts either, at least none that I could readily see,” Jasper continued, “just typical sentries on the camp’s boundary.”

“Overconfident bastards,” Keever interjected, his voice edged with a mix of disdain and eagerness. “They’ve been beating on helpless civilians long enough. I think we should show them how real men fight, what it’s like to face off against someone with a sword and shield.”

“They don’t know we’re here,” Alaric concluded, the realization bringing a strategic clarity as he gazed at the map. The enemy’s ignorance of their proximity was an advantage too valuable to ignore. With the length of his column, he feared they would have been discovered by now. That was inevitable at some point, but it seemed the enemy was working their way eastward with their pillaging and looting, not in the direction he’d come. They had already picked that ground clean.

“If they did know we were here,” Jaxen chimed in, “they would have taken better precautions and constructed a fortified encampment—or simply upped and run.”

“I am in agreement. They believe themselves to be safe,” Jourgan added. “Hence the lack of precautions.”

The circle of commanders, illuminated by the flickering lantern light, now looked expectantly to Alaric. He felt the weight of command settle upon his shoulders. He directed a focused look at Jasper. “Any guess on how long they’ve been there?”

“Several days at the very least.” Jasper gave a shrug. “It appears they are using this camp as a base of operations from which to raid and loot the region, to stockpile it for transport. Almost all the foraging parties that returned at dusk came in from the east. Only a couple arrived along a westward track.”

“They’re accumulating food supplies for their army,” Keever added.

“Which means the main body can’t be that far away,” Alaric concluded, the threads of the situation weaving together in his mind. Whatever he decided to do, in the coming days, he needed to be exceptionally careful.

“We are in agreement on that point,” Duncan said, his voice firm. There were nods all around.

Should he continue to avoid contact with the enemy, hope to draw closer to the rally point before he was discovered? Or should he move and strike at this enemy force? If he did strike, word would almost certainly get out he was here, and Thorold might turn upon him with everything he had.

Alaric’s king was marching to a point where he intended to put a river between himself and the enemy. Once there, Alaric knew he would not budge from his defenses, leaving Alaric alone on the wrong side of the river. From Thorold’s perspective there would be little risk in going for Alaric’s army, for he would deduce that as well. He’d already beaten King Roderick’s army once, and Roderick would be loath for that to happen a second time, for it could very well mean his undoing.

There was no doubt in Alaric’s mind he was on his own.

“The scouts you pushed out, five to ten miles,” Alaric said, turning his attention to Duncan. “How did they miss this camp?”

“There is a lot of territory to cover,” Duncan admitted. “And we only have fifty men, spread out in all directions. Keep in mind, each day, our army is on the move. They have to keep up with us, not to mention their scouting… and well… you know how difficult that can be. There is a lot of ground to cover.”

Alaric gave a nod of understanding, his mind racing. He wished he’d committed more men to his bannerman’s scouting endeavor, for there might be other raiding forces out there like this one. Worse, the enemy might have found him first and positioned themselves to hit him. Fortune, for the moment, was on their side.

Alaric’s eyes narrowed as he examined the map closer, pondering the possible routes along which the main body of the enemy army might be marching. Several major roads lay to the north, about thirty miles distant. It was these that drew his attention.

“I want a pair of mounted scouts dispatched tonight.” Alaric leaned forward to touch the map, running his hand along the roads he thought Thorold’s army might be marching upon. “I want them to eyeball these three routes. Find out if the enemy’s main body is there or has passed by recently.”

“As you command, my lord,” Duncan said. “And what of this mixed force of cavalry and infantry, this bunch of raiders? If it comes to a battle of armies in the days ahead, and the fight over open ground, cavalry, as you know, is king. We may have an opportunity to wipe out a portion of the enemy’s mounted wing.”

“I agree,” Keever said. “There is an opportunity here.”

Alaric gave a nod at that. Mirror Lake was so close and yet so far. There was the ridgeline to consider, for it was between his army and the enemy raiding camp.

“We may never get a better opportunity than now,” Duncan added, “to strike a blow at the enemy, one that could have far-reaching results.”

Alaric’s own cavalry force was quite modest—numbering merely fifty mounted soldiers. Horses were expensive, not only to acquire, but to maintain, to feed, and that did not include the soldiers who rode them. They required much more intensive training and outfitting.

The terrain of Dekar, a realm much cloaked in dense forests akin to those of Urburn, did not favor large cavalry operations, at least when it came to armies and battlefield maneuvers. The thick underbrush and trees hampered the mobility that cavalry units typically relied on, making them less effective in such environments. Instead, infantry—foot soldiers adept at maneuvering through such rugged and difficult landscapes—were a more practical choice, which was where he had placed much of his focus and energies.

Alaric’s gaze intensified as he leaned over the map spread out between them. He pointed to the stretch of land sandwiched between the two critical roads, tracing the outline of the ridge that loomed as a serious barrier, then back again. He looked up and over at Jasper. “How long would it take us to cross this ridgeline and reach the enemy’s camp at Mirror Lake? Can we do it before dawn?”

Jasper responded with a grin, his eyes reflecting a mix of anticipation and confidence. “I thought you might be wanting to know that, my lord,” he admitted. “I have men marking a route even now. Only those on foot will be able to make the journey. Horses, wagons, and mules will have to be left behind. And yes, I believe if you rousted the men now, we could manage it in five hours—with a sixth to get the men into position for an assault either just before dawn or slightly after.”

Alaric absorbed Jasper’s words, mind already turning over the logistics and potential risks of such a maneuver. He looked at the map again. If they were discovered as they moved into position, the enemy would be ready for them, waiting, or they might begin to withdraw.

“So,” he mused aloud, the strategic possibilities unfolding in his mind, “we could be in a jump-off position by dawn if we pushed the men? Are you certain?”

“I would say so, my lord,” Jasper confirmed, his tone edged with the urgency of their task. “Speed would be of the essence to pull off what you are suggesting.”

The prospect of catching their enemy off guard offered a significant tactical advantage. Alaric considered the magnitude of the decision before him. He rubbed the back of his neck. The chance to decisively engage and potentially obliterate an enemy force of over five hundred—two hundred of whom were cavalry—was an opportunity, one he could not pass up. He would be foolish to let this slip through his fingers.

“Jaxen,” Alaric said, “roust the men. Do it now. All six companies, including the men-at-arms our bannermen brought, are to march.”

“At once, my lord,” Jaxen replied with a nod, his movements brisk as he worked his way around the table and jogged out of the tent into the night to carry out his orders.

“We’re not taking the militia?” Jourgan questioned.

“No,” Alaric responded firmly. He traced a line to the lake depicted on the map where the enemy was encamped. Then he tapped their own camp. “The militia will remain and guard the supply train. We will take the rest of the army up and over the ridge to attack the enemy. Six companies should be enough.”

“I see,” Jourgan said.

“It is likely to be overkill, my lord,” Keever said. “That’s more than double the number of the enemy.”

“We will attack with overwhelming force. I have made my decision, and we will do this right, in strength. With a night movement, there are just too many risks, too much that could go wrong.”

“Yes, my lord,” Keever said.

“A victory will give our boys confidence,” Duncan said.

“I want the train to keep moving. We will meet up with them tomorrow, likely after dark, here.” Alaric’s hand moved to indicate the point where the roads met on the map a few miles to the east. He looked up at Duncan, his expression resolute. “Send some of our cavalry to this crossroads tonight, where the two roads meet. If there is an enemy force there, I would know of it in advance.”

“As you command, my lord,” Duncan said. “They will take and hold the crossroads until the train comes up.”

The resonant blare of a horn pierced the air outside, a call rallying the men to readiness, to arms. A few moments later, the call rang out again. Sergeants and officers began shouting mere heartbeats later.

“Jourgan,” Alaric began, his voice carrying a firm undercurrent of leadership, “would you do me the honor of commanding the supply train and the militia in my absence?”

Alaric was well aware his request would be met with disappointment from Jourgan, possibly even resistance. The man would prefer to be at the forefront of the attack with his men. Nonetheless, Alaric needed someone reliable and competent to protect their logistical lifeline, to keep the train moving and safe, someone he trusted.

The man straightened and opened his mouth to speak. But nothing came out. His expression tightened and he closed his mouth, looking at the map for several heartbeats.

“I need someone I can count on with the train,” Alaric said, “and that person is you.”

“Then I will do as you ask, my lord,” Jourgan affirmed, his voice steady and committed. “I will remain behind. You need not worry about the train.”

“Thank you,” Alaric said. He turned his attention to Duncan and Keever. “There is no time to organize rations for this movement. Make sure the men have full canteens and whatever food is on hand—the precooked rations in their haversacks should suffice. That’s it. We are traveling light—weapons, shields, and armor only, understand? Speed will be of the essence.”

The horn cried out again, its deep tones resonating through the crisp air. Like a great beast, his army was waking from its slumber. The noise had increased dramatically as the chaos of preparation began. Though they did not yet know why, his small army was readying itself for battle.

Alaric’s eyes swept over Jasper, Keever, and Duncan. “Once we step off, I want to move hard and fast. We will drive the men as they’ve never been driven before. Our chances of success increase with us being in position before dawn. They decrease after, understand?”

There were nods all around the table. Alaric paused and sucked in a breath before letting it out. He had made his decision, and now it was time to let his commanders go and get on with it, to make it happen.

“We move out within the half hour.”