Nighttime has always been a terrifying portion of reality for mankind. Some races care little whether the light or darkness rules. Many prefer the latter, but humanity is not among them. Limitations on sight, sensitivity to the sounds and movements, and the creeping, unpleasant feeling that something which hunts in the dark is growing ever closer are all issues faced by mankind when the sun disappears.

Some beings in the region, some secret and others well known, did their business in the night. Cooled air made sleeping around the open plains a tad uncomfortable, and fires were limited as to their size, the reasoning, and where they could be placed. The position of the camp and scouts was information they all did their best to hide. So, the darkness claimed more of the area, and the boys continued their shifts and training.

That seventh night, however, had come with a heavy air. Christoph and his brother slept close together beneath the ragged cloths they used as blankets. It would be their turn to take a scouting detail in just a short time. The stars above twinkled brilliantly as the world of man and beast spun on—their bright gaze neither judgmental nor empathetic.

Christoph opened his eyes first. It would be their second scouting since their training had been completed. Though, “completed” is a relatively strong term for how they were instructed.

The young man’s gut was churning with the anticipation. He’d walk, with his brother and two others, toward the lookout established on a taller hill to the west. There were three hilly, overlook positions near the road. A forest unfurled the path from its mouth. If the barbarians moved north, as informed, they’d have to use the roads to manage their carts, horses, and supplies. The contingency plan for any wandering scouts of the enemy meant using magically infused flares with different colors for different reasons.

All of this was beat into Christoph’s bruised head. One eye had partially swelled, but he was still able to perform his duties and handle his blade. Being the oldest in his group, the boys had entrusted him with the flares.

Green meant there was a serious injury in their group. This was more for the tragic case of something unprecedented and non-barbarian related. Yellow meant they’d been spotted by the enemy. Red meant that they’d been overrun by the enemy.

Flares needn’t be used should the boys remain hidden. Of course, that would alert the enemy to their existence. Instead, each group was also given a small pack of scrolls. Their grand empire had seen fit to prepare several scrolls with the spell “Message” imbued into the paper. These scrolls offered a focus for the magic instead of relying on inept soldiers with little, or often times no, experience in the arcane arts. It also helped avoid any backlash from spells—countless disciples and novices have been claimed by attempting magics beyond their control.

“Message” holds no threat in backlash. Even the most foolish of men could use it and walk away with a mere headache and echoing thought—a familiar melody tapping away in their mind’s ear.

So, Christoph had six flares and six scrolls. There were more of every supply, but the small pack he was given held what was reasonable per the situation. Better to travel light and be able to move at a moment’s notice.

It was up to Christoph to manage the supplies. Magic items. His hand pulled the pack close to him; ensuring that the contents hadn’t been taken. Real magic! The nighttime was accompanied by a gentle breeze that chilled the first layers of skin. Enemies on the march, and family awaiting the return. They’ll help me.

These magic items were an anchor. He would always be a wandering mind that needed to be settled on occasion, but this was the anchor that kept his soul from escaping his body. Glory and horror balanced on a thin wire, yet neither would come to pass without the other falling.

Magic casters or any adventurer would consider these items common or even worthless—depending the mission. Yet, to Christoph, they were the most important tools in the world. Just holding the bag close, tightly snugged beside him while he waited for his shift, felt like he was guarding the secret arsenal of the empire from the ignorant hordes beyond the borders. Just a low-level communications spell that sent a single message about five-hundred feet and allowed a single recipient to respond with a similarly shortened message.

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The flares were more like toys children would cheer and pop off during a festival in the city. This was a foreign concept to Christoph. He was holding onto treasures of a Heavenly sort. A sleeping brother, a wooden totem beneath his shirt, and a bag of parlor tricks were easily gathered up as the time came to switch watches.

“Wake up.” Christoph had been awake on his own for twenty or so minutes, but it was time to swap. “Get up. Malin, get up.” Shaking his brother began with a slight push but soon grew into a two-handed shoulder shaking. “Wake up.”

Malin blinked away the sleep and moaned at the sight of a black sky. Christoph shoved him back down and continued to wake the other two in their group. Paratiff Nentle and Abo Reversect were both around Malin’s age. They’d been sons of the Nentle hunters and the Reversect lumberjacks. Now, they were both young men getting woken up to take their shift on a distant, dark hill.

Leading the way, Christoph waited for his boys to get ready. Each took their small pack of provisions, their sword, a simple leather helmet and chest guard each was given, and they set off. There was a narrow, winding passage down the southern side of the hill that wrapped around and opened up to the west.

They were ordered to take the first hill, southernmost, and watch for three hours, check in with a message spell to Braun, and then wait three more hours until the next shift took their place. Any sightings would first be reported. Any conflict that was deemed unavoidable would be at the conscripted soldier’s discretion. It was best to inform the team and ensure success before attempting to battle and possibly leaving the rest open and vulnerable.

Christoph grasped the concept. We have to win. It was a simple idea, but one that had many facets. He knew, as the weight of his sword hung at his side, that bloodshed was imminent. Theirs or the barbarians’, someone would end up losing blood. Secondly, he was aware the success of that mission relied on intel and positioning. The chosen spots were peaks in the area, they were spaced out, and they offered partial protection from those that might be on the road.

Thirdly, and this hung on every boy’s mind, was that they wouldn’t accept leaving their respective families with one or even two fewer sons. It was unacceptable. They needed to return. They needed to win. They needed to do their jobs to enable the whole of their might to mobilize. Each scouted hill was a considerable distance away from the last. This way, they could scan the horizons and tree lines over a greater radius, but that meant the scrolls and the messages sent had to be utilized efficiently.

Grass paths were patted down and bent slightly; single file lines where the boys could move from one hill to the next. It was right to avoid opening up the field with walking carelessly or too spread out. This way, even in the dark, the grass covered most of their bodies. If the leader saw something and stopped, the whole group would wait for the signal to continue.

Christoph saw no signs of threats or heard any sounds of predators that might have roamed out into the grasslands. That didn’t relax his grip on the bag he slung over his neck. One hand was at the edge of the flap. A moment’s notice. That’s all he needed. One flare and a message cast back to his captain; the plan succeeds when they all mobilize.

It took a bit of time to follow the trail that curved slightly toward the south and then back west to rise toward the hillside. Only one beaten path rose up along the gradual slope, but keen eyes would have caught more. Waves of grass gently bowed to the boys as the breeze forced their subjugation, but some bent further than others. Some were snapped into a right angle and others were actually cut near the top.

A seasoned adventurer or soldier might have caught those slight oddities, even in the dim light offered by the moon and stars, but the boys walked on hearing nothing but the soft patting of their steps and the wind’s whispering song. Blowing directly into their face, the air from atop the hill should have raised an alarm. Another sense that was far from trained in the youths.

Disaster awaits the ignorant minds and the trembling hands. Christoph was not trembling, but his mind hadn’t fathomed the possibilities. As he took the final steps toward the top, with a foul smell of warm decay, he found a reason to grip his bag tighter than before.

“Circle up.” Christoph tried to keep his voice quiet; a good instinct should the perpetrators be nearby. He was standing between his group and the broken bodies of four young boys. One had been from Rothmire, but in the dark and at this distance, Christoph couldn’t make out who any of them were. The boys following behind heard the worry in his voice, and each drew their sword and circled with their backs facing each other.