The small camp was used by the shepherds that drove their goats up into the hills in the spring, and the jutting cliff face above them kept off most of the rain. Two of the horses went lame and they butchered them, the smell of the roasted meat bringing Leybound and guardsmen alike to the fire. For the first time since the small mountain hovel, there was some quiet laughter and Fletcher's warbling tones could be heard.

  Riot found Walden Moran sitting alone on a log, staring morosely into the flames of his own small fire. As Riot approached, the Arcanist forced a well practiced smile onto his face.

  “Sergeant Riot! How unexpected. Come and sit; can I offer you a drink?” Moran produced two fluted crystal glasses and a silver wine decanter as Riot took a seat. “I must say, I don’t care much for the regiment's traditional divisions at a time like this. The evenings have been frightfully lonely.” He offered Riot a small glass with a thimbleful of red liquid inside. “Why do they keep the rank and file and the officers separated?”

  Riot's eyebrows furrowed. “That's just the way it's always been. We don’t know much about fancy drinks and wine.” The red liquid was tart and sour, and he finished it in one gulp. It confirmed what he’s always suspected, wine was a waste of good grapes.

  “I will admit, I wasn’t sure what to bring on such an excursion. Aside from the occasional hunting trip, this is rather out of my comfort zone. In hindsight, an extra blanket would have been the more astute choice. The men are settled?”

  “Yes.” Riot had made a point to use Moran’s men as sentries. As useless as they were, he didn’t have much fear or anything more than wolves this deep in the hills, and the Leybound had corralled the horses this far, while those in green and gold uniforms had just slowed down the march.

  “As usual, I will leave it in your capable hands. I spoke to Loic today. It seems there has been a misunderstanding. He thought that you killed a friend of his. I wanted to let you know that he has apologized to me, and I don’t expect to hear any more about the matter.”

  Riot remained silent. It would take more than that for him to sleep soundly anywhere near Loic.

  “He appears to have a dislike of Erudorans, and I must say I too was surprised to see an Erudoran leybound,” Walden said, his eyes flicking briefly to Riot's pale gray eyes. “Do you miss your homeland?”

  The man had such an easy way of asking questions that Riot found himself answering them automatically.

  “I was born in Fallow-Neck, I’ve never been to Erudor.”

  “An immigrant then? Eager to serve the new fatherland, you joined the regiments.”

  “We were hungry. The regiments paid a silver gilder for signing up.”

  “It seems that not all of the other Leybound share your sense of civic responsibility. A curious tendency of the Arcanum to seek recruits from the prisons and the courts.”

  Riot shrugged. “Soldiering strips the good out of most men. Take a criminal and make him a soldier, and he’s already most of the way there.”

  Moran fished out a thin cigar and a tinder box from his inside pocket. He offered one, but Riot shook his head. “What about the officers, the noble class? What does soldiering do to them?” Moran asked.

  “Same camp, just a different fire.”

  “Come now. Officers conduct themselves with honor. Without them, the regiments would be little more than tavern brawlers or barbarians.” Moran took a delicate sip and swirled it around his mouth, making a small noise of satisfaction. “Serving in the regiments is a sacred duty, and who better to lead men than those who realize that war is more than just killing the enemy?”

  “Killing is all that really matters, perhaps knowing when to retreat.”

  “So you believe that everything else is just pageantry? A smoke and mirror show to justify one group placing themselves above another, using a moral argument to exert their frail superiority, something like that?”

  Riot blinked, and Moran gave a satisfied smile. “You have possibly noticed that I am not very learned in the ways of war. But thankfully, I possess limited intelligence enough to see things for what they are. The system of command that sees those with means placed above those without is far from perfect, but it is a practical form of organization. The noble families pay for the regiments, weapons, uniforms, food and such, and in return, they bolster their positions in society. Honor and glory are as much a currency to them as the Arcanum guilder is to you.”

  Riot had never heard it put like that before and he hated that it was true. “Is that what you are doing out here, looking for glory?”

  “Ah, we reach the crux of the conversation. I am conducting yourself and those men to safety, and not a moment too soon.”

  “I don’t think so. I think it’s us that are conducting you across these bloody hills.”

  Moran smiled, his cigar clamped in his teeth. “You appear to have a theory, Sergeant. Let’s hear it.”

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Riley had a package with him when he left Helgan’s Rest, a couple of commander's chains, and yours looks brand new.”

  Moran plucked at the heavy chain, his mouth twisting slightly in a wry smile. “An astute observation, but I am a rich man with a fondness for accoutrements. Leaders have to uphold certain standards you know.” Moran glanced pointedly at Riot’s ill-fitting, dirty uniform.

  Riot ignored the slight and plowed on. “The man who killed Riley also killed a friar. I don’t know if the poor bastard had any information to give them. But I think you do.”

  “You plan to torture me, Sergeant?”

  Walden Moran was of a slight build, and it didn’t matter that he was an arcanist, Riot was more than close enough to end his life before he could draw breath. But there wasn't the barest flicker of uncertainty from the man, Moran met his gaze with steady confidence.

  “Those Faelen killed thirty-odd Leybound, Riley and Fitz, but they weren’t after us. They were hunting you, and we just got in the way. Riley had a package on him when he left us; it wasn’t on his body, and those bastards are looking for it.”

  “An imaginative hypothesis, and where do you think this package is now?”

  “I think he gave it to you and I want to know what it was and what you’re doing out here.”

  “What you want is of little import.” Moran tapped the chain around his neck.

  “Then I’ll leave you in this pile of rocks and take my men to the coast and find a boat to take us to Helgan’s Rest.”

  “That would be a gross dereliction of duty. I could just order them to arrest you. As you kindly reminded me when we first met, I am within my rights to convene a field court-martial. There was a wonderfully gnarled tree back in the pass, I believe it would hold your weight.”

  Riot knew as well as Moran did that Loic and a handful of the other Leybound would be more than happy to see the order carried out.

  Moran continued. “How about a compromise? I will give you my word that my actions are for the greater good and will help to defeat the Mazral Emperor, and you will follow my orders.”

  “Out here, your words are about as good as a toilet paper boat in a shitstorm.”

  Moran chuckled. “How delightfully provincial! If you want to leave, then go ahead, but I am sure at this point that you will be making the journey alone.”

  Riot knew it was true. “You turned the men against me so that they would follow you.”

  “I didn’t have to, Sergeant, those men were never with you.” Moran spoke with a note of pity in his voice that angered Riot far more than the fact that he knew he was right. “My need for them is greater than yours. I promise you that,” he added.

  “What do you want them for?”

  “I told you, we were going to my ancestral home, the citadel of Morbian.”

  “Why?”

  “Our destination is all you need to know, assist me, and I will reward you and them. Once we arrive, you will have your chance to desert if you still feel inclined. There are always ships looking for fighting men.”

  “I’m no deserter.”

  “Then I can look forward to the pleasure of your company. If in the meantime I can be of any service, you just need to ask.”

  Moran held out his hand, and Riot felt bile rise up from his gut where the ley power was churning. He only had to ask, and the pressure could be released. The poison of the leyline leached from his aching bones and muscles. He could even rebuild the crumbling barrier. Moran might know about spellcraft.

  “No, there’s nothing,” Riot said.

  Moran smiled and withdrew his hand. “One more thing. Our companion, Natalia Quinn, works for the wikkan. I realize that you do not like my methods, but I think you will agree that the witches place even less value on our lives.”

  “You don’t trust her?”

  “I do not. You and I are on the same side, and we want the same thing, which is to reach safety with as many of our men alive as possible. As for Miss Quinn, who knows what she wants? Perhaps you can find out.”

  “You want me to spy on her?”

  “Spying on the spy! How wonderfully ironic. You may have noticed her nightly disappearances, I would like to know what she is doing, and there appears to be no time like the present.”

  Moran indicated to the neighboring fire where the Leybound were gathered. As they watched, Quinn stood and made her way through the trees alone.

  Riot didn’t want to follow any order from Moran. But the motives of the noblewoman from the East was a mystery he needed to solve.

  He left Moran by the fire without a word and moved through the trees to follow Quinn but he had barely made it a half dozen steps before Fletcher, the old boatman, hurried over and blocked his path.

  “Sarge.”

  “Not now,” Riot said, looking past him. The woods were dark and empty, he’d lost sight of her.

  “Just wanted to say, Sarge. I was leybound for a year before I got my spellcraft. Damn near killed me.” The short man scratched at the scar on his neck. “So you know I thought what with you–“

  Riot pushed past the older man with a curse and jogged into the darkness, straining his hearing.

  Further from camp, two sentries in green and white stood in the middle of the path. Both of them saluted and one of them dropped his crossbow clattering to the floor.

  “Sir, ah, Sargent Riot, Sir.”

  “Rest easy. Anything to report?”

  “All quiet.” Another salute.

  “You don’t have to keep saluting. Which way did Natalia Quinn go?”

  “No one’s been past.” The guard's arm raised slightly before dropping. “Sir,” he mumbled.

  Riot walked further down the rutted trail. Before him was only silence, but there was a darker shape hidden in the rocks.

  “Crease?” Riot hissed.

  “Didn’t think you’d spot me,” Crease sniffed.

  “You’re not on watch.”

  “Couldn’t leave it up to those numpties, Sarge, Ain’t right.”

  “Anyone been past here?”

  “Nothing doing. Quiet as the grave, sarge.”

  If Crease hadn’t seen her, where in all the hells had she gone? Wherever it was, she would be back at some point.

  “Go get some rest. I’ll take the watch,” Riot said, and handed out a small flask of wine. “Here take this.”

  The cork popped gently in the darkness, and Riot heard a sniff.

  “Gods, Sarge what is it?” Crease exclaimed.

  “Expensive,” Riot replied, settling down in the shadows.