Aria was furious when she reached Arendt and set up camp, and she immediately sent for Basil.

"The order was not to engage the enemy until I arrived. Why did you ignore it?"

Basilio had been fighting alongside her since before Hoselweck, and had been one of the generals who had sided with her in the coup that had placed the eastern army under her command.

He respected Aria for both her status and her qualities as a commander, and he would never have dreamed of responding to her inappropriately or defending an act of insubordination such as the one he had just committed.

Even in the aftermath of Bedburg, despite his intervention having been decisive for the victory, he had bowed his head and received a severe reprimand for his reckless conduct that had led to his harsh defeat against Daemon.

But on that occasion, he nevertheless felt compelled to respond.

"The situation seemed favorable. I wanted to chase them off the hill and prepare the ground for the decisive victory. You always say that it's important to know how to take the initiative."

"Not when it goes against orders. Daemon is unpredictable, he always has one last card to play. You should have consulted me or asked for my permission, and perhaps we wouldn't have to deal with all these deaths now."

"I would have risked missing the opportunity. And with all due respect, Consul, you haven't seemed very resolute these past few days."

In other times Aria would never have forgiven such a lack of respect, not even if it was carried out by a General to whom she owed a lot.

But a part of her could not help but admit that for a few days she had no longer been herself. All the confidence and self-control that she had managed to maintain even in the most difficult situations had disappeared, crumbled because of a defeat that paradoxically she had suffered not on a battlefield, but in the hearts of her citizens.

As if that wasn't enough, she just had to look around to understand that among her Officers, Basil wasn't the only one who thought so.

"I know I have given you more than one reason to doubt me, and I do not need to tell you that the events of Faria have certainly affected me. But even so, I don't want any of you to get the wrong idea. I came here to give the Empire back its lands and take back my own, and I will pursue this goal until the end. But I won't be able to do it if you don't continue to support me as you have done up until now. Therefore, from this moment on I demand that you all do as I say. Otherwise, we will only gain an additional advantage to our enemies. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Consul." they all replied more or less convinced.

But fate is cruel. And just when it seemed that Aria had regained control of the situation, another blow arrived.

"Consul. A carrier pigeon has arrived."

"What does it say?"

"I don't know, Sir. It says that you are to open it."

Aria then read it, and almost immediately, the small piece of paper slipped from her shaking hands and fell to the ground; one of the Legates picked it up and read it as well, and at that point the effect was the same as an explosion.

"This cannot be! I refuse to believe it's true!"

"I agree, it's definitely a lie from the enemy!"

"They must be desperate to resort to such a pitiful trick. Who would ever believe it? They clearly want to confuse us."

But before they could think of sending someone to verify their theory, some officers interrupted the meeting with further information that went in a completely different direction.

"Scouts have informed us that a large group of centaurs left the main camp a few hours ago and headed west."

"That makes sense," Eilon said. "Centaurs are powerful runners; they can run an entire day without tiring. If the Union has indeed invaded Western Eirinn, sending them to try and stop them would be the most logical solution."

"No one asked your opinion, beast."

"He's right," Aria said, sounding increasingly shocked. "Depriving himself of a good portion of his heavy cavalry at a time like this is a foolish move. No one would go to that far just to bluff."

"Or maybe those monsters are trying to outflank us, and they're using the invasion story to hide it."

"But we know that Daemon sent his best unit under Marquis Longinus to the west before we even got here," another Legate said. "If the invasion thing were true, it would make sense."

"There's another thing that doesn't add up. I don't believe this message comes from Haselworth. Why would he let us know he's in such trouble?"

"You're right, it doesn't make any sense. What if it was one of our spies? We sent plenty before the invasion, maybe one got through."

As the minutes passed, the idea that the information was true spread among the commanders, causing panic to mount even in their war-hardened minds.

"Let's send all agents and spies west. Let's contact all our informants. No matter the cost. I want to be absolutely sure that there really is a Union invasion underway against the Free State."

"Yes, Consul."

"What about the attack, Sir? Are you still determined to fight tomorrow?"

Aria hesitated, one hand trying to hide the trembling of the other.

"No. If we act impulsively, we risk playing into Daemon's hands. Our men have been fighting or marching all day today. We'll let them rest. We also need to figure out if that centaur unit is actually attempting a flanking maneuver. On the other hand, we now know that the enemy army has completely reunited at this point. We will wait until we have more detailed information. Moreover, if the news of the attack is true, Daemon will also be desperate, and may decide to attack us. Let's increase the surveillance around the camp. Double the lookouts and increase the number of scouts."

"Yes, ma'am."



Thecla had never known happiness in her life.

Since birth, there had been nothing but pain for her.

Making herself immune to emotions since she was very young had been the only way to not go crazy from the pain caused by everything she was forced to suffer every day. And even though she was free now, that mask had become such a part of her that she had forgotten what was underneath.

Like almost all satyrs, she was born a slave on a Union plantation, passing from one master to another until she reached the hands of Ewond, the dyer of Dundee, at the age of eight.

Ewond had an army of slaves in his service, mostly children, and was one of the richest men in the province. However, this did not prevent him from also being a greedy and sadistic exploiter who forced his little slaves to work until they were exhausted, feeding them half-rotten food while he gorged himself in front of them on all sorts of delicacies.

However, if he did not lack anything with food, in everything else he was instead a real tightwad; he used to buy and sell on the black market, and paid bribes to the militia to circumvent the taxes on age limits. And since he did not want to buy a bind, to keep his little slaves in line he used the old ways: beatings, whippings, and entire nights spent tied up in the courtyard, with no guarantee of still being alive the next day.

His wife and son were even worse than him, a bitter housewife angry at the world and a little sociopath who enjoyed causing trouble at the dry cleaners, blaming the slaves and enjoying the spectacle of his father punishing them.

Remembering the first three or four years of her service was one of the few things that could crack her stone face, so she tried to think about it as little as possible.

She didn't mind being a messenger, because it meant she could spend a lot of time alone; being around other people made her uncomfortable, as if she feared someone might be able to see what was underneath the stone shell she had built.

She also loved being able to run; except for the first few years, she had spent most of her life in that fetid place that smelled of urine and cheap dye, forced to quell the irrepressible desire for the outdoors that had always distinguished her species.

This is also why she loved the task that Daemon had assigned to her, even when, as in those cases, it forced her to run, jump and climb along steep paths without being able to stop for a moment.

Even the fastest and most agile monsters couldn't match her; she could scale mountains, leap ravines, and traverse forests as easily as humans walked through their stinking cities.

By dawn she had crossed the Gael Pass, pausing only a few minutes to pay her respects at the monument erected to all those who would never leave that frozen plain, and before noon she had arrived in the marshes near Basterwick.

The area was completely shrouded in the usual ghostly fog, and the ground was so wet that her hooves were almost completely sunk into the mud.

But she wasn't afraid.

She couldn't be, because she had already experienced so much fear in her life that she had become immune to it.

Failing to complete her task was perhaps the only thing she could possibly be a little afraid of.

Ignoring the moans, the shadows in the fog, even the demonic faces that seemed to appear and disappear just below the surface of the water, Tecla walked through the swamp, until in the distance she began to hear the cry of a child.

Before she left, Daemon had warned her of what awaited her, and what she could expect.

At first, she tried to ignore the sound, but it would fade away and then reappear in front of her no matter which direction she went.

Then, when she realized she was lost, she understood that the only thing to do was to indulge the one responsible for everything and she moved towards the lament.

With each step the fog became thicker, while the ground under her hooves became hard and compact like a cobblestone road.

A little girl finally appeared in the mist, a small satyr who cried desperately in front of a basket of dirty and crumpled clothes.

Thecla had hated cockroaches ever since she woke up in the middle of the night completely covered in those disgusting little creatures when she was very little. They were perhaps the only thing still capable of making her lose her self-control. And of course Ewond's son had thought it funny to hide some of them in the laundry basket she had to deliver to the Wallaces' grocery store every day.

She had sat crying for hours in the middle of the street, terrified that she would have to go home and tell them what had happened, without anyone even looking at her.

Then a voice was heard, and the shape of another child appeared from the fog: "Are you okay?"

At the time, Thecla did not yet know who Daemon really was, having been educated not to reveal his secret even to slaves who were not part of the ghetto.

Up until that point, apart from the children of her many masters, the grocer's daughter had been the only other human child who had ever spoken to her and treated her with any kindness.

"I know you. You work at the dry cleaners. What happened?"

"The newly dyed fabrics... they're all ruined... the mistress will beat me."

A heavy step behind her made Tecla jump, but when a large woman with a broom passed by her completely ignoring her, for a moment she felt like a small, helpless child again.

"Look what you've done, you little incompetent!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to! Please, Mistress, don't hit me!"

She didn't.

But not because she felt better that day.

"Wait, Madam." Daemon said, stepping in. "She're right, it wasn't her fault. I'm the one who bumped into her."

Once a month Daemon received a small allowance, enough to buy a stick of sugar, a mapula juice or some other sweet.

By saving every single coin for months, he had managed to collect enough money to buy his first book, and that afternoon he was going to the traveling merchant after school.

Cleaning and ironing those clothes again certainly didn't cost that much, but the lady was careful not to say so by taking it all.

"Hurry up and bring everything home!" she yelled as she walked away

"Why did you do that? You shouldn't have. That money was yours."

"I'm happy to spend it, if it will save you from being beaten at least for today."

Then Daemon also helped her to gather all the fabric, and when they looked into each other's eyes, little Tecla felt a completely new sensation that she couldn't understand.

"I promise you." he said making her heart beat "One day I will put an end to all this."

Immediately after the fleeting vision dissolved, another replaced it.

And this time too, Thecla couldn't hold back a strong emotion.

Almost ten years had passed since that first meeting.

Both she and Daemon had grown up; he had become important, while she was still the exploited and abused scullery maid she had always been, building that famous armor around herself to be able to endure the pain.

That would be her last day as a slave.

It seemed like a spring day like all the others, which Thecla usually spent immersed up to her ankles in a tub full of clothes, dye and urine.

Suddenly Ewond's son, who had joined the militia in the meantime, came running into the shop shouting something about a revolt in the ghetto, and immediately afterwards his parents began to gather everything they could and prepare to leave.

Greed had been their ruin, because trying to fill the wagon with everything of value had given the rebels time to occupy the city.

And the surprise, not only for Thecla, had been great when she saw who was leading the revolt.

Seeing him like this, with his brown jacket covered in blood, his scowling look and the sword in his hand, Thecla had almost struggled to recognize the kind boy she thought she had always known.

He had no mercy.

Unlike many other slavers, who were simply forced to choose between exile and a life of service to the Free State, Mr. Ewond and his family were stripped of everything they owned and sent away with nothing but the clothes on their backs.

"I promised you, Thecla. That I would put an end to this."

That day, Thecla had sworn to herself that she would do anything to repay the debt she owed to Daemon, and when she learned that the rebel army needed messengers, she had immediately stepped forward.

She had told herself that she was doing it out of gratitude; but perhaps there was another reason, one that a proud person like her would never have the courage to admit even to herself.

She wanted to be close to him.

She never thought she could feel that way about a human being.

Maybe she had fallen in love with him from the first moment; maybe it was something that had grown over time.

But she was not naive, nor one of those girls with their heads full of romantic fantasies.

She knew her appearance well; what human would have found someone like her attractive, with her stubby goat legs, her cumbersome and noisy hooves, her half-animal muzzle and curved horns?

Scalia, Mary, Natuli; perhaps even Athreia, who from the waist up was a rare beauty. Against such opponents, there was simply no challenge.

Soon that second vision also disappeared, and as the fog magically cleared Thecla found herself in a small, cold room in the company of a lamia who watched her slyly and smoked a long pipe.

"Poor little satyr. So out of touch with emotion that she can't make sense of what she's feeling."

The girl quickly regained her composure, staring into Kali's eyes without apparent fear.

"You are the Witch of the Rocks, aren't you? Daemon sent me to ask for your help."

"And what makes little Daemon think I have any desire to help him?"

Thecla answered the question by handing the lamia Daemon's letter and his bow.

"You value the sacrifices a person is willing to make to gain your service, right? Or at least that's what the stories say."

"Perhaps. So what?"

"This is Daemon's bow. He made it with his own hands, and it's the thing he cares about most in the world. He's willing to give it to you if you help him. He also said that the fate of all of us depends on your help."

Kali smiled, inhaled some smoke, then snapped her fingers; and the bow disappeared from Thecla's hands, turning into glowing dust.

"So. What can I do for little Daemon?"



Nobody went to sleep that night.

The next morning, the hills around Arendt were eerily quiet. The two camps, only a few miles apart, were in a sort of suspended limbo, almost as if they were trying to ignore each other, in the mutual hope that the other army would disappear at any moment like a bad dream.

The soldiers and non-commissioned officers naturally did not know the reason for this wait, and anyone on either side who tried to ask questions or even dared to whisper about problems further west was immediately whipped.

All day Aria hoped that Daemon would attack, a desperate move to try to break the stalemate so he could rush west to deal with this supposed Union invasion.

But Daemon evidently had the blood of a serpent in his veins, and he remained calm where anyone else would have eventually given in to panic, leaving her to stew in her own juices.

In the evening, while Aria was trying to put something in her stomach, the messengers sent to gather news returned to the camp.

"The news is confirmed, Consul. The Northern Army of the Union has crossed the Jesi and launched an attack on the Free State. Some rumors say that President Medici himself is leading the army, but we cannot be sure."

"Where are they now?"

"They were originally going along the Via Imperiale, but they deviated just before they reached Dundee. Now they are heading east."

Basil intervened: "For all we know, they could be headed here."

"Or maybe they want to take Grote Muren," another Legate speculated. "If they succeed, we will never be able to stop them."

They couldn't wait any longer.

It was truly ironic.

Aria had managed to maintain control of the situation until the victory at Bedburg, and from that moment, everything had started to go to pieces.

"How many cannons did we manage to recover at Faria?"

"About twenty."

"Together with our own, we should have about fifty of them. Arrange them along a line that covers the entire promontory from the temple to the woods. Tomorrow we will concentrate all our forces there. If we can breach the center as he attempted to do at Bedburg, we will have victory in our grasp."

"At your orders, Consul."