“We’ve spent a long time planning this. Multiple contingencies are in place. It is finally time to mobilize the army.” Around Taradira, men stood, gathering papers. A map of the contested area between Celngi and Ettsgras lay on the table, string and wooden pawns strewn across the canvas, visualizing potential positions and movements.

  Sitting down heavily in her chair - one specially made for her, after she had broken two others - Taradira scanned the map once more herself. The wide river led from near the capital city all the way to a lake in the contested area, providing Ettsgras with access deep into the territory by boat, now that the work on the riverbanks was done. For an extended campaign, that was a huge advantage they had over the Celngi Empire.

  Celngi did not view the lake the same way. They constructed three forts, extending in a line from the north bank of the lake. Expecting the lake to provide a natural barrier would turn against them, letting Taradira easily surround them. The Empire would have little choice but to give up the area if that happened. Meant to be a defensive line that could multiple the slowing power of a small token force into something marginally substantial, from the Ettsgras side, after the changes to the river, looked flimsy.

  Her eyes wandered to the area between the forts and the heart of the empire. Long roads cut through the terrain otherwise littered with small villages. The group of mercenaries and Hatharen in that area were completely isolated from her. She didn’t know if they were successful or not, or even if they still lived. The rumors she heard weren’t trustworthy, but did tell that something happened.

  This area was key, given the king’s orders. How would the population of those towns and villages react to a change in ownership? Better or worse than the people on Ettsgras’ side had for the past few years? Someone with knowledge of the area would have a better idea of the people’s feelings. Tullund’s plan had merits beyond what he knew.

  Standing up, Taradira wiped the map clean once more. How many times had they gone over the same plan, the same ideas, the same concerns and countermeasures? In the end, a massive number of humans would die, and one side would win. Ettsgras conceded the area easily years ago with the intent of launching a stronger attack to take it back forcefully, giving Celngi time to prepare for the attack. They had done that and more, pushing in further and peacefully claiming towns as Ettsgras’ leadership hesitated.

  Rolling the map up, she pushed it to the side of the massive meeting table, revealing a second map, of the region as a whole. Her own personal map that she made a number of changes to over the years, and carried with her from camp to camp.

  The north edge of the map, of course, was blank. Humans did not know what was beyond that, and even the Hatharen were not entirely sure of the larger picture. Whatever knowledge they may have had was long forgotten, the last several thousand years only having them journey small distances for scouting purposes.

  A mountain range stretched across the neck of the land, below which the map was filled out. Bordering the east side of the land were two small kingdoms - Olentor and Wellant. Olentor bordered the mountains, with Wellant just below it. To the southwest, Ettsgras and Celngi stood side by side, the latter stretching up the western coast, while the latter reached southward in the center of the landmass. A roughly triangular area sat between the mountains, the small eastern kingdoms, and the large western ones. The Independent Lands.

  Taradira’s own modifications to the map drew her eyes. Eight places on the mountain line were marked. The Hatharen strongholds. Her gaze settled on the one on the southeast end of the mountains. Aesuthal. She had seen it once, briefly. The largest stronghold, with the least natural defenses, and the most important for Taradira’s purposes. Her eyes traced a line from Aesuthal to Ettsgras, cutting through Olentor, Wellant, and the independent lands.

  “Getting ahead of yourself again?”

  Looking up, she saw the masked figure standing at the entrance to her tent. He had become a common sight around the camp outside Ettsgras in the last few days, despite Taradira’s desire to keep him out of sight. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you. I wanted to talk. Your meeting ended.”

  “Take that thing off your face.”

  There was a moment of hesitation, but the other Hatharen did as she ordered. The metal mask he wore - not an uncommon item, for humans - hid the actively bleeding scar across his face. “I wish you’d just let me keep it on, or be done with it entirely.” Zasthagel complained.

  Taradira shook her head. “I don’t need people staring at you more than they already do, but I need to remind myself who I am talking to.”

  The branded Hatharen had shown up barely a week after Ferene left, claiming that Linara had told him about Taradira. His story was odd, but Taradira could tell he was deeply affected by what happened. To his benefit, she did enjoy talking to him, from time to time. He was Hatharen, and he wasn’t her subordinate. Two things she didn’t often have when picking company. He did pester her a bit too often for her tastes, though, but she couldn’t blame him. He was likely as lonely as her.

  Zasthagel looked over the map, staying a step back from the edge of the table. “You really think they will follow you?”

  “The king owes me. The kingdom owes me. I will collect that debt.”

  He reached up, wiping a bit of blood from his face, licking the finger he used. “You’ll be taking an army and marching towards an unknown enemy, crossing multiple nations to get there.”

  “Not just an army. People as well. The king will figure out how to make it work. The current war will not be a short one. There is no path to force Celngi to a quick surrender. I’ll have to beat it into them. Once that is done, I’ll present my plan.”

  “A plan to free your people.”

  “Our people.” Taradira corrected him. “You will never stop being Hatharen, even in exile. As long as you live. Just as I won’t.”

  Zasthagel tilted his head downward. “I committed the worst possible crime.”

  “What our leaders, our elders have done to our people is far worse.” Taradira stepped around the table, standing in front of him. She grabbed his chin, and tilted his head up, forcing him to look her in the eye. “How many of us do you think died beyond the mountains? Thousands of years of pointless fighting. There was never a plan to win. There was never a possibility of winning. That’s a far greater betrayal than one death ever could be.”

  He held her gaze for a moment, not speaking. Taradira let go, stepping away. He understood why she was angry, but he did not feel the same way about it. The betrayal haunting him was of a completely different nature.

  “The army is mobilizing. You should remain inside as much as you can.”

  “As nice as your mansion is, the servants are scared of me and the other guest is not exactly friendly.”

  “He’s old fashioned.”

  Zastahagel laughed. “That’s an understatement. He was sleeping, all that time? I didn’t even know we could do that. He spends most of his day reading books. Catching up on history, I suppose. Also lets him avoid me.”

  Taradira shrugged. “Grathen is a valuable asset in his own right. That house is more than big enough for the two of you. With the number of rooms it has, they must expect me to keep a whole squad there.”

  “Something like that.” Zasthagel said. He made a bitter expression, but didn’t let it last long. “I’ll be going, then. Have fun with your war.”

  “Have fun with your face. Don’t forget to put the mask back on.”

  Taradira helped the men disassemble her command tent and load it onto one of the many wagons before she turned to the river. There, workers from the capital were hastily preparing barges. In case of spies, they made no move to prepare vehicles to travel down the river until now. Inside the city, woodworkers had constructed the ships in pieces. With the word to finally set the plan in motion, the parts were brought down the hill to the riverbank.

  “General.” Thoms said, at her side. Captain Frennich, a tall, dark-haired man with a heavily scarred face, stood next to him.

  “Rain has been good recently.” The captain said, looking at the river.

  “Eager for glory, Captain?”

  “No.” Taradira didn’t show any surprise, instead studying him. “We’re going to retake our land, where our people live. Reports are that they hardly even notice a difference. Leaves a bad taste to be fighting and dying for these towns and villages that didn’t care enough to even protest the change of ownership.”

  “If Celgni leaves as peacefully as they came, it won’t be a problem.”

  “And if they burn it all rather than give it up, who will be blamed? Those that threw the torch, or us for provoking them? We’ll be fighting on our own land but could end up blamed for destruction our enemies cause.”

  “You’ll be the first one there, captain. It’s up to you to make a good impression.”

  Frennich let out a deep laugh. “I am eager to get moving, and my men are as well. Some went so far as to volunteer to help put the barges together. Can’t even leave craftsmanship to the professionals.”

  Taradira nodded. “Good luck, captain. A week from now we’ll see each other again, if all goes well.”

  Ettsgras’ army split into three separate groups. An advance group of cavalry and lighter infantry, one third of the men at Taradira’s command, moved out immediately, Taradira herself with them. Half of her force moved more slowly, carrying heavier armor, tools for longer term sieges. Taking out the smaller, recently-constructed forts would not require this group, especially with the final part of her army in place.

  Frennich’s small force would move down the river, slowly. Ideally, eyes would be drawn to the first two groups. Even if they weren’t, the barges were specially designed to be able to move quickly across the lake at the end of the river. A properly timed night crossing would swap the order of arrival. Instead of Taradira’s force arriving first with Frennich as backup, the captain would arrive first. They would have both a positional advantage and throw off the enemy’s sense of timing.

  It would be a quick but bloody fight. Taradira’s force outnumbered them five to one, but would need to move forward quickly. Enacting a siege here would waste too much time overall, allowing Celngi to reinforce the positions and ready themselves for a defensive fight. Taking their own territory back had to be done as fast as possible, a swift strike leading into the real campaign: a push into Celngi’s borders. While Ettsgras spent months with this army waiting at the capital, unmoving, Celngi prepared a defensive network, supplies and troops moving from their far-away capital to where they expected the front lines to be.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  The months of tension was another factor Taradira took into account. A prolonged standoff benefited whoever made the first move. Celngi’s troops had waited and waited for an attack. They could only be on high alert for so long before fatigue set in. News of movement from Ettsgras would set them into motion, and the sudden switching of targets at the last minute was bound to cause mistakes. The faster they pushed into Celngi’s network of supply lines, the further they would be able to go. An ideal situation would have the troops retreating from Taradira’s advance run into the troops coming to reinforce them, merging numbers and throwing off projections. Constantly having to readjust who was going where, what was a rear base for the wounded to recover and what was a forward base to defend being in doubt would cause chaos.

  Like Ettsgras, Celngi was no stranger to war. They had fought their own skirmishes and border disputes to the south and to the far west, but, like Ettsgras, it had been generations since the country had fought an enemy that could bring similar resources to bear. The people of the empire had no living memory of fighting an equal opponent. The Emperor and his generals had only journals and history books to instruct them on how to fight a war of this kind.

  Taradira, on the other hand, had fought Celngi hundreds of years ago. She’d fought wars in the south that ruined the population of Ettsgras. While her captains might be in the same position as their counterparts in Celngi, Taradira herself had a clear advantage over whoever was in charge of Celngi’s army.

  It was not going to be a fair fight.

  Ferene clung to Velan, like she did every morning for the last five days. He huddled against her, pressing his thin, soft body against her. He was physically weak, but he trusted her, despite knowing what she could do - what she had done. So she clung to him, the knowledge of his trust pushing away the thoughts of doubt and guilt. The softness of the bed still did not feel right, but no longer felt as wrong as it had before.

  Part of her wanted to stay here, like this. Not having to fight, not having to kill, knowing the Velan would be there. Someone who cared about her, who trusted her. That part of her wanted to put off contacting Taradira.

  If only Rilya was here as well, it would be perfect.

  The thought caused her to sit up, letting go of Velan. He rolled onto his other side, looking up at her.

  “I’m leaving today.” She said, meeting his eyes.

  He grinned. “Right now, all of a sudden?”

  Ferene shook her head. “No, I just…” She took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts. “I want to make things better. I’m not doing that here. I need to talk to Taradira.”

  “The general. You mentioned her before. Is she really as large as they say?”

  Ferene remembered the massive Hatharen. Tall, imposing. The sight of her smashing a man’s face against a table, accepting Tullund’s proposition.

  “She’s very tall.”

  Velan nodded, sitting up as well. “You’ll have breakfast with me, at least?”

  There was no reason for her to refuse to begin with, but his face, his expression, he seemed so eager that she couldn’t have said no to him anyway. “I will.”

  The two of them dressed and went to the inn’s common area, where someone called out to Velan. Ferene turned towards the source of the voice and saw two figures, dressed in similar robes to her friend, sitting at a table. A woman with long brown hair tied in an overly-large bun on the back of her head, and a short, slightly chubby man with a bald head and wide smile were looking at the two of them, the man waving an arm.

  Ferene waited until Velan started walking over to the two before she relaxed, following him. It seemed that he knew them.

  “What are you two doing here?” Velan asked, standing over the table.

  The woman spoke up first. “You’ve been away every morning and every night, so we decided to hunt you down. Didn’t know you were spending the nights with a girl. Must be someone special to pull you away this many nights in a row.” She grinned at Velan, who blushed, turning to Ferene.

  “Ferene, this is Oscar and Selen. They are also studying with me at the university. Oscar, Selen, this is Ferene. She helped me out on the road here.”

  For her part, Ferene just nodded. Selen smiled and gave her a wink, while Oscar frowned as he looked up at her.

  “This is the Hatharen friend you mentioned before?” He finally said, as Velan pulled out a chair and gestured for Ferene to sit. She did, keeping her eye on Oscar as Velan seated himself beside her.

  “Yeah. My former bodyguard.”

  “She’s doing something else with your body these days, I’d guess.”

  “Shut up, Selen.”

  The woman rolled her eyes, instead sliding a mug across the table to Velan. He picked it up, looked inside, and then drank.

  “Selen here was absolutely certain you were hiding a girlfriend. I told her that it wasn’t possible, since you’d have no time to meet anyone outside the university.”

  “And I said it was someone he met before he came here, and I was right.”

  Oscar pouted. “But she’s his bodyguard, not his-“

  “Oscar, are you blind? In front of us are two lovebirds that had to bring a stop to their morning frolicking to get some food.”

  Ferene watched Velan grow redder as the two talked, but he refused to speak up, just letting them go back and forth. “I’m leaving.” She cut in.

  Velan’s two friends stopped, both turning to look at her. “I came to the city for another reason, and was spending some time with Velan while I was here.”

  “You two are sleeping together though, right? I need Oscar to know he was wrong.”

  “Yes.” Ferene said. Velan grabbed his mug and took a long pull of whatever was in it. Selen turn a triumphant smile towards Oscar, who rolled his eyes.

  “I’m going to order food for us.” Velan said, standing up suddenly. Selen giggled. “Ferene, try to get along with them.”

  “Can you tell me some things about the Hatharen? I’ve come across several mentions of them in my studies - I’m looking into ancient history - and there are a few things that don’t make sense.”

  “I know a little about the Hatharen.” Ferene told him.

  “Is it true they can live for hundreds of years?”

  “They can live until someone kills them. I met one who was thousands of years old.”

  “Fascinating. How old are you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It must be hard to remember after a certain number. A hundred? Two hundred? More?”

  “Maybe twenty, maybe thirty.”

  “Twenty or thirty what?”

  “Years.”

  Oscar blinked in confusion. “She’s trying to tell you she’s just like us.” Selen said.

  “Right, right. There’s an account from a village that let three Hatharen stay in a house when they passed through her village. It’s several centuries old, and a lot of scholars claim it’s completely fabricated. Perhaps you could shed some light on it?”

  “Really? You’re going to ask about that? Right here?”

  Oscar raised an eyebrow at Selen. “Is it any different than what you were asking about?”

  “What do you want to know?” Ferene asked.

  Oscar looked around the room, then leaned forward. “Well, the story is that the three engaged in…nightly activities. They did not just last the night. Apparently the three were…occupied for a whole day, without any breaks.”

  “Yes.” Ferene said.

  “Is that…realistic?”

  “It can be.”

  Oscar frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “It happens once every few hundred years.”

  “What is this about?” Velan said, sitting back down.

  “I was telling Oscar about Hatharen breeding.”

  He coughed. “The what?”

  “A female Hatharen feels the intense urge to have children. So she takes a male for a and does. The male is affected in the same way, somehow.”

  Selen grinned. “So are you training Velan up for when he needs to do that?”

  “I can’t have children.”

  The woman’s grin vanished. Oscar frowned. “What do you mean?” Velan asked.

  “My mother was a human, my father was Hatharen. The Hatharen I met told me I can’t have children.”

  The odd feeling from earlier hit her again. She was sitting here, at a table, just talking. She wasn’t tense, she wasn’t looking for someone to kill. These two probably hadn’t killed anyone before, hadn’t seen anyone killed in front of them. Like Velan was, before he met her.

  “That was my next question, actually.” Oscar said, cutting through her thoughts. “Apparently, one of the village women involved herself with her guests at one point, and later gave birth to a child with Hatharen features. There were some questions about if interspecies breeding is possible or not, but you prove that the story could be true. Thank you.”

  “What happened to the child?” Velan asked.

  Oscar went silent, looking down at his hands. Ferene spoke up. “Where is the child now?”

  “N-now?” Oscar asked, looking confused.

  “I was told that I could live for nearly five hundred years. You said this story was a few hundred years old. The child is-“ Ferene stopped talking, seeing Oscar’s expression darken again.

  “They killed it.” Selen said. “Oscar has shown me this account. The child displayed unnatural traits, and they killed it.”

  “Unnatural traits? Like what?” Velan asked.

  A server arrived, placing two trays on the table. Ferene’s had a bowl of fruit and a bowl of oats, while Velan’s had a plate of eggs and bacon. The four of them fell silent, waiting as the server returned with two more trays identical to Velan’s for the other two.

  Ferene grabbed a knife and sliced her palm, leaving a shallow, superficial cut. She showed her bleeding hand to the three of them, then wrapped a cloth napkin around it.

  “What are you-“

  She cut Velan off. “Just wait.” She told him, placing the knife down and tossing a grape into her mouth with her other hand. “You’ll see. Eat.”

  The four ate in silence, the three humans occasionally glancing at Ferene. When they were finished, she unwrapped the bloodstained cloth from her hand. The cut was still bright red, but no longer bleeding, a thin scab over the skin. She showed it to the three at the table. “They killed a child over this.”

  Oscar nodded. “These kinds of stories are often not entirely true as they are recorded, with things getting confused between retellings, but knowing that nothing in it is impossible is…a big step in uncovering the truth.”

  Ferene stood up, turning to look at Velan. He met her eyes, pushing himself to his feet as well. Pulling him into a hug, she squeezed him tightly. “I’m leaving.”

  “I’ll be here, when you come back. I love you.” He whispered back. She let go of him, meeting his eyes one more time before nodding. She turned and walked back up to her room, not looking at the other two.

  The massive campsite that once held countless tents stood empty. Ferene saw it first when she exited the city, looking down the hill at the empty patch of land. A few downtrodden families wandered the area, picking through the trampled grass for any valuables that might have been left behind.

  “Bit late, soldier lady.” Someone said, Ferene turned to see a young teenaged boy looking up at her. His shirt was too large, and his trousers were missing a leg, the fabric ending just below his knee.

  “They left a while ago. Headed west.”

  Ferene looked in the direction he mentioned. Down that way, there was a farm with no owner.

  “I’m not too sure when they left, you know how things are.” Ignoring him, Ferene started walking down the road. He immediately spoke up. “Hey, where are you going?”

  “After them.”

  “Pay me!” Stopping, she turned and looked at him. “You want information, pay me. You stupid or something? I can tell you when they left if you pay me.”

  “I can catch up to them if I run.”

  “B-but-“ He looked down, at his bare feet. Ferene pulled out a silver hexagon and held it out. The boy’s eyes focused on it, unblinking.

  “Why are you here?”

  “What?”

  “Information.”

  “My mother was trying to hook one of the soldiers. He’d visit her during the day and come back here at night. She thought that he’d marry her, if she played him right. I followed him every night. Dunno what to do now.”

  “Why did you follow him?”

  The boy shrugged. “Wanted to kill him. Didn’t know how. Figured he might like, trip and fall? And I could grab his knife and slit his throat. Something like that. Hated him.”

  Ferene remained silent, looking at the boy. His expression suddenly turned hostile, and he glared up at her.

  “He didn’t care about her! He was in it for a cheap lay. The stupid whore thought th-“

  The boy fell silent when Ferene put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Did your mother beat you?”

  “N-no.” He whispered, his eyes wide with fear. Her grip wasn’t tight, but she towered over him, fully armored, one sword on her back and another on her waist.

  “Then don’t talk about her that way. Go take care of her.” Letting go of him, she pushed the coin into his hand. “That’s for both of you.”

  Turning westward again, she stared walking, breaking into a jog after a few steps, then a full run. Ferene specialized in running, there was no way an army would leave her behind.