Brother, Since you've been gone, threats are rising in all corners of the kingdom. Yet there is no war. I wish there was. War I could handle. These elaborate mind-games steal my soul, freeze my heart, and cloud my judgement. I'm trapped between the scorching halls of the Seven Halls. Each night I burn harder.

Nick froze. One second, Vic's hot breath was breathing down on him, the sharp blade of the knife coming dangerously close to him. Then a flash came. A single blink later, Jasper held Vic by the arm, dragging him out of the tent. As the Serjeant's weight pounded against the brown fabric, the flap flew wide open and Vic's knife was knocked out his hands. It skidded across the ground cloth.

From outside came the unmistakable sound of fists landing against flesh. "Have you completely lost your mind, you utter buffoon? He's still Nicky—our Nicky!"

"I trusted him, Jas." Vic bawled like a lamb. "I thought he was my friend, but he's like all the others. He thinks he stands above the law and doesn't have to suffer. It's not fair. It's just not fair."

Nick coughed, touching his throat as if to check that he really hadn't been hurt. Three pairs of eyes stared right at him. Eric held his hand around Dan's wrist, as if to stop the slightly younger soldier from intervening. Sam crouched and laid his hand on his shoulder, patting it. "Are you alright?"

He didn't dare answer as the battle continued. The God of Wrath was holding Vic into a stranglehold. He kicked Jasper in the groin, after which the latter uttered a blasting roar and smacked the Cadet to the ground. "Seven Hells, Vic! Calm yourself!"

Vic slammed his boot into Jasper's back. "You don't understand! One day he'll rule over all of us, and he won't give a damn. He'll just let us die if that means he can survive."

"The officers have messed with your mind, man!" Jasper planted his arm on Vic's legs, keeping the Cadet entirely immobilised.

It wasn't working. Vic fought as though his life depended on it, attempting to beat Jasper in the chest. Shame settled in Nick's gut. It wasn't even his fight, but their patrol leader had intervened as a loyal friend would have.

"I'm sorry," Nick said to Sam. "I never asked for any of this. You have to believe me—it was just as much a surprise for me that Vic got picked instead of me. I—"

"Stop, I don't care," Sam whispered. "I've already known for moons that you lived at the castle."

"But how? I thought only Bart knew?"

Well... I was on guard duty together with Bart when a boy in tattered clothes collapsed not even a quarter of a mile from the city gate. There was a white horse with him—that's how we noticed. On his back laid the body of a young girl with the most frightening burn wounds I've seen in my life." Sam winced.

"Abby."

"Yeah, later I found out that boy was Lord Sebastian. When you joined our patrol shortly after, Bart confided in me that you were her brother."

"Jas is right—you are still our Nicky. Who cares where you sleep?" Eric shrugged. Then as Jasper raised his fist and knocked Vic in the head, the soldier cowered away. "That can't be good."

"No, but look!" yelled Dan.

From up the hill came half of a dozen Lieutenants, their feet thundering on the ground. Two of them roughly plucked Jasper from Vic, with three others taking care of a now squealing Vic. As the Cadet rolled over, screaming that they were all murderers, Lieutenant Stephen grabbed a set of iron handcuffs and arrested Jasper too. "You know the rules—no fighting."

"But he's innocent" Eric picked the knife from the ground cloth. "Lieutenant, if it weren't for Jas, this would have been sticking in Nicky's neck."

"I'm sorry, lads. But if they can behave like animals, they should be treated as such."

"Do you believe me now, Jas?" Vic muttered. Blood was dripping from his nose. "He's not in the same league as ours."

Jasper tugged at his chains. "Shut it, Vic! If this goes south, I'll blame it all on you!"

A bit further, patrol fifteen had woken up from the turmoil. Their lanky patrol leader was grinning at the sight of Jasper and Vic getting moved to the officer's quarters. There was nothing funny about it, but with both Jas and Vic imprisoned, they might as well forfeit the game. No other patrol would see them as competition anymore.

As Lieutenant Stephen approached him, Nick crawled up. "You didn't need to arrest them. I'm alright."

"This isn't about you, Cadet Nicolas," The Lieutenant chided. "What their fate will be, I can't tell—it's for the Captain to decide—but for now you lead this patrol."

"Why me? I'm a first year. I don't know what to do or expect." Nick turned to Sam. "He's a much better fit. Pick him."

"I can't. A cadet outranks a soldier, Nicky," Sam explained. Dan and Eric nodded along.

Nick muttered a curse. He knew that, but it was almost as though the Captain and the Lieutenants had planned this all along. With Bart gone, Jasper would finally get the chance as patrol leader, but he was never any good at managing his own strength. And the Gods knew what tortures they inflicted on Vic. They wanted to see his true potential.

What to do—play along or sabotage their plan? He felt light in the head as he went over his possibilities. Sleep overpowering him, he rubbed his eyes. In the morning he would think of what to do. "Let's all get to bed."

"A wise decision. It's gonna be a long day tomorrow," the Lieutenant said. He saluted them and left.

"Eric," Dan whispered. "I think Lieutenant Stephen is tired too because tomorrow is today."

"Or today is tomorrow?" Eric asked.

"It doesn't matter. Both parts of an equation are always equal." Nick coughed. He received vacant stares in return. "Nevermind, just go to sleep."

As the soldiers retreated to their bed, Nick's eyes fell on the soot-black pot that had been lying in the rain all night. It was still dirty. Though the God of Sloth was calling for him, he was a patrol leader now. Having clean dishes was no longer an assigned task, but his responsibility.

And he didn't even care.

Yet as though the God of Diligence forced him to, he spent the early morning scrubbing the pot until the copper shone brighter than the armour in the throne room. The first lights of the spring dawn were shining on him, providing a cosy warmth that made him drowsy.

Just once, he allowed his eyes to close; a quick nap to give his aching body some rest...

"Nicky, get up!" Two rough hands shook him awake, practically pulling him along as he stumbled on his feet. In a reflex, he grabbed the pot by its sturdy handle. "We missed the morning formation. Right now, they're already inspecting Bernard and his troops by the tent. I guess we have about two minutes left."

Nick groaned, studying Sam's face in confusion. He was so tired his head was pounding and so was his heart. His uniform was covered in dirt stains, mostly from cleaning the pot. On such short notice, all he managed was tucking his shirt into his trousers and fastening the top button. Half a miracle with only one free hand.

Back in the tent, he hid the cooking pot in Vic's sleeping fur. Sam did the same to the dirty cups and spoons. Goddess of Kindness, let the Lieutenant not perform a detailed search of the tent. He still hadn't a plan yet, but decided to lie low and be invisible. It had worked all those moons in Sunstone Castle. It would have to work here too.

The morning inspection was over before it had even begun. Lieutenant Stephen, with the biggest bags under his eyes, shot one glance at them before scribbling something in his notebook. Not a word about them missing the morning ceremony, nor any news about Vic and Jasper.

Since Nick had no idea where his patrol had to go to, he decided to follow patrols fifteen and nineteen. The odd-numbered patrols usually had the same schedule.

They ended up at a wide open space about a mile from the camping area. Dozens of large wooden cannons had been rolled into position. Their targets—dozens of straw scarecrows clad in ripped black uniforms with the typical Silvermark arrow—were hundreds of feet away, in between rows of young cedar trees. Next to the cannons, melon-sized balls had been stacked into a pyramid. Each patrol also had two buckets containing a grey powder with black speckles: cannon powder.

The Lieutenant in charge was Christopher. He was a bald middle-aged man who often patrolled the servant's quarters. In all the moons, he had never heard the man talk, but he always nodded on the rare occasions that they had met.

"This is very simple," he started. "You are standing on the edge of your territory. Within you and the enemy, there's nothing but no man's land. You enter it—you're dead meat. Shoot the cannon and hit the target. You have half an hour for each calculation. Then we move the scarecrows."

Simple was no way to describe Ballistics. It was tricky, treacherous, and very dangerous in practice. One wrong detail and the ball would smash into the trees, instead of knocking down the scarecrow. Big mistakes could put everyone at risk.

And he wanted to lie low, which meant not standing out in one way or another. He put his soldiers at work to clean out their designated cannon while he did the calculations. The first one was an easy one. Their target was straight ahead. Only a real muttonhead with no feeling for Ballistics would miss this one.

Throughout the day, Nick missed three out of eight targets, granting him and his patrol a spot in the middle. He could have two more right but added one degree more to assignment number three, and one degree less to the penultimate assignment when Captain Jonathan came looking. The last one he had wanted to do well, but Dan had been sloppy when pushing powder into the bore.

Nick eyed the Captain, who was scrutinising him. The thought of reprimanding Dan crossed his mind, but he refrained from doing so. "It's alright, Dan. I made mistakes too. We still did alright."

"No, I wanted to win, Nicky."

"There's always next year."

"You're right, but..." Dan pouted. "I wish Bart were here, then this wouldn't have happened."

"Yeah, I know." Nick coughed. Could it be that Captain Jonathan had granted furlough to Bart as a first step in his plan? It almost seemed like it.

"I've seen some brilliant, some adequate, and some downright disappointing work." The Captain's eyes landed on him. "You're free the rest of the day. Rest, for tomorrow you should all be on your best. Tomorrow's task goes beyond winning this camp. It's about the very essence of this country. I expect each and every one of you to go beyond the line of duty. You're dismissed."

Several of the men cheered discreetly. Both Eric and Dan shook their hips, placing a little dance. They were humming a song, but Nick couldn't understand the words.

He regretted asking them to repeat it. On their way back to the tent, the song grew louder and louder. Not only Dan and Eric were singing, but others had joined their ear-splitting choir "Move! Get out of the way, let's catch vermin today. Wrap them in iron, cut off their head. The best kind of magician is one I see dead."

"Are we really going to kill people?" Nick asked.

"Not people. Magicians," Sam said. "The Captain and Lieutenants are going to release them into the forest. It will be our job to hunt them down."

"Interesting." Nick's stomach rumbled, both from hunger and nervousness. Part of him found it barbaric, the other yearned for revenge for what had happened in Laneby.

He decided not to fret about it yet. For most of the afternoon and evening, he laid in his warm fur and slept the hours away. Every now and then, he woke up from Dan and Eric clashing swords near the tent. They would make more noise inside the tent than outside, so he let them. Sam proposed to do the rest of the dishes and take care of food.

Nick didn't object. Being a patrol leader had its advantages.

During the morning inspection, the next day, Lieutenant Stephen announced that Jasper and Vic had been sent home. There had been something in the Lieutenant's voice that made Nick question whether the man had agreed with the Captain's decision.

But it was what it was. The news may have baffled his soldiers, but Nick wasn't surprised. Reinstating Jasper as patrol leader would allow him to hide behind the Serjeant's back, but that was not what the Captain was interested in. If the Captain wanted a show with him as the main character, then a show he could get.

Nick scratched his throat. He wasn't sure yet what kind of performance would be best...

All clad in iron and with an iron sword in his hand, he guided his patrol to the open space where the cannons had been the day before. Now there were three enormous cages with thick iron bars; each of them filled with about a dozen people in grubby rags and a thick iron collar around their necks. Men, women, even a few children.

The smell of excrements and urine was gag-worthy.

The annoying, but very catchy song reverberated through the valley, drowning out the lamenting of the magicians. "Move! Get out of the way, let's catch vermin today. Wrap them in iron, cut off their head. The best kind of magician is one I see dead."

Captain Jonathan was sitting in the saddle, looking down on the patrols, content. He too was armoured for the occasion. "Gentlemen. Today is my favourite day of the whole camp," he announced when the open space had been filled. "Today we remind ourselves of our true enemies. Raiders, swindlers, rapists—they're but minor racketeers compared these scum. Lord Sebastian barely escaped their clutches. His hometown was wiped out. His family all dead."

"Move! Get out of the way..." Sam and Dan began to sing again, and all around us more men joined in their song. Nick did too, for he didn't think he had any choice—not singing would be more suspicious. He still wanted to invisible.

It took four of five repetitions before the Captain raised his hand. The crowd obeyed immediately. "I value your enthusiasm, Gentlemen." He smiled broadly as he gesticulated at the cages. "We found these rats along the western beaches, all on their way up north. Don't get fooled by their tears. They are murderers—every last one of them. Make them pay for the crimes they committed, lads!"

The crowd broke out into cheering applause. The God of Wrath rushed through Nick. With a quick slap, he yanked his helmet down. He kept one hand on his sword, the other on an iron chain. Mother, father, George, and Abby. If these people were no better than the magician who had killed his family, then they deserved no mercy.

"Upon the first blow of the bugle, they shall be released. Upon the second one, you attack. Your patrol gets twenty points for a kill, twenty-five if you capture them alive and learn their life story," Captain Jonathan said. The man then galloped off into the forest.

"Nicky, what's the plan?" Dan asked.

In the cage on the right sat a man with black hair and a scruffy beard. If he narrowed his eyes, the magician was almost a precise copy of Katla. Maybe it was even him—the layers of dirt and shabby clothes made it hard to tell. "We go for the Jade Islander in the third cage, the one next to the woman in that skirt with patches of dried-up blood. I don't care about the points, or whether we win or lose. That man needs to die."

"Nicky, there's only four of us," Sam stated the obvious. "The iron will weaken him, prevent him from using his powers, but he will try and kill us if he can. People have died in the past. I think we should try and catch a child."

"Look around you," Nick hissed. "There are only thirty or forty magicians. All of the patrols combined, we outnumber them fifty to one—easily. We won't be the only patrol going after them. Let others do the hard work, and then we strike when he's weak."

He remembered the bodies in the river Faith. Katla had driven the people of Laneby to the water as though they were cattle, where he had killed them. They had been overpowered too. Now was the time for vengeance. For his family. For his friends.

The bugle was blown. Three Lieutenants simultaneously opened the cages. They used their iron whip to get them to run. Most disappeared into the forest. The earth trembled as an Earth Magicians called the ground to aid. An Air Magician flew into the air.

In the middle cage, a woman was lying on her stomach, barely moving. Lieutenant Christopher kicked her, yet when she didn't leave the cage, he plunged his sword into her back.

The spray of blood sent most men into a mad frenzy. For a second time, the bugle resounded.

Nick ran just to run, his sword raised to the sky. Around him, screams rose to a deafening pitch, only to stop abruptly. He wasn't the only one who preferred a dead magician instead of the extra points. Yet there were softer voices whispering into his ear, the God of Charity and the Goddess of Kindness. The magicians were people too. This wasn't a war; it was a massacre.

The man with pitch black hair was racing between the trees. As expected, they weren't the only patrol following in his track. The magician halted upon meeting the creek, fear apparent in his eyes. He turned towards them, a light green smoke escaping his fingers and spreading at the alarming speed.

A feverish sensation rushed through Nick, feeding his thirst for revenge. Unless he jumped into the water—which Fire Magicians weren't keen on—he was trapped. Nick grinned. He had been a coward back in Laneby, but for Abby's sake, he wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

Someone yanked at the collar of his shirt, pulling him back. Sam. "Get back. That smoke might be poisonous."

His soldier had rescued him yet again. The God Wrath had made him disobey his own orders; others had to attack first. Two men from patrol fourteen threw their chains around the magician, which wasn't enough to get him to stop wriggling.

"Sam, Eric, Dan, you too," Nick yelled. Nearly synchronous, his men lassoed their chains around the magician's neck, pushing him to the ground, knees first.

The slender patrol leader pursed his lips. "Two of my men versus three of yours. You can have him, kid. Fair is fair."

"Thanks. We'll help out for the next one and then you can claim them," Nick muttered.

The army's short sword wasn't the right equipment for beheading. Even King Thomas had used a broadsword to cut off the head of that Scorian man. Nick aimed his sword at the magician's heart. It wasn't hard. The only thing he had to do was push.

"Please, stop!" the magician cried out. "I only ever wished for a better life for me and my children in Silvermark. We never meant to hurt anyone. My boy was only trying to help."

Accident or not, this man had killed. He was as guilty as Katla had been. Yet he couldn't drive the sword into the magician's heart.

An image of Fox roasting an apple on an open fire popped into his head. They would have never been friends if it hadn't been for his fire skills. Their entire friendship had been based on Fox building fires to keep him warm while he shared stories. The redheaded muttonhead had been the best kind of audience any storyteller could wish for. He had always pretended to be annoyed, but secretly he had loved answering all of his questions long after the tale had been finished.

Fox had never been evil. He was clumsy and stupid, yet the same could be said of many in the army too. And if stupid was a crime, then not a lot of people were allowed to remain among the living.

"You're taking too long, kid." The muscular Serjeant of the other patrol pushed him aside with so much force he smacked onto the ground.

Nick got up and smashed his sword into a tree. As he threw his helmet away, it bounced on the body's back, then fell off. Now that the magician was dead, he had managed to hit him. He cursed himself for being a coward. Again!

"Thanks, man. Always better when bodies fall forward," a brown-haired Cadet said. "I hate the look in their eyes when they're dead. It's so judgmental."

"We shouldn't have killed him, though," his brown-haired comrade said. "He could have gotten us more points alive. We heard his life story."

"They only give you more points so they have magicians left for the older patrols to hunt." The Serjeant rubbed his sword against the magician's dirty shirt, cleaning off the blood. "You could say we did them a favour—now they don't have to listen to their snivelling."

Nick's head pounded, his throat embracing the cough he had held for a while. Hearing his fellow comrades speaking of taking a life so easily made him question what he was doing with his life. The only magician he ever wanted dead was Katla. The others weren't his problem; let them go to Silvermark if they wished.

"Nicky, you have to put your helmet back on." Dan handed him the iron hat. "It's too dangerous without."

"I don't care. I don't wanna be here."

"Making the first kill is always hard," Sam said. "Let's get going—give you another chance."

In between the trees, Captain Jonathan came trotting towards the scene on his black mare. Nick beckoned his soldiers to go. The other patrol had already moved on, since they weren't the ones who could claim the kill. He and the Captain needed a word in private.

He leant against the tree, wishing he could go back to the time when he had a real home and a real family. When only animals were slaughtered to put food on the table. He blamed Seb for all of it. Without him and his family, Laneby would have never spiked Silvermark's interest. Abby's blood was on his hands, even if it had been Katla who had caused her deadly wounds.

"I practically served that magician on a platter for you, and yet you give me this. I'm very disappointed in you, Nicolas."

"If it helps, I'm disappointed too." Nick sniffed snot back up his nose. He was disappointed for believing the Captain's talks, for allowing himself to turn into a monster he was not. Had the magician even been a murderer?

"You understand I will have to inform His Majesty of this."

"Was this all his plan? Manipulating the people around me so I'm the one in charge when the magicians are set loose?"

"Don't believe such utter nonsense, Nicolas," the Captain said. "You may be a man eligible for marriage, but like Lord Sebastian, you're just a frightened boy haunted by his own past. If anything, you're better at hiding your demons."

"If you wish to advise His Majesty against me becoming a General, please do." Nick reached for the golden sycamore pins on the strap of his uniform. "I don't think the army is the place for me to be. I want to quit."

"Leaving your patrol—that's desertion. You could be hanged for such a crime."

Nick eyed the Captain. This too was a game of powers, and Gods, he would win this round. "Not if you give me the permission to leave."

"Which I won't." The Captain grinned. "You remind me of someone—years ago there was another boy who claimed that he didn't want to become a General. You and he are more alike than you believe. Silent types, yet natural born leaders who are not afraid to shape the world around them to do their bidding."

Nick shrugged. "So what happened to him?"

"Oh, he became King," he said casually, turning his horse around. "But you're no Prince, Nicolas. You still have a lot to learn before you can become one of the big boys."

"Do I?" Nick crushed his sycamore pins into his hands. "I'm still quitting, Captain. I'll take this up with the General, Lord Sebastian, or His Majesty the King himself."

He began to walk, and he didn't stop walking until he reached Sundale.