Alira

  I darted through a side alley, spotting a laundry pile. A drab cloak caught my eye—perfect. I snagged it, pulling it over my ambassador’s finery. No time to waste. The city sprawled ahead, a tangled mess of alleys and streets. I slipped into the chaos outside, blending with the panicked throng—merchants shouting, mothers clutching kids. My hands moved fast, brushing a fat merchant’s coat. Coin and a dagger slipped into my grip. He didn’t notice; no one did.

  I ducked into a grimy tavern, the air thick with sweat and ale. A wiry stablehand eyed me from the corner. I slid the stolen coin across the bar, muttering about a horse. He didn’t ask questions—just jerked his head toward the back. Minutes later, I was on a wiry mare, kicking her into a gallop as the city’s walls faded into the dark.

  I rode hard, the wind biting my face. The horse’s hooves pounded the dirt road, and I kept low, ears straining for shouts or hoofbeats behind me. Nothing yet. Still, I couldn’t linger. Six hundred miles stretched between me and my kingdom’s nearest outpost. Where’s Tiberius when you need him? A portal would have made this so much easier.

  The city’s chaos gave me a head start, but I knew they’d send someone, eventually. I veered off the main road at dawn, guiding the mare into a thicket. Her sides heaved; she’d earned a rest. I ditched the ambassador’s clothes under a rock. They kept me warm during the night, but were too flashy for daytime wear.

  I kept the cloak tightly wrapped around me, as the morning was still chilly. I rummaged through the merchant’s coin pouch—enough for a meal and some clothes, maybe a bribe. The dagger felt solid in my hand, a cold comfort.

  By midday, I hit a village, just a cluster of thatched roofs. I bartered the last of the coin for bread and a waterskin, keeping my hood up. A farmer muttered about soldiers passing through—coup enforcers, probably. I didn’t stick around to find out. Back on the mare, I stuck to back trails, weaving through woods and over streams. My legs ached, but I’d trained for worse. Every snap of a twig had me glancing back, but the pursuers never closed in.

  Days blurred—ride, rest, move. The mare got injured after a week; I left her grazing by a creek. On foot, I pushed through, my agility carrying me over the rough terrain.

  I moved fast, my stomach growling. After the daily feasts, it took some adjustment to live off the land, relying on berries from thorny bushes and roots dug up with my dagger.

  Nights hit hard, the cold sinking into my bones, but I kept going. I navigated by the stars, their patterns sharp in my mind from maps I’d studied during those endless trainings in my youth. Six hundred miles, I reminded myself. I’d make it—or die trying.

  I remembered a minor noble from the peace talks—Lord Erynd, a portly man with a grudge against Alexander. He had health issues so had to leave early, but his manor was close enough, a gamble worth taking. I had no better play. I wasn’t very familiar with the land beyond the capital, and stealing horses tends to attract unwanted attention.

  The wild gave way to villages and patrol routes, and I slipped through. One guard got too close—his mistake. I looped an arm around his neck, squeezing until he went limp, then dragged him behind a tree. No blood, no noise.

  At Erynd’s gate, I knocked, hood low. A mention of Ren’s name got me an audience with him. “You can’t stay here,” he muttered. I offered what I knew—who’d turned, who’d didn’t. It bought me a hot meal, a sturdy horse, and a guide named Tren. He knew the backroads, and we dodged two checkpoints, their lanterns flickering in the dark. A tracker sniffed too near once. I tackled him, blade to his throat, and left him groaning in the dirt. At least Tren didn’t have a sensitive stomach.

  We hit a river three days later, wide and churning. “This is where I leave you,” he said, pointing across. “Outpost’s that way—maybe a week.” I nodded, stripped my cloak, and dove in. The current fought me, but I’m stronger than I look. I hauled myself out, shivering, and kept moving.

  I chewed bitter roots, slept in snatches under pines, but at least I had some maps now.

  Days blurred into a grind. My cloak was a rag, my boots caked in mud, but I felt it—the shift in the air. A faint whiff of smoke. I crested a hill, and there it was: an outpost, my kingdom’s colors snapping in the breeze.

  The gates loomed ahead, a rough-hewn wall of logs and stone that promised safety—if I could just get inside. My legs trembled as I staggered down, soaked from a stream I’d waded, my voice hoarse as I called out. A sentry rushed forward, eyes wide. “Identify yourself,” he shouted.

  “I’m an ambassador from Malachor,” I said, dropping to my knees. Six hundred miles, false trails, and too many rivers to count finally behind me. I just hoped I wasn’t too late to make a difference.

  I pounded on the gate, my voice hoarse as I called out, “Open up!”

  The soldiers who peered down didn’t rush to help. One, a wiry man with a scruffy beard, squinted at me like I was some lost peddler. “State your business,” he barked, his tone dripping with skepticism. I straightened as best I could, though my knees wobbled. “I’m an ambassador from Malachor. I’ve escaped a coup in Ascalon. Let me in—I bring news.” My words felt solid, urgent, but their eyes flicked over my wrecked state, and I saw the doubt settle in. The bearded one snorted. “Ambassador, eh? Looks like you’ve been ambushed by a mud puddle.”

  I bit back a retort—pride wouldn’t get me through those gates. “I’ve traveled days to reach you,” I said, softer now, leaning on the rogue’s charm I’d honed over years. “Please, just shelter and a meal. I’ll prove who I am.” That softened them, barely. The gate creaked open, and they ushered me in, but their mutters followed me—“If she’s an ambassador, I’m a prince.” I ignored it, too tired to care. They led me to a barracks, tossed me a stale loaf and a bowl of thin stew, and pointed me to a cot. It wasn’t much, but the warmth of the broth hit me like a blessing.

  After I ate, a gruff woman with a scarred cheek showed me to a washroom—a chipped basin and a bucket of cold water. I scrubbed the grime away, watching the dirt swirl down the drain, and traded my rags for a spare tunic and trousers from their stores. They hung loose, but they were dry, clean. My hair, still damp, I tied back with a strip of cloth. I caught my reflection in a cracked mirror—gaunt, hollow-eyed, but alive. That had to count for something.

  I stepped out, feeling halfway human, and wandered the fort’s yard. The problem was how to get the leader of this fort to take me seriously. I had chosen this fort for a reason. Under the assumption the trolls were their allies, I had selected a remote fort on the far side of the troll highlands, near the mountains. I anticipated that the activity would be concentrated along the eastern border, and the lack of troops in this region proved me correct. However, this now posed a challenge. The fort’s isolation meant I wouldn’t be familiar with anyone stationed there.

  “Is it possible to get an audience with the leader of this fort?” I asked a soldier who appeared to be the highest-ranking officer in the yard. He looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on my clothes. While they were new, they weren’t much better than the rags I’d been wearing before. His expression was skeptical, and I could already feel the dismissal coming before he even spoke.

  “She’s busy,” he said curtly. “I have orders not to disturb her.”

  I stepped closer, lowering my voice but keeping it firm. “This is very important. I’ve come from Ascalon’s capital. She’ll want to know what’s happened there. A messenger must be sent to the king as quickly as possible.”

  The soldier’s brow furrowed slightly, a small frown forming as he considered my words. “Maybe after the general leaves, she’ll have time,” he said hesitantly. “But right now, there’s no way I’m interrupting them.”

  “General?” I repeated, my hopes rising instantly. During my time as an ambassador, I’d been forced to attend countless meetings, not to mention the endless dinners my mother hosted, filled with important figures from across the kingdom. If there was a general here, there was a chance I might know him—or at least be able to use my connections to get through.

  “General Torvyn,” the soldier replied. “He arrived yesterday to inspect the premises.”

  The name sparked a flicker of recognition in my mind. Torvyn. I’d met him once, briefly, at one of those interminable state functions. He was a stern man, with a reputation for being both brilliant and uncompromising. If he was here, that changed things. He might be my best chance at getting someone to listen.

  “General Torvyn,” I said, nodding as if his name alone carried weight. “He knows me,” I said, my voice firm despite the soldier’s skeptical look. “He’ll want to hear what I have to say.” The man’s expression remained guarded, but I pressed on, describing General Torvyn in detail—his stern demeanor, his reputation for precision, even the way he carried himself at the state functions I’d attended. I shared the little I knew about him, minor details that a random person wouldn’t have been privy to.

  As I spoke, I watched the soldier’s demeanor shift. His initial skepticism gave way to curiosity, then to a reluctant acceptance. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him reconsider. He studied me for a moment longer, clearly torn between his orders and the urgency in my voice. Finally, he sighed. “What was your name again?”

  “Alira.” I responded.

  “Wait here,” he said, his tone less dismissive now. “I’ll see what I can do.” He said, turning on his heel and striding off toward the fort’s main building.

  The yard was bustling with activity. Soldiers drilling, blacksmiths hammering at forges, even a small stable. My mind was racing, trying to piece together what I would say, how I would convince them of the urgency of the situation.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Finally, the soldier returned, his expression unreadable. “The general will see you,” he said, gesturing for me to follow.

  I nodded, falling into step behind him as we made our way into the fort. The interior was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of oil and iron. We passed through a series of corridors before finally reaching a heavy wooden door. The soldier knocked once, then pushed it open, stepping aside to let me enter.

  The room was sparsely furnished, dominated by a large table covered in maps and scrolls. Standing at the head of the table was General Torvyn accompanied by a woman of similar age. His sharp features illuminated by the flickering light of a nearby lantern. He looked up as I entered, his gaze locking onto mine.

  “I’m Alira, ambassador to Ascalon,” I said, stepping closer. “We met at some official dinner after I was named ambassador with the elves.” His eyes narrowed, searching mine, then flicked over my borrowed clothes. “Alira?” he muttered, like he was testing the name. I nodded, holding his gaze. “I remember now—sat across from me, didn’t you? Talked about trade routes.”

  “Yes,” I said, relief washing through me. “That’s me.” He grunted, waving off a hovering aide. “You look like hell. What happened?” He said.

  I took a breath, steadying myself. “Ascalon’s fallen to a coup.”

  Torvyn’s face hardened, the lines deepening. “A coup? Who’s behind it?”

  I leaned in, voice low. “Prelate Alexander and his faction,” then proceeded to recount my stay there. “I slipped out during the chaos.” I said at the end.

  He rubbed his jaw, eyes distant. “And you’re sure about his abilities?”

  I nodded, then added, “That’s not even the worst part.” diving into my theories about troll-Ascalon alliances.

  He paced a step, then stopped. “There were voices that brought up that possibility. But to ally with humans? That’s unheard of.” A faint frown flickered across his lips, there and gone in an instant. “Our army is advancing to the border as we speak,” he said, his voice low and measured. “If what you’re saying is true, they’ll be walking into a trap.”

  I agreed, though exhaustion weighed heavily on me, dragging at my limbs and clouding my thoughts. “We need to gather every soldier,” I said, my voice steady despite the fatigue, “and try to reach them before the battle.”

  “Unfortunately, I have my orders from the king,” he said, though his tone lacked conviction and his eyes betrayed his doubt. “The western flank must be defended in case they try something here.” He spoke the words as if reciting them, but the hesitation in his voice was unmistakable. It was clear he didn’t fully believe in the necessity of his task, not when the real threat lay elsewhere. Yet orders were orders, and duty bound him to this post, even as the larger battle loomed.

  "We’ll send a messenger immediately,” he added.

  The woman standing beside him stepped forward. She looked to be in her fifties, her hair streaked with silver but pulled back into a tight, no-nonsense braid. Her face was lined with the marks of a life spent in service. She wore a simple but well-maintained uniform, the insignia on her collar marking her as the leader of the fort. Her voice, when she spoke, was steady and authoritative.

  “There’s no safe road from here to the eastern border,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact but tinged with urgency. “They’ll have to backtrack for a week or try to cut through the wilderness.” She paused, her gaze shifting between us, and her expression hardened. “But we both know what this means.” Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. The wilderness was treacherous, and backtracking would cost precious time—time we might not have.

  “You said there’s no safe road? So a direct road does exist?” I asked her.

  She nodded, her expression grim. “It crosses near two of their forts. If we want any messengers to get through in one piece, we can’t use that route.”

  “All the more reason to leave with a sizable force,” I argued, turning back to the man who seemed determined to cling to his orders. “We can’t afford to waste time or risk being picked off in small groups.”

  “I will not disobey my orders,” he insisted, his jaw tightening as he crossed his arms. His tone was firm, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

  “Have you fought them? The trolls?” I pressed, stepping closer. “I have. People have forgotten how formidable they are, especially with their regeneration. They’re not just strong—they’re relentless.”

  “I am well aware of their strengths,” he said, his voice clipped. “I was stationed at the eastern border for a while.”

  So logic wasn’t going to work. Maybe emotions would. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Your duty is to serve the king, right?” I asked, my tone softer now.

  “Yes,” he replied after a short pause, his eyes narrowing as if he expected some kind of trap.

  “Well, he might not survive if they get surrounded,” I said bluntly. At least he didn’t respond immediately, his expression shifting as he considered my words. “What’s more important—following orders or ensuring he survives?” I finally asked, holding his gaze.

  He was silent for a moment, clearly thinking it over. But then he shook his head. “It’s still only your word we have to go by.”

  My patience snapped. “I’m not some random soldier under your command. I worked in the intelligence network, and now I’m an ambassador. If you can’t trust information from someone who literally has that job, then why are we even doing it?”

  “I will have to consult…” he began, but I cut him off, too tired and too desperate to be diplomatic. “Every hour we delay might mean we miss the battle. You need to give the order now,” I emphasized, my voice rising.

  He still didn’t look convinced. I could feel the opportunity slipping away, his stubbornness hardening with every second. If I pushed any further, he’d only dig in deeper.

  “She’s right,” the woman said suddenly. That seemed to catch his attention. He turned to her, his brow furrowing. “Ascalon would never attack us so directly. Everyone knows they might have something, but trolls allying with them? That’s unheard of. But I believe her.”

  Her support was a lifeline, and I clung to it. Maybe with her backing me, his stubbornness would finally give way.

  “If you don’t give the order, I will,” she added, her tone firm and unyielding. “The fort is still under my command.”

  That finally seemed to sober him up. He hesitated for a moment longer, then let out a heavy sigh. “Fine,” he said, though the distaste in his voice was palpable. “Gather the men.”

  ─── ????? ───

  We rode out as soon as everyone with a horse was accounted for, a column of maybe three hundred. Maybe not enough to make a difference, but enough to get us to the battle. My borrowed horse snorted under me, its flanks already slick with sweat. I rode near the front with Torvyn and Lira, as I’d learned her name was. The wind whipping my borrowed tunic. The Old Crest Road stretched ahead, a ribbon of packed dirt flanked by jagged hills. I’d expected ambushes, arrows from those enemy forts looming in the distance. Nothing came. No resistance, no scouts—just silence. “Their forts are hollow,” Lira said, her voice low as we passed the third unmanned tower. Torvyn grunted. “They’ve pulled everything to the fight. Ascalon’s gambling big.”

  “They’ll clash on a plain,” he’d told us, eyes tracing an invisible map. “The Vyrith Expanse, south of Ascalon. Flat, wide, perfect for us to deploy our numerical advantage.” We pushed harder, the horses’ hooves thundering, their breaths ragged. My thighs ached, my hands blistered on the reins, but I kept pace. Six hundred miles behind me, and now this. A bed sounded like heaven.

  Days bled into one another, the road a blur. The horses were faltering, heads low, foam flecking their mouths. I patted my mount’s neck, murmuring apologies I couldn’t voice. We crested a hill as dusk fell, the Vyrith Expanse sprawling below us. I’d hoped for banners, for the Malachor line in the distance holding strong. Instead, dust and fog choked the plain, a gray shroud that hid the worst until it didn’t. My stomach plummeted. We were too late.

  From the hill, the scene clawed into focus. The Malachor line was a broken spine—scattered figures, crumpled standards, the clash of steel faint but frantic. Trolls loomed through the haze, their bright colors clashing with the silvery armor of usual armies. Our horses stamped, exhausted, their sides heaving. I slid from the saddle, legs shaky, and gripped my sword. Torvyn swore under his breath, his face ashen. “They’ve shattered us,” he said, voice flat. Lira spat into the dirt. “Trolls did that. Look at the gaps—our center’s gone.”

  I squinted through the murk, my mind racing even. The plain was a slaughterhouse—bodies strewn, horses screaming, the silver-blue banners trampled. Ascalons’s forces, bolstered by those cursed trolls, had torn through like a scythe. “We should’ve been here,” I muttered, guilt gnawing at me. Lira shot me a look. “Don’t. You got us this far.”

  Torvyn crouched, peering down. “Some still fight—pockets, holding out.” He was right—flashes of steel glinted through the dust, faint shouts rising. Survivors, clinging to hope.

  And then I saw it—lightning cutting through the fog and dust. It wasn’t the harsh, jagged bolts of the troll shamans; this was something else. I’d recognize that specific shade of blue anywhere. Tiberius. He was alive, and he was in that pocket of survivors, fighting to hold the line.

  I turned to Torvyn, my voice urgent. “We’re spent, but we’ve got three hundred. We can hit their flank, buy them time.” He hesitated, his eyes scanning the battlefield, weighing the odds. Finally, he nodded. “A last stand, then. Lira, form them up.”

  Commander Lira didn’t waste a second. She barked orders, her voice cutting through the chaos, and the soldiers—bone-tired but grimly determined—fell into line. My horse was done, its sides heaving and its head drooping, but maybe the small pause would give him one last burst of energy. I patted his neck, whispering a quiet thanks for carrying me this far.

  “Look,” I said, pointing toward the right where the fog thinned. “They’re heading into the fog to escape.” All eyes turned to follow my gesture. Beyond the haze, a row of tents stood, their shapes barely visible through the swirling mist. It was the troll camp, unmistakable in its crude, menacing presence.

  “They’ll emerge right on top of the troll camp,” Lira said, her voice tight with concern.

  “Then we need to be there to help them,” I replied, my tone firm. “If we can hit the camp at the same time, we might give them a chance to break through.”

  Torvyn’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. “Move out,” he ordered, his voice carrying over the din of battle. “We don’t have much time.”

  The soldiers fell into formation, their exhaustion momentarily pushed aside by the urgency of the task. We moved quickly, the fog swallowing us as we advanced toward the troll camp.

  As we neared the edge of the fog, the troll camp came into clearer view. The tents were crude but numerous, and the sounds of movement within suggested the enemy was preparing for something. Whether they were regrouping or preparing to reinforce their forces on the battlefield, it didn’t matter. We had to strike now.

  “On my signal,” Torvyn said, his voice low but carrying the weight of command. The soldiers nodded, their grips tightening on their weapons. I readied my magic, the familiar crackle of energy building at my fingertips.

  And then we charged. The fog parted as we burst into the open, our shouts echoing across the camp. The trolls were caught completely off guard, their movements sluggish as they turned to face the new threat.

  The camp erupted into chaos, the trolls scrambling to defend themselves. But we had the element of surprise, and we used it to our advantage.

  I darted forward and drove my blade into a straggler’s back. It roared, twisting, but Lira’s spear finished it. My arms burned, every swing a fight against exhaustion, but I danced through them—agile, precise—slashing tendons, dodging their axes.

  A troll loomed over me, axe raised, and I rolled aside, my reflexes saving me. I stabbed upward, hot blood soaking my hands as it fell. Around me, our line held advanced. The dust thickened, the fog rolling in, and I lost sight of Torvyn. A horn blared—ours or theirs, I couldn’t tell. Then, through the chaos, I saw it: a silver-blue flicker, a knot of Malachor soldiers rallying. We’d bought them a breath.