It was midnight when Heror broke through the trees and saw the wall again. Using the light of the Sun to the west, he’d turned south from the pass, and hurried away from the battlefield as quickly as his injured body allowed him to. By the time he reached the wall again, his mouth was as dry as sandpaper, and crusts of dirt grinded against his skin. But he was numb to the pain, and when he saw the wall, his head throbbed with anger.

The archers readied their weapons as Heror approached, but as he entered the torchlight, the siephalls guarding the breach identified him as an ally.

“It’s a friendly!” one soldier shouted. “He’s wounded!”

As Heror reached the breach, one siephall stepped forward to welcome Heror. The siephall offered a greeting, but Heror did not offer it back. Instead, he fumed through his nose and sped to a run. Before the siephall could react, Heror tackled and slammed him into the ground. Then Heror rose up and cocked his fist, but as he did so, a searing pain shot up his abdomen, and he lurched, falling onto his back.

Hearing the commotion, several other siephalls made their way over, and the archers readied their bows. But the second siephall beyond the wall held his hand up, signaling for them to hold fire. He stepped toward Heror, who was now in a daze, mumbling to himself.

“He trusted you…” Heror whispered to nobody between breaths. “And you left him…”

It was then that the second siephall noticed Heror’s wolf patch. He turned to his comrade, who’d gotten back onto his feet.

“I’ll submit a report. Take him back to the healers.”

Two siephalls hoisted Heror on their shoulders and carried him through the breach. Through half-open eyes, Heror saw the encampment again. But it was different. Many of the campsites were empty, and those that weren’t were occupied by silent soldiers, idling in the light of the flames. On the east side of the road, several new medical tents stood near the first one. Every now and then, siephalls passed with urgent pace, heading toward the wall. But even here, the apathy of defeat lingered in the air.

They carried Heror into a medical tent on the end, pushing through the flap. Then they set Heror down on an empty bed near the entrance – one of very few empty beds left. The medical tent was filled wall to wall with wounded soldiers and healers who tended to them. Tiredly, Heror watched as healers rushed from person to person, easily outnumbered by the wounded. Remembering the events at the pass, Heror realized that these wounded must have all been from the forest.

As he thought to himself in a distant stupor, the siephalls spoke amongst themselves in hushed tones.

“There aren’t enough healers,” Heror heard one say. “He could be waiting.”

“There are more healers coming from the south,” the second one replied. “He’ll get attended to. Let’s go.”

With that, the siephalls left Heror. He rested on his back in the darkened corner, and through the night, the hours blended together. Through his blurred vision, he saw healers dart back and forth all across the tent, some with bloodied rags to use as tourniquets, others with water basins to clean fresh wounds – voices hushed and hastened.

Heror must have dozed off for a time. He awoke further into the night, and the medical tent was less busy. Most of the injured siephalls slept, and only a couple healers lingered, at the other end of the tent. He assumed the others were resting. It was quiet. His mouth was dry.

Alone in the corner, he started to fade again. But after a few minutes, he was woken once more, this time by the sound of voices. Two hooded healers entered the tent through the flap, and convened with a third healer inside. They talked for a moment, and then they wandered about the tent, stopping periodically at patient beds.

Heror tilted his head and watched as the healers slowly made their way toward him. As they grew closer, he could barely make out the first healer’s voice, old and fragile.

“This one came in early this morning…” he heard the old healer say.

“Has he been tended to yet?” one of the new healers asked.

Heror turned back onto his back and sighed, closing his eyes as he felt the pain return to his ribs. After a short silence, he heard footsteps approaching. Glancing back to the left, he saw two healers approaching, whispering faintly. They stopped before reaching him, however. Suddenly, Heror heard a familiar voice, beneath the second healer’s hood.

“Actually, Unalai, why don’t you take the others? I’ll help this one.”

The first healer nodded and turned away, and Heror watched as the second healer approached him. In the dim torchlight, the healer approached the bed and stopped beside the frame, blonde locks and bright green eyes visible from beneath the hood. Then, as the healer lowered her hood, Heror saw Thaeolai staring down at him, a mix of relief and worry on her face.

As if by instinct, Heror sat up in his bed, staring back at the girl. Thaeolai glanced over her shoulder, then turned back and smiled widely.

“Heror!” she said excitedly, in a hushed voice.

The two locked in an embrace, and Heror hugged her back tightly – and for a moment, all the pain left him. They embraced in the silence of the night. Then Heror broke and began to cry, and tears trickled down his cheeks and face. As Thaeolai pulled away, Heror hung his head and started to sob quietly, his breath raspy as he let his emotions pour out. Thaeolai held him tighter.

A few minutes passed before Heror calmed down. Thaeolai fetched him water, which he guzzled down quickly before asking for more. She came back with a cup and a clay pitcher, and set both items down on a wooden table beside Heror’s bed. Then, she sat down next to him. Heror took another drink, and for a moment, it was silent.

“I wasn’t sure what happened to you,” Heror admitted.

Thaeolai gave him a sad smile, then blinked. And with a blink, her smile faded. Her eyes fell to the ground.

“I wasn’t sure what happened to you.”

Heror let out a whimper of a laugh, but it wasn’t long before sadness returned.

“You heard about the battle?” he asked Thaeolai guardedly.

Thaeolai nodded.

“I heard enough. I heard the Midans split up the army and ambushed each group. They said no one survived in the pass. They just… wiped them out.”

She eyed Heror.

“Where were you?”

Heror sipped on the water, but at the sound of Thaeolai’s question, he stopped. His mind went back to the mountain pass. The fog. The bull people. The killing. The silence.

Nihlukei.

As the fog returned to his mind, a similar fog occluded his thoughts, and his eyes fell to the floor, his face shrouded in shadow. It was silent between the two, and suddenly Thaeolai understood. After a few seconds, Thaeolai cleared her throat, and her eyes dropped as well.

“I’m sorry,” she managed. “I know you probably don’t want to think about it.”

Heror let out a sigh. He shook away his emotions and took a deep breath. Another fragile silence settled in, before Thaeolai stood and eyed the young man’s armor. As she looked it over, she saw dents on Heror’s breastplate, and cracks farther down the cuirass.

“I heard you’re wounded,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “Care to confirm?”

Heror groaned and nodded.

“Confirmed.”

“What’s hurt?”

Heror cleared his throat. As he breathed, his midsection howled.

“Ribs,” he sputtered.

“Alright, let’s get this armor off,” Thaeolai said, brushing a strand of golden hair aside. “You can be my first patient.”

“Just don’t give me a third arm,” Heror muttered.

“Sounds like you could use it,” Thaeolai chimed. “Don’t worry… I’ve picked up a few tricks over the past week.”

“Where were you?” Heror asked, grunting as he sat up. “I mean… where were you training?”

“The medical wing at Alaris Khi Thung,” Thaeolai replied, helping Heror. “We’d been there for a little over a week. Then we heard the news about the battle, and they brought us all up here this morning.”

Carefully, Thaeolai helped Heror lift his cuirass over his shoulders. Hiding his pain, the young man hoisted his shoulderpads up and handed them to Thaeolai. Then he helped guide the breastplate over his head, and Thaeolai took the armor. She set it on the ground beside the bed, and now helped Heror take off his linen undershirt.

The shirt was tattered and dirty, and near Heror’s ribs, Thaeolai could see a small red spot where the skin had been broken. Heror winced and lifted his arms again, and Thaeolai guided the shirt off. Once it was clear, Thaeolai set it off to the side as well, then looked at Heror’s rib wound. Heror glanced down as well, and his eyes went wide when he saw the damage.

The cut was small, and had since scabbed over. But across Heror’s midsection, red and dark purple bruises splotched his skin. Even Thaeolai winced at the sight. Her brow tensed.

“What happened to you?”

Heror only shook his head, leaning back into the bed. Thaeolai lent him an exasperated eye, then turned her attention back to the injury.

“I’m not an expert yet, but it looks like broken ribs.”

“Feels like it, too.”

“I’m going to have to test for pain centers before I heal you, just so I know where to direct my spell,” Thaeolai explained. “Are you ready?”

Heror pursed his lips and nodded. Thaeolai sat down and gently placed her hands on Heror’s ribs. She pressed down on one bruise, and Heror grimaced.

“How much pain?” she asked.

“A lot,” Heror replied.

Thaeolai nodded and moved her fingers to the left side of Heror’s abdomen. She pressed down again, and Heror winced lightly.

“A little better, but still there,” he muttered.

Now Thaeolai slid her fingers to the bottom of Heror’s rib cage. She pressed down on a darker spot, and Heror jolted, letting out a pained grunt. Thaeolai nodded and pulled her hands back.

“Looks like your ribs are bruised all over, but the two primary breaks are here and here,” she surmised. “Are you having any trouble breathing?”

“A little.”

“Your lungs might have been impacted too, then,” Thaeolai said. “The body should be able to heal this on its own in time, but I’ll do what I can to help. Here.”

Thaeolai leaned forward and placed both hands on the primary pain centers, then whispered an unintelligible spell. Her face twitched in strain, and all of a sudden, Heror felt a fervent, tingling heat pulse through his abdomen. He winced – out of surprise rather than pain – and his midsection shimmered with a faint and fleeting sea green light. And then it was done. Thaeolai leaned back and brushed her hair out of her face. Heror felt the pain slowly recede, and as he looked down at his ribs, the bruised areas were lightening.

“What was that?” Heror gasped.

“A simple vitality spell,” Thaeolai replied, laughing lightly at his tone. “I was only training for a week, so you’re not getting a brand new rib. I’d try a more complex spell, but if those are used incorrectly, it could only cause more damage. This is a safe spell, and it will help quicken your body’s natural healing processes. I’m going to wrap your wound, just so it remains stable. Can you sit up again?”

Heror nodded. He sat up, and Thaeolai grabbed a roll of linen wrap from a nearby table. She started to wrap around Heror’s midsection.

“For only a week of training,” Heror chimed, “you’re not that bad at this.”

Thaeolai smiled, and Heror smiled back. But these expressions were short-lived. After a short and fragile silence, the girl spoke.

“I haven’t seen Ucankacei. Did he…”

“No, he’s fine,” Heror replied. “He was wounded in the first battle, so he wasn’t out there for this one.”

“Thank the Gods,” Thaeolai muttered. “Er… not about him being wounded the first time, but… you know.”

Heror lifted his arm as Thaeolai continued wrapping.

“You should have heard how he was talking about it a few days ago,” Heror commented, shaking his head. “He’s alive now, but I can guarantee you, he would’ve wanted nothing more than to die along with the rest of them.”

Confused by Heror’s tone, Thaeolai eyed him, then returned to her wrapping.

“He has a lot of pride,” she accommodated. “Hard to blame him, though.”

Heror scrunched his nose and his brow.

“Of all the things to place his pride in… You know why all those people died? Because of Ardys. They left us in the pass to be slaughtered. It was a trap. It was right under their noses, and they didn’t see it. And when it was clear that they’d made a mistake, they abandoned us. They left us to die. All this talk of honor and loyalty… It's all fake. He’s a fool for believing in it, and he’s a fool for wasting his life on it. You saw how he was. Even after rotting in the mahallas for all those years, he was ready to be their slave again when they came calling. And sooner or later, they’ll buy his soul back, and he won’t even notice. They’ll use him until he’s dried up, then cast him back into the gutter, and you know what? I bet he’d thank them for it. He’s a…”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Heror trailed off, and at that moment, he realized that Thaeolai had stopped wrapping. His chest heaved, and he felt his breathing wane. He took a deep breath and blinked, then looked at Thaeolai, meeting her concerned eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Heror muttered, his voice breaking. “I just…”

Thaeolai set down the wrap and sat on the end of the bed. Her eyes met Heror’s, and then she leaned forward, hugging him again.

“I know.”

They embraced for a moment longer, in the silence of the night. Then Heror leaned away and let out another long exhale.

“You were right,” he told Thaeolai.

“Right about what?”

“Even out here, we’re still walled in.”

Thaeolai’s concern remained. After a short moment, she nodded and stood. She finished her final wrap around Heror’s midsection, then tore off the linen and tucked it in, stabilizing it.. She went around the bed and picked up Heror’s undershirt, then handed it to him. Heror slipped the shirt back on. His eyes met Thaeolai’s again, and the girl gave him a sad smile.

“I missed you,” she managed, folding her hands.

“I missed you, too.”

Thaeolai looked toward the tent wall. Through stitchings, the sun’s light could be seen creeping over the horizon to the east. It was almost dawn. The girl opened her mouth, as if to say something more. But before she could, the tent flap opened, and a siephall entered the medical area. As soon as he did so, the siephall spotted Heror and approached the bed.

“Siekariphae Heror.”

Heror glanced at Thaeolai, then turned to the siephall.

“Yes?”

“Your presence is requested at the longhouse, at your earliest convenience.”

With that, the siephall turned and left. Thaeolai raised an eyebrow.

“What’s that about?”

Heror looked on for a moment, then let out a short sigh. He assumed it was about his promotion to siekarum with Nihlukei gone. But he still didn’t want to believe it was real. He winced and sat up, swinging his feet over the side of the bed. He took a deep breath, then gingerly rose to his feet, pressing a hand on his bandaged abdomen.

“Feels better,” he noted, turning toward Thaeolai. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Thaeolai said with a smile. “Try not to get hurt next time.”

Heror let out a small laugh. Thaeolai cast her eyes across the tent.

“Well, if you’re leaving, I should see if they need any help,” she said. “I’ll see you later?”

Heror nodded and smiled. Thaeolai turned away, walking to the other end of the medical tent. Heror’s smile then faded, and his face darkened. He picked up his discarded armor and slipped it back on, then turned toward the flap and stepped out into the early morning air.

It was still quiet as the sky showed the first hints of light. Most of the soldiers were asleep, but a few traveled in groups to the wall, carrying torches to guide them.. Some of the campsites were noticeably empty. As Heror looked around, he wondered how many would stay that way.

In just a few minutes, the longhouse came into view. It was similarly shaped to the medical tents, but it was slightly smaller, and it appeared more sturdy as well. Large wooden beams held up thick canvas walls of bright red. As Heror approached, he saw the seal of Ardys once again, running along the side. He approached the entrance, and carried on inside.

The longhouse interior was illuminated by torches that were sconced sporadically along the support beams. Two more guards stood by the entrance inside, and a dark red carpet mat stretched from wall to wall, overlaying the dirt ground. Farther in, near the center of the longhouse, a long table sat, at which four Ardysan officials lingered. One – a greencloak -- was sitting, while the three others – each of them bluecloaks – stood, speaking in hushed voices that Heror couldn’t hear from where he stood.

Heror headed for the table, and the greencloak glanced toward him. Heror’s eyes met the greencloak’s, and he realized that it was Ucankacei, sitting with his helmet off. Ucankacei nodded to Heror and gave him a nervous smile, then grabbed a wooden crutch leaning against his chair and stood. He limped to Heror, and the two met just beyond the table.

“Heror,” Ucankacei said, his voice unnaturally feeble, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Heror eyed Ucankacei, then looked past. The other officials were watching him. He frowned, then turned back to Ucankacei.

“What’s this about?” Heror questioned.

Ucankacei ignored the inquiry, instead looking at the young man’s wolf pin. He motioned to the pin and smiled sadly, only offering Heror a glance.

“It looks good on you,” the old man said, his smile wavering.

Heror could tell Ucankacei was keeping something from him. The old man turned and led Heror to the table. There was an open seat beside Ucankacei, and Ucankcei directed Heror to it. Heror sat, and the other officials sat down as he did, across the table. Now Ucankacei gestured toward the officials, working his way down to the line.

“Heror, this is Oranthei, the commanding siekangh of the border defense,” Ucankacei stated. “To his left is Jakthei, advisory siekangh from Ellindal. And I believe you met Sulemei once. He’s the siekangh from Alaris Khi Thung.”

The commanding officers turned their eyes to Heror, as though they expected him to greet them. But Heror didn’t say a word. He stared at Oranthei with piercing blue eyes.

After a short, tense silence, Jakthei cleared his throat and stood from his seat. He was a bit younger than the other siekanghs, with brown hair and golden skin.

“Siekariphae Heror,” he said with a bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. You received a glowing recommendation from siekarum Nihlukei. I do hope he is at peace now.”

Heror winced at the sound of the name. Still, he said nothing. Jakthei glanced at the other siekanghs, then sat down and pulled out a small sheet of parchment, handing it to the commanding siekangh, Oranthei.

Oranthei took the parchment and read from it silently. The siekangh was older like Sulemei, with thinning white hair and a triangular face. His once-blue eyes had since gone gray, and two deep laugh lines dominated his frowning profile. Heror’s eyes did not move from him.

After reading off the parchment, the siekangh set the sheet back down on the table. He cleared his throat, then spoke.

“This morning, at around the turn of the night, siekariphae Heror was identified assaulting another siephall,” he explained, voice gruff and uninterested. “We have convened to inform the offender of the disciplinary measures that will follow. The immediate recommendation is removal of the siekariphae rank.”

Upon hearing the words, Heror felt a tinge of anger. He shot a look at Ucankacei, but the old man sank his head. Heror’s pulse accelerated, and he turned back toward the siekanghs, eyes darting between them.

“That’s what this is about?”

Oranthei crossed his fingers on the table and eyed the young man.

“Yes.”

Heror sat, his mouth agape, and his head fogged with anger. Oranthei didn’t appreciate the expression. He started to speak again.

“You were in line for a promotion to siekarum, but seeing your conduct this morning, it was determined that you are instead to be reverted to the rank of siephall.”

Heror fumed silently. His hands begin to shake. He glanced at Ucankacei again, then turned toward Oranthei, fiery blue eyes wide with heat. He remembered the siekangh’s name from Nihlukei’s briefing before the battle.

“You were the one who organized the attack?” Heror asked Oranthei.

Sulemei leaned forward.

“Siekariphae Heror, we are–”

“Please do not address the siephall by a title he no longer holds,” Oranthei interrupted.

Sulemei stopped himself and nodded silently, then turned back toward Heror.

“Heror, we are not here to dwell on the events of yesterday’s battle,” he explained. “We are here specifically to determine…”

“Were you the one who organized the attack?” Heror demanded, turning back toward Oranthei.

“You do not interrupt a siekangh when they are speaking,” Oranthei growled.

Now Heror stood from his seat. Ucankacei lifted a hand toward the boy to try and calm him down, but Heror was already pointing a finger at Oranthei, nostrils flaring.

“More than 4,000 men died yesterday because of a mistake that you made. Good men died because you failed! Their blood is on your hands!” Heror hissed. “And you don’t even care. You’re more focused on taking away my title? Probably because I was never even ‘worthy’ to have it?!”

“This insubordination will not be–”

“Maybe it was your plan all along to split up the army,” Heror rambled. “Maybe it was a deal you had with the Midans. To make it look like a mistake and kill off those you considered inferior…”

“Heror, enough!” Ucankacei broke in.

“All you talk about is honor,” Heror growled, his eyes lashing at Ucankacei. “All you talk about is loyalty to your Kingdom. Nihlukei had more honor than you could ever hope to have in a hundred lifetimes! And you left him to die! You didn’t deserve his loyalty! You don’t deserve my loyalty! Look how much loyalty you have from your loving citizens… You had to round up people like us in the slums just to have a standing army! And you chose us because it didn’t matter whether we lived or not. It didn’t –”

“Enough!!”

Heror froze. Oranthei had risen from his seat, and he towered over the boy. For a moment, the two stared at one another. Ucankacei clumsily stood as well, and started to speak.

“Siekanghs, if I may, I…”

“Oh, shut it, tramp,” Oranthei hissed.

Ucankacei swallowed a lump in his throat and shrunk down. Oranthei turned back to Heror.

“I will not be talked down to by some pathetic mutt,” Oranthei glowered. “You’re right. You were never worthy to have it. You’re lucky I wasn’t there at the wall this morning. I would have cut you down without a second thought.”

Heror glared, and by instinct, his hand snaked down to his empty blade sheath. When he remembered he’d lost his sword, he balled his hand into a fist, knuckles white. Oranthei pointed at Ucankacei with a bony finger.

“You’re lucky he’s here, too,” the siekangh went on. “He’s the only one here who’s foolish enough to give a damn about you. Your actions this morning could amount to treason, an act punishable by death. But because Nihlukei believed in you, and because Ucankacei believes in you… we’re willing to wait until you die on the battlefield.”

Oranthei then turned to the siephalls guarding the tent’s entry flap.

“Please remove his patch,” the siekangh ordered.

Heror looked to his left and saw the two siephalls approaching. He grabbed his patch and unpinned it from his red cloak, but before he could pocket it, one of the siephalls grabbed his arm and restrained his other. The second siephall wrenched the patch from Heror’s grasp, then carried it around the table and handed it to Oranthei. Oranthei took out a small, polished wooden container from below the table, and opened it, revealing a felt interior with several other patches inside. He placed Heror’s wolf patch in an open spot, then closed the container and set it down.

“Now…” Oranthei began again. “Seeing that there are no members of Nihlukei’s unit left, you will be reassigned as a siephall to another unit.”

Ucankacei raised his finger.

“I can take him…”

“Nonsense,” Oranthei scoffed. “I don’t want this chin’p to have your sympathy. You are hereby reassigned to siekarum Mastudei’s guard. I’ll send a courier to inform him of your assignment. He will supply you with new equipment. You may go now.”

Heror’s eyes lingered on the box. And then he turned and left without a word. He stormed through the tent flap, silent anger clashing against the calm morning air. He stopped for a moment and tried to collect his thoughts. But he couldn’t. Not this time.

He was about to leave when he heard his name. He glanced over his shoulder to see Ucankacei emerging from the tent, rushing after him with his crutch. A siephall held the tent flap open for the old man, and he limped after the boy. Heror took a few steps away from the longhouse. Ucankacei approached. His eyes were unsure.

“Heror,” Ucankacei said. “I…”

“How can you go along with this?” Heror lashed out.

Ucankacei’s mouth hung open, but he couldn’t find an answer.

“You know what this is,” Heror growled. “You know what they are. How can you go along with it?”

Now Ucankacei’s face was one of pain. His brow furrowed. His mouth opened again, and he tried to lighten his expression.

“Heror…” he started. “There are ways… one has to act, if…”

He trailed off, feeling Heror’s seething stare. He’d never seen Heror look at him this way before.

After a tense silence, Heror glanced down at Ucankacei’s new siekarum robes. His eyes lifted again, with the same anger that Ucankacei dreaded to see.

“Congratulations,” Heror jeered, motioning to Ucankacei’s robes. “You can thank Oranthei for that, too.”

He paused, and then his nose curled as he gave Ucankacei one last glare.

“I hope you’re happy,” he hissed.

And with that, Heror turned away, leaving the old man alone.

Heror didn’t bother heading to his new siekarum. Instead, he went back to the medical tent. His old bed was still open, and so he slipped off his armor and sat down on the bed, leaning forward with his hands crossed. After a few minutes, he heard footsteps behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Thaeolai, her pure elvish skin shining softly in the new morning light.

“Heror?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”

Heror didn’t answer. He took a deep breath and looked ahead. Then his eyes fell again. Thaeolai came around the side of the bed. She looked upon him with worry.

After a moment of silence, Heror shook his head.

“Just staying here for a bit,” he muttered.

Thaeolai eyed him for a few seconds, then nodded. She started back toward the other healers when she heard Heror speak again.

“I’m leaving.”

Thaeolai stopped in her tracks. She blinked, then turned back toward Heror, who didn’t offer her another glance.

“What happened at the longhouse?” she asked.

Heror pursed his lips, wrinkles of tension frozen above his brow.

“Nothing that hasn’t happened before.”

Theaolai said nothing. Heror glanced over his shoulder one more time.

“I’m leaving,” he said again.

He paused, only for a moment. Thaeolai could hear the anger in his voice. Something told her he wasn’t changing his mind this time.

“Are you coming with me?”