Ladet leaned over the deep tub of water and scrubbed the saucepan. The soft and continuous chatter of the other three young boys who had been brought along as assistants and servers, filled the tent. They laughed and they joked however, this was not a task Ladet could enjoy.

He stared down at his red, swollen hands and bemoaned how the freezing cold weather was having such a disastrous impact on them. He wanted to point this out to Netle, the cook, and to Brelen. Swollen hands were going to significantly affect his bow practice.

He didn't say anything. The answer would be obvious. Everyone had to start somewhere and that included him. Even so, the thought of his short bow sitting idle in his tent while the other men were off defending the pass was causing him a great amount of impatience. That's where he wanted to be, right in the middle of the action, fighting the Brandeen people who were trying to escape. Wouldn't it be exciting to stand next to the Prince of Talbec or even Menelt? Maybe Menelt could show him how to use one of those axes.

Ladet picked up the large knife next to him that belonged to Netle, and swung it around his head, ignoring the drops of water that now ran down his arm.

Yes! Die all who try to pass. I'll slay you!

"You can save the world after you've finished washing the pots," Netle's gruff voice bellowed through the tent.

Ladet froze, Netle's glare fierce and threatening. He quietly lowered the knife, but his grip on its handle instinctively tightened at the sound of sudden angry shouts coming from outside the tent.

Ladet glanced expectantly back to Netle. The man scoffed and waved his hand at Ladet to keep going with his cleaning duties. When more shouts greeted their ears, Ladet watched Netle stride towards the front of the tent to find the cause of the raucous.

"Mother of all..." Netle turned and ran back to the young men. "Into the pantry, all of you!"

They all froze at the unexpected order.

"Now!" Netle hissed, looking over his shoulder.

The boys dropped their items at the sound of a loud, painful scream and hurried to the back compartment of the tent, a mere divide created by material, where Netle stored all his dry goods and grains. Ladet followed his fingers still clasped nervously around the knife. He caught some horse twinning hanging on the side of the tent and used it to quickly tie the knife to his belt.

"What's going on?" Ladet whispered when they were all squished into the small space.

"Mutiny from the looks of things," Netle whispered back. "You can all stay here. You're not trained against these grown soldiers. Don't leave until I return." With that, Netle ran out of the pantry, meat cleaver in his hand.

Ladet and the other boys listened to the chaos outside, of men yelling, swearing, of metal clashing. Was it the Talbecans? Were they fighting against Jale's men? Or was it whoever had come through the pass. Had they managed to make their way through all those soldiers at the pass entrance? No, Netle had said the word 'mutiny'. Didn't that mean men were fighting against the same men on their side? How could that be?

Ladet looked at the other boys huddling with him in the pantry. One cowered in the corner with his hands over his ears and another squatted on the ground covering his eyes. The third stood beside Ladet, the boys' eyes wide open in fear. Ladet was sure he had a similar expression on his face.

He couldn't stay here though. He had to do something.

Ladet turned and bolted from the pantry and raced towards the front of the tent to determine the situation. He parted the tent entrance a fraction and spied Netle, dead with blood pouring from a wound, ten meters from the front of the tent. Ladet covered his mouth with his hand, but instead of turning back and returning to hide, he let his eyes sweep across the rest of the carnage.

It was fortunate that the tent was near the top of the camp, and he could see a significant portion of the other tents. From where he stood, several of Jale's men were fighting with their swords. Another man suddenly ran across the front of Ladet's tent, blade in hand, screaming profanities and madness. Ladet dropped the flap and took a step back.

He took several deep breaths, his hands shaking and tried to collect himself. Without a doubt, he was defenseless here. He needed to get back to his tent he shared with Brelen so he could get his short bow and get ready to fight for Jale. Brelan would be very disappointed with him if all he did was hide in the back of a tent while Jale's camp was being overrun.

He decided to duck out of the side of the tent, away from the full sight of the entrance. He took one last deep breath and pulled the side of the tent up to his knees, high enough for him to crawl under, and scooted himself to the other side. He stayed crouched to ensure he hadn't been seen. No one was nearby. His personal tent was five tents over and two rows down.

The shouts of the men sounded a long way off. Ladet leapt into a run and ran across the lines of tents until he reached the fifth one over. He hid at the back of the tent and looked side-to-side to ensure he was still safe. There wasn't a soul in this section. He glanced round the edge and down the rows of tents. There were six rows of tents and seven in each row. It was clear, not a soul in sight.

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With another deep breath, Ladet started to run again. This time it was less distance. He only had to run down two rows to reach his. He ducked inside and held onto the simple wooden shelves Brelan had created to stop their belongings from getting dirty and damp on the floor.

His hands reached out for his short bow. He wouldn't feel safe until he had it in his hands. At the same time, his other hand clasped around his quiver. He swung it over his head and shoulder and onto his back. At a quick glance, he had about twenty arrows inside. He paused to steady his breath and hoped that he could steady the shake in his hand.

When he had caught his breath, Ladet turned out of his tent intending to head towards the outer reaches of the camp. He paused however, movement catching his attention to the right, and he dropped down low to the ground. He cowered at the edge of his tent and looked down the remaining rows.

There, hands tied behind his back, naked from the waist up, being half dragged and half pulled along with a rope, was Jale's friend Drean. He was only about three rows down from where Ladet crouched. But even from this distance, Ladet could see that Drean's face was bloodied and bruised, and that he stumbled over tent pegs and ropes because he couldn't see properly.

Drean tripped over another rope and fell to the ground face first unable to break the fall with his hands tied behind his back. An angry soldier that Ladet didn't recognize, turned back and grabbed Drean by the hair on his head and pulled him to his feet. The soldier pulled his arm back and delivered a hard blow to Drean's stomach. The force of it caused Drean to double over, and he spat a mouthful of blood from his mouth, his upper lip, double the size of what it was normally.

Ladet filled with anger. Frustrated and fuming, what could he do? There were five fully grown men surrounding Drean, their hands filled with swords.

Ladet continued to watch, judging and calculating. From this distance, he could land an arrow in at least two. That could be enough to distract them. He could then circle around and maybe get another.

Ladet positioned his bow and pulled one of his arrows free from the quiver. The same man who punched Drean, swung his hand up and landed another blow to Drean's left eye that was already puffy and swollen.

"Think you could live it up, hey," he drawled to Drean. "Think you can fuck Prince Jale and come out on top." He pulled Drean close to his face, but Drean, to Ladet's surprise, didn't respond or even register that he had been spoken to. "Well, the Prince don't mean shit. It was his own cousin that asked us to bring him down."

Drean gasped and before Ladet could even process those words, another soldier stepped up behind Drean and slit his throat. A cry escaped Ladet's lips as blood gushed from the wound, and he saw the shock in Drean's face as his body dropped to the snow-covered ground. In that one small second, as he fell and before his soul passed, Ladet was sure their eyes met across the distance that divided them.

Ladet pulled back behind the corner of his tent and closed his eyes. He bit down on his arm and tried to smoother the sobs that were escaping his mouth. Never before had he seen so much blood.

"Why the hell did you do that?" Ladet heard one of the soldiers say. "I wanted to do that in front of Prince Jale and watch him whimper."

Ladet fought the urge to throw up. He had failed to help Drean. The best he could do now was to avenge his death. It would be the only way he could face Jale and Brelen again. He peeked around the corner of the tent again to determine where each man stood. He rose to his feet, reset his position, and pulled the arrow back releasing it in one fluid movement.

The arrow flew smoothly through the air, aimed straight at the man who had slain Drean. It landed with a sickening clunk into the man's neck. The soldier stumbled in shock, his hands scrambling for the arrow now protruding from his skin. He struggled to breath, blood gurgling up in his throat.

The men in the group spun on their heels to face the direction which the arrow had come from, but Ladet had already moved on. He ran across and down one tent, trying to get a new angle. He spied another soldier from the group, pulled back his next arrow and let it fly. This time it landed in the chest of the man who had punched Drean in the face.

Quickly and swiftly, before the two unscathed soldiers could react, Drean let another arrow fly and a second arrow landed in the same man's stomach. The two other soldiers spun in the direction of the arrows, Ladet however, had quickly run off again finding a new position as the two soldiers headed to where he had just been.

Ensuring that he was not letting his guard down, Ladet hid in the corner of another tent. He surveyed the tents around him. No one else was close and he moved again, closer still and paused at the back of another tent. He quickly readied his bow and then, leapt out only to find one of the soldiers standing directly above him.

A cry escaped his mouth, and the soldier swung his arm down knocking the bow out of Ladet's hands. Ladet fell back, pushed his leg out and delivered a hard kick to the man's knee. He turned, reached for his bow and scuttled away seeking refuge amongst the maze of tents. He paused, finding another corner to stand against while the soldier cursed and swore loudly.

"Come out boy," one of the soldiers called, rather stupidly Ladet thought as he now had a good idea of where the man was. "Come on out, and we'll tell you what's going on. Why don't you come and work for Prince Yernal? He was the one who planned this whole attack. What do you think is happening at the entrance of the pass? Trust me, Uleron's regiment and half of Brelen's regiment have gone against Jale."

Ladet's brow furrowed in confusion. Prince Yernal was responsible for this? Wait until Jale returned from the pass entrance. Then he'd sort this out.

Ladet moved to another tent, the sound of the soldier's voice getting too close for comfort. He had to be careful. There were two soldiers searching for him. While he could hear the first, he had no idea where the second one was.

"Come on, boy," the soldier called again, trying to put on a friendly demeanor. "Prince Yernal pays very well."

"Never!" Ladet screamed before he could stop himself. He spied the soldier while his back was turned. He had a great shot. He let another arrow fly and the soldier who had been speaking, received an arrow to his head.

"You mother...!" The second soldier was only ten metres away, and it was then Ladet saw what he had been up to. He had caught the attention of some of the other rogue soldiers and they were also headed in his direction. Ladet's eyes widened at the sight of the five soldiers now running to reach him.

Ladet bolted. It had been a trap!