The Pulver Chronicles – 25. Something To Believe In

The negotiations with the council of Tinaun took a longer time than Jackson had thought. Although the show of force had swayed Basila, she was still not completely convinced. Jackson understood why: there were many unknowns to her and the rest of the council, starting with the Hellhounds. They had not been introduced as such to the council, naturally. All Basila and the councilors had been told -all they needed to know for now, according to Alizana- was that they were refugees and deserters from the Hexacracy, and that they had no interest at all in seeing the Archdemons triumph in the Southern Marches. It seemed like Basila at least sensed there was more to it, but she hadn’t asked any questions.

Basila’s people debated among them almost as much as they did with Jackson and Alizana. Someone, a local miller, asked whether it was a good idea to trust strangers with their protection. Others replied that they didn’t have the luxury of choice when it came to protectors. In fact, their only other option would be to offer their land to a neighboring marquess, in the hopes that the lord would agree to send some troops to man Tinaun’s walls -if they even had the available manpower to do so. In addition, the Hellhounds’ protection was more advantageous, economically speaking: all they asked for was food, as well as the right to hunt on their grounds. A marquess would have likely levied taxes on top of that, and probably made them heavy in the context of a war. It also helped that the Hellhounds had no interest in ruling, and would leave them to handle their own internal affairs.

After a few hours of debate, the council put the matter to a vote. The Hellhounds’ offer was agreed to unanimously. Even the seemingly reluctant and cagey miller had voted in favor. Then came the truly tedious part: the negotiation of just how much food Tinaun would give. Jackson had disliked haggling before, but after spending an entire evening and a portion of the night discussing the value of pecks of apples and bushels of wheat, he came to truly hate it.

It was late at night when Basila, the councilors, Alizana, and Jackson, all very tired in spite of the liters of eyelet milk they had drunk during the talks, came to an agreement. It was a rather even agreement, too, somewhat to the surprise of Jackson: Basila had had clearly more experience with haggling, so he had expected to reach a deal that was more favorable to her. Perhaps Alizana was as shrewd a negotiator, or perhaps Basila didn’t want the relationship between the Rebellion and Tinaun to start on the wrong foot.

Alizana and Jackson were welcomed to stay the night in town, which they appreciated, not only due to the late hour, but also because it had started raining. Jackson believed they would be offered cots, or maybe just the floor of a house, but in actuality they were given an actual bed in an unoccupied house. The young man realized then that he hadn’t slept in a bed with a mattress ever since his very first night in Atvello. This particular mattress was not as soft and comfy as the one in the Unstrung Duke, and the sheets were not of fine silk, but it was still a bed.

One bed, he thought nervously, glancing at Alizana. She glanced back, and he felt himself blushing.

Of course, one bed, he then thought. This was a very common setup in such a society, especially among peasants, who couldn’t afford a lot of furniture -or windows, or houses big enough to have several rooms. Basila most likely did not mean anything when she offered them this sleeping arrangement.

“You can have the bed,” he said gentlemanly. “I brought my sleeping bag.”

“Eh?” Alizana raised an eyebrow. “We can just share the bed.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Jackson dropped his backpack, and began unpacking.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would you sleep on the floor when you have a bed available? The floor looks uncomfortable, too.”

It did look rather uncomfortable. It was a wooden flooring made out of rough-hewn planks, which had probably not been sanded or varnished. Yet that discomfort felt like nothing compared to the one Jackson would experience sleeping near Alizana. Very near, in fact: that bed was not very large.

“Come on,” Alizana said, grabbing his shoulder. “You won’t get a good night of sleep otherwise.

Jackson knew she was right. Tired as he was, there was no doubt he’d fall asleep easily, but his night would probably be short, and he would wake up with a very sore back. So, with a little groan, he opted for the bed. A little voice in his head mused that Alizana’s insistence was only part of the reason why he had changed his mind…

He took off his boots and his shirt, then laid down. The mattress was bit on the hard side, and so was the pillow, but it was still a lot better than what Jackson had gotten used to. There were also a couple of sheets, and a wool blanket he and Alizana decided they wouldn’t be needing. Jackson was lying on his side, his back turned towards Alizana to offer her some privacy if she wanted to take some clothes off as well. And indeed she did. Jackson nearly jumped when she got under the sheets.

“You sleep nude,” he said stupidly, looking over his shoulder.

Of course she did, he grumbled to himself. Nightwear, in this world, was a luxury usually reserved to well-to-do individuals. Alizana and her people already had difficulty acquiring simple tools and necessities. And given their preference for nudity in private…

“I do,” she said. “Is that a problem?”

“No. No, no, no problem.”

But it’s gonna become one real fast, he thought, looking down at his lower body. He shuffled under the sheets. They were cold, but Jackson had no doubt they would get warm quickly. Indeed, Alizana was hot. That wasn’t a comment on her attractiveness: she emanated a lot of body heat. Jackson, still wet and cold from the rain, had to restrain himself not to reach out to her, to place his hands over her body and steal some of her warmth.

“You can take off your clothes as well, if you want,” she said.

“I’m- I’m good, thanks.”

‘Good’ was not an apt descriptor of his condition, as a matter of fact. Sharing a bed with Alizana was as difficult as he suspected it would be, and not just because her large size meant he had to keep on the edge of the bed. She took notice of that last fact.

“Move closer, you look like you’re going to fall as soon as you go to sleep.”

“I’m good,” he repeated.

“You’re not. Come on.” She patted his arm, causing him to shudder. “Is this the first time you share a bed with a woman?”

As he thought about it, Jackson realized that it sort of was the first time. He had shared intimacy with three women before, but had never actually spent the night with one. Was that why he was acting so strangely? In other circumstances, if for instance it had been Enita or Carla, he would not have kept his distance. Quite the contrary, he would probably have been fully against them, and in the same state of undress. What was different, this time? What was different with Alizana? Maybe it’s not her that’s different, Jackson thought.

Slowly and deliberately, he rolled on his back, his shoulder pressing against hers. Wow, she’s really warm. And soft, too. This simple contact was already an exercise in restraint, but it got worse. Alizana decided to roll on her side in order to face him, her muscly arm folded under her head. Jackson only had to turn his head to look at her -look fully at her. The thin cover of the sheets did little to obfuscate her curves; worse: they underlined them. He forced himself to look her in the eyes, trying his damndest to ignore the fact that one of her breasts wasn’t fully covered, and that she didn’t care to fix this situation.

“Thank you,” she said out of the blue.

“For what?”

“For… this. This whole idea. Tinaun. The plan. Everything.”

“Oh, well… Don’t mention it.”

“You don’t know how much this means,” she said. Fuck, why does her voice has to get so throaty when she’s grateful? “Not just to me, to all of us.”

“Really, don’t mention it. I’m with you all the way.” He turned a bit redder. “The- I mean- All of you. ‘Cause I’m one of you guys.”

Alizana then did two things that caught him off-guard. The first was to place a paw on his arm, near the elbow, and stroke it. The other was to smile. That last one was almost a shock to Jackson. He had known her for a while now, but he didn’t think he had ever seen her smile -really smile.

Her smile was a little crooked on the left side, and a lot beautiful all over. A pleasant warmth birthed inside Jackson.

“All the way?” she said, her voice lowering to a whisper.

“All the way,” he responded in kind, no longer caring about the double entendre.

His heart started beating faster. It was happening again. The tension. The buildup. The moment.

But unfortunately, said moment was ruined almost as soon as Jackson realized it was there. This time, it was Jackson himself who did the ruining, by yawning hard enough to strain his jaw and draw tears from his eyes. Alizana snorted, then said:

“It sounds like we both need to go to sleep, now.”

“Yeah… I guess,” Jackson mumbled.

They were woken up the next morning by a rooster crowing, followed by a chorus of sheep bleating, apparently unhappy to be so roughly dragged out of their sleep. Alizana was a morning person, it seemed. Before Jackson had summoned the will to get out of bed, she was already fully dressed. A damn shame, he thought.

And it was an even bigger shame that, over the course of the next few days, Jackson did not find any opportunity to talk with Alizana some more. The two of them had gone back to their busy lives as soon as they were back to the Neha camp. Anyway, Jackson soon had his mind on other things -though it would regularly go back to Alizana and her smile. One subject in particular would soon come to obsess him: Sathariel.

His Demon friend was supposed to be out of reach for about four days, maybe five, but not much more than that. In fact, he had implied that if ten days went by without any news from him, then Jackson should send a search party. Thus, on the morning of the ninth day, Jackson traveled to the Elves’ territory and met with Bonnie. She was sharing a hut with her husband, on the outskirts of her tribe’s village, at the foot of a very tall and very large oak tree. When Jackson found her, she was sitting at a table in front of her hut, taking apart her sniper rifle to clean it.

“My folks haven’t heard anything yet, sorry,” she said before he even told her the reason for his visit.

“But you know what camp he’s been taken to, right? And you’re keeping an eye on it?”

“We know what camp it is, and we’re keeping as close an eye on it as we can.”

“You sure your spies know the code? They’ll know how to recognize when Seth is giving them the signal for extraction?”

“Jack, you do remember asking me these questions before we started this whole thing, right?” Bonnie asked, a little annoyed, her eyes still focused on her task. “And you remember me answering yes to all of them?”

Jackson exhaled as he dropped on one of the stumps serving as seats around the table. “I know. I’m sorry, I just…”

“You’re worried for your friend. I get it.” She threw her cleaning cloth on the table, and began reassembling her weapon. “Look, if anything had happened, we probably would have known.”

Probably? That’s not very reassuring.

“My guys are supposed to send an update in a few hours, anyway. And, hey, if it makes you feel any better, the Hexacracy has other problems in mind to go spy hunting right now.”

“What kind of problems?”

“Oh, right, you haven’t heard,” Bonnie said, finally getting her attention off her rifle. “We just heard the news yesterday.”

“What news? Is it good news?” Jackson said, the tension in his voice making him spew words like a machine gun.

“It’s… Well, it depends on your perspective, I guess. The Imperial armies have finally arrived in the Southern Marches.”

Jackson’s eyes went wide. He knew it would happen sooner or later -everyone did-, but it still came off as a surprise.

“You’re sure about that?”

“Oh yeah. Some of our scouts in the Cautan Wilds -that’s a forest north of here, right on the border with the Empire- have spotted their vanguard. Apparently, there’s already been a few skirmishes between them and the Hexacracy. Nothing big, but it means something.”

“The real war has begun.”

“Exactly.”

Jackson tapped his fingers on the table. “Okay. Well, that’s good news, I guess. But about Seth…”

“Right,” Bonnie said. “Look, how about you wait here with me? That way, you’ll get the update as soon as I do.”

He hesitated.

“Unless you’ve got something planned?”

Actually, Jackson had nothing to do today. He had taken care of his chores for the day, given the necessary instructions for the Hellhounds sent to protect Tinaun, and even washed some of his clothes in the river. He had been hoping to use that free time to have a talk with Alizana, but unfortunately she was visiting another tribe’s camp that day. In the end, he had nothing to do aside from chewing his nails about Sathariel.

“So what do you Elves do for fun?” he asked.

The Vertrisian Elves, it turned out, enjoyed playing a variety of games, most of them focused on accuracy and coordination. Bonnie introduced him to a few of them, no doubt recognizing Jackson’s need to clear his head -or perhaps she knew he wouldn’t let this Sathariel thing go and so gave him a distraction. He quite enjoyed naënae, a game in which players throw darts at different targets, although he found the points system complicated and hard to keep track of. Halaawa was also pretty fun: it was a memory game played with cards, only the cards could be reshuffled in certain circumstances to make things more difficult. As to hwaätanapi, a stone-tossing game, he just couldn’t get the trick to make his pebbles fall perfectly flat on the board.

Bonnie invited him to stay over for lunch. Her husband Yaena joined them. He was the first male Elf Jackson saw up close. He was a couple of inches smaller than Jackson, and very lithe. Like the rest of the Vertrisian Elves, he wore copper rings in his long ears. A noticeable, vertical scar barred the left part of his mouth; it became more visible when he smiled at his wife and poked the tip of his nose against hers -that was, Jackson would learn, how Elves kissed in public. Lunch with the couple was a welcomed change for Jackson. In spite of his best efforts, his diet among the Neha still consisted mostly of meat. Sure, the Hellhounds had adopted new ways to prepare it -mostly for conservation-, but constantly eating boar and elk meat was getting really boring, not to mention the toll it was taking on his digestive tract. In comparison, the Elven meal he enjoyed that day was made entirely out of fruits and vegetables, along with some mushrooms and herbs.

Yaena wasn’t much of a talker; all through lunch, he barely dropped a dozen words, all of them in Elven. Jackson wondered if it was because he was self-conscious about his voice, surprisingly high-pitched for an adult male. In fact, when Jackson first heard it, he almost laughed, but Bonnie’s glare made him keep quiet. Aside from that, Yaena seemed to be a very nice person. It was obvious at a glance how much he cared for his wife, and vice-versa. After the meal, he proved just as gifted as Bonnie when it came to games of precision, if not more so. Jackson was already getting schooled by his friend, now the two of them were pretty much burying him score-wise.

Their twentieth game of halaawa was interrupted by a large bird landing on the table. It looked like a raven, or at least some kind of corvid, but bigger, and with patterned brown and white feathers. It opened its thick beak.

“Bonnie.”

“Holy shit!” Jackson said. “Did that bird just say your name?”

“Sure did,” Bonnie said, getting a few grains from her pocket and offering them to the bird. “Southern ravens are super smart. You can teach them to recognize people, to say their name, where to find them… They even know how to recognize an archer or a hunter, or anyone with hostile intentions.”

She scratched the raven’s neck, just beneath the beak, which the bird seemed to enjoy, from the little squeaks it made. At the same time, Bonnie manipulated a little wooden object attached to its foot.

“And they make good messengers too, apparently,” Jackson said, guessing as to the object’s nature.

“The best.”

Bonnie untied the object; as Jackson foresaw, it contained a rolled up piece of paper. Jackson reached out to the bird to pet it as well.

“Can you say your own name too, little fella?”

The raven reacted by clicking its beak aggressively. Jackson rectracted his fingers with a start.

“Yikes!”

“Her name is Läkläk,” Bonnie said. “And she doesn’t like strangers. Let’s see here…”

She bit her lip as she unrolled the piece of paper and read it. Jackson tried to peek over her shoulder. Predictably, the writing was not in any language he recognized. In fact, it wasn’t in any alphabet he recognized.

“Is that Elven?” he asked. “You know how to read it?”

“A little bit. Err…” She frowned as she read on. “Huh.”

“What? What’s going on? Is it about Seth? Is he okay?”

Bonnie showed the message to Yaena, and the two discussed its contents in Elven. Jackson of course couldn’t understand a word of it, but their tone made it clear something was up. They didn’t sound stressed or upset, however. Bonnie seemed surprised and somewhat confused, while Yaena had not changed expressions and continued to speak in his laconic manner.

“Hey!” Jackson called out, interrupting their aparté. “What’s going on? Is this about Seth?”

“Yeah, it is,” Bonnie said. “Our scouts report that he needs help for his extraction.”

“What?” Jackson jumped on his feet. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go there and get him out.”

“Not that kind of help. He wants a diversion.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Well, that’s the thing: I have no idea. But he says it needs to happen fast. Tonight, he says. And, ideally, it needs to happen north of the camp. He also says: “scavenging party due back tonight.” Not sure why he’s telling us that, we already knew about it.” Bonnie’s ears dropped. “That doesn’t make sense. The plan was, when he’s done with his mission, he was to give us the signal, then sneak out of the camp at night, and our scouts would pick him up.”

“Maybe he got made,” Jackson said, his heart tightening in his chest.

“If he got made, he wouldn’t have been able to send us a message.” She blew air between her teeth, and said again: “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the young man said. “He needs help, and he needs it fast.” He clicked his tongue, thinking quickly. “The scavenging party… I think he’s saying we could attack it. That’s our diversion!”

“I guess,” Bonnie said. “But to make it effective, we’ll have to attack close to camp, so that they’ll learn about it quickly and send reinforcements. That’s pretty risky.”

“We?” Jackson said. “I was just going to take Hellhounds with me.”

“No offense to your people, but discretion isn’t exactly their forte.”

“Good thing we don’t need to be discreet, then. We need to get the Hexacracy’s attention.”

“Yeah, but then you also need to get the hell out before you’re caught. We know the land near the camp, and the forests.”

Yaena intervened with a few words in Elven, his eyebrows lowered. Bonnie answered him, and he crossed his arms, shooting Jackson a look of annoyance.

“Gonna take a leap here,” Jackson said. “Your husband doesn’t think the Elves should risk their skin for one of our numbers.”

“He thinks we’re already doing enough by helping you with this espionage thing.”

“Well, I actually agree. Tell you what, how about you just tell your scouts to guide us, and we’ll do the fighting?”

New exchange between the spouses. Yaena’s eyes swiveled to the right, then he nodded.

“Okay,” Bonnie said.

“Great! Let’s go. If we leave now, we can just about make it in time.”

Galloping through the forest was usually something Jackson preferred to avoid, for the same reason he didn’t like running on patches of ice. In addition to the risk, the eastern part of the Vertrisian Forest had a unique way of misleading unwary travelers. But with Bonnie and her husband leading him, he felt confident enough to ride Florid at a fast pace.

Back at the Neha camp, he gathered a dozen warriors, then sent two to gather more at the nearest tribes, with instructions for all to meet at sundown at a grove located a couple leagues north of the Hexacrat camp. Yaena volunteered to stay behind and guide them, while Jackson and Bonnie went ahead to meet with the Elven scouts. Like Bonnie said, the scouts knew of the scavenging party, and had a rough idea of where to best attack them. Not one of them could -or would- speak Imperial, so Bonnie would have to play translator; Jackson hoped this wouldn’t be a hindrance.

The Hellhounds arrived at the grove about an hour after they did. Following Jackson’s instructions, his recruiters had specifically selected warriors who had learned how to ride horses, as the situation was time-sensitive. There were more riders among the Hellhounds every week. Alizana, under Jackson/Byron’s advice, had ordered each tribe to have at least one member who knew how to ride, mostly to serve as couriers in case of an emergency. Byron was hoping to eventually train an actual cavalry, although he said that would likely take months even with intensive training. However, he wasn’t confident it could be done, between the Hellhounds’ massive stature and the fact that few of the horses they owned were bred or trained for that purpose. In the meantime, the Hellhound riders could still be trained as mounted infantry.

The scouting party numbered twelve people, all of them Demons, all of them mounted. They were led by a grizzled old man who seemed to react every time a branch cracked somewhere around him. Traveling shortly before sundown, it seemed, was making him nervous. That nervosity, unluckily for his troop, proved justified when he spotted movement nearby, obfuscated by the hilly terrain. Whatever it was was too big to be an animal. His keen eye spotted several people, at least half a dozen. He whistled three times to his men, who, understanding the signal, pulled out their weapons and hastened the pace. The scout leader had no delusion as to his ability to foil an attack; he was leading a scouting party, not a heavy cavalry unit. Maybe it wasn’t an attack, however, simply bandits waiting for an easier target. So close to the camp, though, that seemed unlikely.

But what was this? More movement! Another group, further away from the first, also trying to keep out of sight. Those were no bandits. It was really an attack! The scout leader placed two fingers in his mouth to whistle the order to rush to camp, but his whistling was covered by a louder sound. A howl, like that of a wolf calling for his pack. But the leader knew immediately this was no mere wolf -unless the southern wolves were considerably bigger than the ones in the Hexacracy. He turned to one of his men, the closest one to him, and screamed:

“Go get reinforcements!”

Other officers might have judged that order premature, possibly even paranoid, but the scout leader knew from years of experience it was right. It was proven so mere seconds later when two dozens of hooded men appeared on top of a hill, rushing towards them. Perhaps it was the dimming light of the setting sun, but they looked to be monstrously big and large. Even through their leather armor, the scout leader could tell they were strongly built. For a moment, he believed he was under attack by the mythical gorilla people that legends had it lived in the jungles near his native Coppertop Plains.

Although they were on foot, they proved fast enough to kill four scouts before the rest of the party managed to flee. The scout leader yelled orders at his men to stay grouped and not slow down. The fortified camp was but a few minutes of gallop away. Whoever these assailants were, they would soon pay for their recklessness. Indeed, the camp’s wooden walls soon appeared in sight. From one of his saddle’s pockets, the scout leader pulled out a big red cloth, and began shaking it above his head. Moments later, he heard a horn being blown from one of the watchtowers, followed by several others around the walls.

Several minutes later, the northern gates opened, revealing a light cavalry unit of forty riders ready to unfurl. The scout leader smiled with reassurance, then hailed the commanding officer, whom he recognized as a captain. Riding at his side, he led the reinforcements back to where his men were being attacked. Those attackers had the surprise and the number on their side for the first pass, but the second pass would see them stripped of both of these advantages.

The scout leader smiled again when he saw that the attackers, spotting the mounted troop coming for them, wisened up and turned to flee. The captain sounded like he was smiling as well as he ordered his men to chase them in the hills. Those huge men were fast, no doubt, but the troop’s chargers were faster.

“It seems they’re heading to that forest,” the scout leader pointed out to the captain.

“We’ll not let them make it in time,” the latter replied.

True to his word, and in spite of the hilly terrain slowing them down, the captain and his cavalry had almost caught the attackers about twenty yards before the treeline.

“What in the-” the captain cried out.

One of the horse riders screamed in pain as a rock as big as a fist hit him in the chin, breaking the skin and drawing a lot of blood. Another man was hit, this one in the chest. The captain barely had time to raise his shield before a veritable rain of stones fell upon the men and their horses, coming from the woods. The scout leader was stunned. A third group? This was no mere ambush, no mere bandit attack. But what was it then? And what was the objective?

That did not matter at the moment, he decided. What mattered was getting out of this mess. He whistled to the scouting party again, then called out to the captain:

“We must hurry back to camp!”

The captain concurred, and ordered the retreat.

“This was carefully planned,” the captain said, riding hard. “We must gather more troops. Comb that damn forest! And we need to capture some alive. Interrogate them. They-”

His eyes grew wide. On the other side of the hills, a large black column of smoke was rising. The scout leader muttered a long series of curses, pertaining to various false gods and their eventual fates. The camp! The camp had been the target all along! But how could that be? It would take an army to besiege it, and none of the sentries had noticed anything.

As he entered the camp, he realized that two tents were on fire, including the mess tent and its pantry. Although the fire was soon isolated, it took a while before it could be extinguished. When the last ember was finally doused, the camp commander appeared, demanding explanations from the cavalry captain and the scout leader. The explanations came soon as one sergeant reported that several soldiers were missing, including one of the sentries posted on the south gate, and a soldier noted that the cages had been emptied of their prisoners. At this news, the commander dissolved in an angry torrent of incoherent swears. Several of his officers were promised punishment, and the one in charge of the prisons was demoted immediately.

Leagues away from the camp, Jackson was swearing as well, but with awe in his voice rather than anger.

“Holy shit,” he muttered to Bonnie. “Holy shit. He… He organized a fucking break-out!”

“He sure did,” Bonnie said.

They were standing near an old cairn, which judging by the moss and the weeds had not been used for worship in decades. After the escapees and the attackers had fled the camp and its surroundings, their Elven guides had decided to split into multiple groups to better hide their tracks in case the Hexacracy decided to chase after them. The cairn was the designated place where they were now gathering.

“Goddamn,” Jackson swore again as he counted out the newcomers. “Thirty, thirty-one… Fuck, did he empty the entire camp? And where the hell is he?”

“Isn’t that him with that Demon girl over there?” Bonnie pointed out.

It was him. He was still wearing the officer’s armor, but had lost his helmet, revealing his bushier-than-ever hair and his head flushed with sweat. A young Demon woman, rather on the portly side, was speaking with him, holding his arm in both her hands. Actually, it would be more accurate to say that she was showering him with praise rather than speaking, intercut with a few humble stutters from him. Sathariel noticed Jackson coming to him, and seized the opportunity to get away from the girl. He called out to his Human friend, who threw his arms around the Demon’s shoulders and nearly squeezed the oxygen out of him.

“Jesus fuck, it’s good to see you again,” Jackson said.

“Blazes, man,” Sathariel chuckled, returning the hug. “It’s only been nine days.”

“Yeah, nine days where you were among over three hundred enemy soldiers, which is four days longer than we agreed.”

He grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him to underline those last words.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Sathariel said. “It’s just… I saw all these prisoners, and I just… I had to do something.”

“Who are they?”

“Captives from looted towns, mostly. A few deserters. They were used as slaves. Blazes, the way they were treated…”

They did look like they had been through Hell. Most of them were pale, and visibly malnourished. Several of them had hematomas or swellings on their faces, and calluses on their hands. One of them even had a strained or broken arm; a Hellhound was fashioning a sling for her.

“I had to do something,” Sathariel said again. “I’m sorry if I made things difficult, and that I made you worry.”

“I get it,” Jackson said. “I probably would have done the same thing.”

Sathariel smiled bashfully. “To be honest, that’s partly why I did it. I was looking at these people in their cages, exposed to the elements all night as they tried to sleep, and I wondered what you would do.”

“What Would Mad Jack Do, uh? I like that.” Jackson laughed.

The Demon laughed too. “So, I talked to some soldiers whom I found out wanted to desert -they were draftees like me-, and we made a plan. At the right moment, we would start a fire in the food storage, then flee through the south gate.”

“That was risky.”

“I know, I’m sorry… I’m just glad the diversion worked, and right on time.”

“Oh, that wasn’t a criticism,” Jackson said. “That was a compliment. Doing the right thing, even if it’s stupid, reckless, or dangerous? Yeah, that’s exactly what Mad Jack would do.”

“I take it you like the nickname, then.”

“Hell yeah. Mad Jack? I sound like a pirate captain. Perfect name for a song, too. Or a concept album!” He slapped a hand over Sathariel’s shoulder. “And since you’re my sidekick, you should get a nickname too. How about Hell Seth? Or Seth Defense?”

For the entirety of the return trip, Jackson continued to offer many such nicknames -many of them puns-; Sathariel shot them all down, insisting he really didn’t need a nickname. Jackson kept trying; surely Seth would come around when he found a sufficiently catchy one!

Alizana wasn’t quite as understanding as Jackson when she saw fifty-six newcomers arrive at the Neha camp. He and Sathariel could tell by the wrinkles on her forehead and her crossed arms even before she spoke. She led them to their tent, and they sat around the table where Jackson and Byron often discussed tactics.

“This wasn’t what we agreed,” she said. There was no tension in her tone, no harshness in her eyes, yet the two friends winced in unison. “I know why you did it, but do you not see how that could be trouble for us? Beyond the fact that you took a risk, these people are going to need lodging. They’re going to need protection. And more importantly, they’re going to need food. Need I remind you, food is already a bit of an issue for us.”

“We got Tinaun to give us more food now,” Jackson reminded her, jumping to his friend’s defense. “And their hunting grounds, too.”

“Which only solves part of our problem.”

“More towns and counties will join us,” Sathariel said. “Word will spread. The Hexacracy will keep on looting the countryside, and word will spread that we can protect our allies.”

Alizana rubbed her left eye. “Maybe. Maybe not. The Elves tell us the Empire has entered the war as well. It could be that the towns and counties will flock to its side rather than ours.”

“I mean, for starters, we don’t know that those guys will want to stay here,” Jackson said. “We could send them to Tinaun or other places.”

“Yes, there are lots of towns and hamlets who have lost people to the war,” Sathariel added. “They’ll need extra hands, especially in the middle of the harvest season.”

“See?” Jackson said. “We’ll be doing two good actions in one move, and it won’t cost us anything. We won’t even have to build more tents!”

Sathariel scratched his lip and said: “Um, actually, some do want to stay with us. The soldiers, especially.”

“Yeah?”

The Demon nodded. “I convinced them to fight for us. Told them they were fighting for the wrong side. That instead of serving the Archdemons until an early death, they could be free, here in the Southern Marches.”

“Wow. Silver-Tongue Seth, there’s your nickname!” Turning to Alizana, he added: “We could use the extra manpower, Liz. We’ve had casualties too, and we’re fighting twenty to one against the Hexacracy.”

“Yes, especially with what’s coming,” Sathariel said.

“What is coming?” Alizana asked.

The young Demon took off his armor, revealing a leotard underneath, as well as his bare arms. Huh! He’s bulked up since he got here, Jackson thought. Then, Jackson noticed a large piece of cloth wrapped around his abdomen, which the Demon unwrapped. Hidden underneath were several sheets of paper; most of them were covered in writings, and one was a large drawing, looking like a map. He placed them all on a table. Jackson glanced at the map. It depicted a city; some of its features were familiar to Jackson.

“Is that… Atvello?”

“It is,” Sathariel said, his voice quivering. “The Hexacracy will soon march on it. And I don’t mean that they’ll besiege it. They plan to attack the walls with catapults and break open the gates with rams. Its militia will be outnumbered. And with Atvello being isolated, both politically and geographically, they’ll not receive any aid or reinforcements.”

“Shit!”

“The Hexacracy needs this city,” the Demon explained. “They need its port to bring in more troops and supplies. They need its coin to fund their war. Apparently, Atvello has tried buying off the Hexacracy, but Elyonn himself has rejected every offer.”

“We have to do something,” Jackson said.

“Aye, we do,” Sathariel said. “If Atvello falls, that’s the entire western coast lost. Then, it’s only a matter of taking the heartlands, and the Hexacracy will be able to focus fully on the northeast, and the Empire.”

“Not to mention,” Alizana said, “taking the heartlands will put them right at our doorstep.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Dammit. I agree. We’ve got to help Atvello.”

Jackson and Sathariel exchanged a look of relief.

“But how?” Alizana continued. “If it was a siege, we could attack their caravans or loot their supplies until they have to lift camp or starve. But how can we stop an assault?”

“Well, there’s only one way,” Jackson said. “We gather an army and we attack them head on.”

At that, both Alizana and Sathariel turned to stare at him like he had lost his mind.

“You want us to go to battle with the Hexacracy?” Alizana said.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jack,” Sathariel said.

“Probably not. But like I said, it’s the only way.”

He turned to Byron for confirmation. The veteran was focused on the papers, reading the texts thoroughly and studying the map in all its details. He rubbed the sides of his chin.

“We would have to field a lot of warriors,” he said. “If we do this, we will definitely appear on the Hexacracy’s radar. No more masquerading as raiders or a marquess’ army.”

“We had agreed that would happen sooner or later,” Jackson thought-said. “And we had agreed it’d be better to wait for the Empire to enter the war. Well, that’s happened. And we have to do this.”

Byron took a deep breath.

“Maybe,” he muttered, more to himself than to Jackson. “It may be doable.”

Jackson smiled. The others noticed.

“Do you have a plan, then?” Sathariel said.

“I don’t, but Byron’s gonna come up with one.”

“Who’s Byron?” Alizana asked.

This was long overdue, Jackson said to himself. Taking a deep breath, he began explaining who Byron was, their connection, and how it came to be. Alizana’s and Sathariel’s first reaction was one of incredulity -and possibly some worry for his mental health-, but it soon turned to bemusement and shock as Jackson mentioned the necromant and his strange spell. Still, Sathariel remained visibly unconvinced, so Jackson had Byron pull the same “how many fingers behind my back” trick he did on that Orc beggar in Atvello.

“The Second Secret Arcane,” Sathariel said afterwards.

“Soul magic,” Alizana said. “Unbelievable.”

“And you’re saying the Inquisition found you soon after?” the young Demon continued. “You’re lucky they didn’t find out about Baron, or they would have executed you!”

“It’s Byron, and… Seriously? Executed me?”

“Anything having to do with the Forbidden Arcanes is a problem to the Inquisition, and they tend to prefer radical solutions to their problems. By the Armilus, your death would probably not have been slow, either.”

Jackson remembered the charred bodies of his fallen comrades, including Byron’s.

“Yes, I appreciate that you trusted us with this,” Alizana said, “but I think it best if you keep it to yourself from now on. Even among my kind.”

“Your kind? Why?”

“Many of my people link the Secret Arcanes with the Hexacracy,” she simply answered. “Magic as a whole is not popular with my sisters.”

“Fair enough, I guess.”

“So, um, Byron,” Sathariel said, turning to where he thought the veteran was, but missing him by about four feet. “Do you think you can come up with a strategy to save Atvello?”

“Yes, I do,” Byron answered as if Sathariel could hear him, his eyes still laser-focused on the map. “I just need some time and quiet.”

Jackson relayed his words, and Alizana and Sathariel agreed to step out of the tent. The young man followed them out, but remained close, so that Byron could keep studying the map without suffering from the distance between them.

“Ah, going back to the other subject,” Sathariel said. “Look, Alizana, I’m sorry about this. I didn’t mean to drop this on your lap like that.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “As I said, I understand why you did it. I suppose I would have done the same thing.”

“Maybe we can do it again,” Sathariel said.

“How so?” Jackson asked.

“There are other camps, and other prisoners. Sure enough, there are other soldiers fighting but who would rather not, yet don’t want to risk being branded as deserters. Maybe I can do this sort of thing again.”

“Pretty risky, now that your cover is blown.”

“Yes, well… We are at war, are we not? We have to take risks. And it’s for a good cause.”

“Hell yeah! The cause of liberty,” Jackson said with a large smile.

“The best cause of all, I’d say.”

Jackson laughed and playfully punched him in the arm. “You’d make a damn fine American, you know that?”

Alizana crossed her arms and shook her head, a little smile on her face. Then, she placed a paw on Sathariel’s shoulder and said:

“Very well. If you think you can do this, then we’ll help you. And… Good job today, Seth.”

As she walked away, Jackson couldn’t help but notice that her last words had caused his friend to blush.

“Somebody’s crushing,” he said.

“Eh?”

“Got a thing for our fearless leader, huh?”

“What?” Sathariel looked spooked. “No! I mean… It’s not- She’s not- Well, she’s not a Demon, and… I mean, that sort of thing…”

“What, crossing the species barrier?” Jackson said, teasing. “Conquering new territories? The oldest kind of diplomacy? Boldly going where nobody’s gone before?”

“Yes. Yes, that.” Sathariel scratched his neck, looking around as if to make sure nobody was listening in. “That sort of thing is… Well, it’s…”

“Pretty hot? Hell yeah. And so is she.”

The young Demon’s eyebrows jumped. “That’s, ah, that’s not what I was going to say. You mean you don’t disapprove of, err, that sort of union?”

“Let’s just say I wouldn’t mind jumping that particular barrier myself,” Jackson said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Oh. Hah.” Sathariel chuckled, partly in relief. “You certainly are an interesting character.”

“Apparently, so are you. So, Alizana, huh?”

“Ah, stop it.”

Jackson didn’t stop. He simply couldn’t resist teasing his friend some more about his crush.

Or should that be: their crush?

Jackson may have been just a tiny little bit immature and very slightly boorish, but he wasn’t an idiot. He had long since realized that he too had feelings for Alizana, that maybe went beyond physical attraction -although there was plenty of that as well.

That was strange. Not those feelings, but rather that the discovery that Sathariel felt the same way for the same person didn’t make him react negatively. Jackson had always been a little possessive about the girls in his life. When he had thought Clara had been fooling around with Ashton -Asshole Ashton, as Jackson used to call him-, a boy from another neighboring farm, he had placed horse dung in the boy’s shoes. The whole thing, however, had turned out to be a big misunderstanding, and cleaning his mess discreetly had proved to be very difficult. Years later, when he had seen Enita dance with another young man during the Days of Gold and Azure, he… Well, he wasn’t sure what he would have done, as anger prevented him from thinking straight, and Byron prevented him from acting out on it. But it probably wouldn’t have been good.

Yet, this time, the only feeling he had was happiness for his friend -as well as giddiness at the prospect of teasing him endlessly on this particular subject. And that was strange. Wasn’t it? Shouldn’t he be upset, or outright angry? Well, he didn’t want to be angry, let alone at his closest friend. But wasn’t it what he was… supposed to do?

Really, what was different, this time around? He pondered this as he playfully messed up Sathariel’s bushy hair. It might have to do with the fact that he was now a man, not a boy. At least, he wanted to believe that, even though that “transformation” had only happened about a month ago. It was also true that the object of both their interests was a woman, not a girl. Jackson wasn’t quite sure how old Alizana was, having never dared to ask her, but he was reasonably confident she was older than him by at least a couple of years.

His intuition told him that it wasn’t either of those things. That the real reason was something much simpler, so simple in fact it sounded stupid when Jackson thought about it: Sathariel was his friend. His best friend. And what was more normal than being happy about something nice happening to a friend?

Ultimately, Jackson decided not to analyze this any further. Life, he had always believed, was much more enjoyable when one didn’t think too much about it.

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