Forged in Frost

The Long Road Home

Sleep is a funny thing that night. It covers Evelyn just enough to paralyse her on her bedroll, but it doesn't sink her down low enough not to feel or think. In dreamlike states, she's panicking, waiting for a signal that never comes, spinning around as bandits appear in the corner of her vision and disappear just as fast. Her hands are bloody. Her leg hurts. None of it is quite clear. All she knows is fear and pain, broken up by brief intermissions of nothingness.

Evelyn wakes fully with pain licking every inch of her body, the worst of it in the bones of her leg. Opening her eyes hurts. The sunlight hurts. The breeze hurts. When she swallows, her throat hurts. She blinks several times, until the trees above her come into focus. She watches the leaves dance in the early sunshine, washed in the late spring breeze, without a care in the world.

Evelyn steels herself for the pain to come and gingerly tries to sit up. Her head feels light, throbbing from thirst, but she's up without too much trouble. It hurts, but it isn't as unbearable as her dreams suggested.

Around her, men lie in various states of injury or recovery. They drink from water jugs, eat. Thad is at one man's side, adjusting his bandages. Very few are up and about, but Caius is one of them, bringing writing utensils back to his bedroll. Most likely, he's about to send word of the battle back to Asher.

Evelyn's heart sinks. When Asher finds out about Caius' blatant disobedience, he's sure to go. Caius not only left the path Asher commanded him to take, he engaged in a battle that could have waited for the entire army, resulting in casualties.

"Edgar," Evelyn calls. "Can you call over the commander for me?"

Edgar, standing between the fallen soldiers, nods and goes to Caius. He gestures to Evelyn's bedroll, and Caius comes at once.

He stands next to her, tilting his head with a bizarre smirk on his face.

"What?" Evelyn asks, squinting up at him.

"How are you feeling?" he wonders.

"Fine. Thanks for fixing me up." Evelyn drops her eyes to the writing utensils in his hand. "Don't send him anything."

"I have to."

"He'll throw you out."

"I know."

Evelyn huffs a breath. "He doesn't have to know. We don't have to tell him."

"So those eleven men died tripping through the pass? You broke your leg on a tree root?"

"I can be very clumsy."

Caius laughs harshly. "It's done, Evelyn."

"Maybe we tell him we went through the pass and that's how we encountered them."

"Every man will tell the same story? And how do we explain this?" He reaches back and tosses a scroll into her lap.

Evelyn unrolls it. "What is this?"

"Apparently, there was a bandit scout in that camp, Eamon Voss."

"Sounds familiar," Evelyn says, scanning over the letter.

Voss,

Your recent reports have been most valuable. In anticipation of forthcoming orders, please ensure your men stay vigilant and ready for action. A shipment of supplies will arrive shortly. Distribute them as necessary to maintain readiness and morale.

Keep a close eye on surrounding areas. Any word of advance, and we will need to act. You are our eyes in those mountains. Continued diligence will be critical in the weeks ahead.