Akhustal Palebane let out a sigh as she crested a ridge and spotted a glimpse of Titan Grove far off in the distance through the forest canopy. Coming home had never felt so terrible before. Her body ached from the trip back, but not at much as her spirit. She’d spent the entire journey questioning her every decision. Had she been too greedy? Too reckless? Had there been some way to avoid the disaster she’d walked into, or was this simply fate? These questions lingered inside her, the lack of answers wracking her with guilt.

Every leader dealt with the burden of command, and this was not the first time she’d made decisions that had cost lives. But this was the first time Stragma had paid such a price without anything to show for it. Not only that, but a chance for a historic victory over the hated elves was now lost as well. With the time, manpower, and strategic surprise they’d had, Akhustal should have gone down as the Chos who razed Astryae to the ground. Any hope of that had vanished now. Drayhadal would adjust and be ready next time. The opportunity would not present itself again.

Part of her thought it would have been better to push ahead anyway and let Pyria do what she may. That part said that Caprakan was as good as dead already, that the Second Army would never be returned. It said that bargaining with Pyria was a fool’s errand and that she would never honor her word. But she couldn’t do it. Not while her husband still lived. Not while there was a chance to get him back.

She was a failure of a Chos. A Chos was supposed to know no fear. A Chos was supposed to stand strong against all foes, and for over a decade she had done so admirably. She’d faced down beasts ten times her size with a grin. She’d laughed in the face of opposing armies. But now, for the first time since childhood, Akhustal Palebane was afraid. The thought of life without Caprakan terrified her. She couldn’t handle the thought of being alone again.

Her gloom remained even as she and her army entered Pholis later that day. Unsurprisingly, the city looked like she felt. One of the first actions the army had taken, naturally, had been to let those she’d left in charge in her absence know of what had happened and that they’d be returning early. Information on that level never stayed secret for long, and from the looks of things, everybody knew about it by now. A malaise blanketed the people. Her people. This was her fault.

Like many times before, the army split into smaller groups before disbanding. As soon as the Flegs and the Blous had left, the Hono congregated around her for a quick meeting. Each of her generals had taken the events of the last days slightly differently. Some, especially General Fernfeather-hono, were still angry about her decision, but nobody would dare defy her. She was the Chos, after all.

“There isn’t much to say right now,” she began once they’d all assembled. “Tomorrow morning there will be a council to discuss where we go from here. Every general Hono must attend.” She turned towards General Riverbiter-hono, who had been in charge of supervising the Shells. “All the dead have been properly stored?” A nod came in reply. “Good. The Rites of Renewal will take place tomorrow night. You are all dismissed.”

Everybody went their separate ways after that, leaving only Akhustal and her thoughts in the room. Another in a long line of sighs escaped her lips. This wasn’t getting any easier as time went on. The door to the chamber opened and Tepin entered.

“Her again?” Akhustal asked before Tepin even said a word.

“Yes.”

Wearily, she rose to her feet and plodded towards where their Manys lived. Time for the worst part of the day.

“You’re late,” Pyria chided as Akhustal entered the Many’s chamber. The Chos did not reply immediately, her gaze instead settling on the dirty, disheveled figure strategically placed in the background behind the long-eared witch.

Ever since that first horrible day, the head of the Esmae clan would contact her using the Second Army’s Many at the same time each night. Each time, Akhustal’s husband would be lying in the background, chained to a wall, blindfolded, gagged, and bound by restraints made from the poison metal tucrenyx. The wicked woman always had a few new petty demands that she wished to foist upon Akhustal’s already-burdened shoulders, but Akhustal knew that the real reason for these conversations was to make sure she saw her husband and remembered the price she would pay should she entertain rebellious thoughts.

This was how Pyria Esmae liked it. She lived for control and delighted in twisting the knife. Such qualities made her perfect to lead the Esmae, the clan that ruled the northwest quadrant of Drayhadal, north of the Astr clan’s territory. The four clans that ruled the country, the Esmae, the Astr, the Casm, and the Kechou, needed each other too much to actually go to war with one another, so instead their battles took place in courtrooms and dark alleys, where betrayals and backstabbings were equally common.

“I came as quickly as I could.”

“Not quickly enough,” the elf sniffed. “I was feeling lenient today, but I see that you need to be disciplined. For the entire day tomorrow, no carrying that stupid overgrown twig you take everywhere with you. Leave it at home.”

“You can’t be serious.” Akhustal instinctively pulled her club tightly against her side. She’d had it for years and she carried it everywhere. It was as much as part of her as her knees or her liver.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Pyria asked with a malicious grin. “You say you don’t care about your lover after all? Alright, I’ll start with a finger.”

“No! No, I’m sorry, I’ll... I’ll do it.”

“Don’t think I won’t know if you don’t. We have eyes and ears everywhere. How else do you think I knew about your ‘secret’ invasion, hmmm?” She laughed haughtily. “I hope you have lots of fun tomorrow. Until then...” She waved a spitefully cheery farewell and the projection cut off.

Every time Akhustal thought she couldn’t hate Pyria Esmae more, the elf found a way to prove her wrong. This latest decree about her club wasn’t going to inconvenience Akhustal in any way. It wasn’t like she needed the weapon in her own city. No, Pyria just wanted to drive home how powerless Akhustal was, to slowly push her deeper and deeper into despair. And Akhustal knew that she couldn’t take the risk of defying her. The Drayhadans, with their closely-guarded full-body transformation techniques, were the greatest spies in the world after all. Who knew how many lurked in the city?

Pyria had known about Akhustal’s plans. That was the only explanation. She’d known, and known for a long time. Long enough to plan a trap of the magnitude needed to capture thirty thousand people. But how? Was there a traitor in the inner council? No, that seemed impossible.

“Stay strong,” she said to herself. It wouldn't do to give up hope just yet.

“...time is of the essence. We have perhaps two-thirds of a season to find a solution and act on it before the migration. Our goal is simple — to free our people, alive.” Akhustal looked around the chamber after finishing her explanation. The solemn faces of every general in Stragma stared back. Many of them had already known the situation, especially those who had been a part of the invasion. But everybody needed to be on the same page if they were to figure out some way out of this.

“Do we know where they are being held?” a general asked.

“It seems that the elves raised up a massive prison southwest of Esmaeyae,” replied the general in charge of intelligence, General Stonefist-hono. He also happened to be the older cousin of the Blou whose scouting team had originally found Rudra. “We believe that the Second Army is being held there. General Caprakan-hono, however, is likely in the Esmae clan’s estate.”

“They keep our people in cages,” Akhustal spat. “Pyria Esmae made sure to show me their suffering.”

“Let’s send covert teams in to break them out,” suggested a second general.

“That would never work,” responded General Fernfeather-hono. “First, most of our best stealth squads were members of the Second Army. Second, you’ve seen the land of the Esmae clan before. It’s a nightmare for anybody trying to move about unnoticed. Nothing but wide, open spaces with nothing to hide behind, and that’s not considering the extra lookouts that they’re sure to have now that they have something that they know we want. It’s almost guaranteed to fail. Even if they did manage to infiltrate the prison and free the soldiers, those soldiers are likely half starved to death by now. They’ll be in no condition to fight or make it back to Stragma on their own.”

“Then forget stealth,” said another general. “Call their bluff. They won’t want to kill their hostages because they’re hoping we won’t have the will to act. Just take the prison by force. We still have enough troops to manage that without a problem.”

“Let me ask you something,” said General Fernfeather-hono to the other general. “Do you know how the Esmae captured the entire Second Army alive?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know another army wouldn’t fall to the same fate? We have no idea how they pulled this off, and there’s no saying if they could do it again. But one lost army, while a horrible, terrible tragedy, is still something Stragma can survive. Two, on the other hand, would be the end of us.”

“How long would it take to find out what they did? If we could avoid it this time, an attack might still work,” speculated another general.

“Unfortunately, we have few spies in the Esmae territory,” Stonefist-hono chimed in. “All we’ve heard so far is that something happened over a season ago and that the Esmae have been acting a little strange since. I wouldn’t bet on us getting proper knowledge of this threat until it is far too late.”

“Then if we can’t take our people back, we make the Esmae clan give them back,” said a soft voice towards the back. Akhustal looked that way to find General Cloudburner-hono, one of the younger generals whose main job was leading wildlife subjugation teams. The woman had been the first person Akhustal had ever sponsored, and Akhustal was proud of how far she’d come. “The Drayhadans have always claimed that one of theirs is worth ten of ours. Let’s put that to the test. We need to get our own hostages and force a trade.”

“Interesting,” Akhustal said, thinking it over. “Where would you suggest we find these hostages?”

“Astronta Keep.”

“The place we just killed everybody?” another general asked mockingly.

“No, I think she’s right,” said Stonefist-hono. “This is all about the politics of their clans. We made the Astr look weak when we took Astronta Keep in less than a day. The other clans are likely maneuvering to weaken them over it, especially since the Esmae were victorious on their side. I’d bet that the Astr are reinforcing Astronta Keep with even more men than normal, as a show of strength for the other clans. That and the reinforcements that were already on their way from the other clans should be there now as well.”

“If we can capture enough of their men, the other clans will put enough pressure on the Esmae that they will have no choice but to conduct an exchange,” Cloudburner-hono asserted.

Akhustal considered her proposal. Such a development would make Pyria a hero and leave the other clans in debt to her. The very idea put a bad taste in the Chos’s mouth, but at the same time, it meant that Pyria would be more willing to do it because she would still come out a winner. Winning was everything to that elven shrew.

“An interesting idea,” mused Fernfeather-hono, “but we lost more people taking that fort the last time than there are in the entire Second Army.” He shook his head. “That was with their garrison at perhaps a third of normal. If we wanted to take the keep now, our losses would be far, far greater. Not to mention that taking prisoners is much harder than just killing them. We’d lose three times as many people, easily. There’s no use in paying with the lives of ninety thousand people just to get thirty thousand back.”

“Maybe if we threw everything we had at them, all at once,” mused Akhustal. “Overwhelm them with sheer numbers...”

“You can’t be serious, Chos!” Fernfeather-hono objected. “You would leave the city defenseless just to try to rescue your husband?”

“I don’t like your tone, general,” she growled back. Ikal Fernfeather-hono was her second-in-command not by choice, but because he had been the runner-up to be Chos after the last one had passed away. She put up with him and he with her enough that they were able to work together, though they had clashed more than enough times that they would never have a relationship stronger than that of coworkers. But ever since the retreat from Drayhadal, he’d been getting more rebellious and less respectful. He was beginning to question her decisions and authority not just in private but in public. This, however, was bold even for him.

“Let me ask you a question, my Chos,” he said, a stubborn look in his eyes. “I want the Second Army back just as much as you do. But if we try something and we fail, and our window closes, will you let your husband die?”

“What?!” she sputtered.

“You already made the wrong choice back when we abandoned the invasion. You became compromised the moment you gave in to their demands, and a compromised Chos is a compromised Stragma. You’re still obeying their every command, are you not? Or is there a different reason why you aren’t carrying your club with you? In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never let it out of your sight. Why the sudden change?”

The other generals began to talk amongst themselves, murmurs of worry reaching her ears. Akhustal felt her anger rising. She stared him directly in the eyes. “Do you really dare to challenge my authority? To go against thousands of years of Stragman tradition?”

“I dare to do what is necessary to protect this country!” he shot back, fire in his gaze. “If you are too compromised to properly lead our people, then I will have no choice but to take action. Find a way to save the Second Army that doesn’t involve sacrificing three other armies to do it. If there is no way, then give up on them and free yourself and this country from the Drayhadan’s snare. If you cannot, I will begin the Challenge of Ruresni.”

Akhustal rocked back in shock, while several generals gasped at Fernfeather-hono’s declaration. The whole room began to buzz with anxious conversation. Direct challenges were practically unheard of. Only four times in all of Stragman history had there ever been one.

“Excuse me,” called a tall, lanky man out on the left edge of the group, his voice cutting through the clamor and quieting the group. She recognized him as General Nightclaw-hono, the man in charge of the country’s prison system. While many other countries preferred to chop off a hand to deter criminals, Stragma preferred to make them prisoners. There were always dangerous tasks that needed doing in the forest, after all, and who better than prisoners? “I think I know a way we can capture Astronta Keep without losing our own troops.”

“Oh? You know a way we can assault a massive fortress manned by tens of thousands defenders without our people dying?” Fernfeather-hono scoffed.

The man paused for a moment, his face showing his conflicted thoughts as he considered his reply. “Not exactly.”

“A few days after the armies set off, there was a murder in Prison Three. Now, prisoners killing each other is of course nothing out of the ordinary, but the strange thing was, the man didn’t stay dead. According to the guards who witnessed it, another prisoner brought the dead man back to life and healed his wounds so well that there aren’t even any scars. Something like that merits investigation, of course, and so I requested several other bodies from...”

Akhustal Palebane stood on a large wooden elevator with seven of her most important generals, Tepin Silverfall, and General Nightclaw-hono as they slowly descended towards one of Stragma’s suspended prisons. Nightclaw-hono droned on and on, but Akhustal didn’t hear his words. In fact, her mind barely registered anything, not the creak of the ropes, not Tepin’s weak sporadic coughing, not even the incredulous arguments of General Fernfeather-hono. No, she was far too preoccupied with the thought of an upcoming Challenge from her second-in-command to pay attention to anything else.

A Challenge was serious business. It took days of travel and days more for the actual event, and it was the last thing she needed right now. She’d win, she knew. Fernfeather-hono had participated when the last Chos had died and she’d beaten him and everybody else fairly handily. But the fact that he would even threaten such a thing told her that her hold over her subjects was in peril, even more than she’d previously thought. She needed something to regain their respect, and fast.

The platform came to a halt and the group stepped into the prison. They entered a nearby hallway and slowly wound their way towards one corner of the prison. The hallways were fairly slim, a design concession to lower the total weight and improve structural integrity, so they had to proceed single file. General Nightclaw-hono led the way, followed by Akhustal, then the other generals. Tepin, naturally, came last, even behind the one general carrying a large sack containing one of the warriors who died assaulting Astronta Keep. Nightclaw-hono had requested one, mentioning healing or resurrecting or something. She hadn’t been paying attention.

“Here we are,” Nightclaw-hono said, stopping at the last cells at the end of the hallway and indicating the cell on the left. Akhustal glanced into the cell and froze, her vision going red.

“You!”

“Me?” said the man inside the cell. His face was mostly covered in a bushy beard now, but Akhustal would never forget those eyes. They stared at her questioningly as she glared into them, her hands balling into fists. Rudra Kapadia was the last person she wanted to see right now.

“Is this some kind of joke?” she asked the general.

“I wouldn’t dare, Chos,” he replied. Taking out a key, he unlocked the door and the whole group entered.

“Why are you here?” Rudra inquired. “I thought you never wanted to see me again.”

“Silence, Shell!” she snarled. “You have no right to question me! Know your place!”

Rudra just stared at her again with those judgmental eyes. She felt his pity and it took everything she had to not lash out.

At Nightclaw-hono’s direction, the general with the sack opened it up and dumped its contents on the floor. A woman rolled out, her head caved in by a heavy blow from something or other many days ago. As was tradition, her body’s decomposition had been slowed by the application of mullara weed so that she could be properly honored by her family back in the city, giving it a green and gray pallor. Even with the discoloration, Akhustal could see the simple markings of a Fleg on her body.

“Rudra, would you be so kind as to show us what you can do?”

The man stared at the body and then back at the group, thinking for several moments before finally squatting down near the body and closing his eyes. Akhustal watched him skeptically. What was he going to do, ‘refuse to fight’ it back to life?

But then, to her amazement, the body began to swiftly change! The head filled out and the skull reformed into its original shape, while the body lost its pallor and regained its normal almond hue. The body spasmed and it lashed out at the air above before freezing mid-strike and looking about in puzzlement.

“What? Where am-” Her eyes fell on Akhustal’s form and she paled, quickly getting to her feet and bowing. “My greatest apologies, Chos! I never meant to disrespect you!”

“Calm yourself,” General Nightclaw-hono replied. “Come with me and I shall explain everything.” He glanced at Akhustal and she nodded. He nodded back and led the Fleg out of the cell and down the hallway.

Akhustal’s mind whirled at the implications of what she’d just witnessed. He’d turned a corpse back into a person in less than three breaths! Given a few days, everybody who’d died at Astronta Keep could return! And if her armies didn’t have to fear death...

A vision of waves of Stragmans washing over the walls of Astronta Keep, fighting without the fear of death while incapacitating everybody in their way, trading three bodies for one prisoner if need be... It could work. It would work. They’d be able to get the pieces they needed. No, they’d be able to get more. Far more!

“Is that all?” Rudra asked.

“My army suffered heavy losses in the last battle,” she told the prisoner. “You will bring them back, as you did her.”

The man seemed to think for another moment. “No, I don’t want to do that,” he said, shaking his head. “That sounds like a lot of work, and I don’t work for free.”

Akhustal’s world went red. This coward thought he could dictate terms?!

The other generals seemed to be thinking the same. “Impudence! A Shell has no right to argue with his betters!” Fernfeather-hono shouted as he stepped forward and struck at Rudra with a fist, but the large man simply raised a hand and blocked it as if it were nothing. Fernfeather-hono howled in fury and massive vines sprouted from his body, wrapping around Rudra’s large muscled neck and squeezing with great strength, but the prisoner just stared back in defiance.

“Go ahead, kill me,” Rudra said, seemingly unbothered by the vines strangling his throat. “Then you’ll never get your people back.”

Akhustal shook with rage. For a Shell to have the audacity to dare to make demands of anyone was a direct slap at the laws and traditions that kept Stragma strong and vital through the centuries. And to do so against both Hono and her, the Chos herself? Such a transgression deserved worse than death. But she needed him, and he knew it. And if this insufferable man could get her husband back...

“Very well. I will grant you your freedom as payment.”

Fernfeather-hono’s head whipped about in alarm to stare at her. “Chos, you would allow this man to go against our way? Our traditions are what keep us safe! If we let one flaunt them, what is next?”

“You think I don’t know that? You think I want this?” she roared. She turned back to the Shell. “You will bring back my army and I will set you free. Deal?”

“Not good enough,” came the infuriatingly unconcerned reply.

“You!” Perhaps it was a good thing that Pyria had forbidden her from carrying her club. She would have pulverized Rudra ten times over already were it in her hands.

“Let’s see,” he said, thinking for a moment. “I want a steady income so I don’t have to work. I want a house. A nice one. I want Bitol over there to be freed too, and for him to be escorted out of the country if he wants it...”

Akhustal’s eye twitched. “Is that all?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“And I want a wruelit.”

“...what?”

“They’re cute!” He smiled, his eyes glinting with mirth. “A little money and a house in exchange for thousands of lives. Sure sounds like a bargain to me!”

Akhustal stared into his eyes and thought. To allow a Shell to not just disobey the orders of his betters but to actually demand something from them was anathema to her, and to all the generals in that room. It would just be a one-time thing, but allowing someone to go against the natural order even once set a dangerous precedent for the future. But even with that said, she would take that risk if it meant she could see her lover again. Just this once.

“Very well. I agree to your terms. But you start right now.”

“This is a mistake,” General Fernfeather-hono warned.

“Perhaps. It’s also the best chance we have. Let us return and begin planning our assault on Astronta Keep.”

Akhustal Palebane strode from the cell a new woman, one with purpose and hope for the first time in days. She’d show Pyria what happened when somebody messed with her family. She’d show everybody.