"That's impossible," Tyler declared with unwavering conviction. "The Elves have maintained their neutrality since time immemorial. Even without sworn oaths, they've never meddled in human conflicts. They might offer aid to Cynthia, but they would never send their own kind to war. Their noble principles forbid such actions."

"Times change," Eoch dismissed with a wave, striding toward his tent. His pavilion stood apart, draped in golden silk with ornate tassels swaying in the night breeze. A royal gryphon of pure gold perched atop it, gleaming in the firelight. At his approaching footsteps, the tent flap lifted, and a black-haired girl emerged. She was young - fifteen at most - with a frame to match her tender years. One small breast slipped free of her garments, the flickering firelight painting shadows across its curve. "In times of war, royalty seeks gain and commoners mere survival. Threaten either, and even the noblest Elves might stoop to baseness. Besides, those aiding Cynthia could be Sylvan Elves, not necessarily the High Elves of Illuviλofer."

The girl's smile blazed bright. "That's enough for tonight. Time for rest - if I have any strength left for sleep." He smiled back at her eager hands reaching for his trousers. "Inside, Ali. Not here." She tugged at his armor, but the iron plates refused to yield. "Let me remove my armor first, won't you?" He stroked her midnight hair as she kneaded his groin in response. "You impatient minx," Eoch laughed, sweeping her into his arms. Ignoring her soft fists against his chest, he carried her within.

"That girl could be his daughter," Tyler murmured.

Devalosfang shrugged heavily. "Nothing to be done. She's the youngest among the camp followers."

"Some men have such tastes. Though she's nearly of age," Carl said, clasping Tyler's shoulder. "I find myself wondering what Amy will look like at that age. Will she have such bright, dark eyes?"

"Even the brightest eyes grow dim in these times of war," Tyler sighed. "Carl, if you'd seen that girl's gaze, you'd know her eyes have already lost their light. Her soul is riddled with wounds - wounds we put there." He gestured downward. "Power breeds profit, profit sparks war, war threatens survival, and for survival, they turn to this. I wonder, if Lord Eoch had a daughter, would he still take that young girl into his tent?"

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Devalosfang yanked him away before he could finish. They strode far from Eoch's tent before he stopped, voice barely above a whisper: "Mind your tongue, Tyler. Gods damn it, don't you know? Eoch does have a daughter!"

Tyler fell silent. Carl caught up, breathless. "My lord, I've never heard the captain mention a daughter."

"Gods preserve us. Of course he wouldn't, Tyler Wynlers. Who speaks freely of a dead child?"

Ravens settled back on their branches, wings rustling in the dark.

Gods above! Tyler thought. What have my loose lips done?

"By the Gods, listen closely, both of you," Devalosfang's voice dropped even lower. "He had a daughter - legitimate, born of his wife, no bastard child. Fourteen years past, before Godma's unification, came the 'Bloodline Rebellion.' You know it - Emperor William hanged five hundred souls for that uprising. The Oberna house, Eoch's family, was implicated. They were branded traitors. Only their generations of service to Godma's emperors saved them. Duke Eoch faced treason charges but escaped execution for exile to the frontier. Remember, the empire waged war under crushing debt then. Those newly conquered borderlands were wastelands where people starved in the streets. His wife, refusing such shame, took her life the night before their exile."

"So Eoch, stripped of title and rights, struggled through chaos with his daughter alone."

"What followed needs little imagination. His daughter chose as many poor girls did then - becoming a camp follower. Don't think Eoch chose this - she did. Forgive me calling her just 'his daughter' - I never learned her name. She was fifteen when she shouldered that patched bag and left with the army. That bag carried all her father's hopes and dreams away forever."

"She sent money home regularly, to her lonely father in the frontier. Banks didn't exist in those wasteland towns - only dead dwarves and empty purses remained. To ensure her heavy Glens reached home, she sold herself to countless men, just so the caravan would carry her father's money home. The old gods showed some mercy - the caravan leader forbade his men from robbing her purse. That's how Eoch survived among beggars so long, outliving even his child."

"My lord, I had no idea..."

"There's much you don't know, Tyler. Much none know," Devalosfang continued softly. "Even she didn't know she'd die two years later at the Battle of Prayer Bridge."

"Prayer Bridge," Carl mused. "The far east, the Battle of the Bridgehead on Kolova's border."