We charged into the tent, breaking off to either side. I ducked down into a crouch, poured will into my jacket and prepared for the worst.

A hardwood table and chair stood in the middle of the tent over a large, ornate rug that covered the grassy floor. Metal candelabras as tall as a man were positioned too close to the tent's canvas walls. A bed sat in the far-left corner, its wood, hand-carved frame looked expensive… and heavy. I pitied whoever was ordered to carry it up the hill.

Only one thing was missing…

Rugar.

I dropped the enchantment and stood up.

"He's not here!"

"Aye, I noticed," Castille said, sheathing her sword.

The others entered the tent next, eyes scanning the interior.

Isla wrung her hands around her golden sceptre.

"We shouldn't have assumed he would be in his tent."

Castille scratched the back of her head.

"My mistake. I took him for an armchair general."

"A-At least, we found the chair," Dugan said.

I stared down at the rug, my eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"He could be anywhere: Checking the perimeter, getting drunk in the capital-"

A horn blared in the distance.

We each turned to the tent's door.

"Or returning to camp," Isla said.

Castille and I exchanged glances.

"The bodies!" we said in unison.

We ducked through the door, staying low. Below us, the camp was bustling with activity.

"Isla, what do you see?"

She squinted, one hand on her sceptre.

"There are riders coming from the capital. One of them is wearing armour. I think that's Rugar!"

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"We can stuff the bodies down the hole. Dugan, give me a hand," Castille said.

Dugan nodded in agreement.

They grabbed the corpses by the ankles and dragged them behind the tent.

"What about the blood?" I asked.

The thick red-brown liquid spattered above the tent's opening. More blood pooled where the bodies lay and around the tent where the bodies were dragged.

"I could blast it with water, but that would just make a mess," Isla said.

I frowned.

My mind flashed to an old memory. To a time when I was cornered in an alley by a noble with a blood-drenched sword.

"Can you control blood?" I asked.

Isla recoiled.

"Blood?! How?"

"I knew a noble who could create and control blood. Try it."

Isla scrunched up her face.

"Were they some kind of butcher in their free time?"

"Of children."

"Oh… Another friend of yours, then?"

"Just do it."

Isla sighed.

"It's worth a shot."

She dipped her fingertips in a shallow pool of blood beside her. Isla pulled back her hand, rubbing the viscous liquid between her fingers and thumb. Slowly, she opened her palm and the blood around us was drawn to her like moths to a flame. Droplets of blood peeled off the canvas and grass to join the writhing mass hovering over her hand.

"Well done," I said.

Isla was silent, examining her reflection in the bloody blob.

"This feels wrong..."

"That's because it is. We should hide."

"Back in the hole?"

An idea flashed in my mind, and a slow smile crept over my face.

"I have a better idea."

# # #

"Anything?" Rugar asked.

"Nothing, boss," the guard said.

He stood at attention, as straight as his hunched back would allow.

Rugar grumbled under his breath. He dismounted his steed, enjoying the weight of the heavy plate on his shoulders. A groom ran up to take the horse's reins.

Rugar stomped into the camp, ignoring the nods and salutes of the mercenaries who scrambled to meet him. His group of six mercenaries dismounted and followed behind. Took's boy appeared out of the rabble and ran to his side.

"Weeks without any sighting of Castille or the elf. How is that possible?!" Rugar asked.

"I-I don't know," the boy said. "Maybe, they aren't coming back to the capital."

Rugar unstrapped his horned helm and tucked it under his arm.

He frowned.

Rugar didn't want to believe it, but maybe the boy was right. The very idea made him recoil with disgust.

His one chance at glory was gone. He shouldn't have been surprised. The elf was a coward who fancied cheap tricks over a real fight. No wonder their Empire fell.

Rugar smiled at his joke, shaking off his gauntlet to run his fingertips through his mustache. He would have to send out patrols again and broaden his search to poke around the nearby towns.

He would hammer out the details later—first food.

"Boy, bring my lunch to my tent."

"Y-Yes, boss."

The boy peeled away to walk to a large tent where the meals were prepared.

"The rest of you are dismissed. I want to be alone."

Deep-throated grunts of agreement rang out around him. It was music to his ears.

Finally, some respect.

He marched up the hill with his chest filled with pride. The smile on his face sank into a frown when he caught sight of the tent.

Where were those idiots?

He had handpicked the guards watching the entrance. They weren't the type to sit in his chair or drink his wine like the others.

Rugar hunched his shoulders and barreled through the tent's opening.

"Roger! Osric! What are you-"

He froze.

It was the elf. The spirits-damned elf.

He was sitting in his chair, his muddy feet kicked up on the table and a cocky smile forged on his face.

"Rugar, I heard you were looking for me."

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