The night sky was clear and the full moon shone across the valley. Fires crackled all around the Crystal Syndicate’s camp. Thousands of tents were spread around and the place was loud with laughter and yelling.

The mercenaries had been heading back to Azzellia until a large group of rebels took over one of Malvarian’s fortresses. King Talon had sent a messenger, with an offer that couldn’t be refused. Rumors spread through the camp about the sudden change in plan, as Corvin had previously said that no matter what happened in the other nations, they were done helping with their rebellions.

What had changed, Arturo wondered. Nobody knew, except for Corvin. At least he assumed the Azzellian commander knew. Reports indicated the rebels were more numerous than those in Eshil Domain and they were refusing to leave the fortress. Their food stocks were plentiful and it would take about two years before they could be starved out. Nobody wanted to stay that long.

“We clear?” Tarmon asked when Arturo took one last look out of his tent.

“Yeah, we’re clear.”

“Good. Take off your armor,” Tarmon said.

With reluctance, Arturo took off his Verian armor and placed it next to a chair. This had become routine. Every few days, Tarmon would give him a healing session. Supposedly, a good healer could have healed him in one session, though his body would have needed a few days to fully recover. Tarmon himself was a novice healer and would never become truly skilled at healing unless he found a teacher, which was unlikely.

The others had been surprised when Arturo was back in his armor and even more shocked to see him moving about. When asked about how he was healing so quickly, he would act dumb and pretend it was the work of Tarmella. Nobody believed him and some quietly thought he had hired a rogue power user to heal him. They were close to knowing the truth.

Veldahar tried to get him to talk, but Arturo swore that he didn’t know how he had done it. It took him several days to convince the commander that he didn’t know. Despite that, the others talked and spread rumors. He had no problems lying about how he was recovering quickly.

The misty feeling over his skin vanished and Tarmon wiped his brow. “That should be the last one. You’ll be fully recovered well before we attack.”

“Thank you,” Arturo said. He felt tired, as with every healing session. Healing put a heavy burden on the body. He was getting used to being tired and put his armor back on. “I wanted to ask you, why haven’t you joined Mortham Tower?”

Tarmon went still and his brows scrunched up as he sighed. “I wanted to, until I heard about the rules. They’re far too strict. My primary reason for learning the power was to help people, whether that was healing or stopping evil acts. The mages forbid interacting in affairs and it is difficult to leave the tower. From what I have heard, you become sucked into the culture and change as a person. I don’t want that,” he said softly, flexing his hands.

“I see.” Arturo knew about the restrictions on using the power. It was why the mages pursued anyone who used the power in ways not approved. The only acceptable time to use the power without joining the mages was to defend your life and or to use light healing so long as the power user didn’t heal someone injured in battle. The mages were very strict on those rules and had taken many power users to Mortham Tower over the decades. What happened to them, he didn’t know. “I met a couple before the attack on Arindall. One of them could use the power and used it to travel across the Unknown Waters.”

“Did you ever see them again?”

“No,” Arturo said. “Shortly after, Arindall was attacked. They might have run into the people who killed my family. I’ll never know. I do know when the man showed me the power, his wife got upset. I was aware of how strict the mages were but didn’t know how far they would go to prevent someone from using the power for personal reasons.”

“There is more,” Tarmon said slowly. “I did join, which is how I learned this information. I left within a week after I killed someone with the power.”

“You killed someone? Why?”

“I was protecting someone else. Even as a mage you are not allowed to use the power to save someone, except for a king or an important noble. A man got away with murder because he paid off the right people. Everyone knew he was guilty, for plenty of witnesses corroborated the murder. My mentor told me that it wasn’t my duty. I ignored him and killed the monster with the power. I knew the consequences and ran away. I imagine I’ll be running from the mages for the rest of my life.”

Arturo placed his hand on Tarmon’s shoulder. “I won’t let the mages take you.”

Tarmon snorted and brushed Arturo’s hand away. “It’s been a humbling experience. I used to be an arrogant noble, thinking Tarmella had graced me with the power to change the world. I know better now.”

Perhaps more nobles need to be humbled. Arturo would enjoy seeing that. “Can you teleport like the other mages?”

““Teleport?” Tarmon looked confused and then laughed. “Oh, you mean using a portal? No, I have no idea how to do that.”

There went that idea. Arturo would have had Tarmon take him to areas where the invaders might be. He could have been at an invasion site within seconds instead of days.

“Could you learn?”

“Maybe. Not everyone can create a portal. Besides, it usually takes time before you can learn how, as you get stronger with the power.”

“Stronger? You can increase your abilities?” Arturo asked.

Tarmon nodded. “I don’t know where to begin on how to learn. Why?”

“No reason,” Arturo lied. He walked over to his sword and sheathed the weapon on the hooks on his back. He found it easier to move, though his body still ached. “Let’s go talk with the others before they wonder where we’ve gone.”

“Good idea.”

They walked out of the tent and into the cool night. Arturo suppressed a shiver as a gust of wind brushed over him. He led the way toward the fire where his men were. Gosford was sitting with his feet resting on a nearby log. Cevelt was smoking his pipe, while Fenrir was sharpening arrowheads. Kellan was passed out on the ground with a drink in his hand. Rogoth was twirling a knife in his hands while staring at the fire.

“Where were you two?” Gosford asked.

“Talking,” Arturo said. “How’s the mood around the camp?”

“The usual. Talking, gambling, and drinking.” Gosford pointed his thump at Kellan. “I imagine half the camp is about to fall asleep if they haven’t already.”

Cevelt puffed out a smoke ring. “Still don’t know how you can walk around so well after those wounds.”

Cevelt would not let the issue go.

“If I could explain my recovery, I would tell you,” Arturo said and took a seat next to Gosford. He poured himself a cup of brandy and gulped it down.

“Yeah, yeah, you always say that,” Cevelt said.

“Perhaps it’s true,” Tarmon said. “How else could he recover so fast?”

Cevelt took the pipe out of his mouth and spit on the ground. “Who knows? I wish I did because I have never seen someone recover from such wounds so quickly.”

“Enough,” Gosford said, shooting Cevelt an annoyed look. “It’s too late to get an answer that Arturo doesn’t know. Cevelt, enjoy your smoke while we relax, eh?”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“I’ll do better than that.” Cevelt stood up and walked away.

“Troublesome fellow,” Tarmon said.

“Eh, he has his days.” Gosford motioned for Tarmon to take a seat. “Grab some ale and drink. We have another long day tomorrow.”

“I’m sick of traveling,” Rogoth said, turning his eyes away from the fire. He stopped twirling his knife. “We’ve been fighting in these lands off and on for the past two years. I’m ready for some peace and quiet.”

“And do what? You didn’t join a mercenary band to sit back and relax,” Gosford said.

“No,” Rogoth admitted. “I’ve almost got the money I need. These past couple of years have shown me that I don’t want to fight anymore.”

Much like my brothers, Arturo thought. Why didn’t he have the same thoughts? Rogoth wasn’t the first person in the camp to talk about leaving. There were quite a few others who wanted to open a shop, buy a farm, travel, or do something other than fighting. Fighting was keeping him alive, keeping him from wanting to do something stupid.

“I get it.” Gosford took a deep drink and dropped the cup on the ground. “I’m thinking of trying to join the royal guards. Surely, they’ll take me with my skills, though I don’t know how the king thinks of mercenaries.”

“Not well, I’m sure,” Arturo said, chuckling at the thought of Gosford being a royal guard.

“Probably not.” Gosford got up and stretched. “Won’t know if I don’t try.”

“Rumors have been spreading around that someone tried to kill our king,” Rogoth said.

“I heard the same thing. Did Kehal tell you about that?” Gosford asked.

“Yeah, and Bernard,” Rogoth said.

“Troubling. If it’s true, why don’t we go back to Azzellia and deal with the problems there? Rebels must be popping up over there now,” Gosford said.

“If rebels ever appear, we’ll be told first,” Arturo said.

The night was a long one. Kellan woke up screaming, trying to figure out where he was, and was guided to his tent by Rogoth. Gosford took that time to go to bed, with Arturo and Tarmon going shortly after.

Sleep wasn’t easy for Arturo as his thoughts raced to the future. When he finally slept, he was haunted by nightmares of the deaths of his family.

Arturo swung his giant sword and split a log in half. Sweat was pouring down his face as he’d been training for the past hour. His body was nearly recovered, though his muscles were burning now and he still ached slightly after training.

The morning chill made him shiver as the wind breezed against his sweaty body. The camp was nearly ready to leave once again. Arturo had increased the pace of his training over the past week. Who knew when a rebel force might descend upon them? The scouts reported nothing unusual, but they hadn’t seen the attack back in Eshil Domain either.

His men were ready to go. Arturo made sure to be done packing well before the others. That allowed him to train. It was a routine he loved, even before his recent injuries. He felt an odd calmness when swinging his weapon and he had a lot to improve.

Before he knew it, the camp was packed and they were off. Arturo rode with his men. Cevelt was off in the back, still mad at him for not disclosing how he was recovering so quickly. Why the man cared, he couldn’t say. In the distance, some men were singing to wake themselves up.

Fenrir was riding alongside Arturo. Tarmon was on his right, while Gosford, Rogoth, and Kellan were close behind. The sun was rising quickly and few words passed between them until late morning when they had truly woken up.

“I saw you training. Are you sure that’s a good idea while recovering?” Fenrir asked.

Arturo’s muscles ached when he moved his arm. “No. The training is helping me recover,” he said. He couldn’t allow himself to get sloppy, not when he could run into the man who killed his brothers at any time.

“If you say so,” Fenrir said doubtfully. “Would hate to see you hurt yourself.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Arturo said, glancing over at Fenrir. He was a good man, loyal, and wanted what was best for him. He had saved Fenrir a few times over the past year. “The others need your concern more than me.”

Fenrir laughed. “The others don’t get injured as often as you.”

Arturo didn’t respond. He had hurt himself a lot lately. Ribalt had shattered his arm and then endless wave of rebels had nearly killed him. Perhaps he was taking too many risks. Then again, the best way to get stronger was to put himself in those situations.

“Arturo does push himself, but the healers have checked him over and said he’s improving rapidly,” Tarmon chipped in.

It was a lie, but Arturo was thankful for it. The last time a healer had checked on him was two weeks ago and they were baffled at how fast he was healing. Tarmon was the one making sure his training wasn’t slowing his recovery.

“All right.” Fenrir looked forward and said nothing else.

Kallahan, the second in command of the Crystal Syndicate, appeared next to Arturo and greeted him. “The commander wants to see you,” he said. “Now.”

“All right,” Arturo said. “Gosford, keep the men in line while I’m gone.”

“Understood,” Gosford said.

Kallahan galloped forward, with Arturo following along. He wondered what the commander could want. The last time he spoke with Veldahar was around two weeks ago. They went around foot soldiers, wagons, and other riders to get toward the front as fast as possible. Veldahar’s gold-colored armor shined in the sun, marking him out.

They slowed to a trot as they neared the commander.

“Glad to see you moving about. I’ve heard about your miraculous recovery,” Veldahar said.

“Yes, it’s strange to be feeling this good already,” Arturo said carefully. Veldahar was not a stupid man and it would be foolish to let something slip around him. “Kallahan told me you wanted to talk?”

“Yes.” Veldahar motioned for the guards to move further away. “Corvin left with a quarter of his troops yesterday.”

Arturo didn’t like the sound of that. From what he had heard, they would need all the soldiers they could get to take out the rebels.

“Why?”

“He wouldn’t say. Some officer is in charge and Corvin said he arranged for Malvarian to provide more troops, hence the delay in our attack,” Veldahar said. “He wouldn’t tell me why the king changed his mind about helping Malvarian. Of course, the extra money will be nice.”

Arturo waited for the commander to get to the point. Veldahar didn’t summon him to tell him about Corvin or his curiosity about why they were helping Malvarian. He didn’t care where they went. Malvarian, Azzellia, or to the forest dwellers. So long as there was a mission to accomplish, that was all he cared about.

“In a couple of weeks, we’ll be attacking Kalmor Fortress. Do you know much about it?” Veldahar asked.

“No.”

Veldahar didn’t look surprised. “Not many do. Kalmor is a hard place to attack. There’s a narrow bridge, surrounded by the biggest moat in all the kingdoms. The rebels number at least ten thousand, and that isn’t counting the citizens in there. Women, children, old people, and so on. That makes it very hard to storm the castle.”

“Are we going to sit down for a long siege then?”

“No,” Veldahar said with a shake of his head. “Corvin gave me some ideas to try. He appeared confident in his plans.”

Good. The last thing Arturo wanted to do was sit here and wait a couple of years. So much could happen in that time, especially with the invaders. Veldahar continued: “I’ve been told you plan on fighting. Are you sure you’re up to the task?”

Who told him? Gosford? No, Cevelt? Likely it was a passerby or some soldier who heard from someone else. Arturo couldn’t be mad about it; he wasn’t trying to hide the fact he intended to fight. “I’m fighting and I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll trust your judgment. You look healthy enough,” Veldahar said. “This should be our last battle before returning to Azzellia. The rebels have a secure hold on this fortress. Losses are going to be high.”

“How did the rebels capture Kalmor if the fortress is nearly impenetrable?”

“From what I know, the rebels disguised themselves as Malvarian soldiers and merchants and slowly worked their way in over the past year. Once their numbers were enough, they attacked and opened the gates for their comrades.”

“Clever,” Arturo said. A patient strategy. These rebels weren’t fools, not when it came to fighting. He imagined the Malvarians wouldn’t let that happen again. “Why are you telling me this? I’m a warrior, not a strategist.”

Veldahar laughed loudly. “I forget how simple you can be. You don’t care about the details, yet I tell you anyway. I want you to secure the walls and the gates. Let the others go inside the fortress. You don’t need to do too much fighting once you open the gates.”

“Why?” Arturo asked. “This is the third time we’ve come across a large city or fortress and you always want me to stay near the walls.”

“Despite your confidence in your abilities, I don’t want you pushing yourself too far,” Veldahar said, then hesitated. “We need you. It would be foolish for you to die here.”

“You’re the commander,” Arturo said as if that answered the request.

They kept moving, discussing aspects of the battle, how Arturo’s troops were and so on. They rode together for a few hours, with half of that being in silence. Veldahar was fishing for information—at least that’s how Arturo felt.

“I have some others I need to talk to,” Veldahar said eventually.

Taking that as a dismissal, Arturo broke off and rode back to his men. He was relieved the commander was done talking to him. He liked Veldahar, but he wasn’t one to chat idly. He always had a reason for talking.

Arturo arrived back to the same formation he had left. Gosford hadn’t even moved in front! He was just riding with a gap where Arturo had been. Tarmon was eating bread and tossed some to him when he took back his spot.

“Anything happen while I was away?” Arturo asked.

“Nah,” Tarmon replied and finished the last piece of bread. “Can’t wait to stop and eat something other than bread, though.”

The sun was lowering and the complaints about riding for this long began. Arturo’s body was aching, more than usual. He couldn’t wait to be fully healed. A group of civilians with a wagon passed them and he saw two young children looking at them with awe. One of them pointed at him but he couldn’t hear what was said.

They passed a lot of people, which was odd. Why were so many people walking this way? Fenrir wondered, but got no response. Perhaps the rebels were causing problems and they wanted to get away. Arturo couldn’t think of another reason.

When night fell, Veldahar called to break camp. Nobody needed to be told twice and tents were erected and fires started. Food was being cooked and ale passed around. Before long, it was time for bed.

Arturo left the fire early and found himself lying down, staring at the sky and thinking. Veldahar had spoken to him a lot today and he realized the commander talked about wanting him to live. This may not have been the first time he had said that, but something was different this time. Did he know something or was it a coincidence?

An hour or so passed before Arturo finally drifted to sleep as he thought about the man he would kill someday. It was something he did often. Then he knew no more.