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“If they do that, I will take it up with my uncles.” Adry tilted her head to peer up at Merrik in the gathering gloom. “And if I don’t, I’m sure Dacha would. I’m pretty sure our parents are nearly as invested in our relationship as we are.”

Merrik gave a light laugh, a smile banishing the morose tilt to his mouth. “True.”

She would miss Fort Defense. No more early mornings with her dacha and Fieran. No more sending Merrik amused shared glances.

And yet a thrill of anticipation curled within her chest. Tomorrow, she’d finally head for war.

Her swords jabbing into her back, Adry gripped the side rail of the open bed of the army truck as it jounced and bounced over the rough, rutted track. The engine whined as it pulled the truck out of a particularly gloopy puddle, and Adry held her breath hoping that they wouldn’t have to get out and push. Again.

Beside her, Uncle Iyrinder similarly braced himself with a grim tilt to his mouth. She couldn’t see her dacha—as a general, he’d been given the passenger seat in the cab despite his initial insistence that she take that seat—but she could imagine he had a nearly identical expression on his face.

Next to Uncle Iyrinder and across the way, the five members of their elite guard detail, drawn from the highly trained royal guards, hung on for dear life. The male at the end had his head hanging over the side, his skin a rather unhealthy looking gray-green.

At least only the last few miles had been this rough. For the first stretch, the troll engineers had created a stone road across the swampy land that formed the Mongavarian side of the border along the Chibo River. The road continued all the way to the higher ground, where the army had created a staging area for men and material. A railroad was currently in construction to carry both more efficiently deeper into Mongavaria.

From there, the smooth stone road gave way to branching two-tracks, most of them a muddy mess, even though it hadn’t rained in a couple of days.

As they traveled east, a rolling reverberation boomed louder and louder. Once it reached the point where the elves in the truck were wincing and grabbing moss ear plugs, the truck rolled to a halt. Even once it had stopped, a vibration still traveled through the frame at each concussive blast.

She glanced upward at the clear blue sky arching overhead. Were those the Alliance guns or the enemy’s? Should she be worried about a shell falling toward her head at any moment?

Not that enemy shelling was too big of a concern for her. As long as she had some warning, she could destroy or deflect the bombs with her magic, as could Dacha.

The male elf—Aylduin, she thought his name was—bailed out of the back of the truck. He didn’t do anything as dramatic as fall to his knees and kiss the ground, but his deep breaths and heaving shoulders were the same thing for an elf.

The other four elves—three female and one male—climbed down as well, gripping their rucksacks and weapons. Most of them wielded swords or daggers, although both Uncle Iyrinder and one of the male elves, Aleratha, were trained archers who carried their bows and quivers stocked with arrows. One of the female elves, Yralissa, had a rifle slung over her back. She was one of the rare elves who had trained with the Escarlish weapon and been certified as a sharpshooter.

These five elves—six with Uncle Iyrinder—were among the most elite of the elven warriors, and yet they had volunteered to guard the Laesornysh.

Now they would guard two Laesornysh warriors.

Uncle Iyrinder gestured for Adry to go first, so she grabbed her bag, made her way along the truck’s cargo bed, and hopped down.

From where he stood by the cab of the truck, Dacha glanced at her, his body shifting as if he intended to go to her.

But a human lieutenant hurried up to Dacha and saluted. “General Laesornysh, sir!”

Dacha was forced to turn back to the lieutenant and return the salute.

“Sir, if you and your unit would come this way, I will show you to your bunker.” The lieutenant spun.

Another explosion sounded even closer, and the lieutenant flinched, glancing upward.

Adry hefted her bag higher on her shoulder and hurried to fall into step behind Dacha, with Uncle Iyrinder and the rest of the elite guards flanking her.

Ahead, a meandering, jagged line of foxholes, trenches, dirt earthworks, and barbed wire stretched across the landscape for as far as she could see, an eyesore through what had once been rolling fields of wheat.

On the other side of the entrenchments, another stretch of fields, some wheat, some corn, rolled into the distance until the horizon was sliced by more earthworks.

The big guns boomed as each side shelled each other, trying to soften each other up.

The eight of them followed the lieutenant into the trench. The bottom was lined with living roots placed so thickly together they were a solid, flat mass while the walls were reinforced with both stone and more roots. The roots drew in water, helping to keep the trench dry and somewhat livable. She could only imagine, given the messy state of the roads, what a Mongavarian trench looked like.

Adry glanced around. This was quite the impressive setup, considering the Alliance had been moving rather rapidly forward into Mongavarian territory once the Wall had come down. But a trench system like this, which would take a human-only army weeks to dig, could be cobbled together quickly with the elves, trolls, and dwarves using their magic, with a few humans armed with shovels to finish things off.

The lieutenant halted before a black opening, reinforced with wood, that gaped in the side wall of the trench. “Here is your bunker, sir. Once you stow your gear, General Ardon would like to see you and Lt. Laesornysh at the command bunker. I will wait here to escort you there once you are ready, sir.”

Dacha nodded, faced the entrance to the bunker, and drew in a deep breath before he stepped inside.