It took nearly two weeks to march the might of Astaril down the length of Terra in line where the southern foothills of the ‘Hump’ were starting to fade into the prairies. Though Judd was deeply concerned about leading the soldiers into battle, he was beginning to wish Rylan had picked a more northerly location.


    “If he’d said, I’ll kick the Maul out of you at Quarre, this would all be over by now.” He muttered as the call came to halt their advance and set up camp which was no small feat when marching hundreds of soldiers, not to mention feeding and sheltering them.


    Had Judd been riding on his own or if they’d all been on horseback, they could have pushed hard and kicked down Fort Verion’s gates a week earlier. Although Judd’s rump would have been a great deal sorer.


    His one great relief was that he was not in charge of the logistics of the march. Sword master Everid and Captain Chael oversaw the soldiers, experienced officers like Arsch and Kipre becoming temporary captains to outwork Chael’s commands and Everid’s logic.


    Even now there was a team of young men setting up Judd’s tent. He would have protested it but the separation between himself and the rest of the army was a welcome relief. Judd gave without hesitation of his time, energy, enthusiasm and any wisdom he could muster to the soldiers as they marched. He encouraged, directed and led them until there was nothing more he could give.


    To everyone else it looked selfless, a renowned knight tirelessly giving his all for the fight.


    But Judd knew the truth.


    While he was doing that, he wasn’t thinking about Aalis.


    At night when he was able to escape inside his tent, he was exhausted and collapsed onto his bed, giving no room for his grief to overwhelm him.


    As he watched the tent being assembled, he caught sight of Verne trotting towards him on Shela.


    “Where are you heading?” He asked, feeling sorrow nibble at his conscious thought and doing his best to distract himself.


    “I’m setting up practice targets for the archers.”


    “Are they any good?”


    Verne shrugged. “I think I might have been too harsh on Giordi. At least he had natural talent.”


    “These archers were trained by the best,” Judd raked his fingers through his curls, “how is it that they’re not up to your standards?”


    “They have only practiced on stationary targets in enclosed spaces. I doubt any of them have ever tried to aim at a living creature, let alone one that’s running at them with clubs and swords where a sharp gust could change their arrow’s trajectory.” Verne removed the lute from Shela’s saddle. “Could you look after this for me?”


    Judd sighed and took it. “Tell me this is a weapon?”


    “If it is, it’s only good against giant spiders and even then…” Verne pulled a face. “Giordi asked me to bring it.”


    “And you said yes because…”


    “You have too much to think about and Caste would say no.”


    Judd nodded. “I meant, why did you say yes?”


    Verne blushed. “Because music is good for the troops. It lifts their spirits…”


    “Verne,” Judd grasped Shela’s reins and came in close, “when are you going to tell him?”


    “I thought you said I could take it to the grave!”


    “Well…maybe I was wrong.” Judd admitted. “Verne…”


    “Soon.” Verne insisted.


    “Soon? Verne, we march for the hillock tomorrow. You’ve got a day left…if that!”


    Verne leaned down. “Can’t tell him if he’s not here.”


    Judd eyed her. “He’ll be here.”


    “He’s not here yet.” Verne sat upright and nudged Shela onwards, nimbly moving through the sea of tents and groups of soldiers to where the archers were setting up.


    Verne’s agitation was understandable. Suvau and Giordi had offered to travel south to see if they could convince any of the nomads or Mauls to join the fight. But at the very least, Judd wanted to make sure that the nomads moved their campsite further north. Now that Rylan knew the Mauls had escaped out of Mavour to the north and not the south, and knowing Judd’s travels as he did, the nomads could have been in danger. The way the nomads could pack up and move more efficiently than any military unit Judd had ever witnessed made him wonder why they hadn’t encountered them yet.


    Though he had assured Verne that Suvau and Giordi would return even if it was just them that did so, Judd was starting to wonder if they had put their personal agendas first. Not that Judd would ever blame Suvau for wanting to stay with his family. He had already risked so much and might have decided to flee the battle and hide somewhere. Giordi might have just fled. He was the least skilled in battle and the last person Judd would imagine would be on the front lines.


    “Are you sure that’s right? It looks lopsided to me.”


    Perhaps not quite the last person…


    Judd rolled his eyes as Caste supervised the erection of his person tent. As an officer of the Grail, an archdeacon no less, Caste was allocated his own tent, a dark red and white construct that screamed ‘Order of the Grail’ with the lopsided four pointed star perched on the top. His bed was not a sling or a stretcher but a proper wooden base with carved curved bedhead and a desk with all his ‘necessary’ Order of the Grail equipment.


    While Everid, Chael, Arsch and Kipre and other officers like them shared officers’ tents with stretchers for beds and a little privacy, the soldiers were crammed into larger spaces, sleeping on their swags and suffering the snoring of their neighbours. However, as Judd pointed out, it was much warmer in their tents than it was in his.


    “The nomads know how to build a tent that doesn’t have ventilation.” Judd sighed, eyeing the gaps in his tent as it went up. The tent the nomads had given himself and his companions was being used for the knights who had offered their services and/or their soldiers.


    Sir Jesa had done as they suspected he would, sending soldiers in his place, citing poor health which would hinder his ability in battle. No one was surprised or even disappointed. The soldiers he’d sent were not the hardiest of warriors but they did at least come equipped with armour and as a token of Sir Jesa’s faith in the throne of Astaril, he had raided his weapons rack and sent what he could, spears, swords and shields.


    Sir Ector of Quarre had met the march as they passed Quarre, bringing as much food and ale as he could. He offered soldiers in his place but, in light of his age and his only recent appointment to Quarre and the amount of monsters that were eager to take the place of the werewolf, no one could blame him for doing so. The soldiers were fewer in number than Sir Jesa’s but they came with experience and Sir Ector, though pulled from quiet retirement to take the post at Quarre, had been merciless in drilling them to increase their skills.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Sir Alaykin had been the last knight to join, cutting through the forest with his troops, using the same road Judd had crossed the forest along twice. He had brought forty feisty warriors, sword master Dalain Thiery and, to Judd’s utter delight, Oster Agress. The aged sword master had been a great comfort to Judd, his gruff wisdom and blunt delivery cut through a great deal of the pomposity. When asked why he wasn’t intimidated by the knights and their higher status, Oster just snorted and claimed he was too old to be scared of anything anymore. He then clipped Judd over the back of his head for poor armour maintenance which had Arsch and Kipre wide eyed and slack jawed at his lack of reverence.


    Sir Alaykin was walking towards Judd even now, tugging his gloves up higher.


    “I don’t know why I bother,” he admitted, “it’s not like a warm wrist will keep the rest of me toasty.”


    Judd smiled and nodded. “If you’re not careful, you’ll turn them into fingerless gloves.” He eyed the knight. “I am surprised you came, Sir Alaykin.”


    “Do I strike you as disloyal to the throne of Astaril?” Alaykin asked, lifting his chin.


    “To be honest, I wasn’t sure where your loyalty lay,” Judd admitted, “but given that you lost your wife…and you have a young baby…”


    “You think I should have stayed behind to be a father?”


    “I thought it might have been an understandable excuse.” Judd shrugged.


    Sir Alaykin huffed through his nose and shook his head. “Given your experience in my fort, it is not wonder you doubt my metal and my loyalty,” he held up his hand to stop Judd’s protest, “but understandable or not, to excuse myself from this time of action is unthinkable. The future of Astaril and indeed all of Terra, hinges on this battle. I want my daughter to live in a good world and for that, I must pick up my sword and be counted.”


    Judd nodded, smiling at Alaykin’s conviction. “Your daughter is fortunate to have you as a father.”


    “It is I who is fortunate to have her as a daughter.” He corrected lightly. “After losing my wife, I thought the world was ended and that all joy had been drawn from my veins…and then my little girl smiled at me, toothless, gummy yet utterly disarming. It was then that I realised I had a responsibility to live and to live well.”


    Judd swallowed. “I know you’ve told me but I confess, I’ve forgotten her name.”


    “Faria,” Alaykin smiled warmly, “and to my unending relief, she seems to take after her mother.”


    They walked the campsite vaguely, waiting for tents to be assembled and food to be served, filling in the time talking about nothing in particular as the light faded to black and the cold breeze caused the dry grass to rustle like a restless ocean around them. Then, cutting through the general hum of activity, was a cry from the perimeter and a scout sprinted across the campsite.


    “Hold it there.” Sir Alaykin reached him first and put out his hand. “What’s the word?”


    “Sir, I just heard the whinny of horses and the thunder of hooves.”


    Alaykin looked at Judd. “Rylan rides towards us!”


    “Get the men ready,” Judd looked at the scout, “take me to where you were!”


    They dashed around the tent ropes and avoided colliding with soldiers who were scrambling to get ready as the horn sounded for action. Judd cursed Rylan’s impatience and his own trust, thinking that he should have set up an offensive perimeter and anticipated a sneak attack once the sun had gone down.


    At the edge of the campsite, Judd clambered onto a cart and peered into the darkness where the scout pointed. However, he needn’t have done so. Judd could hear the approach of a sizeable force and as the riders reached the crest of the rise that they had camped back from, Judd could see flashes of eyes in the firelight of torches, heard the snort of horses and the thunderous pound of over a hundred hooves.


    “They’re right on top of us!” The scout cried even as Alaykin, with the soldiers who were following him, reached his position.


    “Stop, stop!” Judd yelled, throwing himself in front of them. “Stay your blades!”


    The soldiers were terrified, their swords out, huddled together as the riders surged around them, hairy, monstrous and grunting with ferocity, their weapons brandished and held high. A brute with a mask made from the skull of some beast lowered his jagged sword at Judd who eyed him grimly.


    “An impudent pup,” the voice remarked, echoing through the bone, “one not easily startled. You must be Sir LaMogre.”


    “And you must be an idiot, Gavoli!” Judd snapped. “Get off that horse!”


    Giordi yanked off the mask of bone, fur and feathers and beamed brightly as if the caper had been immense fun.


    “We wanted to see just how intimidating we could make our presence.” He caught sight of the soldiers gathered at the edge of the campsite and pulled a face. “Very is my assessment.”


    “And if I hadn’t stopped Alaykin and the rest from killing you?”


    Giordi held the mask up. “Then Liontari would have gone down in nomadic history as a great warrior.”


    “Bloody fool…”


    “He’s not entirely to blame, LaMogre,” Suvau announced, riding Artur and towering over all others, “we weren’t sure if you were friend or foe and the nomads…they don’t do things by half measures.” He dismounted and all the nomads did the same.


    Judd waved Sir Alaykin forward who still had his sword in his hand. “Sorry for the fright, Sir Alaykin, but this is Suvau and you have met Giordi Gavoli, my minstrel, before. They rode ahead to seek the assistance of the nomads.”


    “Well…I might have mocked such an alliance before,” Alaykin swallowed, “but that was an impressive display…albeit a dangerous one.”


    Judd chuckled. “That’s pretty well how they live. I’d like you to meet Chief Elk and Chief Bear, of the western and eastern clans, respectively.”


    The nomad chiefs were ferocious in their travelling attire adorned with war masks and even when the masks were removed, they had a grim look in their eyes that made the stoutest man’s knees wobble. Judd clasped their hands respectfully and spoke briefly with them.


    “I cannot thank you enough for lending your strength…did you bring both clans?”


    “It made sense to move all vulnerable nomads north,” Giordi explained as the nomads began to break away, already assembling their tents, “and we knew we could ride back down with you. Elk and Bear wouldn’t hear of anything else.”


    “I wish I knew how to repay them.” Judd shook his head.


    “When we told them of Rylan’s threat, to unleash monsters into Terra just to get his way, the Chiefs were incensed by his cowardly tactics.” Suvau looked over his shoulder and jerked his head. “They know Terra will be safer without someone like that in charge of a wall fort, especially when their campsite, palisade defended or not, would have been overrun.”


    “True.”


    “And look who we found on our way south!”


    Two burly men came forward from a group that looked like they could defend themselves.


    “The Borre brothers?” Judd exclaimed as they greeted him loudly, slapping him on the back so hard he wheezed. “What are you doing here?” He wiped the tears from his eyes.


    “Giordi and Suvau caught sight of our flocks and warned us we could be in the path of a battle.” Clai shrugged. “So we talked it over and decided our blades are yours.”


    “Are you certain?” Judd asked seriously. “This isn’t just a fight against a monster ambush in the night. This is against people.”


    “You helped our family in Fort Faine because it was the right thing to do when a knight wouldn’t.” Rai insisted. “We’re not going to miss the opportunity to repay that kindness, Sir LaMogre.”


    Judd shook his head, putting his hands on their shoulders. Clai’s one good eye remained firm and Rai’s crooked nose made his smile even more so but there was no mistaking their intent.


    “Then you are more than welcome.” Judd turned around and began to falter. “I’m not sure where we’re going to put you all…”


    “Judd,” Giordi leaned towards him, “the nomads have their camp halfway set up already and the Borre brothers are quite used to camping outdoors.”


    “True.” Judd reeled as the campsite swelled to nearly twice its size with the addition of so many newcomers. “Suvau…are your people here too?”


    “They are indeed.” Suvau chuckled. “I wasn’t going to leave them behind a fourth time.”


    “Will any of them join the fight?”


    “It depends on Terra/Maul relations.” Suvau nodded to where Everid and Chael were attempting to communicate with the nomads and Mauls. “I should get in there. Where is Caste?”


    “Probably in his tent…” Judd looked around then raised his eyebrows. Caste was already standing with Everid and Chael, translating for the two Terras into the nomad dialect. “Well…what do you know?”


    “I told him he had more compassion in his soul than he liked to let on.” Suvau rumbled deeply.


    “You’d better get in there to make sure Chael’s people and yours have an agreement of all past issues put aside…at least for the time being.”


    “I will do that but first,” Suvau’s height lowered as he looked down to catch Judd’s gaze firmly, “how are you travelling?”


    Judd knew he could fob the question off and pretend he didn’t understand but the truth was, it was always there in the back of his mind.


    “Everything I do is in aid of not thinking about it.” He admitted.


    Suvau nodded. “Then that is all you can do. Rest, LaMogre and let us take care of this.”


    Judd watched him walk away, hooking his thumbs into his belt and kicking at a clump of grass. The soldiers that had rallied themselves had returned to their tents, curious but somewhat nervous about the newcomers. The nomads were already organised and the shepherds were equally as comfortable with camping in the wilds.


    Suddenly, despite the onslaught of information, people and logistics, Judd was very alone. He turned around on the spot and wandered to his tent. The sound of company was alluring but Judd was abruptly tired beyond all measure. He needed sleep and he hoped, at least for a little while, his heart would stop hurting as he dreamed.