The samaltas descended on them barely an hour after Drought had finished his speech. All the troops of the Fire Empire were ready, waiting impatiently for them. Some soldiers, obeying the order of provocation, had piled corpses in front of the palisades and hung the ears that they kept as trophies on their belts, their epaulettes, and even on their jewelry and piercings for the highest ranking. The general of the capital, supreme leader of the army, advanced step by step. No need to go to the front, and no point in staying at the back. Each time an enemy managed to force a path towards him, he miraculously caught fire, filling the air with his screams of agony and the putrid smell of burnt flesh.

  Around Drought, the screams echoed. The pacles sent powerful magical attacks, the bodars shot arrows from the skies, and the humans fought with all their might with their longswords. Facing them, the samaltas, who were at least a head shorter than them, could barely hurt them with their short-range weapons. And their bows made of wood and branches were no match for those of the air troops, made by the best bcksmiths in the nation. The enormous war beasts were also in action, the dzimdads mercilessly crushing the slow enemies and the mliniaks giving free rein to their natural madness by charging headlong and horns forward. It was a massacre. The earth was watered with blue blood, which flowed after the wings had been torn off and the ears cut off to add them to the belt of trophies. The Samaltas were pnning to retrieve the chieftain’s companion that Drought had been careful to lock up at the other end of the camp, but to try to save her they would have to go through the soldiers and enter through the main gate, or go around the camp through the open areas and risk being shot down by the flying archers. It was simply impossible. Drought’s pn was perfect, the samaltas had unched a suicidal attack.

  He smiled, observing the carnage with smugness. Once again, the key to success had been the special unit, Icy’s family, Deadly, S’rinj, and the newcomer. Makile. He turned the name over in his head. It was a beautiful surname. He had chosen it well. Of course, the young human would never know that the pacle himself had thought it up. No one would know. Except maybe S'rinj who seemed to have the gift of reading his mind, but that didn't matter, Drought considered him a father and a mentor, there was little chance that the forty-year-old, with skin bcker than the charred body at his feet, would tell anyone.

  As he was deep in thought, he heard the sound of a horn echoing above the screams and the cnging of crossed iron. He squinted, trying to see beyond the midnight blue bloodshed. Perfect, Drought could see him. He gave a smirk that mixed hatred with excitement as the enemies retreated. Ixurio stared back at him from across the battlefield. He had deigned to show himself, finally, but it had taken the deaths of several hundred samaltas, whose bodies y on the ground in the mud, disfigured and mutited. The enemy’s chieftain. The two leaders looked into each other’s eyes for a few more seconds, then the gray samalta with the electric yellow strands of hair disappeared.

  - Oh no, you’re not leaving !

  The pacle jumped forward, leaping over the corpses and the panting soldiers waiting for his orders.

  - We’re hunting them, Drought yelled, but don’t go beyond the marshes ! Beware of ambushes !

  Hearing his words, the knights encouraged their regiments. The thousands of soldiers began to run, four at a time, members of the same family keeping an eye on each other. Dodging the arrow from a bow, the general reviewed the armed men. Not a single one was seriously injured, some simply had cuts or projectiles stuck between their iron armor ptes. A real stroke of luck, considering the number of dead on the other side. The risks had been calcuted, but the leader would always bme himself if one of his subordinates could not return to his loved ones.

  Drought focused back in front of him. He could no longer see Ixurio, but after Deadly and Icy’s report, he guessed where he could go. The sentry camp. He turned away from the mass of soldiers chasing the survivors to head toward a clearing to the northeast. It would take him a good quarter of an hour to get there, and he was slower than the samaltas in muddy terrain. But, torn by the fixed idea of ??ending this war once and for all, he continued to advance blindly. He did not walk for fifteen minutes, but twenty or thirty, before realizing that he was lost. The vegetation had become denser, dull green bushes hid the bogs and made him stumble almost at every step. When the mossy ground gave way under his feet and he fell into stagnant, muddy water up to his waist, he understood that he had to give up.

  He stood there, watching the greenish waters turn even darker because of the ashes staining his body. He thought back to his life. His entire existence was devoted to war. He obeyed the orders of the constable, who acted under the directives of the chamberins, themselves ordered by the Grand Chamberin, who was in permanent and direct connection with Our Lady, the goddess Héliote.

  He knew deep down that killing Ixurio would not end the war, it was the very existence of the samaltas that threatened the Empire. For Noctate had stolen her heart from Héliote. For the two goddesses were sisters but enemies. And for this reason, futile but important, because he was a pacle therefore a descendant of the goddesses containing their magic, because he was from the Sh'oz dynasty who had erected the very first temple to the glory of the goddess on the day of the very first revolution of the very first era, for all these reasons important or not, he had to devote his life to protecting the Empire and therefore killing the samaltas.

  He let himself fall backwards, leaning against a mound of earth and algae, his lower body still in the mud, to sigh. It was in this position that he noticed the brown much brighter than the rest of the scenery, but above all that he saw the white spot that was wriggling. He approached the hole, a small space under the roots of a tree, barely above the water level. The pacle leaned over, trying to observe the darkness that the overcast weather made even more blinding. And suddenly turquoise eyes, bright, brilliant, without any pupils, fixed themselves on his. He remained motionless for a few seconds, disconcerted. What was this creature? A sort of humanoid whose skin oscilted between rust and cy, perhaps hazelnut too. But above all rge twisted wings, even more imposing than a bodar. Hairy ears too, but closer to the pacle than the samalta. A twisted back, legs with cloven hooves folded in on themselves, arms full of feathers whose hands were talons and, holding a small white ball… Was it a third pair of limbs, these resembling rge feline paws ?

  The beast pinned its ears back and bared its teeth, letting out a cry that was meant to be terrifying and intimidating, but which sounded like a frightened moan. It was then that Drought saw the three rows of sharp teeth, the forked tongue, and the multiple bck spots like so many freckles. It was an undeniable sign that this beast was a Goulügoulü. But it made no sense ! These immense animals, eating everything in their path, were much rger. They lived in groups, were entirely bck or a dirty brown, and above all they had no wings. What was this thing…

  It was then that the general remembered the csses he had taken with his tutor, one of the best physicists in the capital. Once, they had discussed aberrations. Filthy crossbreeding that should not exist, and gave the baby horrible characteristics that did not even allow it to live most of the time. The reason why each race, whether bodar, pacle, or human, only reproduces among themselves. But what Drought had before his eyes exceeded even what he had learned, and what he thought possible. The creature seemed to be a mixture of bodar, pacle, human, Goulügoulü, maybe even other things ! It was unreal, dirty, gloomy, and it made him sick. This crossbreeding was not natural. And what was he doing here, in the middle of the samalta territory ? But before answering all his questions, he had to do what one should do when one encounters an aberration : end its suffering.

  He pulled his sword out of its sheath, seeing the terror in the eyes of the beast, which had begun to tremble. The pacle whispered, humming a lulby. He tried to reassure the being in front of him, holed up in this hole of roots with his fur soaked by the stagnant water, desperately clutching this white ball between his paws while uttering pintive and heartbreaking moans. Before bringing the weapon down on its neck, he tried to observe what the creature did not seem to want to let go. What was it, this immacute mass full of hair ?

  He heard the sucking noise before he even really understood what was producing it. Then he saw the little white wings tipped with green feathers, the leaf-colored hair streaked with the same pure white, and the big violet eyes barely open. They had a pupil, unlike those of what seemed to be his mother. And they looked at him intensely, curiously. The little one was no bigger than Drought's two hands, and he suckled greedily at the breasts of the brown creature, who held him close in terror when she saw where the pacle's gaze had fallen. She turned, interposing herself between Drought and the baby, protecting him with her body. From her determined look, the general understood what she was thinking. "Ah, she wouldn't even mind dying, as long as I don't touch the little one..." He hesitated. The pupilless irises did not leave him. After perhaps ten minutes, the moans of the baby who had finished his meal could be heard. The aberration stiffened, waiting for Drought’s verdict. The pacle still had his sword out of its sheath, raised above his shoulder.

  - General Drought?

  The screams came from behind him. He had been missing for almost an hour, the soldiers must have started to worry. The assault had long since ended and they had gone looking for him. He thought for a few more seconds, then sheathed his sword.

  - I don’t know if you can understand me, but stay hidden here until everyone has left. Then run far away. Because if I see you again, I will have to kill you both.

  He nodded at the little one.

  - Take care of your son.

  Then the pacle jumped out of the water and made his horns shine to dry his clothes, dusting his cloak from which the mud was falling into dust, dry. He looked at himself in the cuff of his forearm, readjusted his jewelry and his hair, then set off toward the screams. He didn't know why, but he felt an inexplicable knot in his stomach. As if he had just done something he shouldn't have.

  ***

  The assault had gone so well that the special intervention family, who were guarding the prisoner, had not even seen the shadow of an enemy. Makile had remained tense throughout, fearing the intervention of a furtive samalta who had slipped outside the cshes, but nothing had happened. Deadly had spent all this time sleeping, apparently exhausted by the use of her magic, resting her head on Icy's shoulder who was using bits of charcoal to draw whiskers and a monocle on her. S'rinj was watching the prisoner, doing some experiments, or trying to ask questions to which he only got spit in the face and screams in response.

  Deadly knew it was over first, she woke up with a start because of the silence. But Makile thought rather that it was the stopping of the massacre that had disturbed her sleep. The pacle rubbed her eyes, smearing Icy's work in the process, who silently giggled. As if she was used to it, she poured some of the water from her canteen on her cloak and began to rub her face and neck, much to the bodar's dismay.

  - Well, it looks like it's over. Do you think we can go rest now?

  - Not until we get the boss's orders.

  S'rinj had answered her, while trying to see if the samalta liked meat. He handed her a piece, but she sent him flying out of the jail with a kick.

  - We have to wait for him to come and tell us that we're relieved of our duties. And he has to make sure everything is finished there first, as well as take care of the escapees. So rex, kids, take off your boots.

  Deadly waved her hooves at him.

  - Already done, ancestor ! Another pearl of wisdom to pass on to us, perhaps ?

  The physicist burst into a thunderous ugh that startled the prisoner. He wiped away a tear that was pearling at the edge of his wrinkled eyes, and came to join the other members of his family. He took a cigar from his pocket, put it to his lips, then seemed to be looking for someone. Remembering that Drought was not there, he grumbled, took out his flints, and tried again several times in order to create a spark big enough to allow him to smoke. He then colpsed, looking exhausted.

  - But…, Makile ventured, why don’t you use a match?

  S’rinj grumbled.

  - First of all, don’t address me formally. Call me uncle, like the others. Then, matches are a recent invention whose long-term health effects are not yet known. I don't know how they are made, I don't know what they use to allow a piece of metal to magically catch fire without the intervention of wood or stone, so I am wary.

  The young soldier scratched his head for several minutes, thinking about the forty-year-old’s words. Finally, he took out of his purse a very small case containing a metal stick. The physicist frowned.

  - Why are you putting this in front of me when I told you I don’t want it ?

  - Because I can expin to you how it’s made. My father is part of the Trade Workers’ Guild, he’s a fairly renowned merchant. He taught me how to recognize good products, so I know the manufacturing methods as well.

  Makile moved closer to S’rinj until their elbows touched, then began to expin, pointing out the different parts of the tool.

  - See the end ? It’s a bit grainy. It’s actually pieces of flint, like the one you use. They’ve been cast into the metal. You just have to rub them against other pieces to make a spark.

  He pointed to the little case.

  - You see, it has the same texture on the side. So if I rub the match against the case, a spark forms.

  Doing as he expined, the boy demonstrated. He didn't notice that the forty-year-old was looking at him, and not at the object he was holding.

  - It's already usable as such, but they thought of something great on the new models. In fact, there's a rope coated in wax inside the metal stick, like a candle. So, when you make a spark, it sets the rope on fire, and you can calmly light your cigarette or your pile of branches, without worrying about the direction of the wind or if you're close enough for the spark to hit your cigar...

  He finally realized that S'rinj was staring at him. His cheeks flushed.

  - Yes ?

  - Interesting.

  That was the only answer he received. The physicist stood up and pretended to leave. However, he stopped after two steps, and turned back to Makile.

  - Can I borrow your match ?

  The boy remained silent, not understanding.

  - I am convinced by your expnations. Can you lend it to me ? It would be more practical for an old man like me…

  Still completely ignorant of what had just happened, the young soldier put the object back in its case, then threw it towards the physicist who caught it in mid-air. The tter burst out ughing heartily, then continued on his way. Deadly inveighed against him.

  - Hey ancestor, aren’t we supposed to stay here waiting for orders ?

  But she didn’t get any answer. The pacle cursed behind her bck hair, then went back to her toilet. Icy was drawing in the dirt with a stick, a bored pout pstered to her lips. And Makile was still standing there, arms dangling.

  ***

  - Where were you, boss ?

  The family had gathered in the general’s tent, waiting for the results of their operation to find out if they had been useful. Or not. They had had to wait an hour and a half after the end of the battle for Drought to finally return to camp. And this wait was not normal.

  - What were you doing ? Did you find a vein of precious stones ? Their base camp ? The nursery where they keep all the future soldiers ?

  S’rinj had been questioning him for a while now, but the silence of the pacle was starting to annoy him. He rolled the cigar between his fleshy lips, in a movement that was both irritated and irritating. The general remained unmoved, then capituted as usual by raising his hands.

  - I had an existential crisis, to sum it up. The meaning of war, its reason, my pce in the nobility and in the army... In short, a lot of things went through my mind but I think it's good now. The few answers I ck will come with time.

  His tirade left Deadly confused.

  - Um... Boss ? Aren't you like... The most devout soldier we know ? You would give your life for the Fire Empire and its principles. You even killed people because they disrespected this nation. What could have moved you like that ?

  But the pacle evaded the question by changing the subject. He came to rub Icy's hair, who grimaced.

  - Well done everyone, your operation worked even better than I thought. They attacked in a disorderly manner and in broad daylight, not even three hours after you returned, which greatly suited our affairs. They only retreated when Ixurio himself came to the battlefield to sound the retreat, and that didn’t happen before several hundred warriors had died. We managed to chase them back to the sentry camp, where we discovered the scouts that Deadly had subjugated, still in a trance. In total, we have almost a thousand dead and hundreds wounded on the enemy side. And on our side, not a single death to deplore ! However, there are a few wounded that the healers and physicists are examining. I think it would reassure me if you went too, S’rinj.

  - With pleasure, boss!

  The forty-year-old walked away cheerfully, leaving the tent to head towards the infirmary barracks. Drought looked at him for a moment, then when he was no longer visible he turned to the other three.

  - How is the prisoner ? You didn’t let him hurt her too much ?

  Deadly adjusted her scarf, which she now wore out of habit because there was no longer any reason to hide from the sun, then mumbled.

  - She’s still alive and conscious. He didn’t cut her into pieces. You said she’d be useful so we were careful.

  The general let out a long sigh of relief.

  - Great, that’s one less thing to worry about.

  He cleared his throat and his face took on a serious expression.

  - Listen to me. We’ve managed to thin the ranks of the samaltas, enough that the invasion won’t be a problem for at least ten revolutions. However, the lightning raids and assassinations near the border aren’t going to stop. We need to deal them a serious blow. Something that keeps them from getting close to us, something they’ll fear. That’ll be your next mission.

  ***

  Icy flew, spreading his long wings to gain speed and hide from cloud to cloud. With the color of his skin and his feathers, he was undetectable. He continued to observe the ground, watching for the slightest movement. Suddenly, he saw the blue spots below him. Thousands of little dots. He had found the main camp. Alone, he could do nothing. But getting here had taken him several hours, he could never have carried someone for that long. He thought, which was a very perilous exercise for a bodar. His instincts, full of py and incapable of feeling the fear of danger, pushed him to charge straight into the middle of the little dots, and to try to destroy as many things as possible before being stopped.

  He bit his lip, trying to avoid thinking about how much fun this could be. He had a mission. And he was the only one of his race who could resist the call of the game, therefore the only one who could succeed in the objective. Icy pinched his thigh very hard to regain his senses, then went back to hide inside a cloud. He took the parchment that was hanging from his belt, then unfolded it, and grabbed one of his quills as well as a pot of ink. The bodar then began to draw the view he had before his eyes, from the camp of the army of the Fire Empire to that of the samaltas. He did not forget to mark the pce where Deadly had subjugated the sentries, as well as the pce where Drought had told him he had seen Ixurio during the battle, and the many other guard posts he had come across on the way.

  Once he had finished, he took the opposite path, passing from one cover to another again. He clutched the parchment to his chest, careful not to crease it, but he quickly realized that the humidity of the clouds was starting to make the ink smudge. He cursed and decided in a split second that to complete his mission, he would have to risk his safety. He emerged from the foggy mass that camoufged him and descended below, folding his wings into a tight face that almost made him turn around. A gust of wind pushed him back against the cloud yer. Icy stifled a small cry as the bde of frozen wind passed over his ribs. The bodar would quickly reach hypothermia with all this humidity. He had to descend even lower. He gnced below him. The marshes had been several kilometers away since they had turned into virgin forest, and some of the immense trees rose so high into the sky that, if he lost any more altitude, Icy would have to brush against the foliage. But he had no choice. It was dangerous, almost suicidal, but he had to bring this parchment back to Drought.

  The bodar dove again, reaching the height of the first branches. He flew, dodging the highest ones, sometimes running over some to accelerate and propel himself. His heart was pounding. He had seen so many of his colleagues die this way, because they had forgotten that the enemies lived in the trees, that the adrenaline warmed his whole body. But despite himself, he was a bodar. And this danger, this urgency, this fear, it was a fabulous game Almost addictive.

  He felt the sharp pain before he even heard the whistle of the arrow slicing through the air. His cut thigh began to bleed profusely, projecting red droplets that fell on the leaves. Spotted. Now, the situation was truly catastrophic. And he was still almost an hour from the camp. He might not make it in time.

  He exhaled deeply, ignoring the pain, not slowing down, keeping his senses sharp. Very well, he had gotten himself into a bad situation. That's what bodars do all the time for fun. And yet, they don't all die. So he had to act like one of his own, and tackle fate.

  Icy jumped as high as he could, folding his wings to offer less surface to aim at, and dove like a picket through the thick foliage of a tree. He came out, rolled to the side, nding on a branch more fragile than the others, removed the twig that had stuck in the feathers of his neck, and jumped again. Around him, projectiles rained down. Stones, arrows, all of it made the air and the ears of the bodar twist, who did not let himself be distracted. From stunt to stunt, he advanced tirelessly towards his goal. And, he would have been ashamed to admit it, he was having fun.

  A slightly sharp stone hit him behind the head, knocking him out for a short moment. He saw red for a few seconds, but continued running. However, this stoppage worked against him. Another arrow hit him, this time in the arm. Icy groaned but did not stop jumping and running. He tried to remember how long it would take him to get to a pce where he would be safe, but the view on the ground was so different from the one he had from the sky, that in the end he was not even really sure he was going in the right direction.

  A stone split the air next to him. By the heavy sound, he knew before it even hit him that he would not be able to avoid it. And it was huge. The rock hit his face, and he lost consciousness as he was thrown from the branch, falling into the void, towards the ground several dozen meters below him.