The carriage wheels turned again.

They traveled north, over dried dirt roads. Clouds rolled in, brought on by a breeze. No one spoke on the way. Many slept as best they could, making up for the sleep they would lose on their journey. The carriage body quietly rumbled, and outside, in the nearby woodland marshes, crickets cooed. As they pressed on, the crickets faded, giving way to the empty noise of windful night.

Less than two hours into the ride, Heror woke, smelling smoke again. He glanced down to the far end of the group where Nihlukei sat, eyes open as he peered out the back of the carriage. Behind them, two more carriages followed, each lit by torch sconces that doused the road in rust.

Another hour. Soldiers on patrols passed by more frequently. A scout overtook them on horseback, heading to the wall to inform the khilung of coming reinforcements. Soon, Heror heard a shout in the distance. He looked out the carriage window, and saw the outline of the wall for the first time, visible above the dark forest canopy.

More shouts came from down the road, and soon, the carriage slowed down. They passed a torchlit checkpoint manned by siephalls, and after a short pause, continued on their way. The conscripts woke one by one. Heror watched as the wall grew larger and larger, until finally, the forest line broke, revealing a massive Ardysan army camp in front of the base of the fortification. Shamefully, he felt awe.

“We’re here,” Nihlukei said, glancing out the back.

The carriage ventured into camp. As Heror looked out the window, he saw rows upon rows of red fabric tents, and controlled fires by which Ardysan soldiers lingered. The light of the fires collected, coalescing into an orange glow that hovered over the area. The camp was bustling, and most soldiers were darting about, with many moving toward the wall. Voices mingled in the night air, urgent and isolated. Deep within the encampment, on the eastern side of the road, Heror saw a longer, taller tent with the Ardysan seal running along the side. He assumed that was where the higher officers conducted their business.

“I regret that we could not train more,” Nihlukei said. “But I can give us a prayer. For the best soldiers are not only capable, but also at peace with the will of the Gods.”

The siekarum took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“Great and mighty Al-Ra, our people need us, but we cannot help them alone,” Nihlukei spoke. “We pray that you favor us in the coming battle. We pray that you help us as we protect our Kingdom, in our duty to Opela, who first blessed these lands with light. Please entrust in us a droplet of the power of the Divinium, so that we may guide our many mortal spirits home in triumph, to humbly serve you for another day. Akh aqkeatuu entau. Siamolanh.”

Nihlukei ceased speaking, and the carriage fell silent again. It was the first time Heror heard his voice waver – ever so slightly, like the stem of a flower twitching in a gust.

The dirt road carried on a bit longer. Up ahead, it came to a stop at a small fortress near the base of the border wall. Now Heror could see just how far the wall stretched. It was just as big as Ucankacei had described – a massive structure rising with the trees, with firelit towers that dotted its heights and multiplied along the structure’s path. Heror craned his neck to try and see the collapsed section of the wall, but the carriage blocked his view.

“I still can’t believe the Midans broke through the wall,” one conscript said, shaking his head.

“In ancient times, the Opelites of Ardys and the Midans fought fierce wars. The ancient Akintari – the Midans’ ancestors – even attempted to conquer Kivveneth,” Nihlukei explained. “But those days have long passed. For centuries, Mide has been a chaotic, crownless Kingdom – a place of civil war and frequent infighting among the dozens of beastfolk tribes. They never liked us, but they never had the collective strength necessary to attack us. But then… something happened. They organized.”

Heror peered out the window again and saw a makeshift medical tent not far off the road, where healers frantically attended to bloodied soldiers.

“What organized them?” Heror asked, turning back toward Nihlukei.

“We don’t know,” Nihlukei replied, shaking his head. “But we’re not on a fact finding mission. Our priority is reclaiming control of the wall breach and refortifying our position. I don’t think the Kcirun intends to prolong this conflict with an offensive campaign. I know I wouldn’t. Too many lives have already been lost.”

“But what if the Midans don’t back down?” another conscript questioned.

Nihlukei thought for a moment, pursed his lips, then took a deep breath. His focused eyes scanned the carriage interior, and then he gave a small nod.

“Then it’s up to us,” he concluded. “To convince them.”

At that moment, the carriage came to a stop near the end of the road. Nihlukei emerged first, dropping to the Aelyum. The conscripts followed. Once the last conscript leapt down, Nihlukei called out to the carriage driver, who then rode away.

The group walked up the path a ways, and soon, they joined up with a much larger unit from the Khi Thung. Nihlukei led the way through the crowd of redcloaks, until he came to a middle-aged greencloak with a patchy blonde beard at the front of the crowd. Heror watched as Nihlukei patted the greencloak on the shoulder, and the greencloak reciprocated the gesture.

“Tralics,” Nihlukei greeted the officer. “Are your men ready?”

“I would’ve liked another day or two for the fresh ones,” Tralics replied with a smirk. “But they’ll have to make do.”

Tralics. The name was familiar to Heror. He was the siekarum for Ucankacei’s unit. Heror’s eyes darted around the group, and soon, he saw Ucankacei not far away, his helmet off as he spoke with another redcloak. Heror started in Ucankacei’s direction. Once he reached his friend, he patted him on the shoulder, and when Ucankacei turned, his eyes lit up.

“Heror!” he exclaimed.

The two exchanged a brief hug, and when they pulled back, Ucankacei noticed Heror’s armor. He stared in disbelief, and after a moment, a proud smile made its way onto his face.

“My, look at you,” he said. “You were meant for this, my boy. You’re a warrior.”

“You don’t look bad yourself,” Heror chimed. “How does it feel to be a redcloak again?”

“I always joked about wanting to be young again,” Ucankacei replied with a hearty smile. “I think this is the closest I’ll get.”

Heror smiled and glanced down the road, toward the base of the wall. He saw a figure on horseback approaching, guarded by several siephalls. His smile started to fade, and he turned back to Ucankacei.

“Are you nervous?” Ucankacei asked.

Heror thought for a moment.

“It’s more that I don’t know what to expect,” Heror admitted. “But I feel ready.”

“You should! I told you all those lessons wouldn’t be for nothing,” Ucankacei said with a chuckle. “As long as you trust your swing, maintain your composure, and stick with your line, you should be safe. We’re in a defensive position, with some control of the wall remaining. We have the strategic advantage.”

“What about you?” Heror asked, his eyes falling on the old man’s arm. “Are you up for this?”

“Heror, remember who you’re talking to,” Ucankacei joked.

“The man with the wilting bones?” Heror surmised, offering a smirk.

“Ah, yes, but he sticks to his roots.”

There was a whistle, and Heror turned to see the horseman lingering at the front of the group. He was a whitecloak – second only to gold on the battlefield – with a fierce glare and gleaming armor that burned like fire in the torchlight. A deep scar ran across the bridge of his nose. Ucankacei leaned in and whispered to Heror.

“That’s Plekei, the siekcithung. You’d better get back with your unit. We’ll talk soon.”

Heror nodded and made his way back through the crowd. As he did so, the whitecloak Plekei began speaking.

“Warriors of the khilung!” Plekei bellowed, his voice full and thunderous. “Tonight, the enemy makes the grave mistake of attacking the Kingdom of Ardys. 2,500 djauuls approach-- filthy half-elvish traitors, nimble and aggressive, but small and weak against our resolve. Their forces are already depleted. Win this battle, and we may be one step closer to putting the Midans back beneath the dirt from which they came. Siekarums! Formations!”

At that moment, several siekarums gave orders to their units, repeating the command from the siekcithung. On the front line, Nihlukei turned and shouted to his men.

“Rows! Quickly now!”

The soldiers began to organize, but Nihlukei’s unit, being the smallest by a large margin, only amounted to two rows of twelve, boxed in by other units. Only three of their wounded had been able to make the journey. Heror found himself at the front beside Nihlukei, with Braylyn farther down the line. To his right, another younger siephall eyed him and nodded from under his armet, blonde hair clumped at the base of his neck.

“I like to know the name of who I’m fighting next to,” the siephall muttered. “Heror, correct?”

Heror nodded.

“And yours?”

“Plaezekei,” the siephall replied, his voice shaking just a bit.

The whitecloak lingered at the front of the group until the rows were formed. Then, when the army’s formation was set, he paced through the rows and situated himself near the center. They numbered almost a thousand, with fifty rows of around twenty men from the camp and the Khi Thung mixed together.

Now at the front of the line, with no one ahead of him, Heror saw the wall breach. It sat around one hundred yards in the distance – a low-lying pile of rubble inbetween two intact sections of the wall, around thirty feet across. Clustered pockets of fire lit the wall in a sea of orange, but at the breach, there was no wall to catch the light, and so it was mired in darkness.

Exposed at the front, a feeling of nervousness suddenly came over Heror. It didn’t help his unease that they were outnumbered; he was hardly shocked that Ardys might be unprepared or undermanned. His pulse started to elevate, but before he could calm himself, a bellowing command came from the whitecloak farther back.

“Opvae!!” the siekcithung yelled. “March!”

The soldiers marched forward in rows. Heror took a deep breath, but sweat already started to bead on his forehead. He didn’t know why, but he now thought of Thaeolai. And his mother. The kinship cloth, hidden in a pouch beneath his armor, suddenly grew heavy. And as his legs moved forward, his mind stayed behind.

“Heror.”

He snapped out of his trance and turned to Nihlukei, who nodded to him.

“You ready?” the siekarum asked as they walked.

Heror said nothing, offering only an unsteady glance. Nihlukei nodded again and turned his gaze to the wall.

“There are archers on the wall beside the breach,” the siekarum explained. “They’ll pick off as many enemy soldiers as they can, but some will trickle through and find their way past the breach. Djauuls are fast and unpredictable, but they’re not as strong or as disciplined as we are. Keep them in your sight, and don’t give them any space. I’m eager to fight alongside you.”

Heror looked at the siekarum, and his nervousness faded. Nihlukei nodded to him one last time, then fixed his eyes ahead. They were nearing the breach. Nihlukei raised his voice now, speaking to the rest of his outfit.

“Siephalls!” he erupted. “Remember your training! These enemies will try to intimidate you, but you have the strength to maintain control! Stay active! Stay aggressive! And the Sun will rise again!”

Soon, they reached their position – situated twenty yards away from the rubble mound underlying the wall breach. There, they stopped, and as the army’s motion ceased, an eerie silence set in. Beneath the silence, Heror’s heartbeat pounded inside his ears, and in the night air, all that could be heard was the crackling of the fires nearby.

They waited. For seconds. Minutes. They waited, and at first, no one came.

After some time, Heror glanced at Nihlukei, expecting the siekarum to be as confused as he was. Instead, he saw the siekarum’s eyes locked ahead in a strange, predatory glare, as if he sensed the enemies coming. Unnerved, Heror remained silent and let his eyes draw ahead again. He swallowed a lump in his throat and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword.

Then, as swiftly as the silence set in, a shout from the wall ended it. Heror heard the first volley of arrows launch from above. From the other side of the wall, a feverish scream erupted, followed by others. The ground rumbled, and the noise crescendoed into a crowded wail, as hundreds of warriors let out battle cries from the dark beyond the wall.

“Steady!!” the siekcithung shouted from the formation.

Heror heard the sound of metal piercing flesh from above. An Ardysan archer fell from the wall, a spear in his chest as he landed hard on the dirt ground, motionless.

“They have spears!” a siephall exclaimed.

Heror turned to Nihlukei again. The siekarum still did not move, entranced in a zen state. The young man looked away and tried to calm himself, slowing his breaths. Archers hailed more arrows, and screams of the enemy could be heard as fletched blades hit their marks. The fighting had not yet reached the khilung formation. For now, it was just out of sight, hidden behind the rubble mound.

But it was coming.

Staring at the breach in anticipation, it wasn’t long before Heror saw his first enemy. He was a thin, lanky elvish figure with a black armored tunic and dark blue-green skin, scrambling over the top of the rubble pile with a sword in hand. He shouted as he advanced – bright blue eyes glowing lightly in the night – but they soon went dark as an arrow struck him in the back.

Just as this djauul fell, however, two more took his place, crawling over his body as they charged the breach. They began to multiply. Even as arrows rained down on them, their numbers grew – a mob atop the rubble – until a select few were able to make it to solid ground on the other side. An archer shouted to the siephalls below, and now they raised their weapons as the first group of djauuls hurried toward them. Instinctively, Heror took a step forward, but Nihlukei’s hand hit his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“No,” Nihlukei said, his eyes still locked ahead. “Make them come to us.”

Heror glanced at the siekarum and stepped back into the formation, readying his sword and aspidan.

The djauuls closed in, scrambling and shouting, and they hurled spears. Nihlukei deflected one with his aspidan, knocking it to the ground as if it were a twig. The soldiers raised their shields, and metal hit metal. In his periphery, farther down the line, Heror saw a spear hit its mark.

Now the djauul spearmen brandished swords, numbering in the dozens as they blitzed the Ardysan formation. Heror set his foot in the dirt, readying himself. From behind them the siekcithung let out a war cry, and Nihlukei joined in.

“Opvae!!”

The voices mixed in the center of the battleground, noises cascading into an inferno of sound. And as soon as the two sides met, it all collapsed into chaos.

Heror hit his first enemy with a quick slash to the neck. Another charged him and stabbed. Heror scraped the blade away, then levied an uppercut with his own, slashing the djauul’s chin open. A third djauul tried to rush him. But as the djauul swung, Heror sidestepped to the right again and spun around, slashing the enemy’s back with intense speed.

While Nihlukei’s guard managed to hold its own, the rest of the line slowly began to give ground. Heror could see a crowd of djauuls harassing Tralics’ unit, cutting down several siephalls on the front line. His breath hopped for a moment as he thought about Ucankacei, but a war cry from his left forced him back into focus. Another djauul was almost upon him.

Heror was late to raise his aspidan, but just before contact, his fellow siephall Plaezekei dove and rolled toward the enemy, sweeping his legs out from under him with the aspidan. The enemy hit the ground and tried to scramble back to his feet, but now Plaezekei, who knelt behind him, sent his sword through the djauul’s head.

Now it was Heror’s turn to protect his comrade. Heror leapt over Plaezekei and engaged the enemy, bashing him with the aspidan and then slicing upward with his sword. At that moment, however, his position was compromised. Out beyond the Ardysan line, four djauuls closed in on Heror. With no time to think, Heror set his feet again and raised his aspidan in a futile gesture. He was outmatched.

Just before the first djauul reached Heror, however, a sword flew in from the left as a projectile, mounting violently in the djauul’s chest. The enemy fell to the ground, retching, and Heror watched as Nihlukei sprinted in, wrenching his sword free from the dead enemy’s chest. The siekarum then took out two djauuls with one monstrous swing, sending them to the ground discarded. He ducked the next attack and cut down another. And as soon as he cleared Heror’s position, Nihlukei jumped to his feet and stood next to Heror, glancing back toward the line, his sword out in front.

“Siephalls! Forward!!” he yelled. “Match!!”

From the right, Heror heard Tralics and several other siekarums repeat Nihlukei’s command. And Nihlukei’s entire unit stepped forward to join them, while the rest of the formation filled in farther back. Heror felt a tinge of confidence, and as the next wave came, he was ready. He glanced at Plaezekei and nodded. Then he turned his gaze forward and raised his aspidan.

They came again, but their numbers were dwindling. The Ardysan line was strong. They had the momentum, the confidence, and the balanced position. Djauuls were neutralized a dozen at a time as they engaged the line, and soon, Heror’s individual attacks blended into a rhythm. Block, slash, defend, advance.

Defend.

Advance.

Defend.

Advance.

Soon, a line of bodies stretched across the length of the Ardysan front, and the remaining djauuls slowed their advance. The enemies still poured in from across the rubble pile, but Heror could tell their forces were thinning.

There was a break in the action as the djauuls reorganized and let forth another hail of spears. Nihlukei gave a warning, which echoed across the battlefront. The siephalls raised their aspidans in defense, as sharp rain came down. Heror deflected a blade, but not far down the line, he saw one of Nihlukei’s men go down. Before he could see who it was, Nihlukei signaled another wave. Heror again deflected, and when the second wave cleared, the Ardysan line was still intact.

And then the djauuls came again. One raised his sword high in the air, as he let out a battle cry.

“Aclach Parun!!”

But the battle, they were losing. Bodies strewn across the ground slowed their advance, and when they reached the Ardysan line, the Ardysans were ready. Heror blocked an aimless swing and slashed his enemy’s legs. He stabbed an attacker’s exposed midsection. Another approached with a high swing. Rather than meet sword with sword, Heror instead unleashed a brutal swing of his aspidan, striking the djauul below the jaw. The djauul flew backward from the impact and hit the ground, going limp once he settled.

It was then that one djauul quickly rose off the ground, having hidden among the dead. The djauul caught Heror off guard with a fast swing, and the young warrior couldn’t get his aspidan up in time. His thoughts racing, Heror suddenly remembered a move from Ucankacei’s training, and he raised his sword, clasping the hilt with both hands. As the djauul swung forward, his blade scraped against the forte of Heror’s sword, sending sparks into the firelit air. Now Heror had the leverage, and with a forceful push, he wrenched the djauul’s weapon away.

The djauul lost his balance and stumbled backward, but Heror did not advance, and instead held his position. Frustrated, the djauul yelled and started forward, swinging for Heror’s midsection. The djauul’s blade flared with tremendous speed, but Heror kept a watchful eye on its sharp edge, and he thrust his aspidan toward it, just before it could hit. The djauul lost his grip upon impact, and his sword flew from his hand.

Now disarmed, the djauul stood motionless. Heror was about to swing, but the djauul stepped back, and fear flashed in his eyes. It was a look Heror had seen often in the mahallas, and looking at the djauul further, he saw more and more of his past. The emaciated figure. The disheveled hair. Bruises and scars on his bony, pale-skinned body. Dirt on his face.

Suddenly, Heror’s head became cloudy, and a wave of heat washed over him. His sword froze, and his chest clenched. The djauul stumbled and fell to the ground, and for a moment, the two only stared at one another.

It wasn’t long before anger returned to the djauul’s eyes again, however. The djauul grabbed a sword from one of his dead comrades and leapt forward again.

“Aclach Parun!!” he screamed, an enraged vigor in his voice. “Aclach Sim!!”

The djauul lunged ahead with his blade. At the last second, Heror snapped out of his trance and started to react, but before he could, a voice rang out from his left.

“Heror!!”

Before Heror could make a move, a sword slashed the djauul in the neck, sending the enemy to the dirt, and Nihlukei stepped into Heror’s sight, eyeing the young siephall with concern.

“You alright?”

Heror swallowed another lump in his throat and nodded. Nihlukei nodded back, sweat caked on his helmet-covered face.

A group of around fifty djauuls remained between the Ardysan line and the wall breach. No more djauuls came in from beyond the wall. These were the last. Seeing their impending doom, the djauuls stood frozen between fates. But when the archers fired upon them again, the djauuls saw no choice but to advance. With one resolute cry, they charged the line. Out of the corner of his eye, Heror saw the siekcithung Plekei emerge from the Ardysan line, his sword raised high in the air.

“This is it, men!” Plekei yelled. “Snuff them out!”

“Opvae!!” Nihlukei yelled again, rushing forward.

The siekarums and the siekcithung advanced, and the siephalls followed. All at once, an army of almost a thousand Ardysans closed in on the surviving enemies. The djauuls froze at the sight, and tried to hold their position, but once the officers reached them, they dispatched them with quickness. Nihlukei himself cut through several djauuls in an instant, swinging his aspidan and sword with tornadic speed and precision. Alongside him, Heror and Plaezekei cleaned up what was left. Several djauuls tried to resist, but they were hopelessly outnumbered, and it wasn’t long before most of them fell at the hands of the siephalls.

Seeing definite defeat, a few djauuls dropped their weapons and started to run back toward the wall breach, but before they could make it, they were struck by arrows from above. One made it back to the rubble pile, but as he tried to climb it, an arrow lodged itself in his shoulder. The djauul spun around in pain and fell into the dirt, and as he tried to stand, a second arrow pierced his skull. At that moment, he fell limp, and the battlefield went silent.

And then the siekcithung lifted his sword in triumph.

“Jitae!!”

The officers joined in on the cry of victory. So too did the siephalls. Heror raised his sword, but he did not speak. He was still shaken. He sheathed his sword and took off his helmet, running a hand through his sweat-plastered hair. It was then that he felt a hand on his right shoulder, and he turned to see Plaezekei.

“Thanks for having my back,” Plaezekei said.

Heror took a deep breath and laughed lightly.

“Could say the same to you.”

Heror turned to his left, now looking for Nihlukei, but he could not find the siekarum in the crowd of siephalls. The crowd bustled now, and as Heror tried to navigate through, he found himself lost in the commotion. For a moment, he stopped and scanned the lines, when he heard Nihlukei’s voice above the noise. He looked in the direction of the voice and saw a siekarum waving his arm in the distance.

“Nihlukei’s guard!” Heror heard the siekarum shout. “This way!”

Heror started in Nihlukei’s direction. He walked past a pair of soldiers carrying an Ardysan body, and his mind went to Ucankacei. Telling himself not to worry, he pressed on, and in minutes, he reached the remainder of his unit. Nihlukei stood near the edge of the wall encampment, with other members of his guard clustered around him. It wasn’t long before Plazekei joined the group as well.

Nihlukei peered into the distance, his eyes straining in the dim torchlight. The crowd near the wall was starting to thin, and most of the siephalls were heading back to camp. Voices of officers rang out in the night, ordering their groups to organize farther inward. Nihlukei glanced around his group for a moment, his helmet at his side.

“Do we have everyone?”

No one answered. Nihlukei now looked at Braylyn.

“How many did we lose?” he asked.

“Two,” Braylyn replied.

“Who?”

“Anthrukei and Kulaimolei.”

Nihlukei nodded, his face grim. He looked around the group and squinted.

“Where are their bodies?”

Again, no one answered. Then, after a few seconds, Khoulane spoke from the back, holding an open wound on his forearm.

“We didn’t grab them,” he admitted.

“Let’s go get them,” Nihlukei advised. “There are a few tents reserved for us down the road. We’ll bury them near there. Those of you who are wounded, go to the healers, on the east side of the road. They’ll do what they can.”

They returned to the battlefield and found their comrades among the dead. Nihlukei and Braylyn picked up one body, while two siephalls picked up the other. Some left for the healers, while the rest made their way back to the dirt road. Walking past rows of tents, they eventually came to the edge of the encampment, where the firelight faded and wilderness returned. At the edge, on the west side of the road, a few red linen tents sat around a well-stoked fire.

Nihlukei stopped at the camp, and the soldiers set down the bodies. The siekarum found a pair of shovels, and took them past the encampment into the trees, where the light barely reached them. In silence, they began digging in the soft forest soil. In around thirty minutes, two holes had been dug. The bodies were buried. Once the dirt was patted down, Nihlukei offered a small prayer.

“Divines, please guide Anthrukei and Kulaimolei to peace and warmth in the next life,” he said softly. “For they gave their lives for us.”

The siephalls lingered, some speaking quietly amongst themselves. Heror stood by himself, lost in thought as he leaned against a tree. His thoughts were broken, however, when he heard rustling in the leaves to his left. Still somewhat on-edge, Heror’s eyes whipped in that direction, and his hand grazed his sword. But there was no enemy. Instead, a red fox peeked out from behind a tree, its nose twitching as it sniffed the ground in search of food.

“Must be Llegliagu,” a voice said. “Taking them to Sereweh.”

Heror glanced to his right to see Nihlukei standing next to him, watching the fox as it scavenged the brush. Nihlukei eyed Heror, as if waiting for an answer, but Heror only gave him a confused look.

“Not religious?” the siekarum asked.

Heror shrugged, then crossed his arms and looked at the ground.

“Never had a reason to be.”

Nihlukei nodded to himself, then cleared his throat. For a moment, it was silent. The fox made its way to a thick tree root and started to dig through the leaves beside it, paws sifting lightly.

“Who’s Llegliagu?” Heror asked, breaking the silence.

“Well… for worshippers of the Al-Ra – the Gods of the Divine Consortium,” Nihlukei began, “tradition holds that the soul is bound to the physical body by one’s living essence. When one dies, their soul is freed, but can no longer live on in this world. After Kirelay created life, and when the divines banded together to create the elesvium – humans – Llegliagu was the one who gave us souls. In doing so, he became the Soul Keeper. After the soul becomes no longer tethered to the body, Llegliagu guides them to the spirit world Sereweh, where they will live on. Llegliagu’s totem is the fox, and so each fox is one of his servants, helping to gather souls and lead them to the next life.”

The fox poked its nose under the leaves, its tail wisping in the night air. Nihlukei watched it for a moment longer, but soon, at the sound of a broken twig, the fox’s ears perked up, and it ran away into the shadows. Nihlukei took a deep breath.

“I imagine He has his hands full right now,” he pondered.

Before long, the soldiers left the outskirts of the woods and returned to their tents. In the distance, there was celebration and laughter, but Nihlukei’s unit was quiet. Most of the siephalls sat in silence on the wooden benches – tired, yet too stirred to sleep. Nihlukei himself was also silent, his wandering eyes dancing with the firelight. He only looked up when a siephall approached the camp minutes later, wearing a unique patch on his right pauldron.

“Siekarum!” the siephall exclaimed.

Nihlukei gave the soldier his attention.

“Yes, courier?”

“Your presence is required. All officers are to meet at the longhouse, for a briefing and a losses count.”

Nihlukei nodded, then turned to his soldiers, who still encircled the fire, eyelids heavy.

“It’ll be dawn soon,” Nihlukei told them. “Get as much rest as you can. We’ll talk about what’s next tomorrow. Good fighting today.”

The siekarum stood and left with the courier, leaving his men in silence. At first, Heror’s thoughts kept him awake. For a time, he too stared into the fire – amber flares clashing against the bright blue of his pupils. But soon, sheer exhaustion set in, and the soldier’s eyes closed. A breeze guided the warmth of the fire to him.