Dem felt something off — a nagging instinct he couldn't shake. That was why he chose to detonate the charges he and Reyka had set a few days earlier. Maybe he'd missed something important. This was the best blind move he had left.
Dem lit the fuse and retreated to where Telo waited in fox form. They withdrew immediately and were nearly back to camp when a massive explosion shook the earth. Rock and debris blasted skyward, echoing for miles.
When they reached the coast, the smell of salt and burned wood greeted them. Most of the ship they'd torched the night before had washed ashore. The charred ribs jutted from the sand like the skeleton of some enormous beast.
Telo fed the dogs more of the fish he'd caught, happy to be out of the wind. After a meal, he slept while Dem kept watch. A few uneventful hours passed.
"Telo."
Dem's voice was low — just enough.
The red fox tribesman blinked awake, rubbing his eyes as he stepped outside. "What are they doing?"
Dem shook his head. A jolly boat was rowing toward the beach, leaving the remaining ship unmanned. "The ship's empty. Why would they leave it?"
"Scared, maybe?" Telo sat on a rock, watching the sailors pull the boat ashore. They stepped onto the sand — the ship's captain among them — and continued walking without pause, heading inland toward the mercenary camp.
"Should we follow?" Telo asked.
"Yeah," Dem said. "Let's find out what's happening."
**
In the Black Crow command tent, Captain Feran stood with his arms raised while attendants fastened him into his prized armor — layered metals, warded against fire and ice, tailored to his torso. "Finally," he muttered, "we're going into the field."
Scouts sent out at first light had found a tribal settlement — large by their report. Feran had immediately ordered camp broken. His mercenaries were exhausted, dispirited, desperate for a victory. This was where he turned it around. War could be like that — lose the small battles, win the big one.
Mullen Cross entered, his presence filling the tent like a drawn bowstring.
"Captain. The pass has been blocked. We'll have to delay."
"Delay."
Feran's face stayed composed, but his green eyes burned like a man staring at the gallows. "Recommendations?"
"We could go around," Mullen said. "It adds a day. But…"
Feran finished the thought. "But we can't leave our support in the rear. They'd be dead by nightfall."
"That's my guess," Mullen agreed. "We could send men to clear the pass by hand. Four or five days."
"They'd be harassed endlessly the entire time." Feran exhaled slowly. "We're being bled dry, Mullen. I expected losses. I even hired twice the number I needed to allow for that."
Mullen's jaw flexed — his forced smile brittle. Right out of port, Feran had planned to sacrifice three hundred men. Even for someone hardened as Mullen, this was disturbing.
"What I didn't expect," Feran continued, voice low, "was to lose without landing a single blow. Every drop of blood spilled has been Black Crow."
A female mage entered, bowing — though her eyes remained aloof. "Captain. My colleagues and I will be withdrawing from this conflict."
Feran stiffened. "We have a contract. Your guild will penalize you for breaking it. You know what that means."
Her tone stayed even. "No. The contract states we may withdraw if we unanimously vote no confidence. You cannot protect us. The ballot has been taken."
Feran's hand slid toward his sword — but the tent flap opened again.
"Why are you here, Captain Holat?" Feran demanded.
Captain Holat's voice trembled. "The Blue Bay has been sunk. Burned to the waterline. Its captain and crew did not survive."
Feran exchanged a look with Mullen — genuine surprise flickering across the giant's features.
"Who is on your ship?" Feran asked carefully.
"It is empty," Holat said. "I'm here to inform you that my ship will be returning to Khomane in two days — with or without the Black Crows."
Something hidden flickered through Mullen's eyes — triumph, or something close to it — but it vanished so quickly it might never have been there.
"Holat…"
The ship captain shook his head. "My decision is final. We're dancing to their tune. All but one ship is gone. Anyone who remains here will never leave this place."
Feran sagged, turning to his XO as if begging for rescue. "Give me another option, Mullen."
"Surrender with a negotiated retreat," Mullen said.
"Surrender? Negotiated retreat?" Feran's jaw clenched until it trembled. He had come for glory — not this humiliation. "No other recourse?"
"Outside of a formal duel with the opposing commander, no. If we want our reputations intact, that is." Mullen shook his head. "Captain… the Black Crows are done here."
Rat Dem and the red fox watched from the rocks, eyes fixed on the command tent. A robed woman — a mage — stepped briefly inside. Then the ship captain had entered, spoken briefly, and left, heading back to the sea.
The rat and fox exchanged glances, then waited another hour.
No one else entered or left.
When Mullen finally emerged, both beasts shifted their focus. Before leaving camp, Dem had warned Telo: those with extraordinary perception can sense being watched.
So they kept Mullen in view — but never looked directly at him.
A moment later, Telo's ears pricked. Mullen's voice boomed through camp.
"We are withdrawing to the beach! Pack up the tents — load the equipment into the wagons!"
Dem and Telo watched as Mullen Cross lowered the Black Crow banner outside the command tent and replaced it with two smaller flags — white and red.
They retreated quickly toward their lair, moving with purpose but minds churning.
Back at camp, Telo waited until Dem released their beastkin forms before asking the question hanging over them.
"They're retreating? Does that mean they've given up?"
Dem stared at the waves, sitting on the rocks with one hand absently resting on a dog's shoulder. "It should mean that. But it feels like we're being manipulated."
Telo sat on a nearby stone, spear across his knees. "Is it a trick? Trying to get us out of hiding?"
"A good question," Dem murmured. Something was wrong — badly wrong — but he didn't yet have the missing piece.
"The white flag is universal," Telo continued. "But what's the red one mean?"
"Another good question."
Dem took a drink of highberry and passed the flask. "We could retreat. But how would they respond? One ship can't carry six hundred people. If they pack it beyond reason? Maybe two hundred. What happens to the rest?"
They stayed near the lair for half a day before shifting into beastkin form and approaching the Black Crow camp again.
The mercenaries were moving with real motivation — packing up meant escape. Tent City was gone, the last of the equipment being loaded onto wagons.
A mage stepped onto the back of a wagon and activated something in his hand. Dem felt the pulse of magic ripple outward — projecting the man's voice as clearly as if he stood beside them.
"The Black Crow Company will retreat. We seek to negotiate the unhampered movement of a portion of our people to the nearest port, while the command staff boards our remaining ship. Additionally, Captain Feran issues a formal challenge to duel the opposing commander. This need not be to the death — merely an exchange of blades to show respect."
Rat Dem chittered — a sound very much like laughter.
The mage continued:
"The Commander will remain behind with his second. This is not a trap. You are invited to take tea before the duel, along with your chosen second, tomorrow evening an hour before sunset."
He stepped down.
Dem and Telo withdrew into the rocks and made for the beach.
"It's a trap, right?" Telo asked.
Dem nodded. "It is."
"What are we going to do? Break camp?"
"Yes. We'll gather the Sentry Force and retreat toward the Stonefall compound." Dem rolled up his bedroll, eyes hardening. "I've figured this out — or at least a big part of it."
Hours later, after recovering the oduns, the Sentry Force regrouped a few miles away — hidden in a narrow valley. Guards were posted. For the first time in days, a cookfire burned. The smell of hot food drifted through the ranks like a blessing.
Dem sat with a bowl in hand, flanked by two enormous war dogs who'd decided he belonged to them now. He listened while each Sub-Chief reported their part of the past forty-eight hours.
Once they finished, Telo stepped forward, updating everyone on the latest developments.
Reyka was scrubbing soot from her face when she glanced over. "The big man — he's the Black Crow Commander's second? Why wouldn't he stop his captain from dueling an unknown? That seems… stupid."
"He wants me to kill him," Dem said.
Heads turned. Conversations died.
Reyka frowned. "He wants his own captain dead? And then what?"
"I expect he plans to deal with me and my second afterward," Dem replied.
Sark's expression soured. His odun was the only one that hadn't yet taken a shot at the enemy camp. "So the negotiations are a farce?"
"That part is real," Dem said. "They have to negotiate. If they try to abandon four hundred soldiers to fend for themselves, those mercs will turn on them before nightfall."
"I don't like this," Telo muttered. He knew Dem too well. "You're going through with it."
Dem nodded once. "And don't ask to be my second. As Odun Chief, you have other duties."
Telo muttered something profoundly impolite under his breath. "Fine. Then who?"
Dem looked past the firelight, toward First Odun.
"Rodric Bearclaw."