Whatever General Osote wanted from them, it would be bloody.

The Victrix general’s hexagonal command hut was barely visible beneath the shadow of the thorn trees common to this part of the Scalus lands. A fire burning behind its green canvas walls beckoned lieutenants Mero and Quo with the hope of fresh quail roasting over its heat. Sentries posted at each of the six corners of the tent met the eyes of these two most trusted souls as they walked the traditional path around the entire structure before approaching the entrance. It was an old custom, from the days when Victrix were superstitious. Back then, it was meant to show the guards anyone approaching was not a ghost. Now it served to prove anyone approaching had no ill intent, because all six sentries had noted their presence and any odd behavior, and could be summoned instantly in the event of trouble.

“A summons in the middle of the night to the general’s quarters,” murmured Quo to his friend. He rolled his shoulders around to loosen the knots forming in the aftermath of the day’s battle. “I’m sure it must be good news.”

Mero cracked a brief smile. Brief, for he had no other. Not unless he was with his love. Then he smiled rapturously.

The two Victrix men paused just short of the entrance flaps, straightening their black quilted leather vests and giving each other a quick scan for anything out of place. These were not dress uniforms, and Osote wouldn’t begrudge the scrapes and stains of yesterday’s battle, but he still expected his men to show attention to detail when standing before him.

Mero pulled back his shoulders, which were broader than Quo’s. Quo flexed his knees to limber them up, bringing himself down to Mero’s height; he was taller than Mero by two hand spans. Mero batted a stray dry leaf from Quo’s tightly curled black hair. Annoyed, Quo spat on the thumb of his right hand and made as if to wipe smudge away from beneath Mero’s dark eyes.

Mero blocked the attempt. “I’m fine, Mother.”

Quo grinned. “You started it.”

It was the sort of exchange that kept soldiers sane. The war with the Scalus had gone on too long.

Satisfied with their appearance, Mero and Quo pushed aside the heavy woven tent flaps and stepped inside.

General Osote sat behind a folding table, crafted by the finest Cerchi woodworkers in Seena. Mero never failed to marvel at the craftsmanship; how the Cerchi made simple wood so intricate and fine while still functional and mechanical, he’d never understand. He thought of himself as more or less a brute—made for war, not fine artistic labor. The table, made from trees nearer to home, gave off the slightest tantalizing acrid odor even over the woodsmoke from the general’s fire.

The general was not alone. Captain Helenai sat on a leather-bound chest at the general’s left, her back straight and chin up. She stood as Mero and Quo approached. The three soldiers traded nods. Helenai’s short golden hair twinkled in the firelight of the pit in the center of the tent. It reminded Mero of the hair of his true love back home.

He fought a brief swell of homesickness for her. Her hair was longer and more fine than Helenai’s, and he longed to run his fingers through it again. It had been months.

Helenai stood proudly in her full armor kit, sword at her side. She let her battle-calloused hand rest on the pommel in manner of all Victrix soldiers as Mero and Quo bowed toward Osote.

“Lieutenants,” Osote greeted them.

He gave his billowing gray beard a pull with one gloved hand, a habit of his that told Mero and Quo that things were, in fact, about to get very bad. Osote had not ascended to the rank of General, second only to the Magistrate of Seena, by frightening easily. The lieutenants had only ever seen him make this nervous gesture if something quite wicked was in the offing.

“You’re acquainted with Captain Helenai?”

“We are, sir,” Mero said. “She is one of our finest. She slew three Scalus in the battle yesterday.”

“My team helped,” Helenai demurred, dipping her narrow chin in deference to the general.

The general frowned, surprising Mero. “This is no time for humility, Helenai. We are on the precipice of betrayal.”

Mero tensed, and felt Quo do the same.

Osote waved a hand at Helenai, who nodded in return and faced the two lieutenants, formally clasping her hands behind her back.

“One of my scouts died this evening. He’d been patrolling southward, and came upon one of our own soldiers in conversation with a small group of Scalus.”

Mero winced angrily.

Quo was more vocal in his disgust. “One of our own talking to Scalus?”

“Very few have such a skill,” Mero said. The Scalus language could barely be called such, in the opinion of most citizens of Seena. Including Mero.

“Yes,” Helenai said. “Myself and a handful of others have been able to learn rudiments of their language. The trouble is, I don’t know who it was that met with them. My scout was ambushed by other Scalus warriors as he watched, and barely escaped. He survived only long enough to tell me of the betrayal . . . and their next meeting.”

Mero gripped his hilt. “When.”

“Tonight. Soon.”

Quo spat into the fire. It sizzled angrily on a log. “How could a scout fall prey to an ambush?”

Helenai’s jaw visibly clenched. “Scouts too are merely men.”

Quo touched a palm to his chest in apology. “I intended no disrespect to a fallen brother, Captain. I only wonder how crafty the Scalus must have become to catch a skilled tracker in an ambush.”

The captain relaxed. “Had he lived long enough, I would have asked. Do not underestimate our opponent.”

“Enough,” Mero said to Quo, softly, just enough to come back to the most important part of the discussion. “Captain, you’re saying this traitor is meeting again with the Scalus this very night?”

“Correct. At the three falls several miles southwest of here. Deep in Scalus-held land.”

Mero turned to Osote, not speaking, intuiting the general’s likely plan.

Osote tugged his beard and seemed almost to nod, as if reading Mero’s thought. “Under other circumstances I would send a band of scouts to investigate and report the identity of the traitor. But now I know not who to trust. Mero; Quo; you I can trust.”

Mero met his general’s eyes. His faith was well-placed. “What are your orders?”

“Go now, with Helenai. Your job is to listen, not attack. Gather intelligence on this traitor, whomever he is. Then return here quickly to report. Do not engage unless you have no choice.”

The lieutenants nodded. Mero appreciated Osote’s caution. The Scalus were fierce fighters, and had the advantage not only of fighting in their homeland, but for their homeland. A veteran of those campaigns, Mero knew from experience such opponents were the most hard-fought. In fair and open combat, a Scalus warrior was worth any two from Seena. The strength of the Seena army, while skilled enough in warfare, lay largely in their overwhelming numbers.

Creeping around the Scalus woods in the middle of the night, where one of Seena’s finest scouts has fallen to an ambush, in search of a soldier with the resolve to betray his countrymen . . . this was not an assignment Mero would otherwise have wished for, nor wished upon any of his own men.

But better he than they. With Quo at his side and Helenai leading them, there was at least a chance they’d be successful.

Turning to Helenai, Mero asked, “What was the content of this talk your scout overheard?”

Helenai sneered. “Money and power. Is it ever anything else? This soldier, whoever he or she is, was negotiating water rights in exchange for intelligence on our movements and plans.”

“Bastard!” Quo cursed.

Mero, who prided himself on more subdued reactions than his friend, nevertheless released a disdainful snort. Everything about Seena’s conflict with its monstrous neighbors to the south revolved around water. The growing population of Seena needed it; the Scalus possessed it. Mero privately held his own convictions about the motivation and execution of this war with Seena’s lizard-like southerly neighbors, but his life was in service to Seena. He had no ground, nor desire, to question politics. While his rank ultimately placed him in line for succession, he happily preferred to let others like Captain Helenai be chosen before him. He had no desire for court life.

Quo rubbed the back of his neck as if the idea of treason knotted the muscles there. “If one person was able to come to an agreement with the Scalus . . . control access to the water in the woods . . .”

“Precisely,” Osote said. “Such a person could manipulate all of Seena. Perhaps even control the state outright. The representative government of Seena must control the water.”

“General,” Mero said, cautiously sounding out his words as they formed; he was intelligent, not clever. “Doesn’t this suggest, though, that the Scalus are in fact willing to negotiate? The treason notwithstanding, is there some way we can capitalize on this apparent desire for peace?”

Osote grinned the mirthless grin of a veteran. “This thought occurred to me as well. You’re an old campaigner for someone so young, Mero. I appreciate that you thirst not for blood. I will, of course, send word to the Magistrate upon your return that the Scalus were at least amenable to some sort of treaty. But such plans are far beyond soldiers like us. Peace treaties are the business of the Assembly.”

While Mero sought not to be a politician, he was no stranger to court politics, and nodded his understanding at the old general. The topic was closed.

“We must hurry,” Helenai said. “The meeting was to take place when Andra rises.”

“That’s not long. We’ll leave now,” Mero said. Andra, a large point of light in the sky, orbited in the cosmos with predictable regularity each night. Ilia, a large, slow moon with regular phases, already hung high in the night sky and crescent-shaped; it would be quite dark in the Scalus woods.

“Go,” Osote agreed. “I want this traitor’s name, and then I want him hewn in the salt mines back home.”

Mero, Quo, and Helenai touched their chests and strode out of the tent.