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The night sky was black by the time the militia came to the clearing where Eaisan elected to make camp. Tents were raised in little time, and cooking pots steamed over campfires shortly thereafter. They managed to arrive without incident; there had been no attacks by wild animals and no encounters with the Vermillion Mages. Still, Vultrel's white-knuckle grip on the bow's handle had yet to loosen a hair, and his heart pounded through the jerkin. He'd gone camping with Arus numerous times, but never in an area that required a military patrol. The fear of an ambush—Vermillion Mages or otherwise—had reduced him to a jittering fright, and it made him sick to his stomach. At home he'd been brave. Arus looked up to him, his father was proud, and the girls wanted to kiss him. But if any of them saw him in this condition . . . Where is the bravery I had when we were trapped under the desert?
To be fair, his fear was based largely on the expectation that his father would discover him and send him home alone in the night. And under the Mayahol, Eaisan had been by his side protecting him from danger. Here, he was a soldier as far as anyone else knew, and he'd be expected to defend himself when the time came. What would happen if he were cornered by a group of Mages? Mauled by bears? Hunted by wolves? What have I gotten myself into?
"Relax, Marc," Raye's hand thumped his shoulder. "You act as though you've never spent a night in the wild before." He laughed as though he'd made some fantastic joke.
Vultrel's voice squeaked when he spoke. "Just anxious to get to the castle, that's all."
"Well, we won't be going any further tonight, so you may as well have a seat and take a breather."
Their tent was located on the east edge of the clearing where the trail to Narleaha disappeared into the night. A small fire warmed their cooking pot just outside the tent where logs had been hauled in for seating. They were a good distance away from where his father settled—luck had been on his side—and the numerous tents between them gave a good amount of cover. A little more luck, and he'd be able to get through another day's travel without being discovered. By then, they'd be too far away from Keroko for Eaisan to send him home alone. Hopefully.
His breath caught when Raye spoke the words he'd feared. "Take your helmet off, lad," he prodded, removing his own with a grunt. His yellow hair curled so tightly that it looked like giant kernels of corn haphazardly lined across his scalp. "Enjoy the relaxation while we can get it."
He couldn't hesitate—that would raise any soldier's suspicions—but his eyes searched the nearby camps for familiar faces. Please don't let anyone recognize me! The helmet slid from his sweat-slicked hair easily; it had been made for an adult, after all. Raye gasped when his eyes fell upon Vultrel's face for the first time, bringing the young man's heart to a stop. Why is he looking at me like that? Does he know who I am? I never should've done this! What was I thinking?
All Raye said was, "Boy, they're recruiting younger guys every year! You can't be a day past sixteen!"
People had always said he looked older, and he knew he had to use every bit of luck he had. "Yeah, I wanted to join last year but Captain Eaisan wouldn't allow it. Said I still had youth to enjoy and that I shouldn't be so eager to throw it away."
Raye nodded as he sat on one of the logs beside the fire. "Aye, ain't that the truth." His armor, similar to Vultrel's, glinted in the light of the flames. "Don't take but a single arrow or a well-placed bear's claw to finish you off."
That was the least of their troubles. "I just wanted to be able to help out," he said with a sigh, seating himself opposite the soldier. "I know Arus. I want to help save him, if we can."
A puzzled look crossed Raye's face for a moment. "Arus? Oh! That boy that the Captain says the Mages hauled off, right?" Vultrel only nodded, staring into the fire. "That's a shame, if it's true. Those bloody Vermillions have gotten away with too much in the past. But don't you worry. Once His Majesty hears what those rats have been up to, why, he'll send so many lances to the desert that there won't be a Mage left when it's all over! He'll set things right. He always does."
"Don't underestimate the Vermillion Mages, Raye." Vultrel's face had hardened. "They're no pushovers."
Raye spread his hands. "Oh, I didn't mean it like that. I just like to keep hope alive, you know? It's good for morale. Besides, they may be strong, but Asteria's army is stronger."
"I hope so."
A long silence passed as they served themselves some vegetable stew. Vultrel worried about everything from being caught by his father to what the Mages might have done to Arus. What if they catch up with us? What if Arus is with him, enslaved by that implant? Will Father allow the militia to fight him? To kill him?
"Do you think it's true?" Raye finally spoke up when they'd finished eating. Vultrel gave him a questioning look. "About the boy, I mean."
It was Vultrel's turn to be puzzled. "I told you, I'm friends with him. He was taken—"
"No, no, that's not what I meant," the soldier shook his head as he poured some water into his flask from the waterskin. "I'm talking about him being, you know, a sorcerer."
Now Vultrel's eyes widened. "What? What are you talking about?"
"You haven't heard? There are rumors all over camp that the boy can use magic, like the Mages, and that's why they captured him. Wanted to raise him as one of their own, I hear."
The nerve of the man! Suggesting that Arus was a Vermillion Mage? "Arus is the son of Dayne Sheeth, former captain of the Keroko Militia. I assure you, he is no sorcerer."
Raye shrugged, gulping water from the flask. "Well, I just know what I hear. Whether or not it's true isn't really important to me. I just follow orders. I mean, some people even say there was no kidnapping at all, and that Captain Eaisan just wants to get revenge on the Mages for killing his partner during the war."
"My fa—" Vultrel barely managed to catch himself. The man's stories were beginning to heat his blood. "Captain Eaisan would not risk the lives of the militiamen for revenge. It goes against everything he stands for."
"But Marc, don't you find it kind of odd?" Raye continued, clearly oblivious to the effect his suggestions were having. "Why would the Mages kidnap some random kid? Why not two? Ten? Fifty? Why kidnap? Why not just kill them and get it over with? It doesn't make any sense."
There was so much more to the story that Eaisan had obviously left out during the explanation of his absence, but it was not Vultrel's place to reveal it. Likely his father didn't want to raise additional fears among the soldiers. "I'm sure they had their reasons."
Raye shrugged again as he returned his bowls and utensils to his saddlebags. "I don't know, maybe Eaisan is just losing it. He's an old man, after all. Maybe he dreamt the whole thing up and thought it was real. Maybe he glimpsed them dragging an animal carcass out to the desert to be cut for meat and mistook it for a person."
"I told you before," Vultrel rose to his feet, fists unconsciously clenched, "I know Arus, and I know that he has been abducted!"
"Did you see it happen?"
He again caught himself before speaking. It was important that he be careful what to reveal. "N-No," he finally stammered, "but I—"
"Then how do you know that's what happened? Maybe he went to Narleaha to see a relative. Maybe he went out late one night and got attacked by wolves. There are a lot of possibilities besides kidnapping, and each of them seems more likely to be true."
Vultrel had heard enough. "You don't have to believe it. Just be sure to follow Captain Eaisan's orders when they're given." Raye opened his mouth, but Vultrel gave him no room to reply. "I'm taking first watch. Get some sleep while you can, because Eaisan likes to rise before the sun in the morning."
Raye muttered something as he walked away—Vultrel caught the word "touchy" near the end—but he put on his helmet and headed into the forest. As soon as Raye was out of sight he swore loudly and drove his fist into the closest tree. Listening to
the man disrespect Arus on any other day would've been merely insulting, but considering what had happened, it was more hurtful than even Vultrel could've anticipated. Arus would never have allowed anyone to speak of his closest friend in that manner, yet Vultrel had just walked away while Raye spat on the sacrifice Arus had made to rescue him from the Mages.
No doubt that was why Eaisan was so determined to strike back at Truce. Arus could've escaped from the Mayahol, but he instead chose to risk everything to save both Vultrel and Eaisan. Now, he was either dead or enslaved—the former being more likely—and no one even knew of the bravery he'd shown . . . or the punishment he'd received. Eaisan had always taught them that revenge was immoral, petty, dangerous, and futile. Yet Vultrel couldn't help but wonder how much of his father's recent actions had been driven by his desire to see Truce pay for what he'd done. If that were the case, Vultrel would never blame him.
He supposed he had no right to be angry with Raye. Eaisan had, after all, held back a large part of the story. All the militiamen knew was that the Mages were once again building up strength in the Mayahol and that more manpower would be needed to overwhelm and defeat them once and for all. Vultrel wondered what it would be like to be a real soldier, always expected to follow orders without question, never really knowing why or for what cause. He wasn't sure he could have such blind loyalty to anyone, the exceptions being Arus and Eaisan. I'd never make it as a soldier. I don't have the nerve for it.
The thought brought his attention back to the forest he'd lost himself in, and his fears sprang to life once more. He could vaguely make out the silhouettes of several other watchmen in the distance, keeping guard over their sections of the border. Clad in steel-plated leather with bell-shaped helmets like to his own, they walked in circular patterns that intersected with each other to form a chain link of patrols around the entire camp. A quick look showed the empty link that either he or Raye was expected to fill, and Vultrel headed in that direction. His heart nearly thumped into his throat, and he forced away the urge to vomit. I cannot let fear stop me. I was going to have to fight on my own sooner or later anyway. If I can survive the Mayahol, I can survive this. I can't have my father watching over me for the rest of my life.
A shout from the left drew his eyes to several militiamen northeast of the camp, swords drawn and shields ready. The cry came again, this time crisp in the night air. "Wolves spotted northeast! Wolves to the northeast of camp!"
The other soldiers in the area raced toward the commotion, raising swords and drawing arrows as they ran. Vultrel had barely taken three steps when he saw them; wolves of white and black sprinting toward the clustered men from their left. An arrow flew from his bow before he realized he'd drawn it, sailing through the air and piercing one of the animals' ribs. It snarled and snapped the arrow in its jaws before turning its golden eyes upon him. An icy chill ran through Vultrel's bones as he lifted the bow again, this time aiming for its eyes. The arrow found its mark in the animal's left socket, and the wolf slumped to the ground. Its body was trampled by the rest of the pack as they continued toward the militia.
He was still moving forward, he realized, closing in on the battle. A scream pierced the air—human, to Vultrel's disappointment—and an armored figure fell amidst the struggle. Soon another fell, and another. Vultrel lifted his bow several more times without firing a shot; the wolves had unknowingly positioned the militia between themselves and him. He kept shuffling to the left, hoping to clear a path, but the other soldiers that had responded to the call added to the mayhem, preventing Vultrel from firing any more arrows.
Behind, a flow of soldiers emerged from the camp with Captain Eaisan in the lead, his long sword glistening in the moonlight. Vultrel's feet felt frozen in place as he stared at his Father. Don't look at me, please!
But Eaisan hurried right past him, sparing him only a momentary glance before shouting, "To arms, men! To arms!"
As the militia streamed by, Raye thumped Vultrel on the shoulder with a heavy hand. "Your sword, Marc! Draw your sword!" He was off and running before Vultrel could say a word.
It all seemed to be happening in slow-motion. The militia converged upon the pack of wolves with blades bared while the occasional scream signaled another fallen soldier. Others called to him, pushed him, begged him to join the fight to save the camp. Arus was able to fight without my father's supervision to get him through. He was brave for us, and now I have to be brave for him. He dropped the bow and ran, sword suddenly drawn, teeth clenched in a mixture of fear and determination. I will not be controlled by fear. I will not be controlled by fear!
The blade severed three paws and felled two wolves before he stopped screaming. Adrenaline kept him moving, swinging his blade in a fluid motion of attacks that dropped wolves and scattered others. Up close, the pack appeared to total nearly twenty, though the number dwindled quickly under the attacks of the militia. Vultrel slashed his weapon through the side of another, and hacked the spine of one more. The last fell with a vicious bark, and Vultrel drove his sword through its heart. When it finally stilled, an eerie quiet filled the woods.
The militiamen kept eyes in all directions, watching and waiting for further attacks. Slowly, men began to exhale, hands loosening around hilts and attentions shifting to the injured. Once it was clear that they were safe—for the moment, at least—Eaisan began handing out orders. "All right, men! Listen up! I want the wounded brought back to camp immediately! Wolves can smell blood, and I don't want to attract any stragglers. Everyone clean up your injuries if you have any." He paused for a moment, his eyes falling on two motionless soldiers amongst the wolves. When he spoke, his voice was solemn. "Are they dead?"
A helmetless soldier with shaggy dark hair bent beside them to check. After a few moments and a heavy sigh, he rose and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Captain."
Eaisan bowed his head, and the other soldiers followed suit. Vultrel closed his eyes, too, until his father spoke again. "They died protecting us, and we fight to protect Keroko. Let us not allow their sacrifice to be in vain."
"Yes, Sir!" the militia responded in unison.
"Bring their bodies to camp," Eaisan said, sheathing his sword. "We'll give them a proper burial there."
The injured soldiers were helped back to camp by their comrades while the dead were lifted by several others. The remaining men had already begun to spread across the forest in an attempt to reestablish control of the perimeter. Vultrel returned his weapon to the scabbard on his back, but he couldn't tear his eyes from the motionless bodies being carried back to camp. That could've been me. It could've been Father. Under his father's tutelage, Vultrel had felt as though he could walk through fire and carry the world on his shoulders. But on his own, he suddenly felt naked, teetering on the edge of a blade, positive that it was only a matter of time before he fell.
He never heard the patter of paws across the grass behind him. The wolf's weight crashed into his back, knocking him to the ground face-first. The animal had a mouthful of his jerkin between its jaws, violently yanking and pulling at Vultrel's shoulder. There wasn't enough time for panic despite the flood of fear that had stopped his heart. His elbow managed to find the animals snout, knocking its grip loose long enough to roll onto his back. The wolf snapped at his helmet—thank the Maker for that helmet!—and its paws clawed and scratched against the steel-plated armor. Vultrel wanted to cry out for help, but terror swallowed his voice, and the beast once again locked its jaws onto his shoulder. It struggled wildy, tearing holes in the leather between the plates as it thrashed, its claws stomping holes in his legs. He grabbed the animal around the throat with both hands and squeezed as hard as he could, hoping to force a release. And then what? What can I do?
The wolf let out an abrupt yelp and released Vultrel's shoulder. Another cry, and it scampered to the right, freeing his legs. Vultrel shoved with every ounce of strength he had, knocking it to
the ground as he scrambled to his feet. It was upright again before he could even draw his sword and leapt for Vultrel's face with jaws wide open. Steel flashed as Eaisan's blade came down on the wolf's neck, knocking the animal back to the ground with a fatal blow. With its head nearly severed, it took mere moments to die.
"Are you all right, soldier?"
Reluctantly, Vultrel faced his father. It was an effort to disguise his voice, but it a deep tone, he responded. "Yes, Sir. Thank you."
"A bit different from the Mayahol, isn't it?" Eaisan asked, wiping his blade on the wolf's fur.
I knew it! He knows it's me! Still, without an outright admission, Vultrel had no intention of surrendering his identity. "The Mayahol, Sir?"
Eaisan's brow furrowed. "It's Marc, isn't it? Marc Cohen? Don't you patrol the forest between Keroko and the Mayahol Desert?"
How did he get that name? Did Raye say something? Maybe he overheard? "Y-Yes, yes it is. I mean, I do."
"There's a lot more room to maneuver out there," his father continued, "and the torchlight from the village walls make it easier to watch for animal attacks. Keep your guard up, Marc. Things are a bit more primitive out here. And see that those injuries are taken care of." He pointed to the spots of blood on Vultrel's pants where the wolf's claws had punctured his skin. "We don't want to draw any more unwelcome guests."
Vultrel could barely bring himself to murmur a response as Eaisan headed back to camp. "Yes, Sir." If he does know who I am, he's playing a cruel joke. But I guess as long as he allows me to remain under his protection, he can play as many jokes as he wants.