The King’s army, under the command of Veylan, moved south like a weary armoured serpent, clinking across the plains in a dull rhyme beneath the grey morning sky. The ruins of Dunholme were little more than a smudge of drifting smoke, ten miles behind them.

  William gave a tired yawn as he trudged beside Fredric and the six adventurers, his boots heavy with dried blood and mud. All around them shuffled the remnants of Brindlecross and Dunholme: farmers, children, and soldiers whose eyes were hollow with exhaustion. Many hadn’t slept since before Brindlecross had burned, more than a full day ago.

  A few hours passed into the journey; the exhausted found their way onto wagons while those who had gained an hour or two of rest took their place in the long, slow march to Thrymwall, around a day’s march away.

  Even the wind was tired. The banners of King Aldric of Mercia fluttered in the sluggish breeze as the column stretched out, a ragged procession of wagons, wounded, and warriors.

  A cry ran down the line: “Halt! We rest here!”

  Relief rippled through the ranks. The soldiers began lowering packs, slumping onto the grass or against their shields. Some fell asleep the moment they stopped moving, too tired to even eat. Others busied themselves feeding fires, checking wounds, or rationing the hard bread and other food salvaged from the two fallen villages.

  William sat beside Fredric and bit into a piece of stale biscuit. He checked his Mana and Stamina stats.

  [SYSTEM ERROR: Incomplete Interface]

  Mana: 138/140

  Stamina: 78%

  Will was doing better than most. He’d already converted some of his mana to stamina with [Light’s Mercy] and had regenerated most of the spent mana. As long as he didn’t have to use any mana for anything else, he could keep going for days.

  William considered a difficult decision. Should I help them? [Light’s Mercy] could be used to convert his mana into stamina for others. With a finite amount of mana and the possibility of having to fight goblins before reaching safety, he couldn’t risk depleting his mana too much.

  Despite the stamina increase, Will’s legs still ached, and the smell of blood seemed to have seeped into his skin. “What I wouldn’t give for a long, hot bath right now.” He tried not to think about the desperate faces around him.

  “Aye, lad,” Sibrek rumbled. “Think yerself lucky you only ‘ave that silly blue stubble on yer chin.” He stroked his red beard, tugging at something unidentifiable tangled within it. “Troll’s finger bone, I think. I’ll braid it in later.” He chuckled and stored the bone in his pocket.

  “Gods, that’s vile.” Carl wrinkled his small, grey nose. “Do you ever wash that thing? There’s more brown gore than red!”

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  “Wash?” Sibrek gave him a look of mock outrage. “Ye may look on in disgust, but us dwarves believe in showin’ our victories where everyone can see ‘em, and there’s no place better than in your whiskers.” He took a big bite of bread, adding more crumbs to his locs. “This beard’s seen more battles than you’ve had hot dinners, lad. Just needs a bit of oil and a comb frew it. A bit o’ dirt builds character.” He gave a knowing wink to Carl, who was grimacing.

  Pip grinned, her catlike ears flicking. “So does lice.”

  “Ha! You’d know,” Sibrek shot back. “I’ve seen you scratchin’ your behind more times than I can count.”

  The catkin rogue flicked a dark-bladed dagger from her sleeve and twirled it between her fingers. “Careful, dwarf. I’ve declawed bigger beasts than you.”

  Fredric snorted into his biscuit, earning a grin from William.

  “Don’t worry, blue chin.” Pip winked at William. “If we run into more trouble, you can distract them by dazzling them with that golden boy glow.”

  They all laughed while Will rubbed at his chin, feeling the scratchy blue stubble there. “My father had blue hair,” he lied, “but I only got the trait on my chin.” He’d been shaving the blue hair away every morning, but since Brindlecross, he’d missed a couple of mornings.

  “I knew a girl with a green streak from her nose to her forehead.” Pip giggled. “Everyone wondered why until she wiped her nose.”

  The group laughed along.

  A young soldier who sat nearby chewed on a strip of jerky. “My grandda said men who can’t grow a proper beard aren’t to be trusted.”

  An older soldier by his side elbowed him. “That explains why no one trusts you then.”

  “Oi!” The young soldier protested, but the grin gave him away.

  William smiled. “If facial hair’s the measure of trust, then half the elves I’ve met must be villains.”

  “They are,” Pip said without missing a beat. “Beautiful villains with perfect hair and no sense of humour.”

  Sibrek raised his tin cup and smiled. “To the beardless, the blue-chinned, the badly groomed, and the girl with bogies in her hair! Aye!”

  They all laughed, and even Amra allowed herself a quiet chuckle. For a few precious minutes, the weight of battle lifted as the weary souls shared bad food, worse jokes, and the strange comfort of still being alive.

  William took a moment to glance at Fredric and the six adventurers. I have to help them. He leaned in and whispered, “I need you all to keep what I’m about to do secret.”

  That got the group’s attention. Before they could say anything, he cast [Light’s Mercy] on the group of seven before him. He’d decided to maintain his mana levels at above 100 until they reached safety. As long as they didn’t have to fight for a sustained period, he’d be fine.

  “What in the gods is…” Sibrek started.

  “Secret,” Will interrupted. “I can give you all a small stamina boost, but it costs me my mana.”

  Fredric groaned. “That feels so much better. Thanks, Will.” He looked to where his family rested. “I’m going to check on them.”

  The others nodded.

  “Why the secret?” Brian asked in a whisper, his large black eyes blinking twice.

  Marie clipped him on the back of the head. “You can’t be that naive. Can you?”

  Brian shrugged, and Pip giggled.

  “What happens when thousands of exhausted, selfish people decide they’re more important than everyone else?” Marie asked.

  “Oh.” Brian nodded.

  “I can do this every couple of hours, but not for everyone.” William mimed zipping his lips shut. “You need to keep this a secr…”

  He was interrupted by the sound of boots in the mud approaching. A soldier stood before them and saluted. “Sir Draven? Commander Veylan requests your presence.”

  Chapter 046 [Offer Received: Join The Royal Guard]