The snow fell in thick, silent waves, turning the Vanguard camp into a ghostly expanse of white and shadow.
Toli staggered toward the main gate, his legs trembling beneath him. Behind him, the deep woods loomed like a wall of solid ink, teeming with horrors that no sword could kill. But the true terror was already inside his own veins.
The poison burned. It was a slow, freezing agony that made his vision blur and his fingers go numb.
"When the fire starts, sound the horn," the boy's voice echoed in his mind, cold and absolute. "If you betray me, you will die slower than any sword can cut."
Four guards manned the timber gates. Three were leaning heavily against the barricades, passing a skin of cheap wine, their eyes glassy and half-shut. The fourth was a veteran, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning the tree line with professional paranoia.
Toli pulled his heavy cloak tight, tucking his chin to his chest. Just another scout returning to the fire, he told himself. Keep moving.
He almost made it past.
A heavy, gauntleted hand clamped down on Toli's shoulder, stopping him dead.
"Hold," the veteran guard ordered. "Where is the infantryman? The big mute who marched out with you?"
Toli's tongue felt like a piece of dry leather. His mind raced frantically. He couldn't tell the truth. He couldn't say that Gero was dead in the snow, executed by a child with a necrotic green eye.
"He... he saw tracks," Toli stammered, forcing his voice to stay low. "A winter buck. Said he wouldn't come back without fresh meat. I came back because I'm freezing. I need the fires."
The veteran stepped closer, narrowing his eyes. He studied Toli's pale face, his trembling hands. "You look like a corpse, scout. And you're shaking like a whipped dog."
Toli forced himself to look the veteran in the eye. "I was in the deep woods for three hours. The wind out there cuts to the bone. Now let me pass before I lose my fingers."
The guard stared for another agonizing second, then finally released his grip with a dismissive grunt. "Go. Get warm."
Toli slipped through the gates, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
The camp was a chaotic sprawl of drunken victory.
Soldiers danced around massive bonfires, their voices roaring in a violent, off-key shanty about Imperial glory. Others sat on crates, rolling dice and boasting about the massacre, already spending the gold they believed they had won.
Toli moved through the chaos like a phantom, sticking to the deep shadows behind the tents. The poison was digging deeper now, a cold hook in his chest.
He had to find the horn. The great brass horn of retreat. If he blew it, the Vanguard would break and flee straight into the deep woods. Straight into the jaws of the winter predators.
He knew where it was kept. The center square, near the command pavilion. It was always guarded. Heavily. What choice do I have? Toli thought, wiping freezing sweat from his brow. If the camp burns and the horn doesn't sound, the poison stops my heart. If I tell the captains, the boy with the green eye will find me in the dark.
He was a dead man walking. His only hope was obedience.
Suddenly, a voice cut through the noise—harsh, furious, and familiar.
"Get out of my way, Karesh. I want to see the grave."
Toli froze. He ducked behind a stack of supply crates and peered through the slats.
Two men stood at the edge of the camp, illuminated by the flickering light of a nearby brazier. Before them lay a freshly dug mound of earth and snow.
It was Karesh, the Iron Fang. And beside him stood Temur, the Long Death, his face horribly marred by a massive, purple bruise that covered half his skull.
They were arguing over Titus's grave.
"He is dead, Temur," Karesh said, his voice surprisingly calm, almost respectful. "We both lost to him. The Prince commanded he be buried. Let the man rest."
Temur's face twisted in pure, venomous rage. He slammed the butt of his heavy spear into the frozen ground. "No! I refuse to accept it! A filthy savage from the mud broke my jaw! I wanted to kill him! I wanted to look him in the eyes while I ended him!" Temur pointed a shaking finger at the dirt. "I wanted to prove that I am the Emperor's deadliest—"
His voice cracked. For a fleeting second, the terrifying spearman didn't look like a legendary warrior. He looked like a humiliated child.
Karesh stepped forward and grabbed Temur's shoulder. "You lost. I lost. The savage bested us both. But he is dead, and we still breathe. Swallow your pride and walk away."
Temur violently jerked his shoulder free. "I will carry this shame until I die." He turned, his shoulders hunched in bitter defeat, and marched away into the dark.
Karesh stood alone by the grave for a long moment. He slowly drew his massive sword and raised it in a silent, perfectly executed Imperial salute.
"You were the finest warrior I have ever faced in this life," Karesh whispered to the dirt. "Rest well, bear of the wild lands."
Karesh sheathed his blade and walked away.
Behind the crates, Toli's breath hitched. These men were legends. They had slaughtered spirit-users and crushed rebellions. And Titus had broken them both, forcing them to argue over his corpse like beaten dogs.
What kind of monster was Titus? Toli wondered. And what kind of monster did he raise?
The cold fire in his chest flared, snapping Toli back to reality. The horn.
The great brass horn was mounted on a raised wooden platform in the center of the camp.
Toli stared at it from the shadows of a nearby tent, his heart sinking.
There were six guards.
They weren't drunk infantrymen. They wore the polished enameled armor of Prince Tarek's personal guard. They stood in perfect formation, their spears resting at exactly the same angle, their eyes constantly scanning the square.
Six elite killers. And Toli was a poisoned, trembling scout with a dagger.
I can't do it, Toli realized, despair washing over him. If I step out, they will put six spears through my chest before I reach the platform. I'm dead.
Then, the shadows moved.
One of the guards on the far left suddenly frowned, glancing over his shoulder. "Where is Nor? He was just standing behind me."
The guard next to him turned. "He was right there. Nor? Nor!"
Silence.
A third guard stepped forward, reaching for his sword hilt—
And vanished.
He didn't fall. He didn't scream. He was simply dragged straight down into the shadows beneath the platform so fast he seemed to evaporate. Only a wet, choked gasp echoed in the cold air.
"Ambush!" the remaining four guards roared, drawing their blades and forming a tight circle, backing up against the platform.
Nothing came at them. Only the falling snow.
Then, a steel blade materialized from the darkness directly above them. A throwing knife sank perfectly into the throat of the nearest guard. The man dropped his sword, clutching his neck as he collapsed, drowning in his own blood.
Three left.
They swung their swords wildly at the empty air, their elite training shattering under the weight of pure, unseen terror.
A bright, blinding flash of light suddenly erupted directly above their heads. The guards instinctively looked up, raising their shields—
Two heavy daggers fell from the sky like silver lightning. They drove straight through the eye sockets of two guards with horrific, surgical precision.
Both men crumpled to the mud, dead before they realized they had been struck.
The last guard screamed, dropping his sword and turning to run. He made it two steps before a shadow dropped from the platform, landing silently behind him. A gloved hand clamped over his mouth, and a blade flashed across his throat.
Toli pressed his back against the canvas tent, paralyzed with shock.
Six elite Imperial guards. Slaughtered in under ten seconds by a phantom.
Toli stared at the empty, bloody snow around the platform. He couldn't breathe.
Then, he felt the freezing edge of a blade press gently against his throat from behind.
"Do exactly as the boy commanded," a voice whispered directly into Toli's ear. It was a voice like grinding stones, smooth and merciless. "Or you will learn what true agony is."
Toli didn't dare turn around. He nodded once, stiffly.
The blade vanished. Toli spun around, but there was nothing there. The phantom was gone.
Toli didn't hesitate. He broke into a dead sprint.
He scrambled up the wooden steps of the platform, his boots slipping on the fresh blood. He grabbed the heavy brass horn with both shaking hands.
Suddenly, the eastern side of the camp exploded.
It wasn't a campfire. It was a towering, roaring pillar of chemical fire that shot fifty feet into the air, instantly consuming three supply tents and spreading like a tidal wave of destruction. The oil caught with a deafening WHOOSH, turning the freezing night into a blinding, scorching hell.
Screams erupted across the Vanguard. Men poured out of their tents, terrified, weaponless, staring at the inferno rapidly devouring their escape routes.
Toli put the cold brass mouthpiece to his lips.
He thought of Gero, dying in the snow. He thought of the terrifying boy with the green eye. He thought of the phantom who had just slaughtered six men in the dark.
Toli filled his lungs, and he blew.
The sound that tore from the horn wasn't a musical note. It was a devastating, earth-shaking wail. A primal scream of absolute defeat that cut through the roaring flames and the panic.
RETREAT.
The Vanguard soldiers froze in their tracks. Thousands of men looked toward the center platform in pure, unadulterated terror.
Toli filled his lungs and blew again, harder this time.
RETREAT! FLEE!
The Imperial discipline shattered. The Vanguard broke.
Seventeen hundred men turned their backs on the fire and ran blindly into the freezing, absolute darkness of the deep woods.