"We returned to the village as you instructed, Lord Capigan."

Malchus had ceased to smile every time he heard the salutation of nobility. When he had signed on for the job, the title had accompanied it. Still, for the first week or so when he heard "lord" in his address, a grin had erupted on his face. Certainly not a noble response, but no one commented on the incongruity. No one wanted to find himself bound hand and foot in one of the many burning barns that Malchus left throughout the countryside.

"How were you received?" Malchus inquired, his mind more focused on his next conquest than on those left behind.

"Not as we had hoped," the man's words sliced through Malchus's distraction like a blade. "The duke's name had somehow not incurred the wrath with which we had burdened it, nor had Lord Capigan's."

"What is he talking about!" Malchus swung around to the second messenger, sending his fist flying backwards at the first. The first messenger barely avoided the bone-shattering punch.

"Excuse me, sir. From the intelligence we gathered, the duke has retained his good name within the last village. Apparently, someone followed you up by discrediting you and then somehow restoring the duke's name. I did notice that significant repairs had begun on several common buildings, so perhaps someone did so in his name.

"How is this difficult?" Malchus landed a blow to the second messenger who fell to the ground off of his horse. Several men ran to respond to Malchus's dissatisfaction, though they all stood carefully beyond his reach. "All we have to manage is destruction. Everything in nature is trying to fall apart; how is it so hard to help it along?"

"Someone is acting against nature, sir," ventured one brave soul.

Malchus turned to him. "Obviously, young man, but if you want to keep your head, perhaps you need to offer me fewer explanations and more solutions."

"Numbers, uh, sir," the young man stammered. "Numbers and uniforms. We must acquire uniforms from Sir Maximus to give us legitimacy."

After a moment's reflection, Malchus nodded. "Not bad, boy. What is your name?"

"Kirk, sir."

"Kirk? Were you born in one?"

The young man grimaced. "Yes, sir. I was."

When Malchus had let loose an amused guffaw, he grabbed the reins of the second messenger's horse and threw them to Kirk. "This is now your horse." Malchus yanked the messenger's weapon from its sheath, inadvertently slicing open a raw wound on the man's arm. Unconcerned, Malchus tossed the sword to Kirk as well. "It's not a fireshot, but you might earn one of those if you're competent enough."

The second messenger shuffled back to his tent to tend his wound while Kirk swung up onto the horse. Within half an hour, Kirk had shod his new horse and galloped off toward Capigan.

“If I may, sir,” the first messenger ventured bravely. “I have a suggestion for our next target.”

“You missed your chance,” Malchus waved his hand dismissively. Turning to a nearby soldier, he commanded, “Take him away.”

“But Glowigham, sir,” yelled the messenger as a soldier dragged him away. “I have heard tell of a disguised nobleman!”

Malchus raised his hand to stop the soldier. “A nobleman? When was this?”

“I do not know, sir, but I know with whom he met.”

“A committee? A troop?”

The messenger hung his head, certain that he would disappoint Malchus with his answer. “Just an elderly woman. I thought perhaps she might have information regarding his plan.”

For a moment, Malchus had considered ordering the soldier to continue the eviction, but then he thought about the ultimate sentence. “He would be foolish to reveal any information to an old lady,” he pondered, “but if he did, she would prove an easy target to break. I think,” he turned to the messenger, “that you have bought yourself a chance. We will head toward Glowigham tonight, and whether we find her or no, the glow of fire in the city will light the sky before the morning sun.”

Glowigham. From the back of the troop, a small, thin form slipped out of the crowd, gliding stealthily toward the edge of the forest behind them. His heart racing, he turned and ran as soon as he felt sure that he would not be heard. Not only did Edrick feel compelled to save his town, he knew with utmost certainty that the messenger had spoken of his mother. What other insignificant, elderly woman had visited with a nobleman in secret? Though Edrick had at first resisted when compelled to join Malchus, one threat to his mother and the young man charged forward eagerly, willing to join, desperate to save his mother.

His own mouth, though, had now made her a target. Soldiers talk, and around the fire, Edrick had heard many stories about an unknown nobleman, traveling through the area with a band of troops. Of course, Edrick had not found news of the young man particularly unexpected. Edrick had hated participating in the campaign against his mother’s kind visitor, but the desire to save his mother sprang from a deeper well than his desire to protect the nobleman. Somehow, Edrick had imagined that revealing a small amount of knowledge – the fact that a nobleman had visited Glowigham – might give him just enough of a rise in esteem that he might earn some freedom. Maybe go visit his mother. How could he have known that using “an old lady” as the source of his information would endanger his mother? Edrick's loose tongue around the campfire had betrayed the nobleman, and in so doing had betrayed the most important person in his life. He had brought destruction on them both, at least unless he could find a solution before the morning. With only a few hours until the dawn, Edrick needed to move. Desperation drove him, and he had set his rough plan in motion within a few minutes.

Though Malchus spoke of burning the town before dawn, he did not immediately rally his troops. Glowigham stood less than a league away, and he could spare an hour or two for a meal and a plan. He did, however, see value in gathering information before he began the attack. Within ten minutes, he had prepared and sent the first messenger and another scout to assess the layout of the town and the best targets for the troops. While there, the men would search for the old lady and perhaps save several hours of wasted time. Thanks to the soldier whose gossip had informed about the old lady, the messenger knew a general description of the area of town and even the house where he could find the woman.

Finally, the noble, Malchus processed coolly. He had waited nigh a week to hear any news of the man, and he now had a chance to discover him. If nothing else, Malchus could use the old woman as bait to draw the man out. Even better if they could convince the woman to offer the man’s identity.

A quarter hour later, Edrick approached the outskirts of Glowigham, his breath painful as it fled his lungs, so hard had he run. In his youth, perhaps, such a run would have come easily, but at five and thirty, he had not attempted anything like it in a decade. Once in town, he slowed his pace, determined not to draw attention to himself. As he approached his home, his breath finally steadied, and his heart lifted both to see his mother again and in hopes of seeing her safe.

On the path before his home, he stopped short, ducking back beside his neighbor’s wall. A few feet from his front door stood two men, and from their uniforms, they belonged to Malchus. Though Edrick had run as swiftly as he could physically manage, he could not outrun the horses of the scouts, and they had probably arrived long before him. Fortunately, his familiarity with the city allowed him to make up some time on the way to his mother’s house, but if he waited five more minutes, the scouts would no doubt have his mother and Edrick would have nothing. Edrick quickly scaled the wall where he stood and dropped down into his neighbor’s courtyard. On the far wall, he spied the gate that he had built with the neighbor’s grandson, a convenience between their homes to facilitate caring for the two elderly women in the two homes.

Within a few minutes, Edrick clicked open the back door of his home, gliding noiselessly toward the kitchen where he knew he would most likely find his mother. Though a grown man, he wanted to cry when he spied her little, hunched form where it stood stirring away at a lonely supper. He did not speak, but placed his finger upon his lips as he slid up beside her and dumped her pot out on the fire in the hearth. By shocking her so with his presence, he stopped any protest over the lost food, and when he beckoned for her to follow, she did so, hobbling as quickly as she could, without question. Just as he and his mother exited the back door, they could hear the commotion at the front door where the soldiers worked to get through the thick wood.

Edrick rushed his mother through the neighbor’s courtyard, raising the slat of wood that locked the gate and pressing her around the corner of the street so that the scouts in the adjacent street would not see her. For a moment, he stopped to listen. Apparently, only one scout had entered, and as Edrick set his ear to the corner, the scout left the house to report to his companion that the woman was not home. “At this time of night,” he pondered, “she has either died or was warned of impending danger.”

“If she was, she will not get far. Malchus has brought the troops up to the edge of the city gates and waits only for our report to begin his assault.”

Without a thought, Edrick picked up a shovel. He needed help, and he needed time to get it – the soldiers' report could not beat him out of the city. Edrick waited in a crouch at the street’s edge until the men had ridden within a couple of feet of him. As soon as they reached him, he sprung between them and swung his shovel around him with as much force as he could. Since he had not swung level, he clobbered one man in the head and the other in the stomach. The first fell to the ground, instantly unconscious. The second also fell, but sprung up abruptly, ready for a fight. With his slight height advantage and his ready weapon, Edrick quickly overpowered the second man, and having dragged both scouts into the courtyard, he bound them in the crude fashion that a few pieces of straw allowed him. It would not keep them long, but it would slow them down. Glancing at the flames that lay between him and the gate, Edrick huffed a frustrated sigh. He would have to go over the wall.

“Mother, I cannot get you out of here,” he insisted, “and I do not know what these men will do, but I am going to take you to the chapel. It is the only building made of stone to which you can flee without raising suspicion.”

Edrick’s mother peered up at him through her wrinkles and flashed her few teeth at him. “Whatever happens tonight, boy, you have made me a proud mother.”

Moved, Edrick wrapped his mother in a firm but gentle hug, lifting her as he did and proceeding the rest of the way with her in his arms. “Why are you laughing, mother?” Edrick chastised as he flew past the chapel gate.

“My dear boy, at my age, I face death every day, but it’s not every day that I get to fly through the city at a horse’s pace. And I have to take every joy I can get.” She raised her crinkled hand to caress his face. “And I thank you for that as well. Whatever happens, know that you gave your dear mother a few moments of happiness on this night.”

Edrick grimaced his closest approximation of a smile before setting her down on the stone floor of the chapel. “Hide in the ambulatory,” he instructed, dragging her into a small private hallway that led behind the altar. “I will come for you as soon as I can.”

With a small peck on her cheek, he turned and hurried from the chapel, sure to stay hidden until he did not risk leading anyone to his mother’s hiding place. A brisk breeze had begun to swoop down over the town and swirl the smoke around the narrow passages between the cottages and barns within the city walls. With a heavy heart, Edrick imagined the buildings as they might stand when he returned - burned out husks littered with the wreckage of people’s lives. He scaled the wall at its lowest point, not an easy task, and began a trek to no certain destination to find a man he did not know for sure would help.

++++++++++++++++++

After a steady hour of riding, Chester stopped for a rest, unable to rein in his fascination with all the animals that ran freely through a forest so entirely unused to human presence. Though he had intended to return to Aylee within a day, he had found himself forced to persuade his parents, and he had spent too many days convincing them of his complete safety among the troops. Now twilight had come and gone, and darkness began to take a firm grip on the forest around him.

Chester set down his pack and pulled out one of the biscuits that his mother had provided him for his return trip to Aylee. He then pulled out several more items - a small knife, some more biscuits, a tie up for his trousers. At the bottom of the pack, he discovered what he was looking for. He had packed some specially prepared food that would appeal to the wildlife in the area. When his thumb brushed across Aylee’s comb, a pang of guilt punched his gut. He had completely forgotten about it until that moment, and he did not really want to explain to Aylee why he still had it.

Unfortunately, Chester had not yet outgrown that immaturity that avoids a conflict by denying its existence, and he knew that he could easily keep up his story as long as Aylee stayed away from home. Leaving his pouch and the pile of his belongings, he trudged several yards off the path and shoved the comb deep into a bush. He marked the location so he could return to it if he took another trip home, then turned to retrieve his things.

From behind a nearby tree, a man appeared, distress clear on his face and determination set in his gait. He sped so quickly by that he stumbled over the pile in the path before Chester could reach it.

“Are you alright?” Chester rushed to the man’s side.

“I don’t have time -” the man panted. “Looking for noble -”

As soon as the word left the man’s mouth, he bit his lip, obviously upset at something he had said.

“Just let me help you up. I live nearby; maybe I could help you find whatever you’re looking for.”

The man’s desperation spoke clearly through his expression, and Chester felt almost as sad for the man as he always did for the injured animals he encountered. “There are three nearby towns, and I can help you get to them faster.”

“I can’t. I just -” Edrick hissed. “Just stay away from Glowigham tonight. There will be trouble there before the sun.” With those words, he scrambled the rest of the way upright and continued to sprint away into the night.

“Glowigham,” Chester wondered. He thought he knew the town but had never considered it important. It lay within a dozen miles of Bennigton when traveling the road, but through the forest, he could reach it from home in less than a league. Gathering his things, Chester headed toward Jess’s camp, which he had been told would lie in the forest halfway between the towns of Brampton and Lolly.

He had not intended to travel so late, but his mother had not wanted him to leave at all, and after he had kissed her goodnight, he had crept through his window and headed on his way. The darkness in the forest swallowed him so completely that when he approached the camp, he could make out the faint glow of a candle inside a tent from several hundred feet away. Since he did not wish to disturb anyone, he waved at the sentry and headed directly to his own spot in the camp.

From inside the lambent tent, Itchy hailed Chester.

“A moment, please, Hembry. I believe Jess will want to speak with you a moment.”

As if in answer to the thought, Jess strode up to the pair, smiling at the soldier who stepped inside the tent to set down Jess’s food. Once the man had gone, Jess turned back to Chester. “How is your family?” the young noble inquired pleasantly. He seemed oblivious to the late hour.

“They are well, but I am later than expected because my mother did not want me to leave.”

Jameson chuckled at the indignant tone in the youth’s voice. “I am sure she meant well.”

“Whether she meant well or no, she kept me from my studies. I had brought my special food that draws out the animals, but she kept me so late that only the owls would take notice - or perhaps foxes. Sometimes foxes. Then that man ran over my bag, and I had to waste ten minutes finding my belongings, and the food was ruined.”

“Take a breath, Chester. Stealthy or no, you will never be useful to me as a scout if you babble away your secrecy. Who was this man you speak of?”

“I don’t know,” Chester shrugged. “I’ve never seen him before.”

“Now, my boy, nothing is unimportant to a scout.” Jameson motioned for Chester to take a seat. “What can you tell me about this man?”

“I told you. Nothing. I don’t know him.”

Undeterred, Jameson began to prompt Chester to help him recall details. “How old was he?”

“Really old,” Chester offered with disgust.

“Your father’s age?”

“Not that old. Just old.”

“Well,” Jameson urged. “Older than I am?”

“Yeah, I guess. At least ten years older. Maybe more.”

“So, thirties or forties?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you see how we determined that, Chester? We used what you did know to help you find what you didn’t know.”

“Right. Are we done, because I’m tired?”

Laughing, Jameson waved Chester away. “We will learn more later. You go enjoy the undisturbed slumber of youth.”

“Huh?”

“Nevermind. Good night.”

“Oh, yeah,” Chester stopped just outside the exit. “There was one other thing. He said he had to hurry because he had to find someone.”

“Did he say who?” queried Jameson, stepping out to meet the lad.

“Nobody? Noblin? I’m not sure. He just said something about staying away from a town and trouble tonight.”

The words caught Jameson's attention, and he called the boy back. After missing so many opportunities to prevent destruction, what if, knowing the location beforehand, Jameson could intercept and prevent the destruction and further his own goals in the process?

“Which town, Chester? Did he say? Which town?”

“Bright something…no, sun something? Glow something?”

“Glowigham?” Jameson begged. “Did he say Glowigham?”

“Yes! He did! He said Glowigham!” Though Chester had finally grown excited about his new activity, his day’s exertion nearly sent him tumbling toward sleep unbidden. “Did I do well?” he yawned.

“Very well, Chester. Now you have earned your rest. Have you had a meal?”

Chester glanced down at the metal plate placed neatly on the stump Jameson used as a table, and his answer was apparent. With a smirk, Jameson reached down and retrieved the plate, holding it out for Chester to take.

Chester’s mouth literally dropped open, and Jameson laughed. “You are giving that to me?”

“You have ridden hard. I have lounged in a camp. Which of us deserves it?”

Shaking his head, Chester accepted the gift, cherishing it as if it were treasure, and Jameson just smiled as he turned and gestured to Itchy to join him.

Not only had Chester most likely intercepted news of an upcoming raid, he had found out where, and the location provided extra incentive to Jameson to involve himself. During his first week away from home, he had found friends in Glowigham, people with little worldly wealth who had shared with him from their poverty. Poor Edrick and his mother! With their location so close to city center, surely they would suffer severe damage if Malchus attacked.

“One last thing, Chester,” Jameson begged, turning back just before he reentered his tent. “Tell me again when this would happen.”

“He just said tonight.”

Tonight.

Since Chester had entered the tent ten minutes earlier, he had to have encountered the unknown man around half an hour before that. The man seemed to fear that Chester might happen upon the noble as he destroyed the city, which gave Jameson hope that the timeframe might prove favorable for him to intercept his enemy within. Jameson's camp lay less than an hour by horse south of Glowigham. Even if Jameson reached the city after the attack had begun, he might come upon the marauder unaware. He had to stop the man before the scoundrel further damaged Jameson's mission. Jameson pulled on his boots and began the preparations for a speedy and unexpected trip.

As Jameson entered the tent, Itchy stepped inside with him. “I need you to wake the troops…”

“Are you sure you want all of them?” Itchy wondered. “At this hour? Perhaps just a contingent.”

“All,” Jameson confirmed. “You ride in half an hour, while I go ahead with the smaller troop.”

“Is it wise to endanger yourself or your men so close to your objective?” he queried.

Jameson smiled. “You have grown quite adept at matters of state out here, Itchy.”

“The ‘matter of state’ that means I protect you, sure,” Itchy shrugged. “Think we’ve established that is my job.”

“If I were to leave my people to burn at the hands of a miscreant, I would not prove a competent leader, now would I?”

“Indeed,” Itchy agreed, “but that doesn’t ease my mind about your danger. You should let me go instead.”

“This is exactly why we came out here, Itchy. This gives us perhaps the greatest opportunity to contrast ourselves with our enemy.” Pacing across to his palette, he reached down and grabbed his sword. “Plus, there is someone in Glowigham whom I need to see to directly; it is my fault she is vulnerable. No one can find out about Miss Joffrey’s relationship with me, or it will be a death sentence.”

“Perhaps it need not be that bad.”

“I see no other option, so I must reach her before anyone else does.”

Itchy chuckled. “Who would have ever thought that a weakness for ladies might prove your downfall.”

“Not my downfall, not while there is strength in my body.”

“So, do you think the fleeing man spoke of a noble? Not ‘nobody’ or ‘noblin,’ but ‘noble’? The noble is moving tonight?”

“Perhaps, or that the man was searching for a noble. Either way, I know where I want to be once the sun has set.” With those words, Jameson stepped into the dusk to gather his men.

From across the camp, Aylee had watched with irritation as her brother entered Jess’s tent. As a woman, Aylee could not do the same, not even to hear the exchange between Chester and Jess. She despised feeling shut out from important discussions, as if she could hold no more value in strategy than her brother. For too many nights, she had sat alone in her tent with just the sound of crickets and cicadas to entertain her.

And then, the kiss.

Before the kiss, the nights had irritated her. After the kiss, the nights had tortured her. Perhaps the sensation had recalled for her the torment of the corridor with Malchus, but since Jess’s lips had touched hers, her mind had tried to mingle the two experiences to horrible effect.

She had spent the first night after the kiss plagued by dreams that disturbed her enough to forbid sleep for the rest of the night. In some of them, Malchus had cornered her again, and when she tried to strike him, she missed. She would awake as he closed his mouth on hers, pinning her in immobility against the horse. In others, Jess stood in Malchus's place, equally as venomous and evil, though in others the noble pulled her to safety before pummeling Malchus into an impotent mess.

In still other dreams, she raced through the streets of Bennigton, fire towering on either side, as she searched frantically for her family. One random dream involved the nebulous “rogue noble,” a face Aylee did not know; still, the man hovered in her dream as an amorphous darkness, and she never knew whether to run to him or away from him.

On a good night, Jess or her father would show up just in time to help her save her family from either fire or murder, but even on those nights, they merely escaped the destruction; they didn’t prevent it. Once, in the dream, Chester rode into town and helped her escape using some preternatural skills of stealth. Aylee woke herself with her laughter as, even in the dream, she found the possibility hilarious. Tonight had wakened her with Jess as Malchus, and she could not manage to return to sleep.

Her utter abandonment of reason had disturbed her. For several days after she had discovered the broken clasp outside Jess’s tent, she had tried her hardest to investigate its meaning. The crest represented some noble – which one? Which province did it belong to? Some said it resembled the crest of Capigan, but they all insisted it was not from the principality itself. “Similar, but different,” they claimed.

So was Jess – or Itchy – some high ranking noble whose position allowed him to bear a similar seal to the duchy? No one could enlighten her, and she couldn’t ask as boldly as she wished. For the past several nights, she had forgotten the clasp, though it had become such a permanent fixture in her pocket that she habitually rubbed her fingers over its etched surface. Jess had not sought her out, though he had shown tender politeness in her presence, and she had thought she could not blame him. Now, for whatever reason, the ghosts of doubt had begun to stir in her mind again.

Glancing back at the tent, Aylee decided that she needed to see Jess, to hear his voice and reassure herself that her dreams were fantasy. She did not know how she would approach him, since it was far too late for a proper call or even a stroll. Still, a candle glowed within his tent and even the concrete reality of the light soothed her. The frozen night breathed with utter stillness, and she feared that the whole camp would notice her presence at the slightest footfall. Determined to stealth, she pulled on her boots and a cloak and crept toward the light.

“Goodnight,” came Jess’s voice just as she approached, and she quickly darted behind a tree, her heart battering her ribs. Once Chester had passed by, pausing with his head up for a moment just after he passed her, she eased back around the trunk only to halt once again.

“Itchy!” Jess hissed, not waiting for a response before reentering the tent. Of course, Itchy is awaiting Jess’s every command. Maybe Jess just wanted his poor friend to get up to tuck him into bed. Upbraiding herself, she waited until Itchy exited his own tent and stepped inside Jess’s before creeping as close as she dared. She considered calling out to them, but Jess’s words arrested her.

“…I need you to wake the troops,” he commanded.

Another midnight run? Aylee wondered.

“Are you sure you want all of them?” Itchy sighed. “At this hour? Perhaps just a contingent.”

Jess murmured a reply.

“I think we’ve established that,” Itchy agreed, and Aylee could hear the man stirring on the other side of the canvas. “What do I need to do?”

More murmuring followed by, “…in the next half hour, the men will get to see what we have been about these weeks.”

Aylee could make out Itchy’s voice, “You will bring the advance guard, but I will need to direct the remaining soldiers.”

“…Glowigham,” came Jess’s partial instruction. Apparently, he was pacing away from her and then back toward her.

“No one can find out about Miss Joffrey’s relationship with me, or it will be a death sentence.”

Aylee ceased breathing. His relationship with “Miss Joffrey”? She crept so close she could sense the warmth radiating from the tent. Praying that the tree behind her would obscure her shadow, she leaned her ear almost to touch the canvas.

“Perhaps it need not be that bad,” Itchy was saying.

“I see no other option, so I must reach her before anyone else does.”

Itchy chuckled. “Who would have ever though that a weakness for ladies might prove your downfall.”

“Not my downfall, not while there is strength in my body.”

Death sentence? Aylee’s heart rose to her throat, and she swallowed to contain it. Weakness for the ladies?

She had been an utter fool! Without any evidence to secure her trust, Jess had managed to completely silence her suspicions to the point that she took his words as truth. Scrambling away from the tent, she sank to the ground behind the tree, trying to suppress her urge to cry. When Itchy’s unmuffled voice floated to her, fear of discovery stopped her other emotions, and she peered carefully around the ragged trunk of the large birch to where the men were exiting into the dying glow of the campfire’s embers.

“Just,” Itchy admonished, “don't lose sight of our greater enemy in your eagerness to catch the lesser.”

“You need not worry about that,” Jess shrugged, undeterred. “Instead, think of my solitude as motivation to move quickly in getting the troops ready.”

Aylee's every thought as she peered around the back of the tent and watched Jess stride over to the corral revolved around her own stupidity and the mysterious “Miss Joffrey.” Besides the natural jealousy that might have dominated her thoughts, her mind whirred with her judgment of a man who would toy with women. Not only that, but having lost her faith in Jess, all the earlier accusations came rushing back – her nightmares brought to life. Still, Aylee considered something else of the highest significance.

If anyone found out about Jess’s relationship with the woman, it would mean a “death sentence.” For the one who had discovered it, or for Miss Joffrey herself? Either way, Miss Joffrey deserved to know the nature of the man she was dealing with. Maybe the woman knew, and maybe she didn’t care – certainly, many women would accept attentions from someone like Jess, in whatever form they came. Still, just in case she didn’t…

Perhaps Aylee should have worried that she was following a band of soldiers into a town where, if her new suspicions directed her right, pillaging and marauding would soon follow. Aylee had never been to Glowigham, though. Perhaps she could just sneak in and investigate, make her way from a different direction than the soldiers took. Until she got a look at the village, she would rule nothing out.

Retracing Jess’s steps, Aylee slid from tent to tent until she stood within a few yards of the corral. After a moment, Jess strode to the gate and, whistling softly, grabbed his horse by the reins. Aylee glared at the back of his head. As he led the beautiful black steed from the pen, he slid gracefully onto its back, beginning a gentle canter before Itchy had closed the gate behind him. By the time Jess reached the edge of the camp, he had begun a full-on gallop.

Within a few minutes, Itchy had awakened every captain who in turn woke his own battery of soldiers. A camp that, moments before, had epitomized peaceful slumber now began the raucous preparations for what looked like war. More than a hundred soldiers on the move. To her relief, Itchy commanded Chester to stay behind; Aylee had no intention of involving her brother in her schemes. She donned her tailored pants and vest, and stealing to one of the emptied tents, she rustled through an unknown soldier’s belongings, searching out some form of weapon. A long-blade knife lay under the man’s pillow, and Aylee appropriated it. As ready as she could be, she stepped back into the night.

The troops had vacated in less than half an hour, but Aylee knew that they would not reach Glowigham until close to sunrise. Troops in a unit could not exactly rush. From the corner of her eye, Aylee noticed an inexplicable motion flitting along a line of empty tents, and she glared with full out irritation when she recognized Chester’s “stealth” as he headed toward the horse pen. Only a few horses remained behind, tended by a horseman who always stayed with the camp.

“Don’t you dare, Chester!” Aylee reprimanded from several tents away. Looking up, Chester answered her with a grin.

“He gave me his food,” the lad offered without explanation. “I’m not letting him go without me.”

He hurdled the fence in one motion and leapt onto the closest horse, and Aylee felt a moment of pride at his strength and agility – perhaps she had underestimated her little brother. Though he had little experience riding, his skill with animals made his task more than manageable, and before Aylee could reach the pen, Chester and his horse had jumped the fence and vaulted into the darkness.

For one moment, Aylee stood in shock, unable to move. When the surprise faded, she scuttled over the fence herself and grabbed a horse of her own. The poor horse-tender stood dazed, and probably terrified, Aylee realized, until he saw her charging at the gate. Lest his poor horse suffer damage, the tender pulled the door open quickly, and without hesitation, Aylee plunged into the blackness after her brother.