Yechvan surveyed the wide expanse of dirt. It was flat and dry, with sparse grass and only a handful of trees visible. He was having trouble focusing on the task at hand. His mind, muddled by lack of sleep, drifted to his conversation with Kenji deep into the night. A massive yawn sent a shiver through his body as he wondered whether Ulula had finished setting up camp.

  “This looks like a suitable spot for a battle,” Zu suggested. He was weary of their reconnaissance. After parting ways with Ulula at Madame Sho’s six days ago, he’d been irritable and quiet. He’d cursed his father a hundred different times.

  “Perhaps,” Yechvan said, “but the Perysh cavalry will be too powerful on flat land. If we end up fighting a pitched battle here, we won’t last long. We’ll need to prepare a safe egress.”

  “It would have been nice to spend a few more days with Yona,” Zu said with a rueful sigh, staring back the way they’d come.

  “Are you listening to me?” Yechvan groused. “I thought her name was Ona, anyway.”

  Zu laughed. “Leave the names to me, Yog.”

  “Can you focus on our predicament here?”

  “Let’s head east.”

  “To the river,” Yechvan mused. “If only it flowed north instead of south. But perhaps we would benefit from another look now that we’ve scouted more of the region.”

  Yechvan remounted his mare, his thoughts turning once more to battle plans and preparations and contingencies. They made their way east, Solonia settling over their shoulders. Once the horses took the lead, Yechvan reached into his pack for the map he’d been drawing since beginning their scouting mission. The notes and observations he’d scratched over the animal hide with his charcoal pencil had remained unsmudged, and he was thankful for the unseasonably dry weather.

  “I don’t understand your obsession with maps,” Zu said.

  Yechvan rolled up the hide and stuffed it into his saddlebag. “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve had your nose in that thing since we left Banton.”

  “Surely, as my friend of fourteen years, you must understand the importance of choosing the battlefield,” Yechvan said, resting a hand on the smooth leather pommel of his saddle.

  “Of course it’s important, but it isn’t the only element that matters.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “The preparation, the practice, the armor and weapons—none of that matters?”

  “Not if you fight in the wrong place.”

  Zu spit a long, hot stream. “That is still just one piece of the puzzle.”

  “Yes,” Yechvan agreed. “The most important piece.”

  “Not when you and I are on the field.”

  “Your strength lies on the battlefield, certainly, but mine lies in creating the perfect battle conditions in which to fight and, hopefully, win.”

  “You are one of the best with the blade.”

  “That means nothing,” Yechvan said. “All the best warriors train with polearms, all the best riders with bows, as you well know.”

  “You have proven that you can stand beside the elite wielders of either weapon through your hard work and dedication. You’re as capable as any orc or blooded from our class of recruits.”

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  Yechvan gave a grim chuckle. “More than half of them are dead, Zu. And none of the rest left the Great Northern War unscathed.”

  “As if anyone did,” Zu grunted, falling quiet. “Who were you talking to last night?”

  Yechvan regarded his oldest friend, unsure if he should indulge Zu’s curiosity. Although his ghostly visitors had come up more than once, Yechvan had never named them, never admitted beyond shade that he believed the spirits were real. He and Zu had crossed much ground together, but this was uncharted territory and Yechvan had no map. Then again, any path worth walking was easier with company.

  “Kenji, an old friend from Hodu.”

  “I recognize the name. Why did he come to visit you?”

  Yechvan hesitated. “The spirits appear more frequently when our future is uncertain.”

  “When did you last speak to one?”

  “On the way home from the temple and just before we left, but they’re always lingering in the shadows. For years their visits have been sporadic. The last time I saw them with this regularity was in the thick of the war.”

  He didn’t invoke Sevora, who had served as his mentor and friend and had helped him navigate the bloody conflict, even after she’d died in his arms. Nearly six years on, it still didn’t feel right to mention her.

  Zu studied Yechvan’s impassive face, a line of concern etched on his brow. “You didn’t know our futures were uncertain before our trip to the temple, Yog.”

  Yechvan fidgeted with the reins. He shouldn’t have said anything. Zu was trying to be supportive, but he thought the spirits were Yechvan’s imaginings and drew comfort from that belief. Gru, he might even be right.

  “Which ones do you see?” Zu asked. “Soni? Juite? Geila? You must forgive yourself. How long will you carry their burden?”

  “To the grave, I’d imagine.”

  “You are not to blame, Yog.”

  “Stop calling me that,” Yechvan said. “You only do when you pity me.”

  “That’s not true. It only bothers you when you think I’m pitying you, but it is not pity.”

  “What is it then?”

  “Concern. You put too much on your shoulders. You cannot thwart the will of the gods—Eroa chief among them—with your schemes. To believe elsewise is the highest form of arrogance, and I have not known you to be arrogant, brother.”

  “Since Eroa willed the demise of our friends, I should forget them?”

  “Have I forgotten?” Zu bristled. “I still remember their names, their faces, their blood upon my hands as I staunched their wounds in that frozen wasteland forsaken by the gods.”

  “But it wasn’t your decision to move into Shuju Pass. We lost so many soldiers there.”

  “Maybe taking to the hills instead would have wiped us out entirely,” Zu countered. “You couldn’t have known that the Five’s army would flank our battalion. Moving into the pass was the only option. You were in charge, true, but we were all surprised when Dorin Sen outmaneuvered us. You are no more at fault than Orig and Pagda on watch that night; or Ulula and Sevora and I, your advisors; or Groha and Gida, who failed to spot the path through the rocks. You cannot blame yourself alone. It is a keen disrespect to the savvy of your enemy and to the men and women who fought and died by your side.”

  Yechvan stared ahead, swept up in the whirlwind of emotions in his heart. He recognized the truth of Zu’s words, but nothing would ever lift the weight bearing down on his soul. “You’re right, of course. It isn’t as if I asked to be haunted by the ghosts of our past.”

  “You’ve done nothing to dismiss them either, have you?”

  “You think I haven’t tried?” Yechvan growled. He had seen them since he was a boy and had never been able to shake his curse. But if he was honest with himself, he’d made little effort to escape their judgment. He deserved it.

  “Talk with Yun when next we visit the temple. Perhaps she can absolve you of your torment, or banish the apparitions of your waking dreams.”

  “Her counsel has never provided much solace, but at least I can find a restful night’s sleep at the temple.”

  “It’s a start,” Zu said.

  Yechvan made to pull the map back out, but Zu tsked.

  “Don’t you dare. Enjoy the sky, the horizon, the clouds, the wind. Turn your mind away from war and impending death. You spend so much of your time in dark corners. Live a little in Solonia’s grace. It is about to rain.”

  “If I don’t—”

  “No argument,” Zu barked. “No. Argument.”

  Yechvan grumped but did as he was told. Part of him was relieved not to be siphoning what energy he had by staring at his map while riding. He would never be able to silence the other part, worry over the war, but he would pretend for Zu’s sake. Yechvan looked around, intent on remaining surly, but Zu’s enthusiasm was infectious. The fool tossed his head back, black hair trailing behind like an inky river, and reveled in the burgeoning storm.

  The rain began as a gentle mist, but as they neared the riverbank, the dark clouds had converged on them, dumping fat raindrops in droves.

  “Gods be damned. Maybe we should find shelter?” Yechvan yelled above the din of growling thunder, fumbling with his pack, worried his map would be ruined.

  “No shelter anywhere near.” Zu shook his head. “The horses don’t mind. You shouldn’t either. Get that orc blood boiling to keep warm.”

  And so it was that Yechvan spent the next day and a half miserable and cold and wet.