As daylight gave way to evening skies, Marcus entered the tent city, summoned by Amurad. The workers that were retrieving bodies from the hole-riddled tents already finished their work for the day and what was left of the barbarian brigade were huddled around campfires dotted throughout the encampment. Marcus was anticipating more trouble for spending the day on burying Maximilian rather than tending to the uprights.

  Amurad's tent was the largest, situated at the center, elevated above the rest on a hastily constructed log platform. While the leader's shelter had a few holes, it didn't look as bad as many of the others, for some reason. Marcus approached from the opposite side of the entrance; he would have to walk all the way around the platform to get inside.

  Usually, he would take a wide path, as the brigade's fighters wouldn't take kindly to Marcus lurking around the outskirts of their leader's tent. But today there were only a few stragglers around the base of the platform. And instead of standing on guard, scanning their surroundings, these weary bunch were simply loitering, aloof. Marcus decided this would be a prime opportunity to potentially get the drop on Amurad.

  Marcus knew there was little chance in taking the barbarian leader on in a head-on fight. But if Amurad were caught unaware, perhaps Marcus had a chance of taking him down were he to attack from behind. The lethargy induced by the camp attack created an opening he might not get again. On his side was the fact that he'd been summoned to Amurad's tent many times, for one reason or another.

  While the barbarians took heavy losses before in other engagements, this was the first time an enemy struck at their back line. The Fallen Kingdoms of the Midlands put up a fight, but were no match for the concentrated, determined force put up by Amurad and his barbarians. But once the group entered Arcadia, what remained of the empire awakened and offered little hospitality to their uninvited guests.

  It seemed that the Fallen Kingdoms weren't well-educated on how to fight with or against firearms. A recent invention, it seemed that despite the wild, unkempt battle lines of the barbarians, the musket was enough of an advantage that even the most highly trained warriors in melee eventually fell. But the Arcadians didn't fall behind.

  Against well-disciplined, modern forces, the barbarians didn't stand a chance. The invading force's only advantage was having two upright tanks at their disposal. And even then, it seemed it wasn’t enough of an edge to keep their adversaries off-balance forever.

  Marcus approached the platform of the commander's shelter from a narrow shadow between a row of soldiers’ tents. The four corners of the log platform were propped up by vertical log segments serving as anchors for the rest of the structure. The platform was about waist-height, and while still wrapped in relative darkness, Marcus prepared to hoist himself up and readied to slither beneath the canvas of the tent. But a voice near the front of the shelter prompted Marcus to crouch down and take stock of who might be observing him.

  "Where are you going?" The voice at the front of the tent called out, one of the guards.

  Marcus took a deep breath, ready to reply.

  "I'm here to cook tonight's supper. As I do every night." The camp cook replied, prompting Marcus to remain silent.

  "No entry." The guard responded. "Boss's orders. No one enters. He wants to be alone right now."

  The cook scoffed. "You're telling me he doesn't want to eat at his usual time?"

  A silence grew between them.

  Marcus looked around, suddenly nervous that he was being watched. But there was no sign of anyone that might be able to spot him. Just the guard and the cook on the far side of the platform, beyond the commander's tent.

  "Fine," the cook sputtered, "but you're dealing with him hungry, not me." His voice trailed off quickly as he fled the scene.

  Marcus leaned, to check more angles, but despite his nerves it seemed that he was unobserved. With a firm grip on a log, he slid himself up onto the platform and crawled toward the tent on his belly. The rear of the shelter was where Amurad did his planning, on a small table and bench. Perhaps that also might be where the keylet to Marcus's upright might be kept. Marcus closed in and reached to lift the canvas wall of the shelter.

  The cry of a crow perched upon a pole from behind startled Marcus. He retreated his hand and looked, fearful that the bird would draw attention. But it seemed he was still alone. He reached again, when another crow cawed, perched on a line hanging between two tents. That's when Marcus realized that the commander's shelter was surrounded by dozens and dozens of crows perched and still.

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  The strange sight unnerved Marcus and he began to retreat, back the way he came. Just as he slipped over the edge and crouched down on firm ground, a sudden gale blasted Marcus and ruffled the entire tent city. A black cloud formed rapidly in the evening sky over the commander's platform. Then it coalesced into a cyclone, which touched down inches away from where Marcus once laid prone.

  Marcus was latched firmly onto the log corner, desperate to not get swept away by the immense pressure of the storm. But as fast as the cloud formed, it suctioned itself up into the cyclone, which coalesced and slipped under and into Amurad's abode. Then all was still once more. He looked around, expecting the barbarian encampment to rouse from the sudden chaos. But there wasn't even a peep.

  He crept toward the guard at the front of the commander's tent in order to catch a glimpse. But it seemed the barbarian was on the verge of falling asleep standing up. Marcus leaned forward, around the platform and stared at a group of warriors hunched over a roaring campfire. They were sloshed and singing a mournful elegy, far from in tune.

  Slinking back into the shadows, Marcus realized there was no sign of the countless crows perched up around the platform. Thoroughly unsettled, he readied to retreat, to make himself known to the guard so that he could be banished back to the rocky outcrop and far away from whatever was going on here.

  "Amurad." An unfamiliar baritone voice spoke with a dissatisfied tone from within the tent.

  Before he could stand up, Marcus's curiosity urged him to lean harder against the platform so to better hear what was going on inside the commander's shelter.

  "Y—yes my lord." The barbarian leader replied with a fearful voice.

  A flickering glimmer on the peak of the tent caught Marcus's eye and he pulled himself higher to see that the rear of the commander's shelter was being held up somehow. Keeping low, Marcus rounded the corner and edged closer to the gap held open. As he neared, Marcus spotted who was speaking to Amurad.

  The stranger wore an all-black hooded robe adorned with elaborate red and gold embossments, one of which was a bird with a scythe-like beak etched into the shoulder.

  "I am disappointed in the results you've shown so far." The stranger spoke slowly, carefully.

  "I—it's not my fault." Amurad started. "It's... it's... it's these troops. They're incompetent. I—I—I can't work with these worms. If I were sent more motivated men, this wouldn't be—"

  "Silence." The stranger spoke deadpan.

  The tent fell quiet.

  "You were given a task. Lugus has already penetrated the southern interior of the empire." The stranger shook his head.

  "B... ut..." Amurad sputtered.

  "We will have retribution. We must bring these villains to justice." The stranger paced back and forth with his hands held behind his back. "We cannot tolerate letting them get away this time."

  "I understand. We'll make progress, I swear. We just need more material." Amurad spoke quickly, with a high-pitched voice.

  With his back turned to the barbarian leader, the stranger leaned back and looked up, taking a deep breath. "Done." He pivoted on his heels and stared down Amurad. "But know this." He placed a leather-gloved hand on the commander's desk and leaned down to meet eye to eye with the sitting commander. In the lantern light of the tent, a sharp chin curved forward and long nose were revealed from beneath the hood. "We will retrieve what has been spent if we don't get what is owed."

  What features revealed by the lantern light seemed very familiar to Marcus. Someone he met some time ago.

  "O... of course, we'll be upon the capital in no time with fresh supplies, don't you worry." Amurad chuckled nervously.

  The stranger's attention slowly turned toward the gap in the tent and Marcus unwittingly matched his gaze. Paralyzed with fear, the mechanic sunk his nails into the log structure. Whatever Marcus had just been thinking about was blown away by a sudden, supernatural terror that pierced straight into his heart.

  A wide smile formed on the stranger's face, revealing overly straight and white teeth. Then he diverted his attention back to Amurad, with a serious look.

  "But know this," the stranger started, "you can be replaced. Quite easily, in fact."

  "O—of course, my lord." Amurad nodded and swallowed hard.

  The sudden onset of dozens of crows cawing in a chaotic cacophony filled the air as the cyclone once again formed outside, only a few steps away from where Marcus stood crouched behind the platform. Just as the storm grew to full strength, the stranger's form dissipated. Then the cyclone whisked up into the sky and returned to a cloud-like formation before the countless crows emerged from its form and disappeared into the distance.

  All was still once more.

  Amurad's tent was returned to its normal state, without a gap in the canvas wall.

  Blinking to ensure he wasn't seeing things, Marcus pried his nails from the wood, and he stood, despite his shaking legs. He'd never seen anything like that before in his entire life. Holding onto the platform, Marcus decided to make himself known to the guard and hopefully be told to get lost. He desperately needed to be away from whatever lunacy was going on in the tent city.

  Marcus approached the warrior standing guard at the entrance of Amurad's tent, leery and still bewildered by what just unfolded.

  "What are you doing here?" The guard belted, crossing his arms against his dirty linen shirt.

  "I was called here." Marcus spoke flatly, hoping his meek disposition would spur an instantaneous ejection back to the rocky outcrop.

  "I didn't hear noth—" The guard started but was interrupted by Amurad's incoherent command.

  The guard turned and peeled open the tent flap and shoved his head in, his bushy beard and greasy hair getting caught on the canvas. "Yeah boss?"

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