Elric didn't stop until the moon was high and thin, cutting through the canopy like a bone knife.
Kael walked ten paces behind him. He didn't ask to stop. He didn't ask for water. He just focused on the rhythm of the horse's hooves—*clop, squelch, clop, squelch*—and forced his own legs to match it.
His jaw throbbed where Elric had hit him. His hands were raw blisters from the rope slide. But the anger was still there, sitting in his chest like a hot coal. It was the only thing keeping him upright.
Elric reined in suddenly. He didn't dismount. He just held up a hand.
"Down," he whispered.
Kael dropped. He didn't look for a dry spot; he just sank into the moss behind a rotting log.
"Why?" Kael hissed.
"Shut up."
Elric slid off his horse with surprising grace for a man wearing plate. He grabbed the beast's bridle and guided it behind a thick cluster of iron-barked oaks. He moved like a shadow, heavy but silent.
He came back to where Kael lay and crouched.
"Listen," Elric breathed.
Kael listened. He heard the wind. He heard the creak of branches. He heard his own heart hammering against his ribs.
And then, he heard it.
A low, vibrating thrum. Like a giant cat purring deep underground.
"What is that?" Kael mouthed.
"A patrol," Elric said. "A big one."
He grabbed Kael's shoulder and shoved him face-first into the dirt. "Don't move. Don't breathe deep. And whatever you do, don't look them in the eye."
The vibration grew. The ground started to shake. Sticks danced on the forest floor.
Then came the smell. Rancid meat, old sweat, and ozone.
Torches flickered through the trees, burning with a sickly green flame. Kael peeked through the roots of his hiding spot.
They emerged from the mist like a nightmare.
Wolf-kin. Hundreds of them. They didn't run like the raiders at Hollow Creek; they marched. They carried iron banners topped with skulls. Their armor wasn't just scrap metal anymore—it was forged, jagged plate that fit their distorted bodies perfectly.
In the center of the column walked something else.
It was massive, standing twice the height of a man. It wore black iron armor that completely encased it, leaving only a slit for red, burning eyes. It carried a warhammer that looked like it weighed as much as a horse.
A Commander.
Kael felt his breath hitch. The rage flare up. These were the things that killed Horek. These were the things that erased his name.
He shifted, his hand tightening on his shovel stake.
A heavy gauntlet slammed into the back of his neck, driving his face into the mud.
"Stay," Elric's voice was a ghost in his ear. "Or I'll kill you myself to keep you quiet."
The horde passed. It took an eternity. The ground shook for twenty minutes. The green light washed over their hiding spot, making the shadows dance.
The Commander stopped.
It turned its head slowly, scanning the woods. Its gaze swept over the oak trees, over the moss, over the log where Kael and Elric lay.
Kael stopped his heart. He didn't blink.
The Commander merely grunted—a sound like tectonic plates shifting—and turned back to the road. The march continued.
When the last torch faded into the distance and the vibration died down, Elric finally lifted his hand.
Kael gasped, sucking in air. He rolled over, spitting mud.
"They were right there," Kael whispered. "We could have…"
"Could have what?" Elric sat back against a tree, pulling a flask from his belt. "Killed one? Maybe two? And then been torn into confetti by the other four hundred?"
"It's a patrol! They're going to a village!"
"They're going to the Black Reach staging grounds," Elric corrected. "That was a reinforcement column. The Commander was a Highborn. You don't see them this far South unless something big is happening."
He took a drink and wiped his mouth. "You wanted to charge them. I felt you tense up."
"I want them dead."
"And you would be dead. And your village would still be gone. And I would be down a horse because they'd eat it."
Elric leaned forward, his one eye boring into Kael. "This is the first lesson, boy. The only one that matters."
He tapped his breastplate.
"Dead men have no honor. Dead men kill no monsters. If you want to fight this war, you have to survive the war."
Kael looked at his hands. They were shaking. Not from fear, but from the adrenaline crash. He looked at the mud on his tunic. He looked at the shovel stake—a pitiful twig compared to that Commander's hammer.
"I hate hiding," Kael said softly.
"Good," Elric grunted. "Hate it enough to get strong enough so you don't have to."
He stood up and whistled for his horse. "We camp here. No fire. Cold rations. Sleep with your knife in your hand."
Kael sat up. He wiped the mud from his face. "You're letting me stay?"
Elric didn't answer. He just tossed a piece of dried meat at Kael's chest.
"Don't snore," the Knight said.
Kael caught the meat. It was hard as rock and tasted like salt, but it was the best thing he had ever eaten. He chewed it slowly, watching the dark woods where the green torches had vanished.
Survival first, he told himself. Then the fire.