The sound of the Yera met them well before the Yera itself did for it was one of the many great rivers of Laenon, and that which his people derived their name. The beastious flow was feared as one of the most monstrous - at least, that is just what Lyial had heard, for the large man had never seen it. The five of them rode out of the woods into what must have been one of a dozen clearings in all of the Wooded Yerona Province. The clearing sported a short hill which itself ended in a cliff overhanging the river. The five of them rode carefully up the hill on what seemed to be a long forgotten dirt path. The overlook offered a vantage point with which to gaze over many miles of woods and not much else. The water spilt forth so violently that, at times, droplets would find their way to the men’s faces.

  He heard a quiet but sharp inhale next to him. “It’s a shame what circumstances precede my meeting such a magnificent beauty.” Simmeon said in his Lordish way, in a wispy voice that was either awed or tired. Though, why over complicate such a simple statement? Lyial scoffed and spit, something of a habit of his

  “Just say you’re not happy to be seeing the damned thing for the first time like…” he began, looking for the words, “...like this.” Lyial replied in a gruff voice, swishing his arms about in reference to the whole damned situation, disdain for the lord not hidden well if even attempted to be hidden at all. Simmeon held his chin up, the proud lord, the great conjuror, the elite Render… he was not one for simplicity nor was he one to be happy to be spoken to in such a tone by a low born such as Lyial, especially one inferior in rank, though he did not respond. Lyial was all the happier, for he was a rough man and had no patience for these Lordly types - Feanias was alright though, he supposed. In Lyial’s eyes, it was not birth that made a man great, but power, and nothing evens the playing field between lord and serf like Rending… or like the musket on his back.

  “You seeing anything?” Lyial had heard David ask Reiner as they both knelt next to the man, who himself had knelt just prior. Looking up and down the skyline using his spyglass many a time before replying. Reiner shook his head.

  Reiner sighed before he spoke. “No smoke, grey or black.” He said in his usual cold - but now uncharacteristically tired - voice. Lyial cursed in his mind. His act of being the zealous patriot after traitors was getting harder to perform by the minute, but Lyial didn’t cherish the idea of letting the others in on what he knew. But, he also knew the ruins of the blade removed any chance of a happy ending, and the feeling that he was at least free to hope was stripped from him slowly and painfully - after all, if they wouldn’t send a smoke signal that means they either deserted for true, which was entirely unlikely, or - more likely - are more afraid of what chases them finding them… or it already had. The prior, as sad as he would be to see officers he knew and befriended be deserters, was preferable to stumbling upon what would make the latter true. “You’re the logistically minded… tell me, what’re their rations like?” Reiner asked David quietly, not daring to think of the harsh reality.

  “Just enough food and water for the round trip. Should’ve only taken them thirteen, maybe fourteen days… so two week’s worth of food and water.” The polite lord answered. “But… still, these aren’t a bunch of dolts. If they ran out of food they’d forage, if they had no water… well-” David looked down to the river, “-they’d be fine.” He finished. Lyial could have laughed were the situation not so dire.

  Reiner rubbed his forehead, deep in thought. “So if they’re dead, it’s no natural cause?” Reiner asked, though there was no question. David answered the man with silence. “My brother… dead.” Reiner said under his breath, tasting the words, daring himself to come to grips with a startling reality. “Wolves?” Reiner asked quietly, though Lyial couldn’t help but think he already knew the answer to his own question.

  “We don’t know that.” David replied, not sounding like he was believing himself. Reiner looked at him with weary eyes.

  “What else could take down a practised Veil Render?” Reiner replied rhetorically. “Lance was always better at it than I was… not to mention the blade.” He looked down, worried for but a moment before remembering himself and shaking his head. He stood and stretched. “Regardless, conjecture will do us no good. We must press on.” He said, as if to convince himself more than anyone else that going forward was better than backward. Though no man was convinced, they did just that.

  Strolling back to their steeds, they mounted up and carefully made way along the river. Lyial patted the neck of the great black stallion he rode atop, Charger he had named him. After all, he was not a scout nor a skirmisher like his compatriots who were all cuirassiers, he was a Hussar, heavily armoured and fiercely belligerent.

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  He saw Feanias pick an apple from his satchel and lean forward to give his steed some feed. Maggie, as he had named her, seemed rather pleased. He heard Charger huff beneath him, eyeing them jealously. “You’re a war horse, act like one.” Lyial said quietly to the steed in a stern but affectionate tone, giving him a pat on the neck. The stallion gave him angry eyes and Lyial sighed. “Fine, but I better get no more complaints from you.” Lyial said in an affectionate voice as he offered Charger a handful of sugar cubes from his own satchel.

  They rode along the river for some hours. “Would they have crossed the river?” Feanias asked to nobody in particular while he gazed about, still in awe over the ferocity of the river.

  “Have you seen a spot fit to ford?” Simmeon replied in a sharp tone. Feineas shook his head sullenly, not pleased to be rebuffed but feeling unable to backtalk a superior officer - even now.

  The first day after the troop had left, talk had been hushed but lively. Perhaps they were deserters today, but tomorrow they’d be heroes who had found the missing scouts (or hung the traitors). That talk was nowhere to be found now.

  He remembered the conversation like it was just a moment ago. “I know, my friend, I know.” Marcus had said in reply to Lyial when he was complaining about how long it was taking to march out, how much he and his fellow Hussars longed to fight instead of waiting for the conjurors to bind more dregs for the infantry. After all, the line might be full of the undead, but the distinguished warriors of the Hussars and Curissiars did not have the time to waste - glory would not wait for the living. “Tell me, I am not sure if the news has met your brigade yet… have the Hussars heard of the disappearance of fifth and seventh scout groups?” Limas had asked him.

  Lyial thought for a moment before raising his mug of rationed beer to take a swig. He furrowed his brows as he remembered what he could “Aye, there’s been whispers of highborn desertion.” The large man replied. Marcus had shook his head.

  Marcus leaned forward and whispered in a conspiratorial manner. “What if I told you that we have reason to believe that they weren’t deserters?” he asked in a hush. Lyial reciprocally leaned forward, interested. “What I’m about to tell you… a word of it slips and I’ll make sure your name ends up on the Pit shipment manifest.” Marcus had said seriously. That had gotten Lyial’s interest.

  “Lance wasn’t scouting, he was hunting.” Marcus said quietly as he slid a piece of ripped parchment across the table to Lyial, looking like it was torn straight from a fine journal. Lyial read it carefully, over and over, double checking that he read every marking correctly. It was mostly logistics, but one part stuck out sorely amongst the rest.

  The letter had no date, as it was ripped from the middle of a greater whole. Lyial read it again, slowly. “As per Colonel Kron’s recommendation, and Command’s approval, I will be assigning one Sergeant Lance Kron and his third scouting regiment on Operation ******** as per The Ancient’s decree. I must say that I disapprove of sending such a young officier, especially for a task as crucial as finding the ******** and what it means to **** , but it is not my decision. I will see to it that Colonel Kron’s commands are followed absolutely despite my own reservations.” Bits were redacted, which made no sense. Why would one redact their own journal? Regardless, that slipped his mind due to the greater implication.

  “What are they meant to be looking for?” Lyial asked quietly. Marcus shrugged in reply. “How the hell did you get this?” The man followed up with.

  “When Toram heard that the fifth and seventh never returned, he tore that from his compendium and for some ungodly reason he ordered me to burn it instead of burning it himself. I think he wanted me to read it…” Marcus said with a nonchalant shrug, clearly not believing his own justification, “We need to find them… and I have a feeling command won’t allow any search parties.” He said, the implication clear. Marcus sighed, looked around for a moment, and then back at Limas with a cheeky grin. “So, you in?” the man had asked.

  “I don’t like this.” Lyial had replied, short and gruff.

  “That’s not a no.” Marcus said with a small smile. Lyial nodded in response. Marcus patted him on the arm, “That’s a good man.” He had said.

  “When we get back, I’m going to kick your ass for sending me with these Lords”. Lyial thought to himself.

  “If”, he mentally corrected.

  “Wait.” He had said, grabbing Marcus’ arm as he went to leave. Marcus looked at him curiously. “One thing doesn’t add up. Why was it so thoroughly redacted when it’s meant for his superiors' eyes? Why bother?” Lyial asked.

  Marcus looked around and whispered, “It’s above the Major’s head. I was there when he received the orders, it was the Colonel’s call.” He said quietly. “They suspect a mole.” He said. Marcus stood there for a moment, picking at his hands absentmindedly before clearly making up his mind on something. “As do I.” He had added cryptically before walking off.