No Man's Land

  55 Miles North of Tulian Capital

  One Month and Three Weeks Until Spring

  Thick underbrush suffused the damp soil in shadow. Rain pattered on thick-banded leaves about Evie's head, dampening the sound of gentle footfalls. She crept through the brush with a stranger, trusting to his expertise, as she had throughout the st week of pursuit. Where he pced the sole of his feet, Evie did too, leaving only one set of tracks in the mud. When he skirted around a bush, mindful of the darkened tips of its thorns, Evie did so as well, unknowing and uncaring if the purpled spines were of the variety containing poison. She was a stranger in this jungle thicket, wholly unwelcome, and she would do her utmost not to upset her host. She had seen enough of what the jungle held already, and did not wish to invite the master of the house's attention.

  And so she crept, oh so slowly, through sodden terrain. She kept a careful eye on the back of the man before her, watching his longbow swing as he crept from shadow to shadow. He was a Tulian hunter, one of very few who dared to dive beneath the jungle canopy, and he was the only reason Evie even considered the idea of her current approach. The Sporaton camp was pced in a narrow pathway between the trees, atop a rise, with excellent vision for many hundreds of yards in either of the two possible avenues of approach. Sneaking up on the camp would have been impossible, sure to end with an arrow in her throat. Had she not had Tikkit's guidance, she would have tried it anyway. An Irregur's ire paled in comparison to what the jungle held.

  In line behind her were several others, those trainees that she believed had showed the most promise. Jaran, Taras, Idal, and Mahk. All commoners, as evidenced by their simple names. Not who Evie had thought her first independent command would be composed of. They had grown in skill at a prodigious rate under her guidance, and could now be considered Irregurs in their own right, even if they did not match Evie and Master's skill. They had experience enough that she could trust them with independent command, and did not always outright ignore their advice in tactical matters. Impressive, for how brief a period they had been training. Each had combat experience that predated Evie's tutege, which was what had caught her eye in the first pce, but they had since proved themselves adaptable, willing to learn, and remarkably flexible. They would be a considerable asset in the war to come.

  But not against this foe.

  The fires of the Sporaton camp slowly became visible through the dense foliage, firelight glinting off the midnight dew rolling from branch to branch. After days of tramping across the ndscape, trying to pin down a far more maneuverable foe, the long awaited sight of her target aroused etion and trepidation in equal measures. Her guide, Tikkit, stepped to the side and waved her forward, peeling back a broad leaf just enough for her to see.

  The camp revealed itself. Several fires encircled a cluster of tents at equidistant points, neat rows maintained despite the hostile environment. Several fires had cookpots stewing over them, tended by bored looking peasants. With the jungle so close, all still wore at least a portion of their armor, be it gambesons or a helmet, and not a one of them had id aside their spears or side swords. A number of lookouts were posted beyond the camp's perimeter, where the firelight faded. They scanned the approaches to the camp from far enough away that their night vision wouldn't be ruined. In the center of the camp, well shielded by the rows of tents, were horses enough to have every man and woman on horseback, as well as several sturdier breeds for carrying supplies. It was a textbook military scout camp, obviously constructed by a force that was well trained and disciplined.

  To her great disappointment, she confirmed the picket force's dire report. Amongst the usual tattered clothing of Sporaton peasant levies strode scratched breastptes and bck helmets, marked with the symbol of a lidded eye. The Night's Eye Mercenaries truly were in Tulian. What that implied was considerable.

  Mercenary forces, as a rule, were the final weapon of a Kingdom. As one of very few professional military forces allowed to exist within a nation, they were of a caliber that dwarfed any peasant levy. Highly reguted by the royalty, whose only answer to their power was their loyal Knights, they were the only non-nobility allowed to truly hone the art of warfare. Evie knew from her personal dinners with King Sporatos that the very thought of the Night's Eye's continued existence gave the King ulcers, but he could not disband them, as they would be his only answer should another Kingdom bring to bear their own corp of experienced mercenaries. Inordinately expensive to hire and maintain, in times of peace they earned their coin via dispersing into smaller groups, often hired by some Lord or another to settle nd disputes, or, on rare occasions, being allowed to take foreign contracts with Sporatos' allies.

  In short, the Night's Eye Mercenaries were a veteran army of a thousand Irregurs, and that was a force of such power that only an equal number of Irregurs could be relied upon to counter them. Too powerful to trust, too useful to disband, they were the agonizing wildcard that Evie and Sara had repeatedly failed to think of any counter to. Tulian's only saving grace was the fact that paying the entire mercenary compliment to go to war was an exorbitant expense, requiring quite literally years of accumuted tax revenue to be spent, and that was a loss King Sporatos almost certainly wouldn't suffer. Not when it seemed so likely that conventional forces would stifle the Tulian Republic.

  Thankfully, as Evie surveyed the scouting party's camp, she still found no evidence that the Night's Eye would be deployed in force. Years of training under their leader had leant her considerable familiarity with their operations, and she recognized now that those present were equipped for an advisory role. Evie counted seven standing or sitting throughout the camp, not including those that might have retired to their tents already, and the number was encouraging. Of the presently erected tents, Evie counted ten total of notably nicer make. Another good sign.

  When the Night's Eye were hired to advise, rather than fight, Master Graf preferred to deploy them in batches of ten, to ensure that they would be capable of extracting themselves from any dangerous situations that developed. It took upwards of a decade of training to bring a Night's Eye recruit to the level of the veterans, and losing even a single soldier was enough to send Graf into a furniture-demolishing rage. When the entire company wasn't engaged, the Night's Eye maintained one utmost priority: personal survival. The only thing worth a Night's Eye death was the lives of two or more of their comrades. Everything else was secondary, no matter who hired them.

  Her initial appraisal of the enemy force completed, Evie stepped back into the foliage, gesturing to Tikkit to return the leaf he'd pulled aside. To say that she faced a dilemma was an understatement. Even with the bolstering of her Levels since her entanglement with Master, Evie doubted she was capable of engaging even a single member of the Night's Eye in open combat. Her Irregurs, much lower in capability, would be gutted like sheep.

  Hidden by the thick underbrush, Evie spent several minutes in silent contemption. The others patiently waited for her decision to be made. Tikkit in particur was remarkably fine with sitting a few dozen yards from fifty enemy troops, squatting on his heels without a hint of concern. Evie supposed that was to be expected, from someone that stalked the trails forded by beasts the size of buildings. Even if they were discovered and pursued, Evie had no doubt Tikkit would disappear into the underbrush without a trace, leaving the Night's Eye cwing hopelessly after him. Idly, she wondered what Level he was. Certainly not enough to tip the scales should they come to blows with the Night's Eye, she quickly decided.

  As for the pns she considered, there were frustratingly few. Master had given her a very direct goal for this mission: keep the enemy away from Midwich Valley. There y the crux of Master's defensive pns for Tulian, and allowing the enemy to scout it would be a catastrophic failure. The name of the valley, Midwich, had always struck Evie as odd. Master had a near obsession with the name, harshly correcting anyone that referred to it by any other moniker. Clearly the title had some sentimental value to her, but Master had been uncharacteristically coy about her attachment to the name, even with Evie.

  The eccentricity was forgivable, by virtue of the valley's importance. It y directly on the path to the capital, with a deep stream carving through its center. Fresh water, ft ground, few predators, and a direct line to their target, it was the ideal path for an invasion force to take. Master had prepared accordingly, and it was now Evie's job to ensure the surprise wasn't ruined.

  How, though, remained to be seen. Evie gnawed at her lip in frustration as the minutes ticked by, stars fring ever brighter in the night sky. She could not directly confront the enemy, not without overwhelming numerical superiority at her side, and as the Tulian Republic currently cked any cavalry brigades, there would be no way to pin down such a lightly equipped enemy. Somehow, she was forced to acknowledge, she would have to drive the enemy from Tulian nds without resorting to combat with the Night's Eye. Her first thought was that it was a near impossibility. The mercenaries may have little personal investment in the war, but their cim to fame came from a fanatic desire to see their work through. They would retreat, if it was proven necessary, but not a moment before.

  At the end of her deliberations, Evie came to an uncomfortable conclusion: she was the wrong woman for this job. Master had stayed behind, to give the impression to any Sporaton spies that they remained unaware of the scouting party's incursion, but she was far better suited for this task than Evie. The only way the Sporaton scouts would be convinced to leave was by violence or argument, and Evie cked the power for the former, the wits for the tter.

  Still, she had to do something. Covering as much ground as they were, the Sporaton scouts could chance upon Midwich Valley by the very next day. Evie would not trust the outcome of war to luck. Still silent, Evie leaned forward, peeling back the leaf to observe the camp once more, and began to ask herself a simple question: what would Master do?

  In the end, she retreated several dozen yards back into the brush, far enough away that she felt comfortable discussing her pn with her other Irregurs. Their responses ranged from incredulous to infuriated, but Evie refused to budge. She offered each of them the opportunity to present a superior alternative, and when several minutes had passed and none could produce one, Evie considered the matter settled. With the others, she returned to the jungle's perimeter, taking slow, steady breaths. Quietly, whispered low enough that she doubted even those next to her could have heard it, she spoke one of Master's favorite aphorisms.

  "Showtime."

  Evie stood directly up in the jungle foliage, brushed the dirt and debris off her armor, and casually strolled into the open with rapier dangling.

  The reaction was prompt.

  Evie was spotted a mere three steps after emerging from the jungle wall, a Night's Eye mercenary that had been roasting a meal over the fire leaping up.

  "Arm! South-southwest, armed and armored!"

  For as organized as the camp had looked at a distance, their response was haphazard. The Sporaton peasantry jumped in pce, heads whirling not towards the indicated direction of the threat, but the speaker. A moment ter they came to their senses, but instead of facing Evie, they looked randomly about, trying to recall which direction South was without the aid of the sun. Half-dressed individuals burst from their tents clutching weapons, even more confused than their still-awake comrades, and soon the entire camp was in disarray.

  Save, of course, for the Night's Eye. The mercenaries, in their bck-painted breastptes, snapped to attention without hesitation, pressing their shoulders to their nearest companion. Swords and polearms were drawn and leveled in Evie's direction, first in the general compass coordinates indicated, then at her in particur, when their eyes picked her out of the gloom. Evie stood perfectly still, rapier held loosely in her right hand, and waited. The Night's Eye colpsed into a skirmish formation, spears and swords, and watched her with razor intensity.

  Evie found it rather fttering, to have prompted such a visceral reaction.

  When she continued to hold her position, ears pressed ft against her head with her left hand holding her tail behind her back, the Night's Eye began to bark orders at their peasant charges. Even the freshest Tulian Army squadron would have found their battle formation faster than the panicked peasants, such was their disarray, but after multiple minutes of chaos, Evie was facing a stiff– if jagged– line of fifty enemy weapons.

  She remained frozen, expression impassive.

  At such a distance, Evie knew, their ckluster human eyesight wouldn't be able to make out much more than her body's general outline and that of her dangling rapier, which glowed a ghostly white in the night. As unlikely as it was that a single individual could be a threat to their group, the fact that Evie was so brazenly standing in the open couldn't be ignored. Either the mysterious figure was powerful enough to not fear their combined numbers, a spirit or mirage of some sort, or it was a bluff. If it was the first, it was best to spend every moment they had preparing themselves for combat, and if it was the second, it wouldn't much matter how long they spent readying themselves. When time was not a factor, being cautious cost nothing.

  With their formation assembled, Evie knew what would happen next. She couldn't hear it at this distance, but she knew there was a conversation occurring amongst the Night's Eye. The First Lieutenant and Second Lieutenant were consulting with one another, appraising each other of what they thought of the threat, while several of the peasants would be delegated to lookout duty, scanning the surroundings for signs of a trap. Evie could, after all, be a mere distraction, allowing others to sneak up undetected. The discussion would be brief, and once no evidence of ambush was found, their response would begin.

  Evie watched one of the Night's Eye raise his hands to his lips, then whistled loud. The decision had been made.

  A vicious, bellowing bark sounded, a mixture of bloodcurdling fury and rabid excitement sounding from within the Sporaton formation. Peasants dove aside as a rolling mass of muscle barreled past them, its approach heralded by guttural barks.

  Beastmaster's Retort. Not what I expected, but reasonable. I bet Darin hates it, though.

  The dog that roared across the ndscape towards Evie was no normal animal. It was built of thick sbs of overid muscles, three hundred pounds of it, with a head and neck covered by rolls and rolls of protective fat. Its loping run could have easily outpaced a horse, clods of dirt thrown into a dozen feet into the air as it charged. It belonged to a Beastmaster, one of the few csses of Irregur whose abilities extended beyond the self, empowering not just the soldier, but the animal with which they were Bonded. Evie had seen this very beast challenge bears and tigers without hesitation, and not once had she seen the other animal survive the encounter.

  As the warhound charged her, Evie took a knee. She dismissed her rapier and extended her right hand, knuckles facing out, and let her ears and tail flick free. The beast, slobbering in mad excitement, reached her in a matter of seconds, jaws spread wide.

  And stopped. Tracks were dug in the mud as it pulled itself to a halt just before colliding with Evie, its head cocked. Evie moved her hand a little bit forward, right up to its snout.

  Cormus's hot breath snuffled across her hand as he sniffed her. After a few investigative whiffs, his tail began to wag something fierce, a puppy's whine crawling out of his throat.

  Evie smiled. She moved her hand up and over his head, scratching at the base of his ear. Cormus's leg began to thump. Cormus was of a northern breed famous for its prodigious size and luxurious coat, which, when combined with the thick jowls and yers of fat, provided an excellent suite of protection. Bred to be livestock guardians in the snowy north, that thick fur had likely had the poor thing overheating in the Tulian humidity. She gave him a quick once-over appraisal. With the heat, Darin had clearly been forced to do his best to hack off what he could of Cormus's fur, leaving the beast a mess. Cormus's fine bck coat was now a lopsided travesty, cut down to bald spots in some pces, awkwardly long in others, especially around his neck, which looked like a poor man's attempt at a lion's mane. She scratched him all the same, chasing the spot that kept his leg thumping.

  Though Evie hadn't approached any closer, she could hear the incredulous shouts.

  "What in the godsdamn?"

  "Darin, your mutt's turnin' traitor on us!"

  "The hell he is! You shut your bastard mouth!"

  "Look at 'em, Darin. Slobbering over some stranger like a puppy!"

  "He's smarter than every one of you, and you know it! There's gotta be a reason for it!"

  "What is it, then?"

  "Its... nunna your goddamn business!"

  The bickering continued for a while longer as Evie continued to reacquaint herself with Cormus. A few extra scars marked his muzzle, but they were all in the yers of jowls, which were there for absorbing such blows. He had no limp or fogginess to his eyes, and he'd seemed lively as ever when he'd been meaning to kill her. The dog let out a low groan as Evie dug a knuckle into his ear, leaning into her hand. Even as she pcated him, she kept her attention elsewhere, eyes locked unerringly on the block of Sporaton spears.

  From afar, Evie heard another familiar voice rise above the others.

  Sen's northern rasp echoed out over the pins. "Everyone shut it!"

  Now that was a memorable woman. A battle that would have otherwise been long forgotten had scarred her throat, lungs, and rge swathes of her upper body, wind-driven fmes overtaking her formation in a matter of moments. For all it may have ruined her chances at finding a suitor, the unique gravel of her voice was remarkable at cutting through the tumult.

  "Darin's right, you brats, dogs don't turn traitor. Warhounds least of all. 'Stead of arguing, how 'bout you dipshits start thinkin' of the only person in a hundred miles that Cormus wouldn't get to maulin'?"

  There was silence for a while. Then, whispers. Torches began to be lit, and soon the entire formation began to move forward, spears still leveled, but with more curiosity and caution than lethal intent. Evie continued to pet Cormus, who had now rolled over onto his stomach, and let them approach. When the circle of torchlight finally reached her, she had barely moved a muscle, save for what she was using to pet Cormus. She had a solid grasp of their faces well before they did hers, but when the torchlight spshed across her face, she saw the eyes of the Night's Eye widen. Stepping forward, one scarred woman spoke.

  "Well I'll be damned. Lady Eliah, that you?" Sen asked.

  Evie lifted a hand from Cormus to tap a cw against her colr. "How many other Feline sves are you aware of, Sen?"

  Ever the professional, First Lieutenant Sen had maintained the spear block's tight formation as she approached, and even after Evie had spoken, the lieutenant spent time silently inspecting Evie's appearance. The peasants looked positively baffled at the sight of the massive warhound spyed out in decadent bliss beneath Evie's hand, while the Night's Eye mercenaries at their core were only slightly less bewildered. For them, at least, it was the confusion of a familiar face in so distant a pce, rather than abject confusion at the mighty Cormus acting so immature. Sen alone seemed to recognize what Evie's presence signaled, judging by the deep frown overtaking her face.

  "Lady Eliah, you gotta know what a mess you're handing me by showing up here. You're the queen consort of the enemy."

  "Incorrect," Evie replied sharply. "Her proper title is Governess."

  "All the same..." Sen trailed off. By the looks of the rest of the Night's Eye, the realization had sunk in. To Cormus's great disappointment, Evie stood.

  "Well? Are you going to kill me? I couldn't defeat all of you, you know. My blood is yours for the taking."

  "That's... Lady Eliah..." Sen looked torn. Evie had first come to Master Graf for lessons over a decade ago. Most of the Night's Eye had seen her strolling among their numbers from the tender age of eleven. She could see in Sen's good eye the effort being exerted to reconcile the two images.

  One, of an upstart noble child, hair kept in carefully selected braids so that her mother would not recognize she had snuck away to the training grounds. The other, of the armored sve-warrior, leather chestpte crisscrossed by the scars of battle.

  Only one stood before Sen in this moment, but it wasn't the image prevailing in her mind. Evie put a hand on Cormus's head as he snuffled to his feet next to her, whining for attention. She gave him a gentle scratch. That she did so callously, intending to call to Sen's mind the image of her pying with that selfsame dog as a child, sent a sting of guilt straight to her core. The twisting of her gut was all the worse for the fact that she could not recall the st time she had felt the emotion.

  "I... Lady Eliah, why are you here?"

  "I am a Tulian resident, as you've already noted. Tulian nds do seem to be the reasonable pce to find me."

  "Ah, none of that diplomat dung, girl," Sen rasped dismissively. "Y'ain't a kid tryna show off all the funny ways your tutors taught you to sling insults anymore. Y'found us, My Lady. What for? What next?"

  Evie finished petting Cormus, standing up straight. Though disappointed, he returned to Darin's side, dropping to the grass with a thud and sultry huff. When she gnced at him, he turned his nose up, looking away. Evie envied him for the honesty he could dispy.

  "I don't suppose you'd be persuaded to return to your employers empty-handed?" Evie asked.

  "You know I can't, My Lady."

  "Of course. I still thought to make the offer, just in case." Evie shifted her feet ever so slightly, merely redistributing her weight, but the motion prompted a rattling jump from the peasant's spears. For their sake, she stilled. "As for why I'm here, it happens to be in the same vein that I anticipate your purpose belongs. I am investigating reports of enemy scouts surveying the region, drawing nearer to important things than we would please."

  Sen arched an eyebrow. "Important things, y'say? Pretty far from the capital for that."

  Evie sighed. Somewhat ironically for an accomplished scout, Sen had never been one for picking up on conversational subtleties. "That was an offer of information exchange, Sen. With but a few scant minutes of conversation, you could return with knowledge that satisfies your employers, and I will have rid Tulian of enemy advance elements without bloodshed." Evie scanned the faces of the Night's Eye present. "Did you really not bring Big Sal with you? He was always better at politicking."

  "You just say that cause you liked arguing with him," one of the Night's Eye grunted. Hearth, Evie recognized. A suitable moniker for a fme mage.

  "Politicking is arguing, Hearth, with all the nasty connotations that entails. Rather gd that I've found someone else to do it for me, these days."

  The comment, though intended to be made in jest, drew attention to the colr about her neck. Faces hardened at the sight. They knew as well as Evie that, bound by the colr, she could be forced to say things or act in any manner that her owner desired. She wasn't being compelled, of course, Master almost never gave her orders, but they didn't know that. They couldn't know that.

  Sen frowned. "I've heard a lot about the girl you got doing your politicking now. A whole hell of a lot, in fact."

  "The same things that you hear about the Northern Fiefdoms, no doubt, or the western city-states. King Sporatos and his ministers do enjoy their white lies, doesn't they?"

  "Not all of 'em are lies, My Lady."

  "Oh, come now," Evie said with a roll of her eyes. "You've all fought wars across every cardinal direction by now, haven't you? Are the northern chiefs really ignorant? Are the Bolkin Collective so chaotic? Or are they just another set of nobles, happily pping up the blood you spill from their enemy's commoners?"

  A woman in the Night's Eye snorted. The outburst earned a stern gre from Sen, but Evie knew the comment had hit home. Sen was impcable as ever when she returned her attention to Evie.

  "It sounds to me that you've swallowed more than your own share of bait, Lady Eliah. Supporting rebellions, spewing subversive propaganda." Sen's lips split in a cruel smile. "Following in your Mother's footsteps?"

  Evie's nostrils fred. She felt her wrist raising, rapier swirling through the mist of its summoning.

  "Compare me to the bitch again, Sen. See what happens."

  The air grew tense. Behind her, in the jungle shadows, Evie heard bowstrings drawing taut. Ahead of her, hands gripped swords, spears were set into the dirt, and peasant's eyes grew wide. If it weren't for the croaking of jungle creatures, heartbeats would have been the loudest thing on the pins.

  Then, to Evie's great surprise, Sen rexed. Her hand fell from her sword's pommel, her hips unlocking from a combat stance. The smile she'd goaded Evie with took on a more genuine lilt, the same crooked sort that her scars kept from reaching the corners of her eyes.

  "Well I'll be damned. Again. Really is you, Lady Eliah."

  Evie did not drop her sword. "You thought me an imposter?"

  "Nah. But I do know that you've had an awful long time to have that woman whispering orders in yer ears, and I wasn't interested in havin' to kill you, if you was really still you. Y'understand, of course."

  "Of course," Evie whispered. She let her weapon fall back into mist, then touched her colr gingerly. Another unfamiliar sentiment, that. Regretting its presence. For a meeting with old friends, this exchange had produced too many firsts.

  With Sen rexing, the rest of the Night's Eye soon followed suit. The peasants were more hesitant, but slowly, like a snake uncoiling after the predator left its den, they pulled their spears back up to their shoulders. Sen didn't let them fully collect their wits before she shoved them aside, coming out into the open to face Evie from a few scant feet away. Fists resting on her hips, she leaned to one side, squinting into the forest.

  "Who's that you got with ya?"

  "Three Irregurs under my tutege, as well as a native huntsman, who guided us through the underbrush."

  "Huh. Should give him a raise. I didn't see him." Sen squinted harder. "Still can't, actually. Damn. That'll have to go in my report."

  Evie's eyebrows rose. To successfully hide oneself from Sen, a woman with three decades years spent scouting her way through hostile warzones, was commendable. It made sense, as Tikkit regurly stalked monstrosities with eyes and nostrils rger than a human head, but still. Evie shrugged.

  "Would that we had enough of his number to make a strategic difference. His sort aren't easily torn from their preferred hunting grounds, sadly."

  "Well, you should be tryin' harder." Sen cupped her hands around her mouth, raising her voice. "Oi! Wiggle a leaf or somethin', so I can see where ya are!" Sen waited a moment, then frowned. Evie gave her a commiserative smile.

  "I don't see why you expected him to give away his hiding spot, Sen."

  "I already have!"

  Sen started, looking about in confusion. For a moment Evie was even more impressed, thinking Sen couldn't find him even with his voice, but then her head shot upward, staring up into the trees.

  "Hot damn! How'd you get up there all quiet like?"

  "By doing whatever you wouldn't, foreigner."

  Evie followed Sen's eye line, ears twitching to narrow in on Tikkit's voice. She thought she might have found his hiding pce, enshrouded in broad leaves some forty feet off the ground, but couldn't be sure. She shook her head in mild amusement.

  "As I said, a shame we've been unable to recruit more of his number."

  "And like I said, you should be tryin' harder." Sen eyed the Irregurs still crouched in the bush behind Evie. "Let me guess. Not enough folk like him willing to get all gussied up for war, so your Politicker is tryna shove all sorts up the ranks by force."

  "It was my suggestion, actually. We'll be at a great disadvantage in Irregurs during the coming war, and I thought myself well suited to train those appropriate for the challenge."

  "Yeah, well, they ain't any good at hiding. How's about fighting?"

  Another minuscule shrug. "They are well past the point that the untrained could pose a threat. Against other Irregurs besides myself, only time will tell. They are certainly not my equal, at the very least."

  Sen chortled, shoving Evie affectionally on the shoulder, while Evie fought against the swimming of her head. Discussing her army's weaknesses so casually with the enemy was anathema to all of her training. The entire conversation was an absurdity. Was this how Master always felt, tangling with the dilemmas she did?

  "And so what if they was your equal, huh, Lady Eliah? I could still mop the floor with all'a you."

  Evie's ears flicked. "There was a time when you were correct. My entanglement with M– with the Governess has proven beneficial in that regard."

  "Oh? She put some spooky Champion juju up in you?"

  "Perhaps she did, if in less crude terms." And in cruder terms as well, Evie silently added.

  "Yeah, well, I bet I could still take ya. Got too much gravel in my gut to lose to a girl I st remember getting chomped half to death by a hippo."

  The fur along Evie's ears spiked, despite herself. "That matchup was an absurd one, Sen, and I still would have won the next exchange. Regardless, my training continued in private, even after the bitch forbid me from 'slumming' with the Night's Eye. Between the years of self-study and my newer boons, I doubt you would find me as easy an opponent as you expect."

  "Oho? Kitty's got some bite to her now, does she?"

  "You are goading me." Evie crossed her arms. "Why? We are here to trade information, not insults."

  "Because I can, and because I think I'm right." Sen patted her sidesword. "Y'wanna give it a go? For old time's sake?"

  Despite herself, Evie did. That didn't mean she would happily leap to dueling an Irregur of an enemy force, but behind her mask of polite impassivity, she was tempted. Sen was an accomplished swordswoman. Scouts sent on missions as dangerous as she had to be. Master's meteoric rise through Levels had continued to drag Evie along in its wake, and her abilities had progressed accordingly, but without a direct comparison to those she once tested herself against, she couldn't truly internalize the changes. Some of the finer details of what she was now capable of escaped her, an inevitability with how little time she had to accustom herself, but the basics didn't change. She was faster, stronger, and had better reflexes than ever. How much so, Evie would certainly like to learn.

  All that said, a "friendly" duel in the midst of an enemy camp was... ill-advised, to put it politely. Evie had no power in this exchange. They could betray her trust easily, while she would remain without option to go against her word. The moment she was surrounded by the Night's Eye, she could be killed or abducted at their will. She wished to say she trusted them, that most had known her since she was a child, but that was hardly worth mentioning, when pitting personal acquaintance against a matter of King and Country. Accepting the duel was an unconscionable, idiotic risk.

  Evie smiled politely, nodding. "I accept."

  Sen cpped while the Night's Eye whooped. Evie could only imagine the look on her Irregur's faces as she spoke the words. A foolish, foolish thing to do. Already, she began formuting the argument she would use against them.

  Why had she? Simple. It was what Master would have done, and as skilled a diplomat as Evie was, she was a bumbling child next to Master, who she was unquestionably certain would have accepted the offer. That meant it would have been the peak of arrogance for Evie to do otherwise. She, a sve, knowing better than Amarat's Chosen? Ridiculous.

  Of course, as she was swept into the now-raucous Sporaton camp, as certain as she was that Master would have accepted the duel, Evie could think of a few, rare occasions on which Master did not act with perfect rationality. Only a few, though. A few dozen, at most, pursuing personal wants in lieu of greater needs and the like. But surely this wasn't one of those cases. Master would have accepted the duel for some arcane diplomatic rationale that would make perfect sense once expined to Evie, not bravado or sentiment. And just like Master, Evie had made this decision out of pure logic. Certainly not in response to taunts whose origins were years gone by. That would have been yet another absurdity heaped upon this bizarre night.

  "Come now!" Evie called at the forest. "No point in you witnessing this from afar, is there? Perhaps you'll learn a thing or two, seeing a different style of fighting." And I want you nearby in case you need to cover my escape.

  Hesitantly, her Irregurs emerged from the trees. Tikkit, of course, did not follow, and Evie wasn't certain he was presently within a half mile of the camp. She would not bme him if he fled from her idiocy. Had she been his commander receiving the report that he'd abandoned her after such a foolish move, she would have praised him.

  Sen led her to the far side of the tents, dismissing the peasants to return to their nightly duties, or to rest. The Night's Eye were allowed to come watch the duel if they wished, but Sen firmly decred the allowance was only on the grounds that there would be no compining of tiredness the following day. Evie smiled. So odd, to be hearing the words of her childhood nannies in the mouth of a grizzled veteran.

  They reached the portion of the camp that Sen had decided would serve for dueling. It was the fttest portion of the hill, grass well-trod by the feet of their horses as they'd arrived, but not so badly worked that the dirt had turned to mud. The Night's Eye, well familiar with the routine, shifted logs and firewood into a light circle around the space. When dueling in hostile territory, limits on the fight's grounds were pced, so that the combat did not spill beyond where it was safe to be distracted. That they had regutions even for such eventualities was highly amusing to Evie, when other mercenary forces were vilified for their barbarity.

  Quietly whispering back and forth, her understandably rattled Irregurs questioned her actions. Evie provided her justifications offhandedly, more focused on formuting a stratagem for the upcoming duel, and paid their objections little mind. The challenge had been made and accepted. All else was fruitless dallying.

  Instead of paying attention their whining, Evie sunk deeper into the recesses of her mind. 'Know yourself and know the enemy.' As she did before every duel, she started with herself. She had dueled countless times with Master over the st few months, and seen a considerable amount of genuine combat between those bouts. She was gifted the css of Supplicant Duelist, honoring both her skill with the bde and her dedication to Master, and it had always given her an advantage in those duels. In contrast to the restraint her rapier showed, Master was a warrior, built for shaping the throes of titanic battles, favoring weapons and styles that would cleave a path towards victory. Even before Master had caught up to Evie's Level, Evie could not have matched the sheer body count Master left festering across Tulian's open fields. Every fiber of Evie, from her training as a Squad Leader to her very personality, was born and built to engage a single target of equal skill. It was these elements which so often carried her sword past Master's guard, which allowed her to cim victory time and time again.

  She looked now at First Lieutenant Sen Longstep, Master of Scouts of the Night's Eye Mercenaries. She was thirty years Evie's senior, and had first waded into battle five years younger than Evie was now. It was whispered, among the Night's Eye, that while she rode a steed when traveling amongst others, it was just a matter of convenience; supposedly, she could just as easily maintain a jog for several unbroken days. They also cimed that her skin was porous as a sieve, soaking in shadows and blistering light alike, until she was nought but a dim outline walking within feet of the very foes so desperately searching for her. The fire that had scoured her skin was another point of contention, as by all accounts of the battle, Sen had been nowhere near the famous bze that had overtaken the church tower. She had been ordered to reconnoiter it, yes, but it had been six miles distant at the time, and burst into fmes a mere five minutes after she departed. The burns, some among the Night's Eye argued, had to have been from her interception by an enemy mage. If she had truly been involved with the bze, she would have had to cover six miles in a handful of minutes, a speed twice that of the greatest racehorse, which was of course impossible.

  Evie did not know which of the legends to believe. They were spoken by other Irregurs within the Night's Eye, who had all the motivation in the world to both deny or exaggerate the cims, depending on who they were trying to talk up at the time. What she could be certain of, however, was the weapon at Sen's side.

  It was kept in a peculiar sheath. Truly, it was no sheath at all. Just a leather band at her hip that caught the pommel, so it would not fall off her side. The bde was left exposed to the elements, a luxury afforded it by the thin bcksteel that made up its length. A magical weapon, in the variety of Master's, and technically superior to Evie's own. The bcksteel could hold far greater energies than even the gems encrusting Evie's rapier, and was stronger, too, by simple virtue of the material itself. She did not know what enchantments it held, beyond the standard sharpening and strengthening that any magical weapon would no doubt sport, but she doubted they would be complex. Certainly not as bizarre a contraption as Master's bde, the folding of which Evie was certain no other weapon on record replicated. But it had to do something strange, or else there would be no point in choosing bcksteel. She briefly entertained the thought that Sen had chosen the material solely for the wealth it dispyed, but dismissed the idea. If Sen cared so much for appearances, she would have spent the exorbitant funds on specialized healers for her scars, not a fancy sword.

  The dimensions of the weapon itself gave Evie some insight into how Sen's style had morphed since she had st seen the Lieutenant fight. It was single-sided, but without a saber's curve, and the sloping edge extended to a fuller nearly at the dull edge of the bde. Designed to be extraordinarily sharp, almost razor-like, which suggested to Evie that Sen had continued to emphasize decisive blows. She was a scout, after all, and would prefer to take any enemy down as quickly as possible, before they could alert others. Its crossguard was comparable in width to standard longswords, fairly unremarkable, but usable to maneuver the opponent's weapon during a bind. Despite its lopsided appearance, the sword sat evenly in the sheath, and Evie guessed correcting its bance was among the enchantments it carried.

  The Night's Eye had completed their construction of the dueling grounds, and Evie's Irregurs had given up convincing her to change course. Sen stepped into the dueling circle in the same breath Evie did, resting a hand on the pommel of her bde.

  "Terms, My Lady?"

  "One round, to lethal blows, of course. When have you ever dueled otherwise?"

  Sen grinned. "Just making sure. You might want a redo or two."

  "Perhaps once upon a time. Now I've become familiar enough with death to recognize the danger of training oneself for second attempts."

  "Never acted like you thought otherwise with old Graf, though, did ya?"

  "I was ignorant. Not a fool."

  Sen, as well as some of the Night's Eye, ughed. Questioning Master Graf's lessons, even as the daughter of highranking nobility, was not done.

  Darin, as one of the few Irregurs present that did not rely upon weapons for his combat, was the one to step unarmed into the arena. He shoved a dirty hand into his pocket, retrieved a tied bag, and paused for a moment to spit on his fingers and wipe them off as best he could. That done, he gingerly pulled the white hankie from the bag, holding it between two pinched fingers.

  Evie took her stance, rapier fshing into existence. Sen drew her own bde, holding it not dissimirly from how Master once had, when she used the strange machete-esque weapon she preferred before meeting Hurlish. An uncommon stance, meant for wielding a two-handed sword with only one edge. Even Evie didn't know its name, but she took the opportunity to study how her opponent held the weapon. Had this duel occurred before Evie met Master, she would have been at a loss. Now, with months and battles behind her, she picked familiar elements from the strange image. Sen's right foot was far ahead of her left, as Ignite preferred, while her hands were kept low and close to her waist, as Master oft opened with. Her shoulders were level, nothing to bely from which angle she would first strike, but Evie caught the way her scarred left eye had a slight tremor to it, a new one, as if Sen had to expend a little bit of effort to fully open it.

  Some thought the art of the duel began with the match's opening. They were fools. Even as Evie studied Sen, Sen was studying her. Evie shifted her stance ever so minutely, little more than twitches of unseen muscle, and Sen responded, grip twisting on her sword. Years of experience, abilities unknown, the spellwork woven into their weapons, it all came into py, it all had to be accounted for. Master regurly derided those textbooks which called combat a dance, menting to Evie that she wished to shove the authors into the lines of battle to see if they found any grace amongst the brutal melee. Evie did not disagree with that view, not when it came to warfare, but in duels? There her opinion differed. There was a thrill to duels, borne of testing oneself to the utmost. In no other arena were all the elements of the self so engaged as in the dueling arena. Every shade of her mind, every inch of every limb of her body, every taken breath and every exhale that must follow, they all mattered. They were all, without exception, critical.

  And yes, even if Master may not see it, there was an elegance to the contest. A beauty. If some wished to call it a dance, Evie would not object.

  Even if a dance was so much less wonderful than a duel.

  Darin released the hanky. It fell sedately, floating on unseen eddies of air, rocking from side to side. The zy trip it took to the soil afforded just enough time for Darin to step out of the ring, leaving only Evie and Sen. There were thirty feet between them.

  The hanky touched ground.

  Evie's muscles moved before her mind, parrying a left-sided blow that shook the bones of her arm. Sen wasted no time in maneuvering her weapon along Evie's rapier, not even bothering to break contact, instead trying to leverage the tip around to slice through her throat. Evie took one step backward, breaking contact, then thrust forward as fast as she could manage.

  A duel.

  Enchantment light fshed in violent bursts, accompanied by the sparks of swords taken beyond the realm of mortal metal. Evie parried one, two, three blows, each time at the st millisecond, each time suffering the reverberation of titanic blows transmitted to her palm. Sen was faster than her. For every thrust Evie unched, Sen was afforded three, movements too rapid for thought to track. Evie sunk into the rhythm of the moment, parry and thrust, action and reaction, muscle memory in control of her fate. The present was dictated by the past. Only the life she had lived would carry her through.

  The duel.

  Sen's lips turned down as her tenth, eleventh, and twelfth blows tasted only steel, and the frown deepened when Evie– just as she had three times hence– struck forward. The ring's edge she'd felt at her heel faded away as Sen was forced not just to dodge, but to parry, ft of her bde directing Evie's rapier off and to the right of her torso. Evie was now extended beyond recovery, the pace of battle so great that she may as well have been frozen, exposed.

  The duel!

  Sen's bde blurred towards Evie's midsection, nothing but open air between its edge and destination. It was a lethal blow. Unavoidable. But Evie was not done. She'd not had her fun yet. She'd not tasted what she craved. The weight of weapon vanished, freeing Evie's empty hand to return to her chest, and then, with a fsh, the weight returned–

  In front of Sen's bde.

  Evie's parry turned the weapon aside, so that only the ft of it crashed against her chest, and the force of it against the leather took both of her feet off the ground. As she went, the rapier disappeared again, exchanged for cws, the leftmost of which tore across Sen's face. Evie felt two textures pass beneath her fingers, the first of smooth, unblemished flesh, the second of tougher scar tissue. Then she was gone, spun through the air, hitting the dirt somewhere far away.

  The duel!

  Before she could skid beyond bounds, Evie's rapier appeared once more, embedded in the soil so she was jerked to a violent stop. Her eyes opened just in time to see a bck bde arcing down towards her, set to take her arm off at the elbow. The rapier remained in the soil as she rolled left, springing to her feet with her left hand on her hip, right hand held empty before her. Sen looked at the feline across from her– disarmed, save for a feral smile– and pulled back, resetting her stance.

  Evie took the offensive. Her arm nced forward, rapier pulled into this realm with its tip a quarter-inch from Sen's colrbone. It was knocked up and to the side, but Hurlish had given her rapier an edge, and she flicked the lightweight tip back to the right, towards Sen's throat. The woman had to lean away to save her own life, ruining her stance, and Evie swung hard down, trying to take her to the ground. Sen did not oblige her, and instead, somehow, threw her forearm up into the bottom of Evie's bde. It dug a line through her flesh, but the wound was survivable, unlike that which it prevented. Evie felt a snarl emerge from her throat, and she continued to press forward, raining a hail of blows upon her opponent.

  This was not how Evie fought. This was not how anyone fought. So fast was Sen that Evie's weapon barely existed at all, every moment it tugged her arm down another millisecond gained by her faster opponent. It flickered and fshed like a failing spell, Evie's mind tearing itself apart with the effort required to track Sen, summon her weapon, dismiss it, predict the next blow, summon her weapon, again and again and again, endlessly. It was a failing tactic, leaving her exposed every moment the sword was not in her hand, and if it weren't for the surprise of her attempting it, Sen would have long since felled her. Still Evie persevered in the tactic, not because it was the right thing to do, but because it was the only thing left to her.

  Slowly, achingly, the challenge was met, equalled, and then exceeded by her opponent. Evie's momentum steadily stuttered to a halt as Sen adapted, but Evie didn't care. Even though conscious thought had left her head, emotion remained, and this more primal mind exulted. The creature evolution left behind exulted in the moment, recognizing realities a more civilized self would not, could not. Lieutenant Sen was faster than her. Lieutenant Sen was stronger than her. Lieutenant Sen was many more things than her, from simple height to magnificent skill, but for the very first time in Evie's life– for the first time in her regimented, ordered existence, a lifetime spent under painstakingly striated hierarchies– Evie's unthinking self realized something.

  Lieutenant Sen was more than her.

  But she was not better.

  Evie felt a ugh bubble out of her throat, mad as any fae, and it earned her a bruising blow across the cheek, but she did not care. Sen was as she was. A level above her, maybe, or more, but Evie did not care. For all her advantages, Sen was no more than she.

  Her rapier darted in and out of existence at her beck and call, affording her the ability to survive. The weapon was a gift, shaped by the hands of a woman she would one day call Wife, bought by the other woman she would some day honor with the same title. Evie had received so many gifts throughout her life, those paltry, lifeless things, calcuted to earn her favor or to provide subtle insult, and any one of them were worth a mountain of coin more than the sword that was today carrying her life.

  But they were not better.

  Evie ughed again! She couldn't help it. She wasn't even sure how loud she was being, if Sen could hear her, or if the sound was in her own mind, but she didn't care. She kept moving, swinging, thrusting, accepting the pains of her body with welcoming arms. Sen's expression had shifted to one Evie only remembered from her childhood, watching on the sidelines. It was one of focus, of determination, and, ever so slightly, of concern. Evie had seen it on Sen when the Lieutenant dueled her husband, or dueled Master Graf, or the time she had been defending Evie's carriage from pursecutters with a particurly poor sense for choosing their targets. It was an expression borne of an emotion she'd witnessed and puzzled at as a young girl, finding it alien. It had been years of training before she recognized it in herself, fresh after the test loss in a training match, and it had taken her great consideration to give it a name.

  Excitement. As familiar to a lifelong mercenary as it had been unfamiliar to the stifled young Evie, it was a great many feelings wrapped into too neat a bundle to be dissected and beled. The thrill of combat undertaken for good reason, a high of adrenaline that came at the razor edge of irrevocable consequences, the feral delight of exertion. Evie split her lips in acknowledgement of the emotion, even as her limbs tired, as her swings slowed.

  Sen's sword came about with blinding speed, seeking to swing through her neck and out from her armpit, cleaving Evie in two, but for the very first time, blood from parallel scratch marks on her forehead finished their trickle through Sen's eyebrow. Sen squeezed her eyelid shut against the sting, seeing Evie only through the twitching left eye, and that was enough.

  THE DUEL!

  In her left hand, Evie's rapier appeared, flung forward. In the same moment her right hand shot up, palm smming into Sen's elbow as it plummeted down, and a violent crack split the air. Sen's bck sword flung from her hand as her grip failed, a gasp sounding. Her left hand went up to her metal breastpte, groping, then went higher, finding where the tip of Evie's rapier had impacted the base of her throat.

  Raucous cheers erupted among the Night's Eye, Sen betrayed by her comrades in favor of the spectacle her loss represented. She gasped once more as Evie dismissed her rapier and drew the Lieutenant in close, broken elbow no doubt burning with pain as Evie welcomed her in a hug only two living women had experienced before. Sen winced as Evie reached up to draw the woman's head down, for all the world looking like a congratutory sp on the back, and then Evie tightened her grip on the woman's neck and pulled her lower yet, whispering fiercely in her ear.

  "When you next see Master Graf, deliver him this question: 'A serpent lies hissing beside a path you must travel. Do you walk on?'"

  Evie pushed against Sen's breastpte, spinning her about to face the audience. She took the dazed woman's good hand and raised it, shouting.

  "How's that for a duel? Still think it's not me, you mercenary bastards?!"

  The cheering erupted further, spurred on more now by the sound of Lady Eliah, the very picture of noble decorum, calling them all bastards. Evie dropped Sen's hand, giving her a firm few sps on the back. The woman looked back down at her, still dazed as Evie smiled back up at her.

  "Let's get you to the healers. That arm can't feel good, can it?"

  Sen ignored her. Her eyes sharpened for a brief moment, as if recalling something she'd forgotten. She licked her lips, speaking in a whisper.

  "Twelfth. You?"

  Evie smiled. "Tenth."

  Sen nodded slowly, face a mask. Starlight flickered above them. Finally, shaking her head, she touched her elbow and winced. "The healer. Yeah. The healer's a good shout. Let's get to it."

  Evie guided her towards the edge of the dueling circle, extolling– loudly and repeatedly– to be careful with the Lieutenant's broken arm. You see, Evie had broken it, just a few moments ago. Oh, you saw it, Darin? When Evie had broken the Lieutenant's arm? All on her own? In a duel that she'd won? By breaking the Lieutenant's arm? It was really something, you should've seen it, Hearth. Oh, you saw it too? Hell of a thing, wasn't it?

  The teasing finally pulled Sen out of whatever fog had overtaken her. The grizzled mercenary shoved herself off Evie's shoulder, shouting for that damned healer to show their face. Evie continued to suffer under the congratutory backblows of the Night's Eye while she followed Sen to the healer's tent, with the rain of blows only ceasing when she ducked inside after her.

  As Sen sat on a stool and held her limp arm up for the healer's attention, she fixed Evie with a different kind of focus. A practical, respectable sort. The healer informed Sen that the bone was ready to be set, and Sen took a swig of something strong. A quiet pop followed.

  When Sen's teeth stopped grinding, she blew out a long breath.

  "So. Information, was it?"

  Evie nodded. "Considerable increases in pickets and scout parties as you neared the valley." Evie paused. "That was your objective, I assume?" Sen nodded, so Evie continued. "Indicating a heavy military force present in the area. More crafters and military age individuals than expected in the preceding vilges, as well, which suggests preparations for some kind of defense are underway. Unfortunately, due to increasing frequency of patrols, it wasn't possible to intrude any further without being compromised."

  Sen chuckled darkly, running her good hand through her sweaty hair. "That how it went down, huh?"

  "Pretty much. Actually, there wouldn't have been any signs of defenses being prepared, so take that as a bonus. Master's too good to let something like that slip until you were in the valley itself." Evie cocked her head, considering. "Also, the locals refer to it as 'Midwich Valley'. You've no idea why, and neither did they."

  "Hm. It works. You tryna lead the Royal Army into a trap, Lady Eliah?"

  Evie hummed noncommittally. "King Sporatos's objective is to destroy the assembling enemy army, justified as a securing action for his southern border. To do so he must find that army, and the valley is an excellent starting point for doing exactly that."

  Sen snorted into her mug. "There's the little politician girl I knew." Sen finished her sip, then looked at her arm. "Well. Maybe not so little, these days."

  "I haven't grown any taller since you st saw me."

  Sen made a face. To hear Lady Eliah making jokes, much less bad ones, was unheard of. "No. You ain't taller."

  Evie nodded her understanding, moving towards the tent's exit. "I hope to see you again some day, Sen. And do remember to pass on that message to Master Graf, won't you?"

  The only response was a solemn nod.