D’Argen was trimming down fletching for his new arrows when the supplies from Evadia finally arrived. This was the third set since D’Argen had joined the fighting at the battlefront and there were never enough supplies. They were never fast enough to arrive either. He had considered, multiple times, trying to run to the city and figuring out how to run back with the crates of food and medical supplies, but there was never enough time. The waves of demons were coming more and more frequently and the trenches he had first seen when he arrived were now dug anew in the same place where the medical field used to be.

The demons were advancing with every wave, and they never seemed to end.

D’Argen knew the war ended, eventually, but he could not recall how. Something about the mountain itself? He knew what it was, but it felt like a word at the tip of his tongue that would not form. The more he tried to force it, the more the memory slipped away.

As he bent the cut feathers and held them into shape, his eyes scanned the front lines. Hiras was out there again, bringing rain and lightning on the field. It was not, as he thought, to try and clean the scent of death, though she did make a difference.

Instead, D’Argen learned that she did this task alone for another reason. The demons had gotten much smarter during all these attacks. In the beginning, they would come out randomly and more often fight one another, but as their small groups kept on getting killed off, they started gathering and coming from the mountains in larger waves. Waves that pushed the defensive line back with every attack and killed too many. Hiras’s storms were there so her lightnings would strike down any stragglers that came out after the waves. None made it near the camps, and she did not have to be too careful with her strikes as the only allies in the fields were those gathering the bodies of the dead.

And the dead far outnumbered the living. There was not enough time or room for any mourning rituals or burials. The pit of bodies at the edge of the camp was nauseating and most of the stink came from there, rather than the battlegrounds themselves.

A shuffle in the crowd had D’Argen focusing back to the present instead of the future he could not recall and looking at Vah’mor as they walked right toward him.

D’Argen deposited the newest arrow in his quiver and rose from where he had been sitting on a crate as he worked out of the way of the others.

“Where can I help?” D’Argen asked, ready for orders.

“Vain has arrived. I need you to talk to him,” Vah’mor replied. “Vagor and Kassar arrived as well.”

D’Argen chanced a glance at where the supplies were being unloaded and noticed the gods in question. He nodded, waited for a moment more, and when he did not receive further instructions, he grabbed his stuff and ran to meet the new arrivals.

Vagor nodded at him in acknowledgement, but she walked off without a word, following a single mortal in the direction of the pit with dead bodies. Finally. Somebody who could do something about it. Although Vagor’s scent of rot and death was unpleasant, her mahee allowed her to speed up decomposition within the body. With her help, the dead may finally get some rest.

Kassar ignored him completely, instead helping others unload the supplies.

Vain, on the other hand, rushed him as soon as he noticed him.

“I spoke to Vah’mor and a few others. You and I need to talk. Where can we sit down?” Vain asked in a rush, already opening up his satchel.

D’Argen looked around them. All the closed off tents were for either the severely injured or those of a higher status that needed rest. Most mortals slept out under the sky, using only the tent walls and the will of the gods to keep the winds from chilling them to death. The open tent Vah’mor used to talk to the other leaders was empty and it had both a long table in the middle and a smaller one with three chairs around it in the corner.

If Vah’mor minded, they would tell them. D’Argen led Vain to it.

As soon as Vain was near the small table he started unloading his satchel. A huge leather-bound tome was the first to come out, then unopened vials of different coloured inks, a wooden tray with charcoals and another one with chalks. When Vain sat down and opened the tome, D’Argen realized why the need for the supplies. Vain flipped through pages that had both drawings of the demons and writing beside them.

“When Shavaniast returned to Evadia, they said a few things of interest. Please, sit down. I need some confirmations.” Vain motioned to the other chair without looking up and finally got to a desired spot in his book.

“Are you the one doing the drawings?” D’Argen asked, trying to start a light conversation. He never knew Vain could draw so well.

“Some.”

“This one is wrong,” D’Argen pointed out to the pages Vain had opened.

“Well. It is hard to draw what you have not seen. You try it.”

“Abbot can help you.”

“Abbot? Since when does he draw?”

“Trust me. He can help. Anyway, what can I do for you? I’m not artistic at all, trust me.”

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Vain scanned the page, flipped it a few times, and then seemed to decide he was on the wrong one anyway and started searching for a new one. As he did, D’Argen watched Thar run his long, pale fingers over the edge of the large table in the middle of the tent. Slowly, Thar walked toward them and dropped his hand off the table at the last possible moment, his fingers trailing through the air for a moment before disappearing into the large folds of his sleeves. Then, Thar took the third empty chair at the small table where Vain and D’Argen sat.

Vain did not look up at all.

“Alright. So. Shavaniast said something interesting to me, a few others confirmed it, and then Vah’mor met me with an order. Apparently, you have Kassar’s luck on your side or something, which is a surprise considering this is Kassar’s first time joining the fighting, and you have been able to discover many of these demons’ weaknesses. To the point where others are asking you for advice. Now, from what I know of you, you must not be a fan of this, and clearly Vah’mor knows you just as well because they have asked me to record all your findings and then hand them out.”

Vain took a moment of silence to breathe after spitting so many words out at once. “So? Let us get started. This one? It has a sack of poison at its neck? Where exactly?”

D’Argen finally raised his eyes from where Thar’s fingers were playing with a feather from one of the extra quills. The drawing was crude and ugly and if D’Argen did not know what Vain was referring to and had seen the demon with his own eyes, he never would have understood the questions, let alone how to help. He shifted closer to hunch over the table and pointed to the location in the drawing.

The two spent the next few hours like that. A few times, a mortal came in to refill their pitcher of water and was tasked with copying something from Vain’s tomes. After, they would run off, sharing the information. Mostly, the two gods went uninterrupted, even if D’Argen got distracted by Thar’s fingers too many times to count.

It got to the point where D’Argen was itching for more demons to show up so he could get up and do something. No such reprieve came though, even when Vah’mor and a few others arrived in the tent and circled the large table. Their discussion was more interesting than any of the questions Vain asked him, but D’Argen knew he had to focus – it could mean the life or death of too many of them if he got something wrong.

“—and they are advancing further north.”

Unfortunately, the conversation caught D’Argen’s limited attention and drew his eyes to where a mortal he had not seen before was talking. The woman was covered in sweat and still panting, drinking from a skin whenever she was not talking. The others joined in as well, voices overlapping. D’Argen recognized each of the mortals around the table as strategists Vah’mor had chosen to help them during the fighting.

“The camps there are abandoned. Letting them right through. Demons will start advancing further west once they realize they have a break there.”

“We can send troops to cut them off. Strengthen the lines.”

“No, no. That will just stretch us too thin. I say we leave our losses. Nothing we can do it about it.”

“And have them circle and hit is in the back? Cut off our supply chains? No. We have to stop it before it gets to that.”

“Maybe we can just strengthen the lines here? Stop them from going further north and deal with the stragglers when we can.”

D’Argen startled when Vain tapped his hand with a quill, but he did not look away from the conversation. It was obvious they were in trouble.

“How old is this information?” Vah’mor asked without looking up from the map in front of them.

“My horse got bit and died. I had to get here on foot. It took me almost three weeks,” the woman gasped out and went to take a sip again. Her skin was empty, and she squeezed it. None of the others around the table noticed. D’Argen quickly got up and filled a cup with water from his pitcher. He slipped around the group to hand the woman the cup and chanced a glance at the map.

There were no markings to where exactly she came from. When he looked up, it was to see Vah’mor staring at him with narrowed eyes.

“How long will it take you?” Vah’mor asked after a moment and pointed to a specific spot on the map.

“A day there and back,” D’Argen promised, though he knew it would be longer.

“Vain? Do you have enough for now?”

“Oh? Oh, yes, yes. I do. I can take the time to make copies, see these creatures for myself, and start figuring out how to spread the information more effectively than pamphlets in the wind.”

Vah’mor nodded and that seemed to be enough of an order for Vain. The historian shoved the tome away from himself and instead took out a single paper and started jotting things on it instead.

“I want a full report. Counts. Mortals, gods, demons. Locations and movements. Are the waves there timed like here, are they moving more, fighting amongst each other. Everything.”

D’Argen nodded and said, “I will go as soon as the next wave dies out. It should be coming soon.”

“No. Go now.”

“But I—”

“We will not die without you here. Go.” Vah’mor dismissed him with a wave of their hand. “And take Kassar with you.”

“What? Why?”

“I do not want anyone going alone anymore. Anywhere.”

“I’m not—” D’Argen cut himself off when he saw Thar get up from his chair.

“And you could use some of his luck too,” Vain added. “That is why he is here.”

D’Argen nodded and left the tent before he could be given any other orders. A glance around the camp did not show him either Abbot or Yaling. Yaling had joined recently, but had yet to learn how to use her voice as a weapon. Kassar, however, was sitting on a crate just to the side of the tent.

“Vah’mor said—”

“Yes, I heard,” Kassar interrupted him and got up. He brushed at his curling red hair and then held a hand out.

“Not here.” D’Argen walked past him and away from the camp, Kassar following closely. When they arrived at the edge of the camp, Vagor’s scent of rot and death overwhelmed them both, even if the pit of bodies before her consisted mostly of bones already. They were far enough away from her not to hurt her and there was nobody else around.

D’Argen held out his hand. Kassar touched him carefully and he was so unfamiliar to D’Argen’s mahee that the runner startled. They had never run together before. It took him a moment to wrap his mahee around every aspect of the other god. His long red hair was tied back, his robes reminded D’Argen of Tassikar’s statue with the short skirt and only one shoulder covered… he was not dressed for war at all. Only the single bracer on one of his arms and the greaves on his legs. He had a sword strapped to his back though, beside a bow made of wood and a quiver filled to the brim with arrows.

Once his mahee was wrapped completely around the other, D’Argen realized that those arrows would break and splinter on his metal bow, so they would be useless to him. Kassar, however, had luck on his side and he could either use his mahee to make the arrows work for D’Argen or he would never miss a shot.

D’Argen closed his eyes and waited for the world to fade away into nothing at all. When he opened them, he saw the folds of white fabric in front of his eyes, flapping to a breeze that did not touch him. It blocked his view completely, hiding the path his steps would taint as he ran. The sight, though, had him smiling. He knew who was the cause of it. He felt lightheaded as he breathed in fresh air and though Kassar was an unknown weight by his side, he felt comfortable. When he pushed off to run there was a white shade beside him, even if he could not wrap his mahee around it.