Marcus deflated even more with a sharp exhale and entered the command tent after finding that Amurad indeed summoned him.

  He found himself in a small antechamber with two benches on either side and another open flap leading farther into the tent. In the far section was a small table and bench, the same one that Amurad sat at to plan his invasion day after day, for months of their arduous trek across Aegia; situated on a round carpet laid directly over the dirt floor. On the right side of the room was a wooden platform with a pillow, where Amurad slept. The mechanic continued into the second section.

  "Lately you've had a knack for tardiness." Amurad spoke as Marcus approached. "But somehow you appear just as you're needed. Curious."

  "You called." Marcus spoke, holding back contempt.

  Amurad cocked an eyebrow.

  Marcus sighed. "...sir."

  The barbarian leader wagged his hand in front of his face. "I definitely did not. Who said I wanted you here?"

  "The guard." Marcus spoke with an even tone.

  Amurad, still sitting at the desk, leaned over as if to look out the front of his tent. "He told you?"

  Marcus shook his head. "The other one." He motioned roughly in the direction of the rocky outcrop.

  The barbarian leader traced his gaze in the direction which Marcus was pointing, a confused look on his face. Then his eyes widened for a split second. "Ah, the pip squeak." He scoffed. "Making up stories for attention, I'm sure." He leaned back, folding his hands together and resting them on his stomach. "I'll have to have a talk about putting a lid on that overactive imagination." He kicked his feet up on the desk.

  Marcus blinked, expecting more monologuing from Amurad, but was met with only silence. "Will that be all?"

  Amurad patted himself on the stomach and then sat upright, lowering his legs and carefully letting his sling down to ease his wounded arm into place. "No." He leaned on the desk with his good appendage. "We'll be packing up and pushing ahead soon. Supplies are coming in and we need to keep moving."

  Marcus bit down hard on his own tongue, to keep any notion of knowledge from etching onto his face. He nodded. "We'll have the uprights ready to go."

  "I know you will." The barbarian leader strummed his fingers on the wooden surface. "But that's not what my concern is."

  Marcus shifted on his feet and swallowed hard.

  "You may or may not know that we took heavy losses in yesterday's skirmish." Amurad stopped tapping on the table with a sharp strum. Then he paused, staring at the surface. "You'll be taking up a seat when we continue on our campaign." Amurad pursed his lips and reclined once again.

  Unable to stop his brow from raising, Marcus tilted his head. "Taking up a... seat?"

  The barbarian leader rested his hands on his stomach. "Yes, as a co-pilot."

  Marcus blinked rapidly. "What about someone else in your entourage?"

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  Amurad clicked his tongue and grit his teeth with parted lips. "Unfortunately, almost all of them were smeared across the landscape during the fight. I have only one who's capable of piloting. Though he's shot up, he'll be useful enough for the trip."

  Marcus looked around, desperate to stifle any chance of him showing elation. "S—so what, you want me to run the Adder or something?" Asking about piloting his own upright was too bold, as Amurad tended to favor it.

  The barbarian leader burst into laughter and shook his head. "No, not a chance." He sat up, a smile on his face. "You think too highly of yourself." He leaned forward on the table.

  Marcus wondered if he'd given himself away.

  "What you're going to do," Amurad's smile faded. "Is sit in the second seat of my upright."

  "What about the Adder?" Marcus's voice pitched higher.

  "We'll tow it." Amurad spoke matter-of-factly.

  There were a million ways for that to go wrong. Usually when towing one upright with another, it was only for a few steps before the engines would fire and the tether would slip off and fall away for one reason or another. From the way the familiar stranger spoke to Amurad, Marcus got the sense the barbarians were a great distance away from their intended destination. Towing one upright with another would be messy and complicated over a long distance.

  But Marcus caught himself before he opened his mouth to raise an objection. Messy and complicated was only to his benefit. Confusion, especially if the Arcadians returned in force, would be a boon. Still, something felt off. "Why do you need me if you and your guard can both run an upright?"

  What remained of the lightness on Amurad's face disappeared and he passed a glance beside Marcus, where the hooded stranger once stood. "I'll be leading the caravan from the front. Time is short and I need to make sure we're not falling behind schedule."

  "I see. Towing the Adder is a good idea." Marcus nodded.

  Amurad smiled. "I know. That will be all."

  Marcus turned and left the tent. All the way back to the rocky outcrop, countless potential ideas surged from the depths of his mind for how to depose Amurad and reclaim his father's upright. The thought of jumping up from the bottom cockpit seat with sword in hand and running the barbarian leader through, repeated in his head over and over.

  The snap of a campfire within a circle of stones brought Marcus back to the present, and he found himself staring at his friends, all of them with worried looks on their faces lit by the blaze. He was on the rocky outcrop, beyond where the uprights stood at rest, near Maximilian's grave.

  "Are you alright?" Layne piped up.

  Marcus looked around trying to get his bearings. "I... uh, yeah. W—why?"

  Simon leaned forward with a charred stick in his hand. "You've been standing there, staring off into the distance for a while, not saying anything."

  Ekkehard stayed quiet, focusing on the dancing flames of the campfire.

  Marcus fell into a sit in front of the fire and rested his chin in his hands. "Just a lot on my mind, I guess."

  Layne and Simon looked at each other.

  "What did the big guy want?" Layne motioned with his thumb over his shoulder toward the tent city.

  "There's..." Marcus's voice trailed off as he looked at Simon, then to Ekkehard. He hesitated to continue his thought. "It—" he stopped himself and exhaled sharply.

  Layne cocked an eyebrow.

  As the fire flared from the evening breeze picking up, Marcus spotted their handler standing with his makeshift stick-musket, eying the group. The mechanic scrambled to his feet with a question he couldn't bear to keep to himself.

  Layne and Simon watched with wide eyes as Marcus marched over to the guard.

  "Who told you to send me down to Amurad?" Marcus spoke harshly, with an intense tone.

  The child-guard puffed his chest out, but the moment Marcus closed and towered over him, the handler caved, and he cowered.

  "I—I don't know." The guard spoke with a bashful, meek tone.

  "Did you know him?" Marcus stopped and loomed. "Have you seen him before?"

  The guard shook his head quickly.

  Marcus groaned and stepped back, placing one hand on his hip, and ran fingers through his blond hair. "Do you remember what he looked like?"

  "Uh—uh..." The guard hugged his stick. "H—he..."

  "Anything about him, do you remember?" Marcus looked away and grumbled.

  "He was tall. And wore a black robe." The child's voice was shaky.

  "Anything else?" Marcus crossed his arms. The stark caw of a crow perched on a rock column only a few steps away startled him.

  "There were a lot of crows around and on his shoulders." The guard nodded.

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