MONTH OF THE FORGE, FOURTH TENDAY, 3rd or 4th day, 767 KD

My platoon had nearly finished its patrol when we spotted the barbarian camp.

We were deep into the Frontier. It was a hostile land, teeming with raiders. Experience had taught us a hard lesson about these people who called the Frontier home. They knew the land, moved about it with quick and quiet efficiency, and they were savage fighters who loved and lived for battle. They fought with each other. They attacked us on sight. They were known to slaughter entire settlements if they failed to exercise vigilance. We could not bargain or reason with them. Brute force was all they respected.

They lived off the land, moving from place to place without ever settling down. The land itself was harsh and unwelcoming – hot, rainy, alien land, where wild beasts and swarms of insects thrived. Man, beast and insect all intent on attacking us at will, hoping to break our will and drive us back.

We were east of Shadrol, nearly as far south as Mukan. We were close enough to catch glimpses of the Beast River, which from what I could see of its rapids, was aptly named.

I sent Farley to scout after we spotted a campfire, a quarter mile away. The rest of us hunkered down, drinking water, wetting our faces, necks and bare chests. The sun was setting at last, the sweltering air beginning to cool, but the men were sweat drenched and exhausted. We were ready to go home. In an hour we would rejoin the battalion and camp for the night. Tomorrow evening we would be back at Freejack, our home base. For two weeks we had been wandering the bush, sweeping for enemies. Sometimes we found them. Other times they found us. A half dozen minor skirmishes and one major battle had ensued. The battalion had emerged victorious but down in strength, my platoon down from twenty to fifteen. We had lost our mage and our platoon leader, Atler. I was acting platoon leader now.

Farley returned, coming out of the thicket. “I couldn’t get an exact count,” he whispered. “Looked like about thirty.”

“They’ve made camp for the night?” I asked.

Farley nodded. “Tents set up. Cookfires going. They must have seen the rest of the battalion bug out and assumed we had all left.”

Shaker said, “Too many. I say we head back and call it a day. The major is expecting us back soon.”

“We have the surprise to our advantage. We can eliminate them. Let’s go, quietly. Farley, you take point.”

“Are you insane?” Shaker said. “There are thirty of them. The damn patrol is over. Let’s go back.”

“This is not a discussion. I command this unit. You will follow my order.”

Farley stared at me as if he might go for his sword, but I stared him down until he broke eye contact and shook his head, grumbling. He fell into line.

The barbarians were camped in the middle of a large clearing, far from the trees that concealed my unit. I halted the platoon just near the edge of the wood and made a plan.

We waited for the last glimmer of twilight, watching them. They had a very large fire, which would hamper their night vision. I instructed the men not to look at the fire, to keep our vision sharp.

Farley had been off on the count. There were forty of them, men and women, all experienced warriors. But they were off their guard, feasting and relaxing. That and our element of surprise would even the fight and I hoped tilt the odds in our favor.

I waited, cursing to myself that there were not more of the raiders, enough to justify turning back. Our mission was to clear raiders, and this was an opportunity to do so.

I moved first. The barbarian sentry was walking about, more alert than I would have liked. I crawled toward him, slow but steady, my knife ready. The wind was blowing toward me, a good thing. At last, the barbarian turned, looking out in the other direction, to my left. Within two span, I knew I was close enough. I leapt up and lunged at him with my knife, slashing his throat before he could cry out. He bled quietly and fell. Behind me, half the platoon began shooting arrows at the camp while the other half moved in. I switched knife for sword and moved in at a crouch. I targeted a cluster of four enemies and went at them hard and fast before they could even move for their weapons, my sword whistling and cutting through flesh and organs.

We cut their number down fast, but they recovered. They found their weapons and regained their senses to fight back, hard. Keyla and Whitney hit their tents with well aimed arrows lit with fire. Chaos and flames engulfed the night. The cacophony of battle had shattered the quiet peace – shouts, battle cries, screams all around.

Farley and Jane took their squads around them in the dark and flanked them.

All was going to plan, and then I felt a blow to my head. The world went black.

“Wake up, Sergeant. Come on. Don’t die on us.”

“Gernier,” I croaked.

“Easy. Drink this.”

Gernier put a vial to my lips and I drank the bitter potion.

“What happened?”

“Don’t know. You took a good hit to the head – maybe a club or hammer, who knows. You were right in the middle of the camp, savages all around you. You must have killed a dozen of them before they got you. I’ve never seen anything like it. Shaker pulled you out just in time – wouldn’t believe that if I hadn’t seen for myself.”

“Shaker – where is he?”

“Dead.”

I sat up. My ears rang and my head hurt like hell. The potions saved lives but never seemed to do much for pain.

“How many did we lose?”

“We lost nine, Sergeant.”

“What?” That was half the platoon. My stomach twisted and I wanted to vomit.

“We killed sixty of them.”

“Sixty?”

“There were more in the tents than we’d thought. They fought well. Gods, these barbarian bastards are tough.”

“Any prisoners?”

Gernier’s silence answered the question.

“Call the men together. We need to move out. The battalion is expecting us back.”