Triumph echoed throughout the Vulgares camp. Esharah felt the deeper seeds of discontent mixed in the laughter and revels.

  Sergrud was a madman. So many died under his command, but even with the losses, he and the Vulgares were jubilant. With Wulfred’s head on their new standard and Hellfrost’s former prisoners by his side, Sergrud was all the stronger for it. Strong enough to mask the fact that every day their numbers diminished. Until Esharah nudged attention towards the empty seats at the long table. The souls no longer there to share the revelry. Most Vulgares were warriors, some trained since they were old enough to hold weapons to use them to kill. That didn’t mean they were heartless. They mourned. Wept, when the revelry fires faded and all huddled in the meager huts and tents spread out over Frostwood.

  “How many more will die?”

  “Who will be left to see the victory?”

  “How long before Sergrud sacrifices you as well?

  Many times, the whispers weren’t even of Esharah’s making. Only stoking fires already smoldering.

  Mensikhana tried to block Esharah’s whispers. Tried to shield the minds of those under her charge. Even without Esharah, the whispers still echoed, and both Mindspeakers heard them.

  “You feel it,” Esharah said. “Little victories are meaningless when doom waits at the end.”

  “It is the struggle that matters,” Mensikhana repeated the mantra she clung to in the face of every death.

  “And what is noble about this fight?” Esharah asked. “You’re terrorizing hunters, farmers, tradesfolk just trying to survive.”

  “We are liberating prisoners of the empire.”

  “Those who fought against Yvris’ tyranny are already freed. Their lives as hunters and workers in the quarries are no different from the hard lives that many free citizens of the empire experience. No different from your own lives. Better, much of the time.”

  Esharah saw the past in Mensikhana’s memories. Hard winters in the frozen north, huddled in tents and caves waiting out the blizzards. Some years, infants would be left out in the cold as “sacrifices” to the winter gods; better to give them a death before memory than starvation when they could not feed another child. Raids from other tribes slaughtering the strong warriors of the Rocksmashers. Their own raids doing the same to other tribes. Brutish, short, poor lives.

  “It is the only choice we have!” anger roiled from the other Mindspeaker’s soul. “Your empire on one side, the abyss on the other! What choice do we have but to fight?!”

  “The abyss?”

  Mensikhana hadn’t used that word before. The shadows in Mensikhana’s mind shifted. Pits deep and dark, leading to nothingness. Creatures unknowable rising up from their depths-

  “You mean the voidspawn,” Esharah said. Of course they’d seen them too. No one knew how far north the voidpits extended. It was natural for the tribes in the northern wastes to have encountered them. She shared images of the many-legged, black-carapaced monsters that Aven and the others dragged back from their hunts.

  “Yes,” Mensikhana’s mind was suddenly blank. Closed to the past. “Monsters. Abominations. Blights on life itself. And your empire seeks to tame them.”

  “Tame them?” Where in all the hells had she gotten that impression? One of Sergrud’s deceptions? “We kill them. That’s the whole point of the voidhunters. Wiping them out. Yes, we make use of their blood and meat and shells. To fight them better. You think that’s wrong?”

  “You meddle with powers that you do not understand. If any of you had seen what lies within the abyss-”

  “Aven has.”

  A pause. Silence.

  “I do not mean merely being touched by the void.”

  “I know,” Esharah replied. “Aven has been in the pits. Twice.”

  “That is impossible.”

  Esharah tried not to roll her eyes. Again, this woman was sheltered. She’d known nothing but her tribe. Of course she had a limited view of what was possible. Which would be fine if she weren’t forcing her own limitations upon the rest of the world.

  She opened up her mind and showed the memories. Aven, returned from the wilderness, carrying Old Fox’s corpse, covered in voidblood. Aven, smiling as he flung himself into the void at the bottom of Zav level. Aven, rising from the void two weeks later, transformed by the power.

  “Lies,” Mensikhana whispered. Not in the tone of someone truly doubting. Only the tone of someone too overawed to accept. “That’s impossible. Two...two weeks? No one...no one’s mind could last in that void for more than a minute.”

  “You speak as if you have experience.”

  Esharah gently probed, but Mensikhana closed those memories off.

  “No. That is my own sacred memory. It is not yours to touch.”

  “As you wish,” Esharah pulled back. “But if you have been in the void as well...you should speak to Aven.”

  “I have nothing to say to an abomination,” Mensikhana snapped. “I have seen grazik – voidtouched. I watched my own brother succumb to the cursed blood! I wept as my father took his life before he could turn feral and mad.”

  Esharah winced as the memories flashed. The grief. The rage. “I am sorry. But you have already felt Aven’s mind. You know he is not mindless monster. Just a man.” A reckless, often stupid, often infuriating man. But all those qualities belonged to him alone, not to the Void.

  Mensikhana said nothing. The rage cooled to sorrow, the grief fading to numbness. But there was still that shadowed pit at the back of the mindspeaker’s mind. Something that Esharah could not see.

  “Is that the struggle you speak of?” Esharah asked. “The fight worth fighting even if it destroys you? Is the void your true enemy?”

  “It is.”

  “Then you should speak to Aven.”

  The mindspeaker’s presence vanished. But her absence was not a rejection, but contemplation.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  * * *

  Aven was leading the patrol southwest of Hellfrost when the Vulgares attacked. Just a small band, no one Aven knew among them. Thank the gods for that. If any of the former prisoners were among them, Aven had no idea how his own soldiers would react. As it was, Aven practically had to drag this group out of Hellfrost to march out on patrol.

  “Not ready to surrender yet?” a canin warrior leading the Vulgares taunted after a brief exchange of arrows shifted to both sides holding tense formations. Each on the side of respective hills, valley between them. Neither willing to charge.

  Even numbers, a dozen Vulgares behind the canin and a dozen soldiers behind Aven. No. There was another Vulgares. The Battle Mind caught the faintest shadow trailing the larger group. Teja. Not circling to flank them. Just watching. For now, at least.

  “I was about to ask the same,” Aven called back. He glanced aside to where Wally was clenching a spear as if his life depended on it. “How many vis do you think?”

  Wally gulped, voice shaking almost as much as his hands, “I-I don’t...” A deep breath. Slow, to steady himself. Just being counted on seemed to still some of his anxiety, “Four...I think. Plus the felin behind them.”

  So, Wally had noticed Teja too. Good on him. Their own patrol only had Aven and Wally as vis. Not the most favorable odds.

  The canin laughed, echoed by the others behind him. “Ragashar do not surrender. The Great Ghulagkh demands our blood as much as yours. If you surrender, your deaths will be swift.”

  “Keep formation!” Aven called to the soldiers. “Steady!”

  The canin Vulgares howled as one, voices merging with the north winds sweeping over the snowy landscape.

  “Gods,” a soldier sobbed behind Aven, “we’re going to die. Just like Frostclaw.”

  “When we take these bastards with us!” another roared.

  Anger. Fear. Grief. The discipline that marked the legions was gone, broken by Captain Frostclaw’s death. Only survival left in its place. Still, they had to fight.

  “Ready!” Aven called as the Vulgares charged.

  “Captain!” Wally cried out. “Over the south hill!”

  Three figures, Aven saw at a glance. Running to join the battle. Couldn’t tell which side-

  Holy hells, was that Ouron? The runner too. Shevi.

  The Vulgares noticed the oncoming trio, and their charge wavered.

  “They’re allies!” Aven called. “Go! Charge!”

  With the unexpected reinforcements, even the most panicked soldier had enough hope renewed to charge at Aven’s command. They sprinted down the hill.

  Vulgares didn’t have complex formations. As far as Aven could tell, their tactics consisted of rushing in straight lines while howling loud enough to shake a stone. Which, in fairness, was enough to make any sane man shit themselves when said charge was rushing at him. But in the face of a pincer attack, they had no way of adapting.

  Aven’s force hit the Vulgares at the same time Ouron’s trio did. The first Vulgares to face Ouron had his knees taken from under him by a low mound of dirt that rose up right beneath him, sending the screaming barbarian right into Shevi’s short spear.

  For a second, Aven lost track of everyone else. The world narrowed to only himself and the canin chieftain launching at him with bared teeth. Right into the voidspear Aven launched out, stretching further even than the spears at his side.

  The Vulgares leader jerked aside, snarling in anger as the spear caught him in the flank. When Aven thrust again, the chieftain grabbed one of his subordinates by the neck and shoved him forward to the spear in his place.

  Battle chaos resolved as the Vulgares rushed back up the hill. Faster than Aven’s force could follow, but leaving half their number behind on imperial spears.

  “Run! Run you godsdamned cowards!” A soldier tried to follow before Aven caught him by the shoulder with a voidclaw.

  “Hold!” Aven shouted. “We’re just on patrol! Not chasing them back to terrain they could ambush us!”

  The soldier struggled a second longer before Aven’s words penetrated the battle-thrill enough for discipline to take hold again.

  Distracted as Aven was, he only noticed the shimmer in the air when it was already halfway to him. The Battle Mind slowed time enough for Aven to recognize the shadow-wreathed arrow launched from Teja’s hiding spot at the top of the hill. Dimly, Wally’s voice trickled in, warning him of the attack.

  A red-haired boy alongside Ouron turned, seemingly casually, walking stick flicking out to tap the arrow as it past.

  The shaft thudded into the snow at Aven’s feet.

  “Whoops!” the boy yelped. “That was close, eh?”

  Aven stared from the arrow to the bow, then back to Teja at the top of the hill. She tilted her head questioningly, shadows gone. Then, she turned and vanished over the hill, following the other Vulgares.

  “Captain,” Ouron put a hand on Aven’s shoulder. “I-“

  Aven seized Ouron in a hug. The veteran stiffened in shock. Probably didn’t consider them that close. Didn’t matter to Aven; any good news was a miracle at that point. Even Ouron’s mug was a sight for sore eyes.

  “Sergeant!” Wally bounded up to Ouron’s side as Aven released him. “You’re...you’re back!”

  The surrounding soldiers cheered. A couple had minor injuries. But no deaths. And multiple Vulgares lay slain. Just the victory they needed.

  “Gods, it’s good to see you,” Aven clapped Ouron on the shoulder again.

  The veteran grunted, “Shevi met up with us at the waystation. We left first light this morning. Glad we got here in time.”

  “Lucky we came along when we did!” the red-haired boy piped up, walking stick over his shoulder now, giving a lopsided grin. Made more lopsided by the bandages covering one eye.

  “Won’t be lucky if we get ambushed again,” Ouron said. “Back to Hellfrost?”

  “Aye,” Aven said. “Back to Hellfrost.”

  The soldiers took the fallen Vulgares’ weapons and regrouped into a march back. A far more cheerful march than the tense one out. Several of the soldiers surrounded Shevi, giving congratulations and thanks. Which the canin runner seemed generally overwhelmed by.

  “Your family?” Aven asked Ouron while they trekked back to town. “Are they well?”

  “They’re safe,” Ouron said shortly. “Back at the waystation. We’ll bring them up after we clean up this mess.”

  Right. Clean up. Easier said than done.

  “What’s the situation?” Ouron asked.

  “In short? It’s bad,” Aven lowered his voice so as not to smother the actual sparks of hope among the rest of the patrol. “Really bad. They’ve got Esharah. Frostclaw is dead. Half the reserve legions are convinced that everyone who used to be a prisoner is a traitor waiting to stab them in the back. Breton is...well, he’ll command the troops, but I can’t count on him to be a real leader. Etrani is shaken.”

  “And the plan?”

  “Wait for reinforcements,” Aven said. “Hold out. Even one more company would turn the tide. The Vulgares certainly don’t have the numbers to take Hellfrost still. But even then, even if reinforcements come, Esharah’s dead. And my head’s probably gone next.”

  Ouron grunted, “Aye, that’s bad.”

  “At least you’re here to help,” Aven said.

  “I’m one spear,” Ouron said.

  “Make that two,” the red-haired boy skipped up beside them. Apparently able to hear them clearly despite their lowered voices “Oh, not spear, mind. I’m more of a hand with the lute, y’see.”

  Aven gave the boy another appraising glance. Looked younger than Aven by a couple years. Skinny, not a soldier’s build. But lithe. And the Battle Mind...

  ...had no idea what to make of him. He walked backwards through the snow alongside them, apparently unconcerned at the possibility of tripping. Stance casual but in complete control. As if every step was part of a planned dance.

  “Who the hell are you?” Aven asked. Brusquer than was polite for someone who may have saved Aven’s life.

  The boy bowed low. Quite the theatrical bow, especially for someone still walking backwards through the snow. “Sunshine, at your service! Certainly a friend of Hellfrost, and I hope the same to you, Aven Arvanius.” He grinned, “At last a face to put to a name of legend!”

  “Legend?” Aven snorted. “Ouron, what the hell have you been telling him about me?”

  Ouron glanced at the stranger, not entirely trusting, “I didn’t tell him much at all. He just...joined along the way. Useful in a fight, though. He...” Ouron swallowed and said reluctantly, “he saved me and my family.”

  “And what brings you to Hellfrost?” Aven asked.

  “Just along for the ride. Surely you have more important concerns right now than little old me,” the boy called Sunshine grinned broadly, sole visible eye twinkling. “Something about your head being on the line?”

  Aven narrowed his eyes, but let the issue pass. It was true that they had more pressing concerns. And if Ouron vouched for the boy, that was enough for now.

  So, the way I see it,” Ouron said, “Hellfrost can hold against the Vulgares. Esharah’s the one in real danger, along with anyone who Vestra vis Nightblood blames for her abduction. That right?”

  “Aye,” Aven said. “But that’s not to downplay Sergrud’s threat. Bastard got into the keep to steal Esharah away once before. Killed Frostclaw. Could he take the keep? Saying no outright is arrogant. He’s the priority. Even...” Aven gulped. “Even over my life. Painful as it is to say. Or Esharah’s for that matter.”

  “Then the ideal solution would kill Sergrud, get Esharah back, and demonstrate that you and Etrani are worth more alive to the empire than dead,” Ouron said.

  Cutting right to the heart of the matter. That was Ouron, alright. Aven smiled, “Aye. That’d be the dream. But that...”

  Aven trailed off. Impossible, is what he’d been about to call it. Not impossible, though. Just incredibly reckless. Perhaps even stupid.

  “You godsdamned genius,” Aven slapped Ouron on the back, and pulled him along the rest of the way to Hellfrost.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

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