Jeim'Dal

CHAPTER 7: NO MÁS PAZ

The march dragged on beneath a pale sun, its light offering no comfort. Grit swept across the path, catching in beards, stinging eyes, and settling into every crease of worn armor. It wasn't just the sand it was the weariness, clinging to them like a second skin, the kind no brushing could shake off. They had set out as a proper army strong, proud, full of purpose. Now, only a scattering of weary souls remained, heads lowered, steps uneven. Some muttered under their breath, words too soft to carry. Others stared blankly ahead, as if afraid that stopping to think might make their legs forget how to walk. A few sat down by the roadside, not wounded, just... done. No one called after them. No one needed to. They all understood.

"Why is this happening to us?" Melbourne asked in silence, his thoughts heavy beneath his dented helm. His armor was torn and dust caked, one pauldron missing, his sword a jagged thing now sheathed though long past its prime. His legs moved from habit, not strength.

"Same thoughts, my friend," Razen said beside him, hearing more than just silence in Melbourne's gaze. His tone was calm, but the tension in his jaw betrayed the storm within. "It's not even midmorn, and already another ambush. That's the third since dusk yesterday." He sighed and clenched his gauntleted fist, leather creaking with fatigue and fury.

"They smelled you from leagues away," Keith muttered as he trudged past them, his voice gruff, half-joking. The bulky man looked more like a barrel with legs than a soldier now, but he still kept pace dirt and sand on his boots, dried blood on his brow, no thought spared for tact or tone.

"'Tis a good thing the Lord Knight Commander still rides with us," Dave offered from behind, ever the optimist. He had a crooked smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and fingers that trembled as they fidgeted with a half-splintered arrow. "Else we'd be crows' meat by now."

No one replied. Their boots sank into the sand with each step, rhythm broken, formation lost. What was once a proud line of disciplined fighters had turned into a trail of survivors, weaving toward the gates of La Paz like shades returning from war.

Around them, silence returned. No songs, no horns only the wind and the occasional cough of a man too stubborn to die yet. Swords clinked idly at their sides, shields dragged or discarded entirely.

Ahead, the distant outline of La Paz shimmered in the heat, its stone towers like ghostly fingers reaching skyward. Home, or what passed for it now.

They walked not with victory, but with memory of those who fell before sunrise, of steel meeting flesh, of screams carried off by the desert wind.Hell had come. And it had not left.

"Melbourne... The Lord Knight Commander asks for you," a weary voice called out.A young knight jogged toward them, dust clinging to his cloak and brow slick with sweat. He looked like he hadn't slept in days not that any of them had.

Melbourne turned, exchanging glances with the others. Razen raised a brow."Now what?" Razen muttered.Keith grunted. "Probably to blame Melbourne for the sandstorm.""Don't tempt me," Razen shot back, already irritated. The two began their usual bickering, voices rising just enough to draw a tired sigh from Dave.

Melbourne gave them a small shake of his head and moved forward without a word. His legs ached with every step, but he pushed on, weaving through the scattered remnants of the column until he reached the front where the Lord Knight Commander rode.

The Commander, tall and battle-worn, gave him a brief nod as Melbourne approached. His armor bore dents and dried blood, his cloak torn at the hem yet he still sat upright on his horse, every inch the leader forged in fire and years of campaign.

"Sir Melbourne," he said, voice low but steady, the kind that could still a campfire circle or quiet a panicked line. "I heard the reports. Your leadership back there... when you were outnumbered, nearly surrounded..."