My veins blazed.
I could only hope I had more arrows than they had ropes.
Just as I cocked another one, a familiar voice screamed, chilling me to my overheated bones.
I whirled around, only to see Dax writhing on the ground, trapped in a metal net that weighed him down.
The Northern soldier above him raised a barbed spear aimed straight at Dax’s neck.
Just when I almost let my arrow loose, two of our warriors burst into my line of sight, blocking my vision.
It only took one breath, but I missed my shot.
Chapter 45
Ryker
“All of the tents to the south, right in front of the rock face.” I gestured to the warriors, not stopping my stride.
“What about the war tent?” one of the hundreds of voices trying to get my attention called out.
“In front of the others, facing the river,” I said, already slowed in my tracks by a warrior holding up a map.
“I did the calculations.” Her finger glided upstream along the Obsidian River. “The Crimson Dam is a full day march for an entire army, half for a smaller group.”
“Good. Send the fastest scouts to find the safest path,” I said.
“What about the healers’ pavilions?” one of the younger healers called out.
“Next to the camp entrance, on either side. The healers sleep next to the warriors.” The evenings might’ve been rowdier than they would have liked, but safer.
The warriors scrambled around me. Swords and shields clinked alongside cauldrons and tankards, and tents flapped in tune with the axe bearing down on the trees brimming the clearing.
Chaos, but an organized one.
The kind that brought hope, however shaky. And, gods, we needed some of that.
Our troops were already on edge after we’d changed our route and spent a night sleeping in an unguarded field, with the rumbles from the Defector Lands hissing in the distance. Zandyr and I had taken turns patrolling the area with the sentries, and the strain was getting to me.
And it was still so hot.
I’d long since divested myself of the tunic, but sweat kept dripping down my chest. I was a walking waterfall, giving orders left and right, eyes scanning the clearing for any danger I might have missed.
Thousands of souls rested on my shoulders.
Ihad redirected our troops.
I’d stopped us from crossing the river.
I’d brought them into the clearing.
Only the gods knew if I made the right call, but it was too late to turn back now.
With the unscalable Merciless Mountains guarding our backs, a forest to our left, and the river up ahead, its roar barely visible between the trees, we were as protected as this land would allow.
But I wouldn’t take any chances.
“Myron.” I pointed at one of Zandyr’s most trusted warriors; he was more bones than muscle, but made up for it with cunning speed and precision. “Take the scouts up as far as you can go in the mountains. Check for traps and spies.”
