Ezril snapped to his feet. Bow in hand, arrow nocked, he took aim. He paused, not knowing what exactly he was aiming at. The people within the walls were too far for even his arrows to reach.

“What is it?” Salem asked, sharing in his alarm but not rising.

Fully drawn from his memory, it took Ezril a moment to realize what had so garnered his attention. “Fire,” he said. “Someone’s lit a torch.”

“Someone’s done what?”

“They know he’s there.”

“No,” Darvi disagreed, forcing a calm into his voice. “They know someone is there, but not who. If they knew who, there’d be more torches, and a greater chaos. Now, both of you sit yourselves down.”

Ezril spared Salem a glance, wondering when his brother had gotten to his feet.

“I’m quite surprised, brother,” Darvi continued after they sat down. “I’d have thought you most, out of all of us, Ezril, would have more faith in our brother. Besides, should anything go wrong we’ll be right here to aid him.”

Ezril took no solace in his brother’s words. A part of him felt the last sentence had been edited of its true ending. And yet, he had heard it as clear as the night sky… Or leave him, should we have to.

“Besides,” Takan voice cut through his thoughts, “I reckon if anythin’ goes wrong, we’ll be aiding the savages by steppin’ in.”

It was slightly over an hour to first light when their brother returned.

The number of lit torches within the walls increased drastically. The chaos seemed to threaten to burn the night in its flames. It was exactly what Darvi constituted as the enemies having found Olufemi.

Ezril held his breath in anticipation of an order Darvi was beginning to seem reluctant to give, and just when he resigned himself to disregarding the chain of command, Olufemi appeared at the top of the other wall, climbing down in a haste, cutting through the distance to theirs, covering it within many steps.

It wasn’t too long before they stepped through the open scorched field and were sprinting through the forest at Olufemi’s heels.

Certain that they hadn’t been followed, they pulled to a stop. Olufemi visibly seemed to require rest. Instead, he spoke, revealing the details of what he had found to Ezril in vrail while their brothers listened.

The Merdendi numbered at least over four thousand by his estimate, and from the arrangement of men and women, and the continued forging of weapons he had seen, there were more on the way.

“So we are to go to war.” Takan voice was debonair, but his eyes spoke of a displeasure.

Salem spat. “We were always going to war, Brother.”

Darvi shook his head and sighed. “Yes, brother. But it has come sooner than we expected.”

“Or later,” Takan suggested. “If it had come while we were still brothers of the seminary I reckon we could’ve avoided it.” He sighed in resignation. “Always reckoned I’d have a few years to get used to this fightin’ thing before anythin’ so grand.”

All they’d done was state the obvious, ranting one after the other. His irritation getting the better of him, Ezril snapped at Takan, his eyes leaving Olufemi for the first time since re-entering the forest, his voice sharp enough to convey his irritation at his words. “You’ve had one year! I surmise it should be more than enough for you to grow accustomed to the blood and the shit.” He returned his attention to Olufemi, his voice calm but still addressing Takan. “If you did not want this madness you shouldn’t have chosen to be an advocate.”

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Takan growled at him but said nothing. Ezril understood his brother knew he was right. An advocate was sworn to battle from the moment he put on his frock, regardless of the time or place, Takan had taken the oath as an advocate. For all his complaining and reluctance, he knew as well as his brothers that he and Darvi were the only ones amongst them who could do nothing to avoid the wars if they came. It had Ezril wondering what he would do if the Seminary called on him if he was away. Would he answer their call? Maybe he would take his bow to a war being fought miles away from him. Maybe he would take himself to war in service of Truth.

Maybe not.

“There’s no point to an attack within the walls,” Olufemi told him, “they don’t guard a gate. They guard everything. If we march against them without a plan and overwhelm them, they will have no problem leaving everything behind to survive.” He looked him in the eye, imploring. “We cannot let that happen, brother. We cannot.”

Ezril saw a desperation in Olufemi’s eyes he had never seen before, not even when he was a shy little boy in the seminary. He frowned at the blood on his brother’s head, almost dried up from exposure and realized it was the first time he was seeing his brother bleed since leaving the seminary.

Salem’s expression grew daunted. “This is bad.”

“What do you mean?” Darvi asked.

“Sending men within those walls quietly would require a small number, and it will most certainly be to their death. A frontal assault seems the only way. Besides,” Salem returned his attention to the wall, “I say we ignore the walls and go in from the front.”

“And the one-armed king?” Darvi asked.

Ezril cocked a questioning brow at Darvi. “King?”

“From all the information we have, they treat him as their king.”

“More like a god than a king,” Takan added.

Darvi frowned. “Well, he is not a god. So I will not refer to him as one.” After a brief pause, he added, “There is only one god.”

Olufemi looked at Ezril. Ezril nodded.

“I don’t know,” Olufemi finally answered, “He is not an easy foe.”

Darvi’s face grew pale. “What do you mean is not, Brother?”

Ezril focused on Olufemi. His eyes catalogued every injury, every scratch that marred his brother’s skin. The thoughts in his head putting the pieces together, his gaze settled on Olufemi’s eyes. He fought him, he realized. And he did this to him.

Olufemi stood straight, his gaze slowly surveying their surroundings. Ezril hadn’t sensed anything, but he knew better than to doubt his brother’s sense for blood despite whatever he had just been through.

How did they sneak up on us? Ezril wondered, slowly unsheathing his Sunders.

“What is it?” Darvi asked.

No one replied.

“What is it?” he repeated in vrail.

Olufemi ignored him, eyes searching. His gaze never deterred from its path. There was an alertness to him. Ezril realized he, too, didn’t know where the threat came from. As far as their brother was concerned, there was a threat. But its location was unknown. It didn’t sit right with Ezril.

“We have to leave,” Ezril advised Darvi. “If he doesn’t know what it is and we remain here, we might as well be accepting an unnecessary death.”

Darvi nodded, irritated. He’d barely given the order when Olufemi began his journey back to the camp.

All through their return Olufemi bore a scowl, like a beast that had lost its prey with no knowledge of how it had been possible. Or a man who’s been turned down by a girl he was certain would accept him.

It didn’t take them long to arrive at the camp. There they dispersed to whatever they wished to do. Salem retreating to his tent, and Darvi and Takan to wherever they wished.

“You have to get over it,” Ezril told Olufemi. “We can’t always know who’s watching.”

Olufemi spared him a glance but said nothing. The blood on his face was all but dried. In the glance, Ezril had seen what he thought. It seemed there were things his brother hadn’t thought possible, and both had happened in one night.

Olufemi stopped abruptly and turned to him. Their brothers were a distance away now. When he spoke his voice was a whisper. There was no anger and none of the disappointment Ezril had seen in his eyes, and yet, his choice of vrail vocabulary conveyed the feeling of rage.

“There are things that should never be, brother,” he said. “A being who I cannot sense should no longer walk the face of Vayla. Be he forsaken by god, or not.”

Before Ezril could offer a futile response Olufemi turned and left.