85

The next morning after breakfast they all gathered at the front gate of the fort. They were dressed in their full gear for their initial march to the southeastern part of the front. Once they reached that point, Bayle had provided them with common Tusynian clothing that they could wear to stay incognito, including thin colorful cloaks that were in fashion and would help them to conceal their weapons.

Jakub was there with them, and his armor seemed to have been patched and buffed in a few places where it had once been pristine. Michael doubted that he’d seen as much action as they had, but he’d clearly had some experiences of his own.

“How was the western front?”

“Still warming up for the most part. Mostly skirmishes, a few true battles have happened as well. They were… hard.” Jakub’s eyes were downcast as he spoke.

“Well, I’m glad to see you alive,” said Michael.

Jakub smiled slightly. “You too.”

“The western front can be brutal, and once the rainy season starts”—Crick shook his head—“sheer misery.”

Lance and Bayle were approaching with the same kind of tenseness that had been permeating the air since Michael had first seen them interact.

Lance was wearing his full plate, which had a similar number of fresh dings and scorch marks. His silver-hilted sword was at his waist, and a spear with a tip that looked to be a kind of reddish gold was on his back behind his shield. His gloves were an incredibly deep black that actually seemed to drink in the light around them. He gave all of them a once-over as he circled around, nodding as he moved.

“Good, you’re all ready, though I would expect nothing less.”

Bayle gave Lance a look. It wasn’t a glare—there was no anger in his eyes. There was almost a pleading in them instead. “Knight-Lieutenant Lance, I believe that you want what’s best for Stent, the same as I do. I would like to ask one last time. Please consider allowing me to accompany you. You have the authority, and it would drastically improve your chances of success. I will accept your orders during the mission.”

“It’s the wish of the war council that I be in charge of this mission,” said Lance. As Bayle’s ask was not in anger, Lance’s was equally empty of enmity. It was simply a statement of fact. “I appreciate your offer, though.”

Bayle shook his head. “So be it.” He looked at them one by one, nodding in acknowledgment as he said each name. “Ollie. Marcus. Pyotr. Michael. Davi. Crick. Be safe and smart. I wish you all luck.” He smiled lightly at Michael. “Say some prayers. Divine knows you’ll need them.”

They all saluted at Bayle and followed Lance out the front gate and onto the road, where horses had been prepared for them just outside of it. Michael was surprised that they’d managed to requisition them, but based on this mission, timing was everything, and Lance certainly seemed to have the political capital from his father to spend. Michael and the others mounted their horses with a bit more confidence than the last time, but they were still wobbly when they got their feet into the stirrups.

They moved along the road at a steady gallop, and Michael very quickly felt his thighs begin to groan and scream in protest from the constant friction of riding. Crick was fine, as he had been last time, and Lance and Jakub were true knights, so horsemanship had been foundational for their training at the academy and even likely sometime before. Michael recalled that Lance had a Deed for winning the Festival of Blades joust sometime in his youth.

Davi and Pyotr managed to endure the discomfort of the ride stoically, but Ollie was cursing like a sailor constantly as he cast cooling spells on his thighs. Marcus was a bit quieter about his discomfort, but Michael heard more than a few mumblings of discomfort from him as well. Michael himself wasn’t much better than either of them, but whenever his discomfort began to crescendo he’d heal himself and the others as long as they were close enough to one another.

They took a few breaks to water the horses and have small meals, but they were short and barely had time to steady themselves on their feet before they were on the move again. Lance gave an outward appearance of calm as they moved, maintaining a stoic expression and giving his orders in a calm and clear voice, even making small jokes on occasion, but there was something behind that. He had a tension to him, like a bowstring being pulled back to its breaking point, but never being let go.

Jakub was naturally quiet and only made light conversation as necessary while focusing primarily on what was ahead.

Michael liked both of them—they seemed like solid young men, but at the same time he felt like they were being led by babes. Bayle’s frequent warnings hadn’t helped with that, and he wondered how a man with the title of Spymaster didn’t have the authority to overrule Lance. Michael understood that on paper they had the same rank and that Lance had orders from not only his father, but the war council made up of multiple high-ranking generals. Still, it seemed ridiculous that Bayle couldn’t simply order him to make a change. He supposed that was all just the absurdity of the system. He remembered plenty of occasions back on Earth where he just had to accept the absurdity of things and move on, this was no different.

He expected to receive a number of knowing glances and slight nods from Marcus as they moved but had received nothing of the sort as they got on the road. He seemed to be giving Michael the space and respect he needed to make his decision on deserting on his own. For some reason that made him more anxious about it than if he’d been pressuring him.

They didn’t stop riding until there was too little light for the mounts to navigate by. They settled their horses, and Michael healed them of their soreness from the ride. They all had a quiet and tired meal, then they went to sleep, with Jakub taking the first watch.

Michael was awoken by the sound of metal striking metal. He sat up to the sight of an aelf dressed in a dark blue outfit holding a long serrated knife halfway into his tent. He moved to grab him, but the aelf managed to sink the blade deep into his hip before he could fully react. He grabbed the assailant’s hand, keeping the blade in his hip so that the aelf couldn’t attack somewhere more vital. He focused as he did so, the golden glow of his hand filling his tent with a bright enough light to blind his would-be assailant. He kicked the aelf into the edge of the tent as he tore the dagger from his hip to let the wound actually seal. He felt weak from the exertion of it but lunged forward with the knife that had been made red with his own blood. The tent fell onto both of them, but Michael was stronger than the wispy aelf, and so in the chaos of canvas and limbs he was able to drive the dagger into the aelf’s chest.

He tore himself from his tent, worried for Lance, who should’ve been on watch by this point. He could hear sounds of struggle and activated his Night Eye spell as he grabbed his shield and took stock.

An aelf was hurled past him and slammed into a tree, the impact causing a loud crack and his body falling to the ground limp. Michael looked at the source of the attack and saw another aelf cut nearly in two by a glowing silver sword gleaming in Lance’s hand. Lance looked like he was screaming, but no sound was escaping his lips.

Davi was smashing the head of another attacker into a stone, Marcus was wrestling with one on the ground, and a bolt of lightning hit another that was in a tree firing arrows down at them. Jakub was next to Michael, fighting off two with only his shield.

Michael leapt to his aid, slamming his own shield into the nearest aelf’s neck and knocking him down to the ground, where he clutched his throat and struggled to breathe. Jakub managed to trip the other one with a kick to his knee, and then he fell onto him, slamming the edge of his shield into the aelf’s face and leaving it a shattered mess.

Michael saw Pyotr fighting back against an aelf while a wound bled from his side and raised his hand to heal him as he moved to help, sealing the torn flesh and muscle as he moved, though he felt himself slowing as he did so. Pyotr managed to rally and danced around a strike, grabbing the aelf’s arm and throwing him onto the ground before slamming his heel into his throat.

All around Michael the fights were ending, and he saw Lance standing over three aelven corpses. He looked at them and said something, pointing at his mouth as he did so. Davi and the others did a quick check on their perimeter, making sure there were no other elves hiding and Ollie went closer to Lance, holding up a hand.

“He’s been silenced,” said Ollie. “I’d heard about this but never seen it. Can you hear me?”

Lance nodded.

Ollie closed his eyes and muttered a few words. Michael could feel a kind of pulse coming from him, as he channeled his magicka.

“Try talking now.”

“Can you hear me?” asked Lance.

They all nodded.

“Good. I had been worried for a moment that they’d killed all of you before attacking me.”

“Do you think they were targeting us specifically?” asked Jakub.

Lance frowned and started looking around the bodies, examining them closely. He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Aelven mercs have been in this area for a while. Other people have been lost. This was just an unfortunate coincidence.”

“For them,” said Davi as he wiped his hands clean on one of the dead aelf’s blue cloaks.

“I’d say so,” replied Lance, sheathing his silver sword.