They rode for eight days, mostly by cover of darkness and rough terrain to stay off the roads. What they lost in time, they gained in stealth. By the eighth night, they had picketed the horses a mile out in a thicket to cover them and walked to the edge of a berm facing the camp. There was activity, normal by first glance, but after about an hour, subtle differences were beginning to show.

Nyssa ordered half the Elite to spread out and to count who they saw, making note of ranks. She was looking for Brack, and Jara directed her to move the farthest out so she could see the officer’s tent. They would reconvene at a tree a quarter mile away in one more hour.

From her new perch, Nyssa could make out the tent and the guards out front quite clearly. She and Jara recognized them. Brack took them everywhere; Polz and Pilt, brothers from the bay area. Jara told her the story of their father travelling a month from their home to deliver them to the academy himself when they were just children. Brack was the one who’d met them and, for some reason, taken them under his wing—like he had Jara. They were excellent fighters, but it was clear they had not wanted commissions. Where Jara was ambitious and confident enough to follow Brack’s encouraging advice and push himself to advance, all the brothers had wanted was to guard Brack, fight for him and stay as close to him as possible. It was comforting to see them now. It meant Brack was still alive.

Nyssa waited the full hour, watching as minor captains and corporals brought pages and reports in and out. Everything looked like a rather normal campaign, if a quiet one. There was no singing in the camp, very little talking and the soldiers were subdued out in front of their tents. Any campaign Nyssa had been on found the camps were always busy places. Many soldiers had double duties as grooms, cooks, stores men, batmen, arms and stocks, pages and so much more. In normal times, off-duty soldiers were eating, other soldiers were on watch, others told stories and sang songs. Everyone else was snoring in their beds. This camp was quiet. It was…unusual.

Nyssa sighed and prepared to move back without making any noise. She took one last look at Brack’s tent. If she hadn’t had been perfectly still trying to silence any of her equipment from jingling last minute, she’d have missed it. In the back of the tent, two cloaked figures snuck under the tent wall and disappeared inside. No noise, but there was a bark and a sound like a piece of furniture being broken. Then, the two figures left the same way they came in. The two brothers at the door looked at each other and ducked in, but they were obviously shooed out. Whoever they were, Brack was not happy to have seen them. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Nyssa had to get into that tent unseen.

“Maybe a distraction,” said Captain Ark, the Elite officer Titus had picked to come with them. “Something the brothers will go and investigate to remove them from the door.”

“It’s possible there is someone we don’t know of in the tent or that something is not right with Brack,” Jara said. “I’d feel better if I could get a look at him before you went in there.”

“What if we lured the brothers out here?” Nyssa couldn’t see all their faces in the dark, but she thought it was a young knight named Pram who spoke. “You could interrogate them, Highness. You could get them to indicate what was wrong.”

Nyssa thought about it but shook her head. “It’s a scenario we wouldn’t be able to control for long. If the brothers are not aware of anything or even if they are, their absence would alert Brack and to whoever might be watching the camp that something has changed. We need to keep our presence here secret, at least until we know what we’re dealing with.

“No choice, then,” she said. Her eyes met Jara’s and held them. “I go in under disguise.”

Nyssa studied him as he folded his arms across his chest, his eyes unhappy and intent on hers. Before she could speak, Jara interrupted.

“I am not sure if this is wise. We wouldn’t be able to protect you from any standpoint without going in,” he said firmly. Nyssa could see heads bobbing in the moonlight in agreement with him, but she stayed fixed on watching him.

“Brack’s batman wears a scarf,” Ark said simply.

Nyssa smiled. Titus had chosen her second in command well.

“Yes, Cyrus was burned in the Battle of Bay Ridge by a dragon flame grenade. He hides his scars out of politeness to his general’s guests—which is to say, everyone. Only Brack can convince him to take it off when they are alone. He will comply only when he is certain no other visitors are likely,” Jara recounted. “On campaign, that is next to never.”

They watched each other for a long minute. When Jara broke the gaze, his shoulders lifting in a deep exhale, Nyssa smirked, but Jara spoke first.

“We just need to study his movements a bit longer,” Jara said, taking charge. “We need to find a time when he will be out doing something lengthy. I need to find a bit of cloth like his scarf. Ark and five others will spread out and locate Cyrus and watch him. I’ll take three men and go back to the horses to figure out a suitable disguise. The rest of you set up a watch perimeter to the working six; we cannot afford to be caught here. We have maybe two hours left before dawn, so we must make our move within the next hour, or we’ll be hard pressed to find hiding spots in the day.”

When Nyssa returned, she had what she thought was a pretty good likeness for Cyrus—on a bad day. She was now trying to remember the man, his character and movements.

“Cyrus has just taken several items to the blacksmith,” one of the knights whispered as he emerged from the verge on the edge of the camp’s border. “Will that take him a while? It looked like some small armour and a dagger.”

Nyssa nodded as she thought about what it could be. Whatever the item, she was certain Cyrus wouldn’t let it out of his sight. “I go now,” she said simply, and looked to Jara, who moved aside so she could step into the bush.

The back of the camp was quiet. There was no guard, which was out of place. Security patrols normally walked the perimeter of the camps, crisscrossing regularly to ensure continuity in the line; Nyssa did not encounter any. She had located the blacksmith’s earlier and now came around the corner; back the way Cyrus had come in, to fool anyone who saw him go by into thinking it was him coming back. She made straight for Brack’s tent, and the brothers in front of it.

To her surprise, the brothers did not even stop chatting.

When she was inside, the warmth and oppressive thick air nearly overwhelmed her. It stank in the tent, like the flaps had been closed for a month and every day it had rained. Mildew canvas, old fire smoke and sweat, some bad food or stale ale. She suppressed a cough, but barely. She briefly looked up to orientate herself and find Cyrus’s bed. Locating it to the right, she turned abruptly toward it.

“Where’s my armour, Cyrus?”

Nyssa didn’t stop. She remembered Cyrus wasn’t so much afraid of Brack but indifferent to his infrequent bad moods. She had never seen him reprimand Cyrus for insubordinate behaviour.

“It had better be ready. I cannot be late to the rendezvous at sunrise,” Brack said gruffly.

She bent over the bed to make it look like she was busy. She heard papers shuffling on the desk behind her and risked a glance, while shaking out a blanket to look preoccupied. Her old friend looked tired and obviously stressed about something. His clothes were dirty and sweat-stained, his hair unwashed and standing on end behind his ears. He was unshaven and rubbed his eyes frequently. His letter to her had been brief and the reason behind it was as she thought: he was in trouble. Now how to reveal herself without upsetting his plan. Knowing Brack, he was planning something; something that would protect her and Orak’Thune, something that he couldn’t put in a letter, even a sealed one sent with a courier she knew.

Watching him was difficult and she didn’t have much time. If she could even be gone before Cyrus returned would be ideal. She would have to risk it. Risk her trust in her friend, risk that he would understand her presence and risk that he could trust her with his.

She moved quickly and directly and stopped at the very edge of his desk which, for a camp desk, was not very wide. She stared at him intently, something Cyrus would not do, to get his attention. He looked up then, annoyed and acutely ready to show it. Like a big bass, his mouth opened and then slowly, he closed it. They stared at each other and, for a moment, she thought he would burst. Emotions flickered across his face and she couldn’t see on which one he would settle. But he understood.

Neither of them spoke. She could hear noise and conversation outside the tent and she was reminded of the urgency. She blinked at him and showed him her hands. One and Two. Swipe right. He was watching them.

Twelve men, silent troops.

He nodded and moved a sheet of paper across the table, but he didn’t let it go. It had one sentence on it:

Brack Orak is required at the rendezvous for full surrender of his troops. If he fails to comply, all of his regiment will be slaughtered and the homesteads of this border will be burned as a message of war to your queen.

– War Chieftain, Bael, In the Name of his Imperial Highness, the Emperor Dascus

Nyssa nearly lost her composure and her disguise. Her hands began to shake and she looked up at Brack, who was now staring at her with stern composure, urging her to do likewise. Escape, she wanted to say. We need to leave here and regroup. But there was no time and innocent lives were at risk.

She nodded and reached over to touch his hand. When she turned away, she hoped he would see the burning anger in her eyes.

She left the tent, perhaps a little too quickly. The brothers stopped chatting as she whirled past them, robes flapping at her feet. Behind a tent three over, she passed Cyrus directly. He looked startled for an instant, but then just passed her by. He did hurry on to make sure his master was alright, but he did not raise the alarm. The last thing she heard was the brothers ribbing him about forgetting something and coming back so soon.