It was late afternoon when she mounted her horse, and she felt really content. Apart from the incident with Daremon's hand, everything had gone smoothly. Tomorrow she would check the supply wagons, review the Emfer troops and appoint a replacement during her absence. The day after tomorrow, she would set off for Fenigrid. She felt happy, the knot in her stomach loosened and a growing excitement flooded her heart.
How long had it been since she had fought? Oh yes, Kanror.
The memory quickly brought her back to reality. As she left the camp, she came across a familiar face. Green-eyed Zaran stood beside the guards, clutching a lace handkerchief, which he brought to his nose as soon as he saw her.
Moros remained silent; he hadn't been much of a talker lately. Although she might not have had time for him, preoccupied first with the intrigue with Aktis and now with the expedition to Fenigrid. But when he rode beside her with his head down, she sensed something was wrong.
"What's wrong, brother?" She liked calling him that. She'd never had any siblings; Moros was like a brother to her, in a way.
"I don't know, I have mixed feelings," he replied after a moment of consideration.
"This is your first battle, and you're probably scared. That's normal," Setia said in a reassuring tone. "I was terrified before my first assignment. Stay close to me, there's no reason to risk it."
"Madam," the young captain interrupted their conversation, "an axle has broken under the wagon; we'll be delayed because of it."
"Push the wagon to the side and when you finish the repairs, it should catch up with us. You'll manage, because the whole wagon train will be moving rather slowly." Setia brushed her hair back from her face and enjoyed the sun's rays. She didn't have a silver mask today, just a black headband, it was more comfortable.
They were lucky today; the weather was sunny and a bit windy; she liked this kind of weather and the feeling of the wind in her hair. They quickly noticed the tracks left by the mercenary army. Ahead of her, a train led by Rosnar was slowly moving. Setia and the soldiers of Emfer were supposed to join them before the ford on the Istar River, and so they did. Crossing the Preton Plain at this pace would take them two days, then they would have to cross the Parena River, and then they would see Fenigrid. The entire convoy now followed the Istar River; the limestone hills of Yudgor were visible on the left. There, Hiron was quietly forging more swords. There, she met Jefre...
"I'll see what's going on at the head of the army," she told Moros, and without waiting for his reply, she set off at a gallop.
The sight of her small army was heartwarming. Riding alongside the marching men, she felt happy; she was already a queen. Together with her guard, she had gathered over 1,500 men to conquer the entire kingdom. Any tactician would laugh at her, but on Fenigrid, it's enough. Where there's quarreling and a lack of common decision, even a small army can tip the scales in favor of a determined individual. Rosnar rode ahead, accompanied by a senior soldier who, upon seeing Setia, bowed and departed.
"Greetings, Lady of Emfer," the Shadow Army commander made a vague gesture with his hand, imitating an elegant bow.
"Greetings, Army Commander," Setia returned the greeting. "I understand there are scouts ahead of us?"
Rosnar looked at her as if she were a small child, sighed, rested his hand on his thigh, and, turning to Setia, said with a hint of irony, "Girl, I have the best reconnaissance. I have a group of 50 men trained by Zaran. No one will track them down, and they will find out everything."
"Zaran, it's the young one with the scar," Setia confirmed to which Rosnar only nodded.
"Is he from Gemor?"
"Zaran is my son, his mother was a Gemor captive. The boy has a natural talent for reconnaissance and is excellent in combat." There was parental pride in Rosnar's voice.
"Where did he get that scar?" Setia decided to probe further.
Rosnar looked at her more closely, shook his head, and smiled.
"He got it himself, drunk," he added after a moment. "Leave him alone, he's broken more than one heart. He's a lunatic."
"Don't overestimate my interest; you won't become my father-in-law."
Rosnar laughed.
"Hey, girl, if I were younger, I'd have taken Emfer and you myself. Where's your Orchad? I haven't seen him in your unit."
"He's dead. Death for treason." Before she could think, she automatically repeated Equerda's cry. The memory of Jefre soured her mood.
Rosnar fell silent and looked at Setia askance.
"I underestimated you; you must have grown up among mercenaries." Rosnar rubbed his chin. "I'll remember," he said, more to himself than Setia.
"We'll set up camp by the river." Setia didn't ask; it was more of a statement.
There were no good places to stay in this area. The river was the only natural barrier. Tomorrow there wouldn't even be a river, just vast stretches of grass in the lowlands.
"That's right," Rosnar agreed.
"How's Daremon and his hand doing?" She couldn't help the smile on her face.
"He'll survive, but he definitely won't propose."
"So all I have left is your son," Setia sighed and, nodding her farewell, Rosnar's booming laughter followed her as she turned her horse back to her squad.
Moros's morning uncertainty and gloomy expression vanished. Riding at the head of a hundred armed soldiers, he finally felt something akin to pride. After all, he was the princess's brother, and soon he would be the queen's brother.
In less than a year, he had experienced an incredible social rise from slave to member of the royal family. However, the price was high; he had to admit to himself that sometimes Setia terrified him. Her determination and ruthlessness were both inspiring and utterly paralyzing. He followed Setia's orders, whether he agreed with them or not.
Setia was now talking to individual commanders and even soldiers. She was everywhere; from a distance, he could see she was in her element. Evening was approaching, and the entire wagon convoy had stopped. It was time to prepare the camp for the night. All the wagons were arranged in a semicircle, close together, forming the first line of defense. The horses were tethered and locked behind a hastily constructed corral. Tents were pitched only for the commanders and a few officers; the rest had decided to sleep under the stars.
Moros shared the tent with his sister. It was a new, black tent, made especially for the occasion. Inside, it was divided into two sections. Two beds, tables, and four chairs were placed inside. Moros, who hadn't spent as much time in the saddle as he had today, happily settled into his section of the bed. He must have even dozed off, because the jostling woke him.