To a distant growl of thunder, in the dark of the night. Heror and Shaadur emerged from the forest edge.

The border wall was in sight.

The young man had rode from night to day, ‘til day turned to night again. Through the steppes and the woodlands and the low foothills and swamps, past the great lake and the tendrils of the mountain moistlands. He’d stopped only to tend to his horse with the supplies left over in his pack. And now he looked upon Ardys from the outside. He was tired. He was hungry and thirsty. His brown hair was matted and windswept.

In the soft, strobing light of lightning from the southwest, the wall looked different now. It was dark and unkempt, with vines and mosses crawling up its base. There were no archers or torches overtop it – at least not that he could see from where he stood.

Heror had known that, if he’d traveled south, he would reach the wall. But at first, he did not see the wall breach. It was only when he glanced to the left – to the east – that he saw torchlight in the distance, perhaps a mile or two away. Staying close to the cover of the trees, he whispered to Shaadur, then turned the reins and started toward it.

In several minutes, he came to the edge of a small camp. It was a Midan camp, not an Ardysan one; Heror could tell by the light brown burlap canvas of the tents. When he reached the edge of the light, he rode back into the shadow of the forest and circled the encampment.

As he crept toward the other side through the trees, another torchlit camp appeared in the distance. And as Heror guided his eyes back to the wall, he realized that these two camps outlined the path to the breach. Two more small camps were positioned closer, on either side of the path. The breach was also lit, with an outfit of elinji guards standing before it. The rubble at its center had since been cleared.

After a moment of thought, Heror took a breath and rode out from the forest cover again. At a calm gallop, he rode between the two camps and started toward the breach, less than a half-mile away.

It was after about thirty seconds that the Midans noticed him. There was a call from the top of the wall by the breach, and steppe djauul archers emerged, arrows nocked. One of the elinji shouted at Heror with a call of warning. Heror saw them ready their weapons.

“Lao!” A bull-person yelled. “Lao! Moasin ti-oh!”

Now at the edge of the breach’s firelight, Heror lightly tugged the reins and slowed to a trot. He turned Shaadur sideways and patted the leather pack behind his saddle, feigning the role of a courier.

“Aktaku!” Heror shouted back, remembering the title Raldu had told to him when he’d arrived at the Midan camp. “Aktaku!”

This, it seemed, was enough. At the realization that Raldu had a message to deliver past the border, the elinji lowered their weapons, and the archers rested their bows. And they parted for Heror. The young man quickened his pace to a gallop again and sped past the wall.

On either side of the dirt road, Midan camps dominated. There had to be thousands of Midan soldiers in Ardys now. To the east and to the west, brown burlap tents stretched as far as the eye could see in the dark. And on tall tent poles, thin red flags roped and danced in the turbulent wind.

Farther down the road, Heror rode past a new fenced-in area. Tekhal horses grazed and glanced at Shaadur as he rode past. Elinji sentries patrolled the grounds, letting Heror pass. He carried on in the dark – Shaadur’s hoovesteps following a steady rhythm beneath him.

As he continued south, the Midan camps lining the road grew smaller, and forest began to fill in. The storms loomed distant as he rode. The air was warm, humid, and heavy. Underneath rolls of thunder, crickets chirped. To the west, he saw flashes of lightning overtop the trees and through the trunks. Every now and then, a misting of rain cooled his face.

In twenty minutes – riding past adjacent camps and tents – Heror came upon a torchlit barricade made of wooden logs, that blocked the road south. Around a dozen Midan archers stood at the barricade, eyes south. In the road past the barricade, just inside the torchlight, Heror could see bodies on the ground, wearing the armor of Ardysan siephalls.

There was another rumble of thunder, and Heror turned his horse to the right. He made his way through a small Midan camp bordering the barricade. Then he passed the camp’s edge and wandered into the forest. Once he was under the cover of the trees again, he turned south and made his way past the barricade – into contested territory.

He picked up his pace again, bringing Shaadur to a faster gallop. He streaked through the woods in the night. As he glanced at the road through the trees, he saw the remnants of battle strewn across the dirt flat – siephalls, horses, discarded spears and swords, broken chariots, all beneath the wafted smell of rain, smoke, and blood. Shaadur saw the dead horses, too. Heror could feel his pace falter.

Heror rode until he saw light through the darkness again. He paused, slowing to a stop behind a tree. He peered into the woods beyond, searching for Ardysan archers. When he saw none, he started up again, as another low boom echoed from the west.

Another large camp soon appeared along the dirt road, situated in a clearing that was nestled inside the forest. Ahead of the camp was a smaller barricade made of crude wooden planks and cracked pieces of stone and rubble. Hiding in the dark past the barricade, Heror saw red tents and patrolmen carrying torches. In the far distance, he could just barely make out the seal of Ardys on one of the larger tents – the stoic profile of a flawless Opelite face, with a crown of gilded water waves and feathers.

This was the front of the Ardysan force.

Now Heror tugged the reins lightly to the right, and he rode off into the forest. He went until the dim light of the camp was gone behind him – until trees and thickets and brush surrounded them and the visibility was low – and then he slowed to a stop. He let go of the reins and let his feet fall from the stirrups, and then he vaulted and slid to the ground.

As Heror dismounted, Shaadur glanced back with a blink and let out a nervous neigh of questioning. There was another low rumble of thunder – closer now – as Heror placed a hand on his horse’s mane.

“Shhh…” Heror cooed. “Shhh, Shaadur…”

Light flowed through the trees from another distant flash of lightning, and Shaadur was spooked again. The leaves above rustled and chattered in the swelling wind. The young horse started to stamp his feet, when Heror pressed his hand down and pet his side. The wind died down again. Slowly, Shaadur started to calm.

“Stay right here, Shaadur. I’ll be back. I’ll be back soon, Shaadur. Don’t worry.”

Heror’s hands drifted away from his horse, and he started to turn south toward the camp, but the horse tried to follow him. Heror turned again and held up a hand. Shaadur let out another quiet whine of a whinny.

“N-no, Shaadur,” Heror warned, voice breaking just a bit. “You need to stay here. I will be back… I promise.”

Heror held up his hand for a moment longer, and then he took a step back. With reluctance and worry, the horse stayed put. And then Heror turned and ventured into the woods alone.

In the dark, he turned south again, boots trudging through grass and underbrush, as his two swords lightly clacked against one another. The heavy air seemed to weigh him down as he walked. Stray branches and thorns scratched at his face and arms and legs as he pried through the overgrowth. There was another long rumble, closer now. The wind swelled again. Sprinkled droplets fell to the forest floor.

Eventually, he came across the light of the Ardysan camp again. He snuck to the edge of the forest, staying low in the shadows. His eyes fell on the barricade again – roughly fifty feet away now – tracking across the main road. At the barricade, several siephalls stood at the watch, expressions tired and apathetic. Heror watched them from the shadows for only a moment, and then he turned west and started his trek along the perimeter of the camp.

There were more patrolmen than what he’d remembered, and so he moved slowly and carefully, using the bushes and trees and dark as cover. He made his way around rows and rows of red tents – until he came toward the back corner, at the northwestern end. Here, there was another small barricade, with an Ardysan siephall who stood guard, torch in hand. Heror halted behind a bush just outside the guard’s periphery, as low thunder spilled into the air.

The guard had a black hooded raincloak on over his siephall armor, to prepare for the coming storm. Heror could use that cloak to move about the camp more freely. For a split second, Heror started to emerge from the bush, advancing on the guard – when his eyes caught movement to the left. He sank back behind the bush and froze, but as he focused on the movement, he saw only clothes on a drying line, tied to a tree.

The clothes danced and fluttered in the wind, and as Heror looked closer, he saw a similar black raincloak on the drying line. A new idea came to him, and he scavenged the ground by his feet until he found a large enough stick. Then he tossed the stick over his shoulder in the other direction.

The stick hit a tree farther inside the forest with a smack, and the guard’s eyes were drawn to the noise. Now Heror rushed into the camp, grabbed the raincloak off the line, and took cover behind a tent. He crouched, slipped on the cloak over his tunic, threw up the hood, then stood and stepped back out into the torchlight, eyes darting about as he entered the camp.

It was quiet. Only the patrolmen stirred. There was another roll of thunder. A light rain began to fall. Heror walked from tent to tent, pulling the cloak close so his Midan tunic was hidden. At the first opportunity, he turned right and went farther inside the camp.

As Heror turned the corner, another patrolman came into view with a torch in hand, walking toward him. At first, Heror’s breath jumped, but he kept his composure and made no sudden moves. Dipping his head under his hood, he kept his pace. As the patrolman neared, torchlight cast onto the bottom of Heror’s face and caught in his irises – but the patrolman paid him no mind, eyes ahead in a daze. They walked past one another silently, and Heror carried on.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

Now Heror scanned the camp for larger tents – tents with the Ardysan seal on the side. A gust of wind rushed past him, kicking the tails of his cloak into the air. Soon, a longhouse came into view on the western side of the road, oriented north to south. In the distance, trees loomed over the camp. Lightning flashed behind them. Heror started for the longhouse. The cold chill of the rain met his face.

He walked until he reached the north end of the longhouse. He saw torchlight inside through the tent flap. He peered inside. It was empty.

Now Heror went around the longhouse and pressed on. There was a firm grumble of thunder. The hum of the tree leaves swelled in the wind, and sound flowed through the camp channels. The humid air cooled. The rain quickened.

Heror walked to the southern end of the camp. His eyes peered above the tent poles and torches, and he saw no more large tents – at least not on this side. In the wind, his eyes cast to the east, and he started toward the road. There was another flash of lightning and a delayed rap of thunder. He crossed the damp dirt road to the eastern side, wind-wrapped cloak around him. The rain began to skew.

Heror’s eyes darted from row to row. A shivering patrolman passed, hugging his cloak to his face. Heror stopped and looked left. He didn’t see it. He turned his gaze to the right. Again, there was nothing. With a breath, he took a few more steps forward – and then he saw it, peeking out from behind a red tent in the foreground: Another longhouse, with the seal of Ardys on the southern side.

Heror hurried toward it. With hastened steps, he trudged through the dirt, rain soaking the back of his cloak. The ground and the forest trees flashed bright in the crackling light from above, then went dark. Heror passed another row of tents. The wind swirled and danced.

As he grew closer, he saw torchlight inside this longhouse, too – creeping through the flap and the tight stitchings of fabric. A feeling of apprehension pulsed through him and forced him to pause, but only for a second before he whisked it away and kept moving.

He worked his way around the longhouse, to the western side. He walked until he was close to the tent wall. Then he circled around to the northern flap, as it drifted open in the breeze. He paused again, letting the wind and rain pelt him from the side. And then he leaned forward, and peered inside the tent.

Looking toward the right side, the tent looked empty. There was torchlight emanating from a sconce on the central beam, but Heror saw no shadows. Then, however, his eyes crept left, and he saw something – a wooden crutch resting against the edge of the central table.

Heror’s eyes carried farther, and he saw a man standing inside the tent. The man’s back was to Heror, as he leaned forward with his hands on the edge of the table. Heror could not see the man’s face – but he saw the man’s thinly built frame and his hunched-over back, and his smooth gray hair and his greencloak armor. There was a bandage wrapped around the man’s left ankle and calf. And he stood with a posture that Heror would recognize anywhere.

Silently, Heror entered the tent. He stepped inside, and all at once, he felt shelter from the rains and the winds. For a moment, he only stared, suddenly frozen. The man still did not notice he was there. Heror slowly reached up and dropped his hood, freeing his hair. He blinked and breathed, but felt breathless. He opened his mouth as if to speak – but he could find no words.

And then there was a loud crack of thunder, and a violent flash of light from outside the tent. As the noise shook the tent poles and the wind rustled the walls, the old man glanced back toward the flap – and then he saw Heror.

It took a moment for Ucankacei to realize it was truly Heror standing there before him, and then his sea green eyes widened. He turned away from the table, limping on his wrapped ankle, and faced Heror from where he stood. Heror could see the old man’s breath deepen. At the sight of the old man’s face, Heror could already feel himself starting to crumble.

For a time, they both stood and stared in silence. Beneath his surprised eyes, the old man’s face was tired and worn. The rains and winds swelled and then receded outside the tent. Then, Ucankacei spoke.

“Heror,” he said, with a strange, uncomfortable tone – a tone that might’ve been jovial, if not for some other terrible emotion clouding over.

Heror opened his mouth and tried to speak, but again, no words came out. His chest started to heave. His breath began to waver.

Ucankacei eyed the young man for a moment, and slowly, his surprise faded. He dipped his head in thought, but never took his eyes away.

“You’ve gotten better at sneaking,” Ucankacei offered, his voice guarded. “What are you doing back here?”

Heror closed his mouth and opened it again. And again, he could not speak. But Ucankacei was waiting for an answer. Heror started to tremble. His eyes began to glisten. He bowed his head and tried to keep his hands from shaking. He opened his mouth again…

“… I-I…”

He clenched his eyes shut, squeezing out a tear. Ucankacei’s expression turned from reservation to worry. His brow lightened, and he took a step toward the boy.

“I-I…”

Heror stammered. His eyes watered and his nose ran. He couldn’t put together the words. He fell to his knees. Everything was shivering. He tried to compose himself. There was another roll of thunder. Another rush of the winds.

“I-I n-nee…”

Ucankacei was listening.

“I needed to see you,” Heror coughed out.

He had gotten the first words out, and now they started to flow. He shook his head as cries caught in his throat, and tears fell from his eyes to the floor, watering the soil. His hands fell to his knees. He forced another breath.

“I-I… I’ve gotten myself involved with something. Something I… something I don’t understand. And I don’t know what to do, or where to go… I don’t know what the right choice is. I don’t know if I can get out of it… I don’t know if I… if I… if I’ll ever see…”

And then he lost the words again. His mouth hung open, but no sound came out. He took another hollow breath and wheezed out a cry. He bowed his head and dug his fingers into the dirt.

“… I think I loved her…” he managed. “… and I lost her…”

And then he could hold it back no longer. He started to sob. He slid forward and leaned into the ground, holding his face in his hands. Ucankacei ran to the boy, limping on his wounded ankle, and then he knelt down and tugged the boy up into his arms, embracing Heror as the boy cried and wailed and shook. Heror’s cries mixed with the rain and the wind.

For a long time, Ucankacei held him, feeling the boy’s back tremor and tense with each heave. Until cries gave way to breaths, and breaths gave way to gentle rises and falls. Until Heror had no more tears left to give. And then they knelt together, as the sounds of the storm carried on outside.

The rain pattered against the canvas of the tent. The wind sang and whistled. Lights flashed against the red stitchings. The flames of the torch swayed.

Eventually, Ucankacei pulled away, and so did Heror. Ucankacei left his hands on the boy’s shoulders, and he looked at Heror’s face with soft eyes.

“You look older,” Ucankacei offered quietly, with a sad smile.

“I feel older,” Heror admitted, letting out a small laugh. “I have… so many stories to tell you… stories you wouldn’t believe…”

Ucankacei kept his sad smile. His mouth trembled ever so slightly before it stopped.

“Maybe some other time,” Ucankacei urged quietly.

Heror gave Ucankacei a look of gratitude, eyes still glistening – but the old man’s smile faded, and conflict found its way onto his face. The old man gingerly stood and turned, limping back to the table. Then he grabbed the wooden crutch and grounded it for support, while Heror slowly rose to his feet, gathering his breath again.

As Ucankacei turned toward Heror again, the old man’s hand fell to an Ardysan helmet set on the table. He ran his palm across the crest of the gilded armet, and then he blinked and let out a hard sigh. There was another rumble of thunder.

“But now…” Ucankacei said, voice strained. “I need you to be on your way.”

Now Heror’s peace faded, and fear found its way onto his face again.

“What…?”

“I cannot harbor a criminal,” Ucankacei told him simply, looking down at his armor.

At first, Heror was silent, his mouth agape. Another long, drawling roll of thunder shook the ground and rattled the tent walls. The young man tried to process the words, while Ucankacei stood at the table, green siekarum robes catching stray breezes from outside.

“Ucankacei… I…” Heror started.

“I’m sorry,” Ucankacei glowered, turning away. “I am bound by duty.”

Heror took a step toward Ucankacei.

“But Ucankacei, please, I need your help. I don’t know what to do–”

“Where would I even be able to keep you?” Ucankacei questioned as his voice rose, his eyes meeting Heror’s again. “Where would you hide? How could you possibly stay here? Heror, what made you think this would be a good idea?”

“But I have nowhere else to go–”

“You murdered an officer,” Ucankacei lashed, with a disgust in his voice that Heror had not heard before until now.

Now they both went silent again. The wind rose and howled, and the rains pummeled above the tent. There was a flash of lightning and a crash, a growl, a quake. Ucankacei looked away, casting his eyes to the floor. Heror would not move. He couldn’t.

“Ucankacei…”

“Enough,” Ucankacei scolded, a light shake in his voice.

Heror took another step toward the old man.

“Ucankacei, please… I’m sorry I–”

As Heror took this step, Ucankacei suddenly brandished his Ardysan longsword. The ring of the metal hissed against the sounds of the storm. Heror jolted back. His eyes went wide.

“I am bound… by duty,” Ucankacei growled through gritted teeth. “If you keep testing me, I will be forced to take action.”

Heror was frozen. Ucankacei’s face twitched with anger; a tear fell from his eye. The old man shook his head in a pained expression, then let out a slow breath, his sword ready.

“If you do not leave,” Ucankacei warned. “I will be forced to engage.”

“I know I made mistakes, but I–”

“If you do not leave,” Ucankacei repeated. “I will be forced… to engage.”

“Ucankacei, you’re not listening, I–”

“You don’t think I’ll do it, do you, boy?!” Ucankacei erupted, stepping forward and rearing his sword up.

“No…” Heror gasped, shaking his head.

Heror took a small step back, and Ucankacei took another bounding step toward him. Heror lifted his left hand in defense; his right instinctively went to the hilt of his blade. Ucankacei closed the gap, sword still reared – face twisted by warring emotions.

“I… I uphold my duty to the Kingdom of Ardys… as a siekarum of the khilung…” Ucankacei decried, taking another step.

“… Ucankacei…”

“I gave you a chance to leave…”

“Ucankacei!!”

And now Ucankacei swung his sword. It was the weak swing of an old man, one that Heror easily stepped back to avoid. But Heror’s eyes nonetheless blinked in horror, as his petrified fingers hovered above his sword handle. His hands trembled.

“Ucankacei, please!!” Heror shouted, new tears forming in his eyes.

“I told you to leave!!” Ucankacei bellowed over thunder, eyes and cheeks wet.

He swung again, faster this time. Heror took a frantic step back.

“U-Ucankacei!!”

“I told you to go away!!”

Another swing. The blade whizzed just inches from Heror’s face. Heror stumbled backward toward the flap, and Ucankacei lurched from the pain. Heror caught his balance, and he started to open his mouth again – when, through the opposite flap, he saw a pair of Ardysan patrolmen enter the tent, investigating the noise. Their eyes fell on Heror.

In a panic, Heror whirled around and ran back into the storm, leaving Ucankacei behind. As Ucankacei stood idle in a daze of sorrow, the siephalls sprinted and brushed past him...

... and gave chase.