The moon hung low in the sky, heralding the coming dawn. As Sojo stared at it, she felt the stirrings of an irrational anger in her gut. It passed quickly. She couldn’t well blame the moon for anything, after all, as its slow transit had been charted long before her time and wouldn’t be changing for her benefit anytime soon.

The Scouts had been wrong. The sounds in the night had started before they even reached Eastgate, sounds like animals tracing the edges of their camp and then stealing away into the dark. She’d thought it a dream at first, and so had most of the others. Only Eyn brought up her fretful waking, and in doing so connected the memories of each the members. So now Sojo stood on guard, the last of the rotation each night, and balefully bade the moon to hurry on its way.

This was the third night they’d held guard, and so far they hadn’t been slowed as badly as she’d expected. Brehen was easily the biggest victim of the change. Waking had never been his strength – obvious since their second day of travel – so he’d been allowed the first watch. Eyn was similarly disgruntled by the dawning sun, but was more used to working around whatever schedule was needed. Mirrel had quarrelled over the second-to-last shift, but Sojo had exercised her begrudged authority to make him take it. In return for starting a small fire each morning. Not a large cost, she’d thought, but trying to light a fire in the pre-twilight hours had proven troublesome.

Still, she just went to bed earlier with kindling set out for the morning and called it a win. Mirrel took a nap after lunch on the wagon, Eyn remained clumsy but gained an excuse, and Brehen got to complain about overworking the horses by carrying people along with cargo. A fine compromise.

And yet. She looked away from the moon, blinking away the faint spots from its glow, and looked at the utterly still horizon. Absent from it was any sign of movement, of hidden threats, of danger even as petty as a turned ankle from an errant rock. And yet... She hadn’t heard noises in the night on her watch, nor did any of the others mention them. They’d seen neither track nor trail, not a bird in the sky.

She sighed. And yet the feeling of impending danger was ever mounting, as if each step was a little higher up a mountain road and unseen ahead was the cliff.

Sojo stared at the stars inching across the dark and tried to judge the time. Probably an hour to dawn, maybe less. The horizon in that direction was already lightening, turning from black to noble blue, so she was likely safe in starting her morning fire.

She scrabbled half-blind in the dirt beside her tent, looking for the tinderbox she’d stowed the night before. When she finally found it, she swapped it for the held lump of crystal and began the Trial of the Fire. She really should have paid better attention when Eyn showed her how best to light one.

As she scraped away and watched the wood stubbornly refuse to ignite, she periodically reached out to pat the discarded crystal. That had been a true surprise. Eyn had brought it out when they’d decided on posting watches, calling it a memento of a past adventure; apparently when left in the sun it gathered and held the light that passed through it, and if you pushed out the cylinder of glass that was sunk through the center it would release it all at once. They hadn’t been given a demonstration, as Eyn wasn’t sure it would work twice.

Sojo was half terrified she would lose it in the dark, and half amazed that Eyn hadn’t dropped it and done the same long ago. Still, Eyn’s look was serious when she gave it up, so she was taking care to treat it well.

Finally the sparks caught, and a glimmer of fire started crawling up the kindling. She bent low and whispered into it, watching her breath give life to the flame, and delighted as it grew. There was something magical about nursing it into a proper blaze, she thought. If only she actually could use magic, maybe it wouldn’t be such a hassle every morning.

She started to rise, when her eyes caught the horizon. It seemed as if a distant fire had started at the same time as hers; she could see the tiny flickering glow even as her fire devoured the kindling.

Then her depth perception kicked in, and the glimmer swam into focus. Not in the distance, but only a couple hundred feet from their camp. Not one ember, but two reflections in the eyes of a small hunched form.

Her breath caught, and she froze. She considered reaching for the glass at her side, but didn’t want to move for fear of spooking the creature. As she stood petrified, the horizon began to dim, the stars growing fainter, and the colour of the sky slipped to black again. She imagined her fear as a vice gripping her heart, suitable as her chest was aching more with every passing moment, and noted with a sliver of detachment that the edges of her vision were fading as well.

She forced herself to take a breath, and the dawn returned. Her vision swam for a moment, but filled out even as the blue crept back into the sky. The reflections had gone. She coughed, realizing the vice on her heart had been her aching lungs, and wondered whether the eyes had even been real. Just bright stars moving across the horizon, maybe? If only she could convince herself so easily.

No, something had been there. She was certain of it. The horizon was perfectly flat again in the light, where before she’d seen something jutting from it.

A rustle sounded behind her, and it was all she could do to stifle her scream to a squeak. Mirrel flinched at the sound and squeaked himself, halfway through the entrance of his tent. Their eyes locked, and even in the dim twilight she could clearly see his crimson blush. No doubt hers was visible just the same. A moment passed where they wordlessly agreed it would never be admitted, and Mirrel stepped fully out of his tent.

“The fire’s dying,” Mirrel whispered, staring down at the flickering coals of her kindling. She glanced at the fire, then back at the fast-approaching dawn.

“I got distracted, after I lit it.” She whispered back. “There was something out there, watching the camp.”

Mirrel tensed, and his expression twisted as he shaved more kindling from his firewood. “I thought we’d be getting devoted admirers after we returned in glory, not before.” He placed his shavings over the coals, and within moments the wood was ablaze again.

She didn’t reply. The horizon brightened by shades, and she fidgeted with the glass until her companions rose.

-

They were only two days from Eastgate now, Sojo mused. And it was definitely for the better. Tensions had been higher among the party, stemming mostly from Mirrel’s increased petulance. He hadn’t taken to the watch system well, and escalating anxieties had seen him berating Eyn before she even got the chance to drop his dishware.

Brehen had similarly fallen into his sights, and for his “cook’s honour” he’d demanded the man sample every dish he created, if not eat full portions. It seemed like Brehen’s placidity had barely held, though he’d also admitted many of the dishes weren’t unpleasant. It wouldn’t change their ration stores much even if he was convinced, though. Not really a benefit regardless.

One more night. She’d be able to manage that, and then they’d be within Eastgate’s walls – they must have walls, this far out into the desert – and they could finally sleep easy and catch up on some desperately needed rest.

The wagon clattered over the uneven ground. Mirrel held his usual place ahead of the party, setting the pace and keeping to himself. She’d considered going up to talk with him again, but their last proper conversation had ended with him recounting a childhood tragedy, so she was thinking it might be better to hold off for a while. Sojo drifted back toward the wagon and came even with Brehen and Eyn, chatting quietly.

“A pheasant’s the best I’ve seen in the recent weeks, but there must be some kind of ground-dweller in the area. If wolves are about, they’ll be eating either something large or something easy to find. No way for them to survive otherwise.” Brehen gestured toward the wagon. “And if I can find whatever they’re surviving off of, my bow should take care of the rest.”

He was rather hunched, Sojo noted, and seemed almost timid. He also looked a little thinner than when they’d set out; he still stood tall, but not as broad or thick-set. She wondered not for the first time if meats and cheeses could truly sustain a person forever. Again she made a note to keep it in mind, and again she acted on nothing.

Eyn stared ahead as she walked, not bothering to look at her feet even with the bumpy terrain. “I haven’t seen any animal tracks. The afternoon and evening walks are silent. Normally I’d expect to hear birds settling down, or the calls of their chicks, wolves howling maybe – the loudest things I’ve heard are the grasshoppers.” It seemed as though she wanted to add more, but the words just didn’t want to slip out.

“Do you really need to hunt to keep up the supplies?” Sojo asked, filling Eyn’s hesitant silence. “I thought you packed enough away from the beginning.”

Brehen ran a hand through his hair, and his lips quirked up a touch. “I should have enough to eat, though it might be a near thing. That said, Mirrel promised to cook up the next proper meal I can harvest however I want in return for eating his food for a day. I’m worried that he won’t have to hold up his end at this rate.” He stared at Mirrel’s back, projecting suspicion, but Mirrel remained oblivious out of earshot.

“It sounds like he’s been winning you over with these meals of his, then,” Sojo said. “I can’t say I expected that.”

Eyn laughed, and the tall man smirked in a crude mockery of Mirrel’s own grin. “Oh, no. Not quite. It’s not that bad, I’ll admit, but that’s not why I want to do this.” His grin widened, and he seemed unaware as he led the horses on. “I just want to see him squirm when I don’t let him do a single thing to that meat. Not a pinch of spice or careful cooking, just cut and roasted on the fire until the outside’s blackened.”

“He just might faint at the sight,” Eyn added happily, her grudge evidently not yet settled.

Sojo smiled back at them, but the good humour didn’t last long. It drained from Eyn’s face like water through a sieve, and Brehen returned to his usual calm demeanour shortly after.

“Ok.” Sojo started, looking squarely at Eyn. “Something’s up.”

Eyn returned the look for a moment, before her eyes darted away to scan the horizon.

“You’ve been distractible and distant ever since we got the bearing for Eastgate,” Sojo continued. “More so than usual, even. What is it?”

Eyn exhaled, reaching for a pouch on her small backpack and withdrawing a wooden puzzle. “The Scouts we spoke to,” she said, fingers working, “were not telling us the full story.”

She seemed hesitant to explain further, but Sojo didn’t want to let the topic go. It had been too obvious and long-lasting a bother to ignore. She held her tongue, and –together with Brehen’s neutral presence – Eyn caved to the tension.

“Do you remember how many wagons went by, when the riders passed us?” She asked. At a shake of the head, “Eight of them, that I saw, and at least two had room for three people to lie without overlapping. Scout doctrine only calls for four wagons per company, though the Captain can request up to six without any real inquiries.” Her fingers were fiddling faster, finding a rhythm to the puzzle in her hands. Her eyes grew distant as she spoke. Recited, almost.

“That leaves the larger wagons unaccounted for. There are three usual cases for extra large wagons: lightweight supplies, for restocking a command post. Unlikely out in the desert. Misshapen supplies, such as particularly large building materials. They would have left the wagons in Eastgate for that, and they’d be stripped for building supplies or put to other purposes.”

Finally her gaze settled, and when she met Sojo’s eyes there was no discomfort or uncertainty there. “The last case is when you have crates of fragile materials that need extra padding. That’s always glassworks, and two wagons of it is very, very important.”

Brehen breathed in sharply. “That would be… meaningful to say the least. There’s half a fortune in two wagons full.”

Sojo nodded slowly. “So you think they’re committing more equipment, and breaking out the valuable stuff. An increase in funding, maybe laying plans for another push?”

“Worse. Much worse. The wagons were empty. They wouldn’t need that much to outfit some farmers to any purpose, nor could they use the full capacity of constructs unless they settled a cloister of mages with them.” Slowly, her fingers stopped twisting at the puzzle, and she stared at it in frustration and despair. “And the only constructs that break routinely are the ones designed to do so. If they’re being kitted out with that much magical ammunition, our days in the Sink might be numbered.”

“One last question, then,” Sojo said. She didn’t want to push Eyn too far, especially not with the tone she was taking, but some things had to be addressed. “When we brought you on, you said you had been trained somewhat like the Scouts are. That you could give some insight into various landscapes, map and navigate for a party. But how exactly do you know the Scout doctrine in this much detail? You don’t just leave the Corinthian Scouts once you’re in. And definitely not as young as you are, with all limbs in working order.”

Eyn looked between Brehen and Sojo, though neither were sure what she was looking for. Sojo tried to express determined curiosity without seeming angered, or reproachful. As far as she was concerned, this was just a question that needed an answer, nothing more.

“You aren’t wrong,” Eyn started. “I joined up with the scouts, expecting grand adventure or something of the like. Maybe if it’d been a couple years later and I knew this expansion was coming I would have stayed in. But everyone I talked to with them was focused on the Northern war, that endless bloody thing. Wasn’t much to scout for out there except whether there were people trying to kill you in this valley or that one. Never appealed to me as much.

“So once my training was done and they gave me my coin for the time I’d been in, I left. It’s why I don’t claim to have as much experience as a proper Scout, even just an enlisted. I never travelled anywhere beyond the training grounds with them.”

Brehen frowned, and looked at Eyn as if with fresh eyes. “So this is one of your only voyages, then. I don’t think that’ll be too much of a problem.” He stretched his arms and gazed around the horizon, staring with interest at the continued emptiness. “We haven’t had any issues so far, regardless of your being a… novice.”

“Oh Brehen,” Eyn replied, looking at him fondly. “We both know the term you’re looking for is deserter.”