When Basil saw the broad, sloping shape of the great hill looming against the horizon, a knot of realization tightened in his chest. His time among the soldiers of the First was over.

A few days prior, a "mover", as the agents of Lucius were called in the rough-tongued camps of the infantry, had arrived with dust on his boots and sealed orders for Jarza.

Basil was to be escorted away from the bleeding edge of the frontline and brought to Citrolis. He was to remain there, tucked behind stone and safety, until further notice.

Under normal circumstances, Basil would have flared with rage at such a decision. But the letter had carried a small, sweetening chaser: it promised that when the time was right, he would finally be brought before his father.

The pill was bitter, but not entirely unswallowable.

Still, as strange as it felt to admit, as no doubt his mother would give the stink eye to the company he kept, Basil had found a home among the Primogenia. He would miss the welcoming, ribald demeanors of the men who had treated him like a mascot rather than a trophy. But a prince had given an order, and even if Basil had possessed the stones to disobey, Uncle Jarza was not a man to indulge a lad’s whims over a sovereign’s command.

For sure he had grumbled the entire way, clearly annoyed at wasting a full day of his time acting as a glorified nursemaid. Their destination was Turogontoli, a familiar cluster of heights they had passed once before, one that his Father had conquered some four years ago after a bloody siege.

For Basil, the hill was a tombstone for his freedom. From there, he would be handed over to a fresh party of soldiers who would see him through to the city, a guard that however was less of an honor and more of a necessity.

After all these may have been Yarzat land, but they weren’t safe.

"Gods be good, what has taken over your father’s mind?" Jarza growled, his voice a low rumble over the clatter of their horses. To the world, Jarza was Alpheo’s most leal shadow, but that didn’t stop him from disparaging an order if he thought it lacked sense. "Having his heir transported across a land currently being chewed on by a foreign army... it’s madness."

He looked at Basil, his brow furrowed. "We ought to be thankful that treacherous bastard only has scouts riding a day’s distance out. Had we run into a proper patrol, we’d have been to overrun them and make haste, potentially giving away our position.

Worst case, they’d have the heir to the princedom in their hands, and every drop of blood we’ve spilled this season would be for nothing!

Best case of the worst, the Prince of Shaaza would demand half our land for your release. Worst case? He’d give you to those cunts at the Bastion and win them their war."

Jarza caught himself a bit too late, as he leaned toward the boy with a conspiratorial grimace. "Don’t tell your mother I used those words, by the way."

"Father and Mother won’t hear a word from me,sworn words of mine" Basil promised, though he felt a pang of guilt, as if they threw a small stone on his insides. It was his own fault these precautions were necessary; he was the one who had sneaked into a war zone like a common runaway.

If he fell captive, the blame would sit squarely on his own shoulders. "Besides, I’m sure Father has a reason for this."

"That is true. Your father thinks things over a lot... though sometimes the outcomes are a bit foggy for the rest of us. We may see the mist, but we don’t always see the mountain hiding behind it." Jarza leaned in then, a sudden spark of life in his tired eyes, and he gave Basil a slow wink. "But between me and you, lad... the time for seeing the mountain is near."

Basil sat up straighter, momentarily forgetting his shame. "You mean it? I’ll see him soon?"

"Wholeheartedly, I have some things I think you should hear. You see that little raid we pulled a few nights back? It was a bigger blow than we first thought.Such a great deal of trouble, for some ash.’’ his smile grew wider ’’ Moreover we’ve had good word from the ea—I mean, the North, given where we are standing.It seems like Rykio caught a fine trout while walking a river..." Jarza chuckled, the sound starting deep in his chest before erupting into a full-bellied laugh. Seeing Basil’s confused, inquisitive stare, he leaned over his saddle. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

"I was just thinking of all those high-and-mighty princes who thought this would be a pleasant summer stroll. Who’s laughing now? Two moons in, and one prince is already out of the game. We’ve captured the son of one of them.

We’ve turned their entire supply line into a ribbon of ash and made smoke of the food that was supposed to last them a month.They won’t eat even its ash.

They had it in the sack and they managed to fuck it up!Eh. How can I not laugh at that?Sometimes I wonder how your father doesn’t always fall whenever he walks, considering that massive brain big enough to make children of men leading twelve thousand spears."

But after that jest, Jarza’s expression hardened, the soldier replacing the uncle. "Though not all is dandy and flowery.

Up at the Bastion, Asag is making mincemeat of the boys they keep throwing at our walls. We have word that things are getting lean up there,they are hard-pressed, but I’d bet my last copper the army outside will break long before Asag does. And once they do? We can finally turn our full attention to the fifth of those bastards."

He looked Basil dead in the eye, his voice dropping into a register of cold iron. "Remember this, Basil: if a man betrays you once, you give him nothing but fire and steel. If he broke his word once, he will surely do it again. It is good when they sing of how merciful you are, but the honey will one day taste foul when they press a dagger to your back.Never give second chances for they are like reading a book you already know the end of.’’His eyes turned to the west ’’Until now, the Prince of Shaaza has had a quiet time of it, sieging Malshut in peace, without worry or haste.’’ He spat on the grass’’ That changes once our other guests are dealt with. Your father gave that man half the mines to buy his peace, and what does he do? He covets the other half.

Make sure to understand it so as not to repeat our mistake: a deal is only as good as the strength you have to back it up. See how easily five princes tore up their treaties? You’d think an oath was made of thin silk for how easily they ripped it apart. Never trust a man who smiles while you’re holding the pen, unless you’re also holding steel.

For there can be no talk of law when you have the pen and the other has a sword. There will be a time when you will be above it all, and when you do always recall how hard we had it here today.I pray to the Gods you will never feel this ever again..."

"I see..." Basil murmured, nodding his head out of habit.

In truth, half of Jarza’s lecture had simply drifted past him, unanchored. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for the wisdom of seasoned soldiers, but his mind had become a crowded place, and one singular memory was currently monopolizing every bit of space.

He thought of that night. He had tried his absolute best to maintain a mask of princely resolve, but the cracks were forming. It worried him, no, it terrified him. The way the flames had seemed to dance just for his eyes, the way the heat had felt like a beckoning hand, and the whispers... he... couldn’t stop recalling the latter even in the silence of the morning.

What was wrong with him?Was there some demon?Should he go to a priest?

He felt a desperate, clawing need to confide in someone, to bleed out the fear before it poisoned him. Jarza was the only one he could imagine telling, but every time he had opened his mouth over the last few days, his courage had failed him.

He was after all his favorite uncle.

Now, as the great hill grew larger and their time together dwindled toward its end, he realized it was now or never.

Basil remembered him mentioning he originally hailed from Arlania, those rugged lands bordering the Azanian sands. He recalled whispers that the people there had once worshipped fire, or held to gods that lived within the hearth and the pyre refusing to aknowledge the Light of the Five when it reached them.

"Uncle," Basil started, his voice a bit thinner than he intended. "Before you swore your steel to the star... back in Arlania... what were the gods like there?"

He looked up, hoping for a story, a bit of folklore to explain away the strange pull he had felt. Instead, he watched as if he had asked something that he should have not.

The Legate’s features, already forged of hard lines, became like granite. A shadow crossed his eyes that was far more sour and bitter than the anger he had shown toward the five invading thrones. It was a look of deep, ancient resentment, as if Basil had just reached into an old wound and twisted his finger before pulling some meat out.

"Arlania," Jarza repeated, the word sounding like a curse. He didn’t look at Basil; he kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the reins. "Those are old ghosts, Basil. And ghosts are best left in the dark where they belong.’’ he looked down at the ground perhaps in hate?Disappointment?Sadness?Basil could not say. ’’Ask me of something else, and I will gladly speak, but there is nothing good to be taken from that place without a future."