They mounted their horses and rode into the night. Neither spoke. Shayara’s thoughts circled the words she could not shake: I have plans to take him down with me. She had sensed no lie in them.

  They stopped at the edge of the tent.

  “It’s late, but we have a meeting with the senior officers once Marius returns with Arin. I’d like to introduce you to them,” Ragnar said.

  Shayara’s voice wavered. Her eyes glistened. “Why? So they can take care of me after you die?”

  Ragnar was caught off guard. “Shayara, you are a prodigy of the Crimson Army. You now bear the insignia. It is your duty to meet your superiors.”

  Her reply cracked with emotion, but the resolve in it was unshakable. “You still haven’t answered.”

  Ragnar held her gaze. “I have no intention of dying. But I am prepared to, if it comes to it. Such is the duty of a soldier.”

  Ragnar saw the grief in Shayara’s eyes. He knew it was cruel, but so was the destiny of a soldier. The sooner she learned, the better she could survive this harsh world.

  He wanted to console her, say something to ease her fear, but the words would not come.

  “You’re back.” Marius strolled into the tent without announcement, as he always did.

  Shayara quickly turned away, wiping her face.

  “What happened?” Marius asked, glancing between them.

  “Nothing. Where is Arin?” Ragnar cut him off.

  “He’s here. I may have told him about the dead Prophet.”

  Ragnar’s composure broke. “Why? Why not Moloch being a demi-god?”

  Marius shrugged, unbothered. “Because if Arin ran to Arabus, or worse, to his men then that news would spread like wildfire. The dead Prophet ensures silence. And he came.”

  Ragnar let the words sink in. As much as he hated to admit it, Marius was right. Arin’s loyalty to the eastern camp was fierce; even knowing Arabus’s failings, he would never risk their morale with talk of a demi-god.

  Marius tilted his head. “Here’s the strange part: the hounds and the templars are gone. As if their whole duty was to guard the gate from us. Now that the Prophet’s gone, so are they. Suspicious, don’t you think?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Wait here. I’ll bring Arin.”

  Ragnar glanced at Shayara. She had composed herself, but her eyes still carried the weight of unspoken thoughts.

  Marius swept back into the tent with Arin in tow. “Here’s our guest.”

  Arin wasted no time. “General, is it true what Commander Marius told me? I couldn’t believe it, but he said you would confirm it, so I came without hesitation.”

  Ragnar’s tone was heavy. “Unfortunately, it is.”

  Arin staggered at the words. “That bastard Arabus. I never knew he was a necromancer… How could he? How could no one see it? Holy Aver, give me strength.” His voice faltered, his conviction shaken by the confirmation.

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  Ragnar turned a sharp look on Marius. As he suspected, the commander’s greatest weapon was not a blade or spell, but his ability to weave stories from half-truths.

  “Here, have some water,” Marius cut in, pushing a cup toward Arin.

  He leaned back with that familiar grin. “So, General, I explained to Arin how Arabus killed the Prophet and turned him into an undead puppet he now controls.” His words were calm, but the deliberate glance he threw behind Arin was sharp enough for Ragnar to catch.

  Arin’s voice trembled with outrage. “Lord Ragnar, give me permission. I’ll drag Arabus here myself, he must be questioned. He’s not only a blasphemer but a dark mage.” He turned suddenly toward Shayara. “You! Marius said you discovered this with the General. Are you certain? If you’re wrong, they’ll execute you for blasphemy.”

  Before she could answer, Marius interjected with a flash of teeth. “She’s certain. We all are. And now you are part of this too, Arin, so if one word of this slips outside, you’ll hang as a heretic right alongside us.”

  Arin’s face drained of color.

  Ragnar’s voice cut through the tension, steady and controlled. “We are sure. But certainty is not enough. Arabus is high nobility. And we cannot accuse the Prophet without irrefutable proof, or we’ll all be branded heretics. That is not our most urgent concern.”

  Arin blinked in disbelief. “It isn’t?” The thought rattled him. In his mind, nothing could be more dire.

  “You know of Moloch, don’t you?” Ragnar asked.

  “Of course. The enemy’s leader. Yet to show his face on the battlefield, always hiding, sending soldiers in his place,” Arin replied.

  Ragnar’s voice was level. “We have intelligence. He is now a demi-god.”

  Arin felt the world collapse around him. “Another blasphemy…”

  “He comes along the Silent Road. The drake already lies dead,” Ragnar continued.

  Arin slapped himself hard, the crack loud in the tent. “So I’m not in the healer’s bed. This isn’t a nightmare.”

  “No. This is nothing but truth,” Marius interjected with grim satisfaction.

  Ragnar added, “Aside from us, only General Collin knows as well.”

  “He’ll help?” Marius asked.

  Ragnar nodded. At that name, Shayara’s eyes flickered. Her mind drifted back to the moment outside Collin’s tent, when she had sensed Ragnar’s unshakable resolve, and the shadow of sacrifice behind it.

  “What can we do, General?” Arin asked, his face drained of color. Then he straightened his back. “Give me orders. I am willing to die if it means taking down Moloch.”

  Shayara’s voice cut through before Ragnar could answer. It wavered, but there was iron beneath the cracks. “Why is the first answer always sacrifice? We are here to prepare, to win without throwing our lives away.”

  Marius glanced at Ragnar, lips twitching with some remark, but Ragnar shook his head, silently telling him to hold his tongue.

  Arin’s expression hardened. “No soldier wishes to die. But it is our duty. That is the destiny of every soldier.”

  The words struck Shayara like blades, cold and merciless.

  Ragnar finally spoke, his voice steady. “Arin is right, duty demands we face death. But you are right too, Shayara. Sacrifice should not be our first step, nor the only one. We prepare, we fight, we endure. And if death comes, it will be because we’ve spent every breath trying to live, not rushing to die.”

  Shayara clung to those words. So this is what it means to be a soldier.

  Marius broke the silence. “It’s time. The other commanders will arrive soon.”

  Ragnar turned to Arin. “We need the Law of Aver.”

  Arin shook his head, regret flashing in his eyes. “I wish I could help, General, but I do not know such a Law.”

  Marius leaned forward, gesturing toward Shayara. “But you know the fundamental theories. That knowledge will help. Together, we can figure out the Law.”

  Arin straightened, his voice firm again. “Then I will help in any way I can.”

  Ragnar studied him carefully. “Back at the eastern camp, won’t your people search for you?”

  Marius answered for him, casual as ever. “No. We told them we were bringing Arin here for better care. Most agreed. They really care for him. And Arabus… well, he doesn’t care about anything, so…” He trailed off with a shrug.