The wind whipped around my ankles and swept sand into the air as I neared the training camp. The first rays of dawn had just penetrated the canyon, and it was still cold enough to give me goosebumps under my goat-skin jacket. I looked over my shoulder at Gibnor, whose monstrous shadow still covered the sand dunes. By its side stood the three smaller rocks like dutiful subordinates.

I took one last deep breath and hiked the last quarter-mile to the training camp. It was modest, with three sand-colored tents fixed to the rock face with metal fasteners. About two-dozen people were crowded around the tents, stretching, cleaning rifles, or sharpening knives. Very few were interacting, with most sitting alone with their backs to the rock. I frowned—the atmosphere was oddly tense.

I caught sight of Nico as he strode in my direction. “Glace, welcome,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

Owen’s warning played in my head as he greeted me. “I’ve recovered, Captain. How do things look here?”

He gave me an odd look. “Well, as promised, the elders sent their best soldiers to serve as instructors. That tent,” he said, pointing to the furthest of the three, “holds your choice of weapon: dagger, rifle, handgun, shotgun… but the problem is that this place is crawling with loyalists. The trainees don’t trust them, and progress has been slow while you’ve been out of commision. What do you think we should do?”

I brushed the hair from my face and tied it back with a rubber band. “Let them spy. They can do nothing. We will train with them, but make our plans without them. Who has come?”

“I’ve brought a handful of soldiers who are loyal to me.”

“So we have, what, five men? I was hoping to have our pick by the time we leave to cross the border into Amberasta.”

Nico scowled and lowered his voice. “It’s complicated. An operation like this requires utmost secrecy if we are to get close to the king.”

I glanced around and shook my head. “With this many of the elders’ men hovering around, that will be impossible. Instead, we need to train as many people as our resources allow. We’ll diversify—some men will be trained for the front lines, and others as medics for the bombed cities. We’ll chose the assassination force at the last possible moment. That way, our men will be hidden among the rest, and the elders’ spies will not know who to watch.”

After another moment of discussion, Nico nodded. “You’re right. We’ll spread the word and stretch their resources thin. But there is another problem.”

“What?”

“The leader of the opposition–the one who stormed the base–is refusing to participate. He believes that this is some scheme of the elders to dispose of us.”

I squeezed the bridge of my nose with frustration. “I’ll speak with him. In the meantime, tell your men to spread the word: the elders will be providing free fight training for anyone who wants to oppose the king.”

***

I stood one-hundred yards from the opposition’s camp, watching a thin plume of smoke drift into the air from one of the uppermost stories. After the attack on the elders a few days prior, the rebels had settled in Bushnell and taken control of its stored resources. The silhouettes of a half-dozen sentries were visible on the east-facing ledges, and there was a group of men with guns patrolling the rock’s base. It was a paltry guard, evidence of the opposition’s inexperience, but enough to make me miss the feel of a weapon in my hand. From what I’d seen, these men were volatile, and my life was no guarantee if the meeting went poorly.

I pulled down my hood and approached slowly with my arms held outwards in a gesture of peace. As the guards caught sight of me, they trained their guns at my head and called out for my name. “Glace Synco,” I replied, keeping my voice calm. “I’m unarmed, and I need to meet with your leader immediately.”

The men looked at each other, and I could tell that they had recognized me. Up close, the dark circles under their eyes and unkempt hair marked their desperation. Something about the way they moved, with flighty glances and hands twitching on their weapons, put my teeth on edge. “Stay here,” one of them warned, and disappeared into Bushnell.

A few minutes passed before the man returned. “General Zubek will see you now,” he said. I resisted the urge to scoff at the title and followed him as he entered Bushnell’s ground floor, ignoring the stares of the other guards as I walked between them.

We passed through five stories of the opposition’s camp before we reached the leader’s chambers. The grounds were a mess of hastily-constructed tents and beds, utterly insufficient for keeping out the cold of the last nights of the year. Several people had started small fires to eat their meals, and each one looked haggard from the stress of being estranged from Gibnor’s comforts and from the threat of battle.

The leader himself was sitting at a desk in one of the only storage rooms with a window, smoking a rolled-up clump of desert tobacco. At his shoulders were two weather-beaten men, likely farmers or metalworkers. Ignoring the burning in my legs from the upward hike, I crossed the threshold into the makeshift office. The three grew quiet, and my escort took his leave. “Ms. Glace,” the leader said, “I believe that our meeting is long overdue. Although inelegant, your retelling of your story at the Solstice Festival is what finally brought Bellgate out of the dark, so I admire you.”

I clenched my jaw and ignored the stinging of the smoke in my eyes. “Thank you.”

“Well,” he asked, waving the joint, “what is it that you have come to us for? Are you ready to join our cause?”

I glanced at the other men. “Mr. Zubek, I must ask that we speak alone.”

“Fine,” he said, and the men reluctantly left his side. Slowly, I lowered myself into the chair in front of his desk.

“As you know, I too am sympathetic to Amberasta’s cause, and therefore to yours. That’s why I propose that your best men train with mine, under the direction of the most experienced soldiers in the barracks.”

The leader scowled. “I have heard of this scheme. You suggest that we train under the elders’ men, of which I have no intention. I had hoped that you would resist.”

I leaned forward. “I assure you, the elders no longer have any hold over me.”

His eyes grew intrigued. “You’re saying that you’ve found some way to control them?”

I nodded without breaking eye contact. “When it is time for us to deploy, we will be fully equipped with weapons and provisions.”

The leader leaned back with obvious skepticism. “But, to be clear, you’re still working with the elders. You’re relying on them to uphold their agreement.” I said nothing, waiting for him to elaborate. “No thank you. We do not need the elders’ charity—we will unseat them and take control ourselves. Bellgate will become an ally of Amberasta.”

I laid my hands flat out on the table. “Mr. Zubek, I admire your tenacity, but you are utterly unprepared to challenge the elders. If you had the resources, you would have already gone out into the desert and crossed into Amberasta. But you lack much: you have no training, no rams, few guns, and even less ammunition. Tell me, how do you intend to win?”

The leader stamped out his joint on the desk with more vigor than necessary. “I’ll tell you, but only because I do trust that you’re not working for them. In five days, we’re going to take Gracego.”

I stared at him, rendered speechless. Gracego was the fourth and smallest rock, off-limits to civilians and used for Bellgate’s manufacturing and metalworking. In the small chance that the takeover was successful, the rebels would be able to fund themselves. “You… you want to face the elders’ army head-on?” I asked. “They will use everything they have against you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the leader argued, gesturing around him, “we took Bushnell easily.”

I nearly groaned with frustration. “You did not. You took Bushnell because they let you.”

“What?”

“Mr. Zubek, with all due respect, you’re hardly a threat. Your men are still farming their fields, because their families and friends would starve otherwise. Even if, somehow, you stockpile enough food for a couple of days, your situation hasn’t changed. No, the elders let you move here because they want to watch you bleed out.”

The leader’s expression grew darker. “We’ve grown in numbers. We have over one-hundred fifty able-bodied people ready to fight.”

“Are they really ready to die? And to kill?” A vein pulsed in the leader’s jaw, betraying his discomfort. “Let’s say every man is prepared to lay down his life, which is highly unlikely. Even so, Bellgate’s army is one-thousand strong, and well trained. Many of them will fight against you; after all, you have proven yourself unprepared and unstable. You have no chance.”

When the leader spoke again, his voice trembled with anger. “You’re ballsy to talk to me like that, in my base, surrounded by my men.”

“I mean no offense. But let’s say that you do win; if you take Bellgate by force, you take it unwillingly. Many of Gibnor’s civilians were brought here under the elder’s orders. They will not be content with a coup. When your men deploy, someone else will rise up and replace you.”

For several seconds, the leader and I locked eyes. Finally, he sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Glace, did you know that Farstead has fallen? That its mayor has been killed, and that Keon has already hijacked its factories?”

“Yes, I heard last night.”

“Hundreds of thousands of Solokians died trying to escape. They bombed the schools, the houses, the hospitals… even the evacuation convoy, which they guaranteed would be safe. Keon means for this to be a genocide.”

I tilted my head, re-examining the man before me. Despite his grandstanding, he seemed to genuinely care for Amberasta and Solokia’s people. Perhaps he is not as ostentatious as I first assumed, I thought. Perhaps he is simply misguided.

“Listen,” I said, “I am familiar with Keon’s immorality more than anyone, but we cannot challenge him with a force of one-hundred untrained men. We will fail, and Bellgate may be compromised. With each day that passes, more Amberastans learn of the king’s deception. I plan to-” I leaned closer, so that my mouth was next to his ear- “to travel north, and face the king directly.”

The leader’s eyes grew wide as he realized what I was suggesting. “That is bold at best, and impossible at worst.”

“Maybe. But I believe, wholeheartedly, that this is our best chance. Our only chance.”

The leader leaned back, running a hand across his short hair. Several minutes passed as he considered my offer. “Okay, Ms. Glace,” he finally said. “In the morning, I will send a group–provisionally–to join your training camp. But I will hold you responsible for their wellbeing.”

I reached out my hand, and he shook it firmly. “Mr. Zubek, we will see the king dead in our time.”