Robert moved through the rebel camp, his steps heavy with the weariness of two days of hard marching. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, damp earth, and the lingering smoke of cookfires. The camp sprawled across the field, a sea of tents and banners rippling in the wind, each bearing the colors of different lords who had cast their lot in this war.
n sat in clusters, tending to their weapons,massaging their foot , or gnawing at hardened bread. So sharpened blades with quiet focus, while others muttered prayers or shared uneasy laughter, trying to shake off the fatigue that clung to them like a second skin. The horses, tethered near the supply wagons, shifted restlessly, snorting as stable hands moved among them.
Robert barely spared any of it a glance. He had seen camps like this before, knew the pattern well—where the archers clustered, where the sellswords camped apart from the sworn banners, where the wounded lay in rows beneath canvas awnings, tended by priests and healers. He walked with purpose, his gaze fixed ahead, his thoughts already in the tent that awaited him.
At last, he ca upon it—a great pavilion, larger than the others, its dark fabric lined with golden embroidery that caught the torchlight. It stood beside a towering pole, atop which the Star of the Gods glead against the night sky.
Robert halted in front of the tent, his eyes lingering on the banner. For a long mont, he simply stood there, staring at it, as if seeking so unspoken answer in its silent folds. The light from the torches cast flickering shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw, the unreadable expression in his eyes.
Then, without another mont’s hesitation, he reached forward, pulled back the heavy flap, and stepped inside.
The tent was nearly barren, its vast space empty save for a single figure kneeling in the dim glow of candlelight. Elios, the old priest, knelt upon the dirt, his hands clasped together, his head bowed in solemn prayer. His lips moved soundlessly, murmuring words ant only for the gods, his frail fra still as a stone. The air inside the tent was thick with incense, the faint scent of myrrh lingering from so earlier ritual.
Robert made no move to disturb him. He simply stepped inside and lowered himself onto the ground, resting his arms on his knees as he sat in silence. He was in no rush.
The only sound that broke the quiet was the soft clinking of tal as Robert shifted—his armor, still strapped to him from the long march, settling against itself. It was a subtle noise, but Elios, even lost in his devotion, clearly noticed it. Still, he did not falter, did not lift his gaze or pause his whispered words.
Minutes passed, the air between them heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts. Then, at last, Elios straightened, his aged joints creaking softly as he rose from his kneeling position.
His eyes, deep-set and sharp despite his years, regarded the barely younger man with sothing between amusent and concern.
"It has been so ti since I have seen you in prayer," Elios said, his voice carrying the gentle rasp of age. "I had begun to worry that I had caused you to lose your rekindled faith." His tone was light, but beneath it lay the edge of true worry, of a man who had spent years trying to guide another down a righteous path. "And I thank you," he added with a slight nod, "for allowing to finish without interruption. The gods always deserve our full devotion, no matter who waits outside their house."
Robert exhaled slowly, pressing his hands against his knees before pushing himself to his feet. The dirt clung to his armor where he had sat, but he paid it no mind.
"When a teacher shows his bad sides," Robert said, stretching his shoulders slightly, "it tends to stick. Maybe I learned a little too much from you." There was sothing almost teasing in his words, but the weight behind them was real. Elios had been a ntor, a guide—but like all n, he was flawed. And Robert, for all his doubts and defiance, had been watching, learning, absorbing.
Elios’s expression darkened, a shadow of pain flickering across his aged features. His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a mont, the weight of his years seed to settle heavier upon him. He folded his hands before him, exhaling slowly, as if choosing his next words with great care.
"Robert," he said, his voice softer now but no less firm, "we are all human. And as humans, sotis we must be capable of evil to achieve a greater good." He turned slightly, his gaze drifting toward the tent’s entrance as though looking beyond it—beyond the camp, beyond the war, to the suffering that stretched across the land. "Have you not seen the despair that festers in every corner of this world? The people abandoned, left to rot, while those entrusted with their well-being grow fat off their misery? They cut the wool, then the skin, and leave the sheep bleeding and dying." He turned back to Robert, his eyes searching. "Tell , how can you look upon that and call inaction virtue?"
Robert let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked away for a mont. "If you want to defend your belief over who should rule the land," he muttered, "you’re wasting air." His voice carried neither mockery nor anger, just exhaustion—of a man who had long since tired of such argunts. "I’ve seen enough to know that a ruler’s goodness ans little. I have watched the princess and her husband—seen the things they have done." He looked back at Elios now, his expression unreadable. "They are not good people, and yet their people prosper. They drink their wine and toast their nas." His jaw tightened slightly. "A man can be evil, and still the people may gain from him. They may even love him for it.A good country is not ford on virtue, but on the pain on those from other countries.A man happiness can only start from the pain of another"
For a mont, silence stretched between them, tense but not hostile. Then Robert shook his head. "But I didn’t co here for a debate on philosophy." His voice was firm now, cutting through the mont like a blade. He took a step forward, his gaze steady. "I ca to ask you so questions."
Robert crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering as he fixed Elios with a look of quiet scrutiny. His voice was steady, tinged with a hint of frustration, though asured in tone.
"I fail to understand why we are marching south," he said bluntly. "Until now, we have done nothing but evade battle. Yet now, suddenly, we change course." He narrowed his eyes slightly, as if trying to see through whatever veil of secrecy Elios had drawn over the matter. "I may have fallen low, but do not mistake for a fool. I still have years of war behind , and I know a shift in tactics when I see one." His brow furrowed. "Sothing has happened. What is it?"
Elios studied him for a mont, then, to Robert’s surprise, he smiled. It was not the kind of smile one gives an old friend, nor a triumphant grin of a man gloating over secrets he held—it was the smile of a man whose faith had been rewarded.
"The gods," Elios said, his voice carrying a quiet certainty, "have provided for the righteous."
Robert exhaled sharply through his nose"You always talk in riddles."
Elios chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No riddle this ti," he said. "Normally, I would not share such news so freely, but there has been a great developnt." He took a step closer, his eyes gleaming with sothing that Robert could only describe as conviction. "The prince’s host is not as united as it appears."
Robert’s brows lifted slightly.
Elios continued, his voice lowering ever so slightly. "It seems that many within his ranks do not support him—especially after discovering his true position."
Robert frowned. "His true position?"
Elios nodded. "Many nobles are willing to defect to us," he said, his tone confident, as though he were already envisioning the outco. "They are prepared to turn against the prince, to force him to the negotiating table—to end this war before it drags on for years to co."
Robert’s posture stiffened, his instincts prickling with unease as he processed Elios’s words. A shift like this—nobles turning against their prince so suddenly—felt too convenient. His fingers twitched at his side as a knot of anxiety ford in his gut.
His voice was tense when he finally spoke. "And how, exactly, has this... developnt co about?" He tried to keep his tone neutral, but there was an edge to it, a wariness that Elios could not have missed.
Elios, however, seed entirely at ease. "An envoy sent by Lord Damaris inford us of the prince’s growing isolation," he explained, his voice carrying the sa quiet confidence it always did. "He brought word of discontent among the lords, of their unwillingness to fight for a cause that does not serve them—"
Robert’s ears rang, drowning out Elios’s words as the realization struck him like a hamr to the skull.
Was he truly the only one that realised it?
They weren’t seizing an opportunity—they were marching straight into a trap.
As for the reason on why he knew that, it was rather easy.
He was made to prepare one long ago.
User Comments
0 comments from readers