“We’ve got them on the run, sir.” A young soldier snapped off a stiff salute as he delivered the message he’d been tasked with.

High Commander Ulresh Blackfist returned the salute then scratched at his neatly kept grey beard. His dark brown eyes looked weary as he turned to his second in command. “On the run is when these bastards are at their most dangerous.” His voice was a deep rumble, like stones rolling.

“Yes, sir.” Commander Orin Stonesword responded. He was slightly taller than the High Commander, but lacked the presence that the other man had.

Ulresh folded his hands behind his back as he paced over to the map table. His gleaming scale armor glowed in the lantern light of the command tent. The tent was mostly empty but for the map table and a few chairs. A lantern hung from one of the poles and swayed gently in the breeze outside. The floor of the tent was the long grasses of the Farthess Reach, trampled flat to accommodate the tent and its occupants. In addition to the High Commander and his second, there were several lower ranked soldiers awaiting orders. The High Commander paced from one end of the tent to the other, an endeavor of only a handful of steps. He stared down at the map in silence for a long moment before his eyes flicked up to his second in command. “We’ve pushed them to the edge of the Outlands. They will have no choice but to make a stand.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Orin’s voice was quiet as he joined Ulresh at the map table. “They could always retreat into the Outlands.” One side of his mouth lifted in a bit of a smirk. His thick black brows gave the expression little true humor and his red-brown eyes were practically mirthless.

“Ancestors forefend.” Ulresh’s grey brows drew together. His aged face was meant for scowling. “We’d be ill advised to chase them there.”

“Indeed.” Orin rubbed his bare chin in a mimicry of Ulresh’s beard scratching. “Anyone venturing into the Outlands is ill advised. I can hardly believe they headed in this direction to begin with. With as many spellweavers as they have in their army heading into the wild weaves at the edge of the Outlands is folly enough, but to go into the Outlands themselves…” He shook his head.

“Idiocy.” Ulresh agreed. “Which is why I think they must have some sort of plan. They can’t possibly be intending to enter the Outlands. They must be planning something. We must keep them on the move. If we let them get whatever it is they’re seeking, we’ll never end this war.”

Orin only grunted in response, looking down at the map of Charan.

“How close are we to the wild weaves?” Ulresh mused.

“The latest scouts put it at ten miles distant from our current camp.”

“Only a few miles from the last position of the enemy camp then.” His eyes narrowed as he studied those maps. “How old is the scout information?”

“Two days.”

“That’s too long. Send a new team. We need to know what to expect. Prepare the troops to move at dawn.”

“Yes, High Commander.” Orin saluted crisply and left the command tent.

Ulresh remained, looking down at the map. They were so close to putting an end to this blasted war, but Ulresh suspected that the enemy had something up their sleeves. Something worse than anything that had come before.

He had chased them for for weeks across the grasslands of Western Ogrekall and all of the Farthess Reach, chipping away at the might of the enemy. Any left behind before his relentless pursuit were taken prisoner or destroyed. From almost a hundred thousand troops, High Commander Ulresh had whittled it down to less than fifty thousand.