Leoric had his doubts.

  They were out scouting the farmland again. For the third night this week, they had been sent out in the dark, patrolling the fields south of Kael Kelhit. He had no idea what the generals expected to find.

  To the north, the mountains of Sardia rose and among them lay the Sardian Pass. To the west, the Lake Land sprawled—a labyrinth of lakes and rolling hills. To the east, the sea stretched endlessly, a dark void beneath the night sky. Southward lay the farmlands they scouted, an expanse of golden fields now cast in shadow. And at the heart of it all, Kael Kelhit, perched on its tallest hill, its silhouette stark against the horizon.

  The siege camp, positioned just northeast of the city, sat atop the second-highest rise in the region. From there, they had an unobstructed view in all directions, with a particularly clear vantage over the southern plains—ensuring any approaching force would be spotted long before it reached them. To Leoric, this was a waste of time. Their southern flank was the only real vulnerability; the rest of the region was protected by nature itself.

  “Maybe they were Grest.”

  “Huh?” Leoric blinked, not immediately processing the words.

  “The mercenaries,” Garrin repeated. “Maybe they were Gresten-born.” He walked slowly across the bare field, his tone casual.

  Leoric exhaled sharply. “Are we back to this again?” His patience was wearing thin—they had gone over this more times than he cared to count since the ambush.

  Garrin shrugged. “I’m just saying, they didn’t sound like Varnmen to me.” His fixation on the ambush had only grown stronger in the weeks since, gnawing at him constantly.

  “It doesn’t matter, Garrin.” Leoric had tried to push for resolution himself, but Thorne had been clear—the priority was punishing the ones who ordered the attack. “You heard the Knight Paramount. They were hired by Varn. That’s all that matters to them.”

  “Sure, that’s what they said.” Garrin had come to a halt, his gaze shifting between Leoric and Edric, his expression tense. “But something doesn’t sit right with me. Why would Varn hire mercenaries from Gresten? And why would Gresten risk angering us?”

  He gestured vaguely, frustration creeping into his voice. “Maybe they weren’t Gresten-born. Maybe they were hired from the Southern Kingdoms? Or from their neighbor, the Duchy of Castain?”

  Leoric exhaled sharply. “How the hell should I know?” He had wondered about this himself—every night since Ronan's death.

  He ran a hand through his hair, forcing down the exhaustion creeping in. “Maybe they offered a lot. Who knows how much gold Varn has made off trade?”

  “Have either of you considered that maybe they weren’t hired by Varn?”

  Just like that, Edric cut to the heart of their concerns. Why would Varn risk provoking them further—especially now, with their army routed and in tatters?

  “I’ve thought the same myself.” Leoric couldn’t explain why, but something about the ambush felt wrong. Why send only fifteen men against an army of thousands? Peace talks had already begun. They had all assumed the short war was over.

  They walked on in silence, each lost in their own thoughts—none of them comforting.

  “Have either of you ever met anyone from Gresten?” Garrin finally broke the silence. “I’ve heard they’re excellent fighters.”

  Leoric exhaled. “Garrin, we’re supposed to be scouting for enemies. With all your talking, anyone within two miles can hear us.”

  He just wanted this night to be over.

  Garrin walked quickly to his side, gesturing at the empty landscape. “Look around, Leoric. There’s no one here. Even the farmers have fled.” He shrugged. “There’s nothing else to do but talk.”

  Leoric sighed. He knew Garrin well enough—he wouldn’t stop until he had an answer. “Yes. My father once took me to visit some distant relatives there.”

  Garrin’s eyes flicked to Edric. “And you, Edric? Ever been to Gresten or Castain?”

  Edric shook his head. “Can’t say that I have. I barely left the Greenwold before joining the Knights.”

  Garrin smirked. “Then it’s on you to educate us, Leoric.” He nodded toward him. “Did their accent sound like the ones we heard in the forest?”

  Leoric thought back to that night in the woods, surrounded by the Sardian Mountains. Ronan had rushed headlong into the dark, heedless of his safety, cutting down six mercenaries before he was felled. He had heard a lot of screams and curses that night, but only one voice stayed with him—the man who had struck Ronan down.

  Even now, he could hear it—the sneering disdain in his tone, the confidence of someone who didn’t believe they could lose. There had been a distinct lilt to his voice, but not one Leoric could place. It didn’t sound like he was from Gresten or Castain, but then again, Leoric had only ever visited the big cities, where the nobles gathered. Even in Sardia, dialects among the commoners sometimes sounded entirely foreign to him.

  “I can’t say with any certainty, Garrin.” He knew exactly what Garrin was trying to do now—the same thing he was. Figure out who had ambushed them, and why.

  He let out a slow breath, glancing at the road ahead. “If I’m being honest, I doubt I’d recognize half the dialects spoken across our own kingdom, let alone beyond its borders. You know as well as I do that the circles we move in don’t offer much in the way of variety.”

  His gaze hardened slightly. “And I’d wager that it’s outside those circles where we’d find our mercenaries.”

  Garrin let out a short huff. “Well, it was worth a shot. I guess we just have to keep trying to crack this nut then.” He kicked a loose rock down the road. “There’s nothing else to do out here anyway.”

  His tone was casual, but Leoric could hear the frustration beneath it—the same frustration gnawing at him.

  “By Oblivion, sieges are boring!” Garrin finally groaned. “We’ve been here a week, and nothing’s happened. We just stand and watch a wall, and the Varn just stand and watch us. It’s like some grand staring contest, and frankly, I think they’re winning.”

  Leoric sighed. “Patience, Garrin, please.” He wasn’t sure if this topic was better or worse than their endless speculation about the mercenaries.

  “We’re here to force the Varn to surrender. If we storm the city, who knows what the levy-men will do in their victory rush? And many of our fellow knights still need time to recover—that explosion in the Sardian Pass took more out of them than they’d ever admit.”

  Garrin let out a low whistle. “And here I thought we knights were supposed to be unstoppable. Next, you’ll be telling me we actually get tired and need sleep—instead of traipsing through empty fields in the dead of night.”

  “Please, quiet down, you two.” Edric’s voice was low but firm, cutting through the night. “We’ve got a job to do, and at this point, he’s just trying to get a rise out of you, Leoric.”

  Leoric sighed. “You’re right, of course.” He gave Garrin a dry look. “Alright, Garrin—let’s focus until we’re back at camp. Then I promise we’ll find some beer for you to stare at instead of the walls of Kelhit.”

  The rest of the night passed as expected. The countryside around Kael Kelhit was truly abandoned. The surrounding farms stood empty, their chimneys dark and cold, not a single wisp of smoke rising into the night.

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  There were plenty of animals, though. The hoots of owls echoed through the fields as they hunted the small rodents hiding in barns and undergrowth. Deer moved cautiously around the scattered clusters of trees—those that had yet to be felled for lumber and farmland. And in the pastures, cows and sheep lay sleeping peacefully, their grey shapes barely distinguishable in the darkness, little more than shadows against the land.

  At least they wouldn’t run out of food anytime soon, Leoric mused. If the siege dragged on, the cows and sheep could always be slaughtered. Though he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  Not only had they moved closer to civilians now—and any real fighting near them would bring casualties—but prolonged war with Varn was hurting his family’s wealth, along with that of many other nobles. Much of their fortune depended on trade with and through Varn.

  Leoric glanced at the horizon. “Let’s turn back. The sun will rise soon, and there’s nothing out here.” This had been a waste of time, just as he’d expected—and right now, he wanted nothing more than to get back to his cot.

  Garrin let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Finally, reason prevails. I can’t wait to get off my feet and under a soft, warm blanket.” He was already a few steps ahead of Edric and Leoric, eager to leave the night behind.

  “Stay in formation, Garrin.” Leoric’s voice was firm despite his exhaustion. He was too tired for Garrin’s antics. “We’re still behind enemy lines.”

  Sensing the seriousness in his tone, Garrin fell back into position without argument, settling in for the long walk back to camp.

  As they neared the camp, a sentry stepped forward from the darkness, issuing the standard challenge. The response came easily enough, and they passed through without issue. At least security was being taken seriously now—one of the few good things to come from the ambush and Ronan’s death.

  They moved quickly through the waking camp, where the disorder of the levy-men gradually gave way to the structured order of the Aetherian Knights. Their camp had been placed near the center, alongside that of the Kingsguard. Fortunately, the two had been separated by a mustering yard and the central command tent—an arrangement that likely spared them more than a few conflicts.

  The less he had to suffer those pompous bastards, the better.

  “Morning, sir,” came the greeting from the knight on duty.

  “Good morning, Godric. Anything interesting happen while we were on our moonlight stroll?”

  Instead of stopping to chat, Garrin kept walking toward their tents, clearly more tired than he had let on.

  “Nothing at all. Same as all the other nights. And you? Find anything other than empty farms?”

  “The same as the other nights, I’m afraid—only the occasional deer and owl. I guess the other scouting parties had as much luck as us?”

  “Aye, though Brandt claims they saw one of the great eagles, if you can believe that. Bigger than a cow, they all said.” Godric had a knowing smile on his face.

  Edric let out a small snort, and Leoric couldn’t quite keep the amusement from his voice. “Nobody told them that the eagles only hunt in the day?”

  “No, sir. And who am I to disagree with a Knight-Sergeant? Anyway, I figured they’d find out sooner or later.”

  “That they will. I’ll let you get back to it, Godric. I think Edric and I need to join our hasty friend in getting to sleep.”

  Leoric and Edric nodded farewell to Godric and made their way toward their tents. As they approached, the soft snores of Garrin reached them.

  “I guess we won’t see him until the afternoon then.” Leoric moved toward their campfire. Though it was unlit, the seating was still comfortable.

  Edric sat down in his usual spot beside him. “You know he’s right. It doesn’t make sense for the Varn to provoke us further—and with so few men.”

  “I know, Edric.” Leoric exhaled, troubled. Something larger was at play here, and he didn’t know what. Command was insisting it was the Varn, but he had a feeling the Knight Paramount wasn’t convinced by that explanation either.

  "I just don't see how we can figure out who and why on our own. And everyone else seems to be fine with accepting the explanation."

  Edric was quiet for a moment. Then, his voice was steady. “Sure, but they weren’t the ones who had Ronan in their squads.” He let out a slow breath. “We owe him that much—to figure out who was responsible for his death, if nothing else.”

  “That we do, Edric. That we do.”

  They sat around the cold campfire, lost in their own thoughts. Then, the sound of footsteps interrupted the silence.

  “Sorry, sir. The Knight Paramount wishes to speak with you.”

  A young initiate stood before them, one Leoric didn’t know the name of yet.

  “Can it wait? I just got back from a scouting mission.” Leoric could feel exhaustion creeping into his bones and regretted not going straight to sleep.

  “He knows, sir, but he insisted you come see him now.”

  “Alright then.” Leoric got to his feet and ran a hand through his hair. “The joys of command, eh, Edric?”

  Edric responded with a grunt, his eyes already beginning to close. Leoric shook his head slightly before turning away, following the young initiate toward the large tent at the center of the Knights' camp.

  As he stepped inside the Knight Paramount's tent, he was met with the rich, earthy scent of fresh tea. Two cups sat on the desk at the center, steam curling in the lamplight, and Thorne gestured toward a seat opposite him.

  “Good morning, sir. You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes. Please, sit—and have some tea.” Thorne’s tone was measured, almost inviting, yet his sharp amber gaze left no doubt that this was not just a social call. “I know it’s been a long night for you.”

  “Thank you.” Leoric took a sip of the warm tea, feeling his body relax. The taste was sweet with berries, carrying a hint of freshness as well.

  “It was a night like all the others, sir. Nothing to report.”

  “I know. Godric came by and told me you had returned. He already briefed me.”

  Leoric exhaled through his nose, setting the cup down. “I did find him more talkative than normal. I should have figured you were using him to debrief us.”

  He met Thorne's gaze. “Then why did you want to see me, sir?”

  “During the night, we received a letter from Duke Otric and his council. They’re offering terms for peace.” Thorne’s voice was calm, his delivery measured.

  “Concessions for trade, and they’ll allow for greater fortification of the Sardian Pass.” He paused briefly, letting the words settle. “We intend to accept it.”

  “I see. And I assume you’ll order me not to pursue revenge for Ronan’s death?” Leoric could feel his anger rising, though he knew better than to let it show.

  “[Ronan Blackarken]’s death pains me as well,” Thorne said, his gaze steady. “He is the only knight we have lost on this campaign, and I was the one who offered him a place among us. I know how you feel in this.”

  He held Leoric’s gaze, his voice unwavering. “But this is war, Leoric. And in war, people die. If we sought vengeance for every loss, our war would never end.”

  “Yet, I will not order you to stop. In fact, quite the opposite.” Leoric caught something in Thorne's eyes—a flicker of calculation.

  “I’ve heard the grumblings among you and your men,” Thorne continued. “And I don’t think it was the Varn either.”

  “Duke Otric overplayed his hand when he marched against us, and he was soundly beaten. Further aggression only delayed the peace talks.” Leoric leaned forward now, relieved to know his commander shared his concerns.

  “If there’s one thing that can be said about Otric, it’s that he’s pragmatic. An action like this is out of character for him.”

  Thorne had Leoric's full attention now. “I want you and your men to keep asking questions. We’ll be returning to Sardia, but once you find something worth acting on, we’ll decide how to proceed.”

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate it—really, I do.” Leoric hesitated, his thoughts turning over the implications. Why would Thorne want his squad investigating this?

  “But none of us know how to proceed. Surely some of the king’s men would be better suited to a task like this?”

  Thorne’s expression didn’t shift. “The reason I want you to investigate this is that I don’t trust anyone outside of the Aetherian Knights.”

  Leoric felt his pulse quicken as Thorne continued.

  “You told me that one of the ambushers said he expected more of the Aetherian Knights. That has led me to believe it wasn’t the army that was targeted—but us.” Thorne’s gaze remained steady.

  “And for them to know we were patrolling the southern edge… that implies inside knowledge.”

  “Still, there must be someone better suited to this, even within the Knights.” Leoric felt out of his depth. Sure, he, Garrin, and Edric had discussed this plenty, but they had never considered a threat from within the army—inside Sardia.

  Thorne studied him for a moment before speaking. “I’ve watched your squad in battle, Leoric. You have the right mix of skill, discipline, and—more importantly—loyalty. Garrin’s reflexes should serve you well, as should Edric’s strength. And your awareness and tactical mind make for a well-rounded team. And, above all that—you’re all very motivated.”

  Leoric frowned, leaning forward slightly. “Motivated or not, this isn’t something we’re trained for. If there really is inside involvement, we’ll be going up against people with power, with connections." He hesitated before continuing speaking. "Motivated or not, sir, we’re knights, not spies. If we start asking the wrong questions, we’ll be dealing with more than just rumors."

  “I understand that it’s a lot to take in, and you’re tired after a long night.” Thorne remained calm, unshaken by Leoric’s resistance. “Rest, Leoric. We have a long march home to Kael Kestrel, and there’s plenty of time to think on this.”

  Leoric exhaled sharply, sensing the conversation was at its end. He could tell he was being dismissed, but the weight of the task still sat uncomfortably on his shoulders.

  “I won’t make this decision alone, sir. I need to consult with Edric and Garrin.”

  Thorne gave a small nod, but said nothing more.

  Leoric was still confused, still unconvinced, but as he stood, exhaustion returned, a slow, creeping weight settling over him.

  His thoughts churned as he walked back to his tent. The camp was waking around him—distant voices, the clank of armor, the occasional whinny of a horse—but it all faded into the background. Edric had evidently gone to sleep as well—the campfire outside their tents was empty.

  He stepped inside, pulling off his gear with sluggish hands. Cleaning and oiling could wait. Right now, all he wanted was rest.

  He collapsed onto the cot, his mind still tangled with everything Thorne had said. The Knights had been the target. There was a traitor among them. The war was ending, but something else had already begun.

  The weight of it all pressed down on him, but so did fatigue. The thoughts came slower now, slipping away at the edges. His body ached, the cot beneath him suddenly the most comfortable thing in the world.

  He would think on it more later.

  For now, he slept.