"How sure are we that the orcs have joined up?"

  Jeremiah managed to rein in his sigh. If there was one thing this campaign had done, it was to show him that the upper ranks of the royal army functioned only because of a few very intelligent generals and lieutenants. Most of the brass was made up of idiots or brutes who had gotten to their positions through nepotism.

  "We have visual confirmation of at least a hundred orc warriors scouting the Stepson, my lord. If they had simply decided to take advantage of the fighting to raid the nearby towns, they would have gone through the forest. The only reasonable explanation is that they are working for the rebels." He answered, keeping his back straight and his expression placid. He might not think these men were worth much, but they could still ruin his life if he allowed his thoughts to surface.

  Bah. A hundred orc warriors might have been a problem if we only had a couple of Corps, but with the reinforcements from Hassel on the march and the reassurances we got from the capital that they’d send help soon, we have nothing to fear. I say we finish setting up around Pepperhof and stop them here!" Another general exclaimed, banging his fist on the table as if that would give his words more validity.

  Count Pollus remained silent, watching the exchange without expressing his opinion. Jeremiah knew this meant he was waiting for someone to provide him with an actual plan rather than just empty posturing.

  Not one to expose himself to criticism when it wasn't needed, Jeremiah stood quietly near the cramped war room’s corner, his face a mask of neutrality as the generals squabbled like children over a toy. His hand absently tapped against the hilt of his sword, a small but habitual motion he used to keep from sighing aloud or letting his frustration show. The noble commanders seemed more concerned with their egos than with the looming threat of the Revolutionary Army crossing the Stepchild and entering the last loyal region of Hetnia.

  “You want us to hide and wait for them to come to us like cowards?" A burly, red-faced older man growled, gripping the table with enough force to leave marks. "We should meet them head-on at the river, smash them before they even cross! This is our best chance to crush them before they become a real problem!"

  "And send our men to drown in that cursed river?" General Morrison, gaunt and pale from the hard march that brought the latest batch of soldiers from Hassel to Pepperhof, shot back, his voice tight with barely contained frustration. "It's madness to commit our full strength to a single point when we don't even know if they'll attack Pepperhof with us here. You'd have us charge straight into a trap or, worse, allow them to go around us just because you are scared to face them in an open field!"

  "You're the one who's scared," the red-faced general sneered. "You think that we'll get another chance like this?!"

  "Scared of a fool's death, yes!" Morrison retorted, his eyes flashing with contempt. "The rebels have shown themselves to be cunning and ruthless. Sending the entire army to one place without an idea of their numbers would leave us vulnerable elsewhere, and you know what will happen to those left unprotected."

  The room descended into a cacophony of raised voices and accusations, the generals trading insults back and forth. Jeremiah kept his gaze steady on Count Pollus, waiting for the inevitable moment he would finally speak. The man's sharp eyes observed the bickering nobles like a hawk. One of his favorite tactics was letting fools talk themselves into corners before swooping in with an actual plan that the others couldn’t complain about without giving their opponents an advantage.

  Jeremiah's thoughts likely mirrored Pollus's concerns. The idea of committing all their forces to defend or attack a single location without proper intelligence was suicidal. The Revolutionary Army had repeatedly proven that it was far more capable than many of these nobles gave it credit for. Underestimating them was a fatal mistake they couldn't afford to make anymore. It had already cost them two-thirds of Hetnia. If they didn't defeat them here, before Hassel was threatened, they'd lose their heads, whether the province was eventually retaken or not.

  Finally, Pollus raised a hand, and the room fell silent almost immediately. The count's voice was low, but there was an edge of command that brooked no argument. "We will not throw our forces blindly into battle," Pollus said, his gaze sweeping over the assembled generals. "Nor will we cower behind walls and let the rebels dictate the terms. Instead, we will deploy smaller, mobile groups of mounted men to key points along the river at any possible crossing. The rest of the army will remain stationed near Pepperhof at maximum readiness. I want it ready to move where needed at any time. If the rebels make a concentrated push, we must be able to respond without being caught off guard."

  Jeremiah allowed a small nod of approval. It was the most sensible option, given the uncertainty of the rebels' movements and the treacherous nature of the Stepchild. It was a large, fast-flowing distributary notorious for its unpredictable currents and the dangerous elementals lurking beneath its surface. Preparing an attack across the river without knowing the enemy's plans would be madness. With smaller, mobile groups, they could cover more ground and react quickly—especially since they had lost track of the rebels days ago.

  One of the generals, whose expression gave away his with doubt, opened his mouth to protest, but Pollus fixed him with a steely glare. "This is not up for debate," he said firmly. "We will not waste more lives than needed on foolish showboating. Prepare your men for the new orders."

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  The room fell into an awkward silence as the generals slowly filed out, leaving only Pollus and Jeremiah standing by the large map spread across the table.

  It was happening more and more often. The generals jockeyed for prestige and resources, and Count Pollus had to put them back in their place. Unfortunately, the loss of face he suffered after it was found out that he had fallen for a diversion in the east meant he couldn't ignore them as he had at the beginning. Thus, he was forced to allow them to speak and bicker until it became apparent that consensus couldn't be reached without his intervention.

  Jeremiah didn't feel affection for the man, but he could empathize with his position.

  Pollus stared down at the map, tracing the river with his finger. "Pepperhof is a ruse," he muttered, half to himself, half to Jeremiah. "The rebels aren't stupid; they must know we are already here. They've been too quiet, and we haven't seen a trace of them for days. They're planning something big elsewhere."

  Yeah, that, and also, you've gotten even more paranoid. Still, telling you that is not my job, and I don't want to lose my head.

  "I agree, my lord. They may have changed tactics now that they have help from the forest's denizens." He paused, then added more pointedly, "From the dryad."

  Pollus grunted, his face twisting in displeasure. "Yes, the dryad," he muttered, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "That damned dryad... it's possible. We have lost all contacts from our scouts in that area, and we know the rebels have been gaining allies wherever they can, no matter the price they have to pay for it."

  Jeremiah nodded. He certainly wouldn't distribute power and authority like candy if he were in charge of the revolution, but he couldn't deny that it was succeeding. "It would explain why we've seen nothing of them. If the dryad has flipped to their side, they could be moving through the Darkwood. It would allow them to avoid the worst of the Stepchild.

  Pollus's expression darkened as he considered the possibility. "I want proof," he finally said. "Take a group of men and head to the forest. See if you can find anything more concrete than speculation. If she has broken her neutrality, this war will become far more complicated."

  Jeremiah bowed his head. "As you command, my lord. I'll gather a squad and depart immediately." Without another word, he turned on his heel and left the room.

  "Ulbert, Stephan, Thomas, with me," Jeremiah ordered, sweeping through the house his men were occupying.

  The sound of footsteps following him outside made him grunt in satisfaction. At least he had instilled some discipline in them after months of social engineering.

  "Thomas, I need you to find the best horses in town. I don't care if a general has called dibs for their nephew's expedition. Do whatever you need to do, but get enough for everyone who’s going." With that, his subordinate peeled off, silently acknowledging his order. "Stephan, I need everything you have on the Darkwood. Go to the bursar and get enough money to bribe the veteran mages who fought during the Incursion. Either get them to come with us or get their knowledge."

  When it was just Ulbert and him, Jeremiah stopped. They were in a quiet courtyard usually employed by washerwomen but that was now empty, hidden from sight even from above. "Ulbert, I need insurance in case we actually meet the rebels. Put together a plan that allows us to leave alive. As long as thirty percent of the guys survive, I'll allow it, but try to find a way to preserve our strength."

  The sallow-faced man dipped his head, "Yes, Captain. Any restrictions on damage?"

  Jeremiah felt his face twist, "I'd like to say no, but if we are overly destructive, we'll call too much attention to ourselves. Let's say you can use the things that came with the last drop, but not what’s in the black box."

  Ulbert's thin lips curled into a grim smile as he nodded and turned to leave. Jeremiah watched him go, suppressing a shiver that had nothing to do with the cool breeze. He knew better than to ask too many questions, as the man had been useful in the past. Too useful, perhaps. Men like him weren't the kind you wanted to keep around for too long.

  Sighing, he rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the knots of tension there as he wandered through the narrow streets of Pepperhof. The town had a certain charm in a rustic, gritty way. The air was thick with the scent of pepper, the prized spice for which the town was known. Wagons laden with sacks of the stuff rolled over cobblestone roads as the last shipments before the expected siege went out. The merchants here made good money, or at least they used to.

  It wasn't a bad place. It was just unlucky to be in the path of the war.

  Much like the men preparing to defend it, Jeremiah thought. The soldiers, the commanders, and even the civilians were all waiting for the siege with weary resignation. Pepperhof sat too close to the rebel front. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the fighting reached them.

  Jeremiah turned down a side street, allowing his mind to wander. The rebels were clever, no doubt about it. They hadn't made any major moves since taking Treon, but that worried him. That city's loss lifted the threat level from annoyingly competent to actually dangerous, even if corruption and internal strife might have paved the way.

  His success in the east was one of the few shining lights of the campaign, even though it hadn't led to much. He'd kept his head down after it, done his work efficiently, and thought he had succeeded in staying beneath the notice of the envious generals. But the grim atmosphere pushed people to look for heroes, and now he had more eyes on him than ever.

  That was what had led the capital's agent to contact him. It had certainly been nerve-wracking, but he knew he was on the right path. He couldn't afford to die now that he had finally earned some attention.

  The truth was, Jeremiah didn't care about the moral reasons behind this war. The liberation of slaves? He scoffed at the thought. That was nothing more than a desperate attempt by the rebels to bolster their ranks with people who had no choice but to fight for their so-called freedom. It wasn't noble—it was pragmatism. Jeremiah could appreciate that, even if he didn't believe in their cause.

  What he did believe in, however, was survival. The Revolutionary Army wasn't just a ragtag group of idealists anymore. They had dangerous people in their ranks—people who knew how to fight, manipulate, and win. And if the strings of failures the royal army had suffered recently were any indication, they were serious trouble. Treon had been the last in a long line of mistakes, and Jeremiah knew that a loss here would likely mean the end of more than just his career.

  He paused at the edge of a small square, watching a group of children run past, laughing as they kicked a worn leather ball. They were oblivious to the conflict looming over their town, over their future. How long would it be before this square was filled with soldiers instead of children? How long before the smell of spices was replaced with the stench of blood?

  Jeremiah ran a hand through his hair, sighing. He had options, sure. He could take the offer from the capital, align himself with the powers that be and secure a future for himself. That would be the route he had planned for—that he had dreamed of. Or he could play it as he had until now, stay loyal to Pollus and the army, and ride the high of victory into much more than a middling position at Court.

  Neither option seemed without its dangers.

  But for now, he would follow Pollus's orders and head to the Darkwood.

  One step at a time, Jeremiah. Just keep your head down and do what needs to be done. Don't lose sight of the target.

  new story! It has just now gotten to #9 on the Rising Stars and is quickly climbing. I really appreciate all the reviews, ratings and follows.