The messenger reached Hellfrost hours before the main army, bringing word of Captain Frostclaw’s death. And Iskir’s betrayal, along with a dozen other defectors.

  Aven wished Iskir’s actions brought him more surprise. He wished any of this were shocking. Frostclaw hadn’t even consulted Aven on which soldiers to take, choosing them himself.

  Breton was with the troops formerly under Frostclaw’s command, Etrani as well. Aven had his own soldiers to see to. With Frostclaw dead, no one seemed to care that technically, Aven had been removed from command.

  “Who else defected?” Aven looked around at those left. The group had been forced to leave behind most of their dead. Which missing faces were fallen heroes, and which were traitors? If those who died fighting for the empire could be called heroes.

  The names came back. All former prisoners — a mix of voidhunters and quarry workers. Besides Iskir, most weren’t ones Aven knew well. A trio of Genthi men imprisoned as thieves, all family. A few other beastkin who’d been close to Iskir. And to Ko’jan.

  “They...all left,” Wally clenched his fists, looking like he was fighting back tears. “Told me...told me I should go with them. We...we all swore to fight for Hellfrost, and they threw that away.”

  Aven put a hand on Wally’s shoulder. “Stay strong.”

  Wally nodded.

  Aven found Katrin’s face, blank as ever. No, not as ever. Her jaw was clenched, her eyes hard. Only one reason Aven could think of, “Gretchen?”

  Katrin closed her eyes, “She...chose to leave. With the Vulgares now.” Perched on her shoulder, Vili cooed softly and patted her cheek.

  Dammit. Several of those who left were vis. Worse than just losing numbers, that swung power to the Vulgares.

  All of Aven’s company were looking to him for answers, for some solution to this. Some words that would make their defeat turn to victory. Aven had nothing.

  “Get some rest,” Aven said. “All of you. You’ve been through enough. Get a hot meal in you, and some sleep. We’ll have orders for you tomorrow.”

  They dispersed in groups, quiet and dejected. Nearly twenty dead. A dozen more defected. Fifty had marched alongside Frostclaw’s company, and only twenty returned. Some of them had to be wondering whether they should have joined the Vulgares too.

  “Sir,” Wally stayed with Aven. “We weren’t...” he swallowed. “We weren’t fighting voidspawn out there. We were fighting people. If...if the Vulgares attack us again, will we...have to fight Iskir and the others?”

  “If they mean to take over Hellfrost, then we’ll have to make that choice,” Aven said. “There’s always a choice, though.”

  “A...choice?” Wally looked frightened by the prospect.

  “They made their choice,” Aven said. “Which means you’ll have to make yours. Fight. Run. Join the Vulgares.” He paused, “Wish I had something else to offer. I don’t. It’s the choice we’ve all got to face.”

  Wally stared at him in horror. Aven felt the expectations. Wally wanted someone to tell him to fight. Someone to say the right path was clear, and he would just follow. But doing that...would just be using Wally. Turning him into a tool.

  “Get some rest,” Aven repeated the earlier command.

  The young canin numbly walked away.

  From the crowd of soldiers, a shouting match was escalating.

  “-wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t sent us out to die!” a sergeant was screaming at Etrani.

  “You’re out of line, sergeant,” Breton got between the screaming man and Etrani. “Captain Frostclaw made the call to go out and fight. Save your anger for the rebels and traitors, not your leader.”

  So Etrani was leader again. Breton changed tune swiftly. Or perhaps simply played accompaniment to whoever’s song was loudest.

  “Can’t when the traitors are walking alongside us!” the sergeant yelled back. “Are you going to keep using godsdamned criminals and prisoners and calling them soldiers?”

  “The Hellfrost Legion is fighting alongside us, same as everyone else,” Breton said. “The actions of a few traitors doesn’t change-”

  “So you’re just going to wait for the rest of them to stab us in the back.”

  The other soldiers behind the protestor weren’t voicing agreement. But they also weren’t disagreeing. Aven could see on their faces that some held the same anger.

  “What do you want us to do?” Aven stepped in and asked. “When the Vulgares attack, do you think they’ll care which of us is a real soldier or not? We need every hand read to fight.”

  “I want you criminals back in your cells where you belong!” the sergeant said.

  Etrani spoke up, “No, I will not be imprisoning warriors who have fought for the Empire as hard as any of you. Those who remain chose to fight alongside you. Those who remain chose to return instead of leave to join the Vulgares. They fought, bled, and died just as your soldiers did. I expect you to do your duty and fight for Hellfrost whoever stands at your side. If you cannot, then you are unfit for command.”

  The sergeant threw down his shield and spear, “Good, then. I’d rather be in a cell myself than have to trust my life to one of those prisoners.” He spat at Etrani.

  Before Aven could consciously choose, his arm was already moving, backhanding the man in the face. This stupid shit. Attacking Etrani as if any of this was her fault. He’d shut the bastard’s mouth-

  Breton was there in an instant, shoving Aven back with one hand while grabbing the sergeant with the other. Breton twisted the man’s arm behind him, shoving the still shouting sergeant away. Etrani clutched Aven’s arm, looking at him fearfully. Only then did Aven notice that a voidclaw was emerging from his arm. Rage subsided to shame. Losing control like that wouldn’t help her. The black mist retreated back into his arm.

  “This is what the empire is now? Heroes like Captain Frostclaw die, good soldiers are locked in dungeons, traitors and criminals stand at our executor’s side!”

  Breton passed the shouting sergeant to a pair of his soldiers, who hauled him away. None of the others among Frostclaw’s surviving company moved to help the man, though many looked conflicted. The whole crowd was silent. Many of them eyed Aven. Some with suspicion, some even with fear at his violent outburst.

  Etrani took a deep breath, then spoke to the crowd of soldiers and civilians lurking at the edges, “Captain Frostclaw died fighting for the Empire. For the Ideals. And many of our warriors followed. The ones who returned did so to fight for the Ideals that Octarnis stands for. They did not flee with the Vulgares. We are all Tarnis, united in defending our nation from rebels. Governor Iraias will send aid, fresh warriors to eradicate the rebels from these lands. Until they arrive, we must work all we can to hold Hellfrost against this threat. Captain Breton, the defense of Hellfrost is yours. I place my trust in you to defend this city, and I place my trust in every man here to fight alongside you.”

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  A murmur of assent rose from the crowd. The legion soldiers saluted, fists over hearts. Etrani looked to Breton and gave a nod, leaving him to command the soldiers. Aven took her side, leaving with her to return to the keep. Back where no one was casting blame on them.

  Etrani held it together until they were back in her office. She sank into her seat. Aven took his place in a chair opposite the desk, as if this were just a regular report. If they acted normal, if they kept to their old routines, perhaps the past day could just be a nightmare.

  “I lied,” Etrani sounded numb, staring down at the desk.

  “Which part?” Aven asked.

  “Governor Irais sending aid,” Etrani said. “I-I will write again. Surely this time he will see that we need aid.” She gulped, “Even if it is proof that I am inadequate for this position.”

  Aven grit his teeth. The image of Yvris’ severed head came to mind. What was it Governor Iraias had said? That if they proved liabilities, they’d face the same fate. Etrani would lose her career, and Aven his head.

  “Maybe we should wait,” Aven said. “Find another solution. We could still get out of this. Find a way to rescue Esharah. You could still keep your position-”

  “My position,” Etrani froze in the act of writing. When her eyes met Aven’s, her voice trembled. “Do you really believe that keeping my position matters more than keeping Hellfrost safe?” Her voice turned harsh as Hellfrost’s wind. “Are you suggesting that I would value my career above all the lives in Hellfrost?”

  “That’s not...” Aven paused. That was exactly what he was going to suggest. A suggestion clearly not appreciated. He took a deep breath, “It’s my head on the line.”

  “Do you really think the governor would execute you?” Etrani asked.

  “I think Vestra would.”

  Etrani’s eyes widened. Aven could practically see the conclusion forming in her face. Esharah had been taken under his watch. That failure alone would earn Vestra vis Nightblood’s wrath. She’d said she would watch his rise. Erdrak’s execution already showed what waited those who disappointed her.

  For a long moment, Etrani stared at the parchment.

  “You promised yourself to protect the people of Hellfrost,” Etrani’s voice came out quiet. Hollow. “We have opportunity to do so now. By asking for aid, even if it means that we suffer for doing so. Even...if you die. Was your oath empty?”

  Yes, Aven had sworn an oath. He’d sworn oaths before. The Shadow Order demanded many oaths of service. Oaths that Aven followed to slay his closest friend. Oaths that he broke and killed his own father.

  Etrani still believed such things mattered. That loyalty was an Ideal to uphold, not just a convenience. That Octarnis’ Ideals could be more than a lie. She believed in those Ideals so much, that she would sacrifice her own ambitions to them. Perhaps even sacrifice Aven’s life.

  “What are we fighting for?” Aven asked.

  “For the safety of everyone in Hellfrost,” Etrani said, looking baffled, perhaps even hurt by the question.

  “Why not surrender, then?”

  Etrani’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “Surrender Hellfrost,” Aven repeated. “To the Vulgares. Then no one else dies, right?”

  The very words were treasonous. Most imperial executors would probably throw Aven back into a cell for even speaking them. Etrani gave the idea the same consideration she did all ideas.

  “The Empire would not condone a surrender,” Etrani concluded. “They would send greater powers to eradicate Sergrud and the Vulgares. And they would execute anyone they found responsible. That would include me and likely yourself.”

  “So we’re fighting,” Aven said, “because the empire will kill us if we don’t, and Sergrud will try to kill us if we do.”

  Etrani’s eyes turned down. Not in defeat, but in contemplation.

  “On a practical level, yes,” she answered. “Hellfrost...remains a prison. We fight for the empire, or we die. In those terms, the only difference the choice makes is which blades turn on us. But I refuse to think like that, because it denies everything that the empire should be. Everything it could be. We...we had the opportunity to build something here in Hellfrost. A system where the prisoners could earn redemption and new life through their labor. To prove that the empire could be better than the violence it has wrought on its subjects and people. To prove that the Empire is better than those like Yvris who would abuse its power to spread their evil. We still have that chance. Isn’t that what you swore your oath to?”

  In a sense, it was.

  Aven bowed his head, “If you believe it’s the best way forward, then write the letter.”

  Etrani nodded, face serious. Aven stayed with her while she wrote the plea that could be Hellfrost’s salvation. That may also be Aven’s death writ.

  * * *

  Shevi ran south. The letter in her satchel was light, but felt like the heaviest burden she’d ever carried in her career as an imperial runner. If the Vulgares intercepted her, if they took the letter before she got it to the imperial waystation at Rokan’s Hill, all would be lost.

  With that grave purpose in mind, the journey was almost disappointingly anticlimactic. No sign of Vulgares. No sign of anyone at all when she passed Notholm.

  Shevi ran alone. After Blackeye’s death, the runners hadn’t yet been assigned another blackfang. Blackfangs took time to bond with their owners, time to overcome the combination of natural frostfang aggression with the added strength of the voidmeat they ate. Time they didn’t have. So Shevi ran alone, nothing for the twenty miles of snow-covered road between Hellfrost and Rokan’s Hill.

  This was how she could fight, how she could avenge Blackeye. The memory burned still, waking her every night with screams and shakes when the vision of Sergrud’s spear through her dog’s neck came back. This message would be their salvation. This message would bring the legions up to sweep away the Vulgares murderers.

  Rokan’s Hill was...exactly as it always was. A village of some five hundred, largest of the three villages in the south of Hellfrost county and home to the waystation. On a good day in summer, Shevi could have managed the route in the morning, stopped for lunch at the waystation and been back in Hellfrost mid-afternoon. Now, with the long stretch south of Notholm completely snow-packed, at times losing the road and navigating only by major landmarks, it took more than double the usual time. She reached the town just before dark, the streets empty as everyone huddled from the cold in their homes.

  The waystation stood perched on top of the eponymous hill, doubling as the town watchtower. A stable, occupied by a few of the waystation’s own animals, plus a couple more in use by travelers.

  Shevi staggered inside, legs and lungs burning, muzzle numb and fur laced with frost.

  “Shevi!” Waymaster Garum looked startled, jumping up from the table by the fire where he was just digging into a steaming bowl of some kind of stew. The scent reached Shevi’s nostrils (turnip, cabbage, onion, pork - oh gods, she’d had nothing but dried fruit and jerky all day), setting her stomach growling. “What in the hells? This isn’t your usual day. You look half-frozen!”

  “Message,” she gasped, holding up the letter. “Urgent.”

  “It about the Vulgares?” the ogorok Waymaster took the letter and insistently led her towards the fire.

  “Aye,” Shevi said, mechanically following the directions. She’d done it. Delivered the message. She’d done her part. So why did it still feel like she’d done nothing at all to avenge Blackeye? “Captain Frostclaw’s dead.”

  Garum’s sole good eye widened in shock, “Hells. And the town?”

  “Intact,” Shevi said. Gods, the fire was warm. “Frostclaw led an attack on Frostwood. Ambushed by the Vulgares then stabbed in the back by one of the Hellfrost prisoners.”

  “Shit,” Garum shook his head. “Knew we couldn’t trust the bastards. Criminals all of them.”

  “Who did it?” A voice came from the corner.

  Shevi turned. Three, no, four people were there. A couple, a baby, and a younger man with flaming red hair and one eye covered in bandages. The father was the one who spoke. A legionary veteran, by the looks of it. And-

  “Sergeant Ouron!” Shevi leapt to her feet, finally recognizing the former prisoner. One of the very “criminal bastards” that Garum had just spoken of. And a hero, one who bore an insignia of honor that Shevi could only hope to match.

  “Herald Shevi,” Ouron nodded, rising to his feet, looking grim. Granted, Shevi hadn’t seen the man look anything other than grim the few times they’d interacted before he’d headed south. To bring family back to Hellfrost if Shevi recalled correct. Hell of a time for them to get back. “Report the news.”

  “And eat something, for gods’ sake,” Garum shoved a bowl of stew into Shevi’s hands.

  Shevi glanced back to Garum, “We need to get that letter to the Governor as soon as possible. Hellfrost’s survival may depend on it.”

  “Aye,” Garum said. “I’ll get Ed ready to take the letter onward. But your survival depends on you having some damn food in your belly. Eat.”

  Shevi finally relented. Gasping out the news to Sergeant Ouron between spoonfuls of stew. Frostclaw dead. Hellfrost Legion defectors joining the Vulgares.

  Ouron listened raptly, then nodded when she was finished. He turned to the woman, “Nora, I’m sorry. I’m needed in Hellfrost. Stay here; it’s not safe for you in Hellfrost now.”

  The woman smiled, though Shevi saw the worry in her eyes, “I understand. Do what you need to. Just come back to us.” The baby gurgled something in her arms.

  “Always,” Sergeant Ouron said. He turned to the red-haired man. “I’m going to Hellfrost. You?”

  The strange young man gave a lopsided smile. Far too wide a smile for the situation. “Wouldn’t dream of missing such a wonderful show.”

  “And...you are?” Shevi asked. From what Shevi recalled, Ouron was only supposed to bring a wife and child back.

  The young man bowed, “Name’s Sunshine, my dear. And your bravery has inspired me. The song of your run from Hellfrost will ring out for centuries hence. Tell me, how many times did the cruel Vulgares beset you on the run?”

  “...none?”

  “A thousand times did they try to assail you, but your fleet feet carried you on faster than their blades,” the bard continued as if he’d not heard. “And now, I hope our feet can carry us to Hellfrost just as swift.”

  “Not before you eat a proper meal they won’t!” Garum returned at that exact moment. “Hold until morning. Even if it ain’t a storm tonight, no one travels the Hellfrost road at night unless they’re looking to freeze to death.”

  Shevi sighed and accepted another bowl. Her work wasn’t done yet. But for tonight, it could be.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * *

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