The sun had already set, but Aeolwyn could still see the river in the distance. It was cold and windy on the ramparts atop the outpost, but it provided a good view of the surrounding area. The land was altogether too forested, and too many trees were too close to the outpost. Those needed culling around—it was too easy for a group to sneak up on the outpost undetected.

  He didn’t have the men he needed to do everything that needed to be done. The men were too busy putting up defenses to clear the forest. The best he could do was have the men chop down the trees nearest the outpost to use in the new wall they were constructing.

  The wall was coming along but was far from being complete. It made him nervous. The Fenns could attack at any time, and without the walls, a proper moat, and a clearing beyond, they were begging for trouble.

  “So, it’s like a company of archers, but using mages? Why?” Egne asked.

  Aeolwyn sighed. Egne just didn’t understand the utility. In his mind, like in the minds of others, mages were deployed as a single unit in a larger group of infantry. They would sometimes cast attack spells but were usually there for spot healing.

  More often, they were used as a part of a small group of irregulars for special missions like infiltration, counterintelligence, or the like. Such as when Aeolwyn took Egne on his mission to infiltrate Tinar Outpost. But Aeolwyn saw a bigger use for them. Not just as a defensive and protective unit, but as a group put together as a mighty offensive weapon.

  “Yes, but they would do so much more than just shoot magic arrows. They could collectively cast protection spells on the shield wall, or focus-fire on a specific point, or we could send a mounted unit to flank the enemy and cause havoc behind their lines.”

  “But our offensive spells just don’t have the same range as an archer’s arrow. How could we get close enough without putting ourselves in danger? And don’t say horses, because I can’t ride a horse and cast a spell at the same time. It’s impossible to split concentration like that.”

  He had to admit that was a big problem. While archers and mages were both vulnerable to attack, the greater range of the bow kept them in relative safety. He had some ideas to keep them safe, though. He just needed a cartwright and time to experiment.

  “Even in a shield wall it’s difficult,” Egne continued. “If you get jostled or hit, or have to dodge an incoming attack, the spell is basically gone, and you have to start over. I just really don’t think you understand the amount of intense concentration it takes.”

  Egne had a point. Aeolwyn wasn’t a mage, so he really had no idea what it took to cast spells. He wasn’t interested in magic when he was younger, so he never thought to even talk to Jor Bashi, his father’s mage.

  “That’s why I’m asking you about this. You’re the only mage I know,” Aeolwyn said.

  If he could figure out a way to bring magic to the battlefield in a significant way, it could completely change the face of warfare. His biggest issue would be that if he succeeded, how would he prevent his enemies from using it against him?

  “Anyway, it’s late. I’m going to bed. Just think about my idea. Maybe we can figure something out together.”

  He walked back into the outpost, heading down the stairs that led from the ramparts of the tower to the top floor. They were dusty and rotting out. Another thing that they would have to replace. This outpost was in such bad shape, they might as well burn it down and rebuild it from scratch. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the time.

  He followed the dusty corridor that led to his office, Reiva appearing out of nowhere to follow him. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had been sneaking around the ramparts when he was talking to Egne. He wondered if he should ask her opinion of the mage army. He knew she wouldn’t offer one unless he asked. She hadn’t shown any particular aptitude towards military tactics though, so maybe she wouldn’t be the best person to ask.

  He was so tired he didn’t bother to undress when he reached his bedroom. He just collapsed onto the bed. He tossed and turned for a bit. His mind was running like a sprinting horse. A war was coming, and there was too much to do at this outpost. The Fenns wouldn’t wait for him to be ready. They would attack on their own schedule.

  ***

  Even in the darkness, Fraius could see that the outpost was a disaster. It was abandoned for a long before the soldiers began to reoccupy it. They should have just torn it down and built a wall. That would have been a better defense than the poorly built, decaying tower that stood before him.

  He had delivered his army to the general of the Fenn army and was now on his way to sow chaos. The general told him that this outpost was their target, and the prince was in residence. They chose to work together on this assault before moving on to Fort Camulan itself.

  Here on the back side, only one man guarded it. A tall man with a missing hand. Although the man’s right hand was missing, it didn’t matter. He was deadly with a sword. He’d had a steel cap fitted over his hand that he could attach various items to, most often a shield. Fraius knew all of this because he was one of his men, who took the name of Child Albus when he was entered into the Courageous Order of Heavens.

  He toyed with the idea of punishing Albus for being so foolish as to let Fraius sneak up behind him. Maybe grab him by the neck and flip him to the ground. He chose not to, however. He may yell out and alert some of the other guards, which wasn’t something he wanted.

  “Albus,” he whispered.

  His man turned quickly, one hand reaching for his blade, while the other rose up to show a dangerous spike where his hand used to be. He recognized Fraius before he made things worse for himself by trying to plunge his dagger-hand into Fraius’ head.

  “Fraius?” he asked softly. “I had thought you were dead.”

  “I’m not so easy to kill,” he replied.

  “Captain Aeolwyn told us all you were killed two years ago.”

  Fraius frowned. It was not good for morale for the men he installed into the army to believe him dead. They may have deserted or potentially revealed their involvement with the order. Those that did so would be killed, either by the order, or by the army, so perhaps they would be smart enough to hold their tongues.

  “I was injured, but I have recovered,” Fraius said. “Never mind that. What is the status here?”

  “Captain Aeolwyn has taken up residence in the commander’s quarters on the top floor. General Alaric has taken rooms on the second floor above the ground floor. Commander Boede is here also, but I don’t know where he is sleeping.”

  Captain Aeolwyn, Commander Boede, and General Alaric? What a wonderful stroke of luck! They could cut the head off of this army in a single night. He couldn’t believe that the general in charge of Fort Camulan would be so foolish as to come here himself.

  Wait a minute, Captain Aeolwyn? When did that happen? Had the prince’s father pulled some strings to make that happen? He must have. There was no way someone so young and inexperienced would have been promoted so high so quickly. He wanted to ask, but didn’t have time.

  He would love to race to the top floor and take care of the prince right away, but he had to be practical about it. The general was the more important of the three targets he had been given; his death would throw the whole army into chaos. He would have to take him out first.

  But perhaps he could take them all out in a single stroke. He had an idea.

  “Show me to the general,” he said.

  Albus took him around the corner where a hole had been dug beside the fort down to its foundation. A set of rotten timbers had been removed and set aside. Replacement timbers were set into the hole, but had not been put in place yet, leaving a wide open gap in an otherwise entryless outpost, save for the single entrance on the floor above the ground floor.

  “Through there and up three floors. The general is in a room on the west side.”

  “Return to your duties. Tell the men to not break allegiance yet.”

  “Sir,” Albus said.

  Fraius dropped into the hole while Albus returned to his patrol. He slipped through the opening into the basement. How foolish the captain of this outpost had been to leave such a literal gaping hole in their defense. He was sure that this wouldn’t be the one.

  The basement was dark, empty, and reeked of dust and mildew. If he took a deep breath, he could smell the decaying remains of an unidentifiable animal. As he waited for his eyes to adjust, he could tell there wasn’t much in the way of stores here. How were they planning on feeding themselves?

  He could see a faint light across the room, coming from the bottom of what he presumed was a door. Cautiously and slowly, he made his way across the room to the light. Even if he suspected the room was empty, that wasn’t a given. He didn’t want to kick something by accident, so he took a few cautious steps, felt around for anything near him, and then took a few more. It was painfully slow, but safer than trying to sprint in the near-pitch blackness.

  The door handle had a locking mechanism with a keyhole, but as he tried it, it opened. Another foolish misstep by the soldiers occupying this outpost. He could have taken it with a dozen soldiers if he had wanted to.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  But that was the business of the Fenn army and not his. He suspected they were planning a frontal assault as soon as their men were in position. Another foolish tactical decision, considering the ease with which they could get inside the fort. Maybe he’d see what he could do to ease things along.

  Carefully opening the door, he slipped into the soft light. There was a hallway to other storerooms to his right, and a rickety staircase to his left. He headed up the stairs. They had clearly seen better days, and if he were any heavier footed, they might have come down and taken him with them. This outpost could probably be demolished with a single hard blow.

  The corridors were empty as he made his way up to the fourth floor, where the general was sleeping. He did see a few guards on patrols, but they were easily avoided. They weren’t expecting anyone hostile on the inside, so did their jobs carelessly.

  As he climbed the stairs, he wondered how he would find which room the general was sleeping in. He didn’t want to have to search every room. That was be a waste of time and would increase his chances of being caught, but he would do it if he had to.

  He didn’t have to worry. There was a pair of sleepy guards on watch outside one of the rooms. They were the only ones in front of any doors that he had seen so far. This had to be the general’s quarters.

  He pressed himself against the wall and shimmied quietly along it. By the time the two guards noticed him it was too late. When the first one’s eyes widened at seeing a man appear from nowhere, he leapt, daggers blazing. His first strike sliced the man’s throat before he had a chance to yell.

  He kicked himself off the wall and came up on the back of the second guard, plunging his knife downward on the back of his neck, slicing his spine. The man collapsed without a word. He normally would have put some thought in as to where to hide these bodies, but by the time they were discovered, it would be too late.

  He tried the door, and it was locked. Finally, someone who had some sense! Of course, a locked door wouldn’t be much of an impediment to him. He brought out his lockpicks and set to work. The simple lock quickly opened under his skill, and he slipped inside.

  The general was on his belly, facing away from Fraius, snoring softly. Fraius wanted his chance to gloat, so he lit one of the lanterns beside the bed. While the general was still asleep, he gathered up the man’s hands and tied them behind his back. When Fraius was satisfied that the knots were secure, he rolled the man over onto his back. As soon as the general was awake, and he opened his mouth to yell, Fraius stuffed an oil-soaked rag into it. Alaric tried to spit it out, but he held it in place.

  “You will soon sleep, general, but first I wanted you to see who it was brought your doom.”

  The general struggled to get to his feet, but with his arms tied behind him it was difficult to maneuver himself. Fraius easily pushed him back down on the bed, pulled out the remainder of the rope he’d brought with him and tied the general to the bedframe.

  He grabbed one of the other lanterns and smashed it over the bound general, dousing him with its oil. He made sure to cover not just him, but his blankets and the straw-covered floor. The general’s eyes widened as he recognized Fraius’ plans. He tried to scream out, but with the oil-soaked rag in it, the muffled sounds were barely audible.

  Fraius grabbed the other, still-lit lantern and backed up to the open doorway.

  “Goodnight, general,” he said. “May the dreams in your next life be pleasant.”

  He bowed slightly and tossed the lantern back into the room. The arc was high, and it shattered as it landed on the edge of the bed. The oil remaining in the lantern ignited and quickly spread to the general’s blankets and to the floor. In a few seconds the blaze was a raging inferno.

  Fraius tipped an imaginary cap as he slipped back out of the room.

  ***

  When Ulfnar woke, he was back in his tower room. The last thing he remembered was eating and drinking himself sick. Lady Larella never returned, and the guard never brought that promised akavita. It was for the better though. Whatever he had consumed had given him a massive hangover that lasted for days. Lina wouldn’t stop saying I told you so.

  That had been weeks ago, and there still wasn’t any sign of a rescue. He’d spent every day and night looking out the little arrow slit for a sign of someone. All he saw was an elaborate carriage leaving the day after his visit with Larella. He assumed it was hers, and she was on her way back to wherever she had come from.

  It had been extremely quiet since she left. Not that it was particularly noisy before, but he’d occasionally hear shouts and stomps of other men. Guards, he presumed. Even a new guard had been bringing him his food. Patch, it appeared, had other duties. He didn’t know why, but he missed the ugly man.

  He plopped down onto the bed and grabbed Lina. “She lied to us, didn’t she?”

  ‘Does that surprise you?’

  No, he supposed he didn’t. Why should he have trusted a fancy dressed woman who came from out of nowhere, ply him with food and drink, only to pretend to ask for his help. But if she didn’t actually want his help, then why had she come?

  “At least I didn’t sleep with her,” he said. He had been tempted to, and almost gave in. When was the last time he had been with a woman? He couldn’t remember. After a while, he’d stopped missing it. He didn’t know what to make of that—in Teorton, he’d been known as a royal with a high libido.

  ‘She poisoned you,’ Lina said.

  Did she? He seemed to remember there was wine, and he drank a lot of it. Enough to black out from the alcohol. After all the weight he had lost in this prison, it wouldn’t have taken much. He couldn’t discount the possibility though. But to what end?

  “I’m going to rot in here,” he said.

  ‘Look on the bright side,’ Lina said, ‘you look strikingly good skinny.’

  He lay in bed hugging Lina until it was dark. Her cold embrace comforted him. He had come to the realization that there was no chance of a rescue. He was fooling himself to think otherwise. What was the use in hoping? What was the use in anything? He might as well give up on everything.

  If he was going to rot, might as well get on with it. He resolved that the fastest way to meet the end was to just stop eating. The way they were feeding him, it wasn’t like he was going to get any hungrier.

  Lina didn’t protest.

  Several hours later, him sitting in the darkness, the nightly thumping of a guard coming up the stairs interrupted his self-loathing. They were late, weren’t they? It felt like it was near midnight. They didn’t normally wait this long to bring him food. Maybe they were kind enough to help him reach his end.

  “Might as well go away. I’m not going to eat,” he said as the keys clanged in the lock.

  When the door banged open, the person who entered was not the guard he was expecting. Instead, it was a short woman. Not terribly short, but below average in height. She was dressed entirely in tanned leather armor, bloody sword in one hand and a helmet in the other. Behind her was a soldier holding the keys.

  Her long black hair ran down her shoulders. She was homely rather than beautiful. A stark contrast to the voluptuous Larella. Her dark skin gave her an exotic look. Exotic to him at least. Dark skin was a rarity in Camulan.

  “Are you here to kill me?” he asked. “Good. I won’t resist.” He laid back on the bed and spread his arms wide, but did not let go of Lina. If he was going to be killed, he wanted her by his side.

  “Don’t be foolish, highness. Get up. It’s time to go.”

  “Beheading Hill is so far away, I’d rather not. Just kill me here.”

  “For the last time, I’m here to rescue you, not kill you, idiot.”

  He lifted his head up. Rescue? Could it be true? Was this the woman who was promised? Did it matter? If she was taking him to kill him, he was planning on starving himself to death anyway. If he was going to die, might as well go with her first.

  He held the doll in front of him. “Well, Lina, what do you think? Should we go?”

  The woman sheathed her sword, strode over to him and grabbed him by the arm. He resisted being pulled to his feet. Not until Lina answered him.

  “We don’t have time for this foolishness,” she said. “Furis, help me.”

  The other soldier strode over and grabbed his other arm, lifting him from the bed. Together they began dragging him across the floor towards the door. As they crossed the threshold Lina finally answered.

  ‘Might as well,’ she said. ‘What do we have to lose?’

  They had nothing to lose. With Lina’s approval, he stuffed her in his pocket, got his feet under him and yanked his arms from his two rescuers.

  “I can do it,” he said. “If you’re going to kill me, at least I’ll see the stars before I go.”

  Bloody bodies sporadically littered the floor as they made their way out of the tower. Much fewer than he expected. How did we not hear this?

  ‘We were asleep,’ Lina answered, ‘and the walls are two-feet thick.’

  They walked carefully, but not without urgency through the rest of the tower, and out the two front doors. Three bodies littered the doorway. One had his head impaled on the portcullis, which they apparently tried to close during their siege.

  They met up with four more soldiers when they exited the tower. The first thing he noticed was the smell. The smell of fresh air. He had been in the tower so long; he forgot what it smelled like. It was sweeter than he remembered.

  The moon was full and bright, shining down on all of Laryndor. The stars, still twinkling brightly despite being beaten back by the moonlight. The air was brisk, but not cold. A chill ran through his body, and not because of the temperature. He was free!

  They led him away from the tower for another hour before they came down into a gulley beside a small copse of trees. In the gully sat another soldier with a carriage and four horses. Without taking a moment to rest, the woman ushered Ulfnar into the carriage before following herself. Outside, four soldiers mounted their horses, while the final one climbed aboard the carriage before it lurched into motion.

  The carriage was utilitarian rather than fancy—essentially a box on wheels. A non-descript vehicle that wouldn’t have been out of place in a small village farm or a capital city. It was a perfect vehicle for a sneaky escape.

  “Are you going to grace me with your name?” Ulfnar asked.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “We didn’t have time for introductions in the tower. I am Tylenna of the Spires.”

  Of the Spires? He’d never heard of it before. It sounded like a very fancy place with lots of tall towers. Would it be too farfetched to guess that it was in Tambryne? After his meeting with Larella, he surmised that he must be in Camulan’s southern neighbor.

  “And let me guess…” he paused for dramatic effect, “you need my help to overthrow the Archduke.”

  Her face widened in surprise. Her hand unconsciously went to a dagger at her hip. She probably didn’t even know she had done it.

  “How did you know that?” she asked, eying him warily.

  “Lady Larella told me,” he answered. “She a friend of yours? She knew you were coming.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “She knew?” and then under her breath, “how…?”

  ‘She seems nice,’ Lina said, ‘I hate to kill her.’

  Him too. He already liked her better than Larella, despite barely talking to her. She seemed more earnest than his captor. But a deal was a deal, and now he had to worry about an assassin on his trail to make sure he did what he promised to do.

  “What happens if I don’t help you? What if I jumped out of this carriage right now?”

  “I think you’d find the Great Bog quite unpleasant,” she said. There’s a narrow maze of paths through it, and they’re difficult to find if you don’t know where they are. I’m afraid you would starve here.”

  She paused and reached into her pack. She pulled out two things: A heavy sack of gold, and a meatpie. She handed them over to him. “I’m sure a prince on the run has need for both of these,” she said. "I won’t stop you from leaving, but I beg you to hear what I have to say. My proposal will ease any reluctance you might have towards staying.”

  After he took the two packages, she spread out as best as she could on the carriage’s bench, closed her eyes and went to sleep. It was a strange display of trust, considering they barely knew each other. He could lean over and plunge her dagger right into her chest.

  He almost did but stopped himself. Not because he would be immediately killed by the soldiers when they found her dead, nor because he would find himself dead among the grasses and stink of the Great Bog. No, he was staying because he found Tylenna of the Spires interesting. He stayed because he wanted to know what was going to happen next.

  He still had to find his way to Fort Camulan though, so he couldn’t take too long. Aeolwyn needed his help. But how would he get there? If Tylenna could protect him from the assassin who was probably already following him, and he did what she wanted, maybe he could convince her to travel north. His only other option was to sneak away in the night or kill her.