“We should press on as quickly as possible, even if we need to march through the night,” Argrave spoke to Orion.

The prince’s gray-eyed gaze was stern and serious, freezing lesser men in place. “Do you believe so?”

“Absolutely. The journey this time around was not so exhausting. Allowing the enemy an entire night to group up and prepare for our coming attack with be a disaster,” Argrave nodded insistently.

“My feet can tread for thousands of miles without issue,” Orion said, staring him down. “Yet it is not myself I fear for. It is you and yours. Not all are blessed as I am. This speech is not spurred by arrogance, I assure you. I merely worry.”

Argrave put his hands to his hips and looked to the Waxknights, and then his own companions in turn. He could not deny travelling so much with anemia weighing upon him had been utterly exhausting. And exhaustion alone was not the issue. They would need to endure a night march when the wetlands were at their coldest. This final stretch spanned the most distance. What’s more, they’d face an undoubtedly difficult battle at its conclusion.

“What do you think?” Argrave asked his companions.

Anneliese was the first to speak, saying in favor, “Strategically… it is a good assumption that arriving early might make the following battle less insurmountable. If Argrave is correct, we will face the Plague Jester and more, even foes we’ve avoided thus far.”

Durran opened his mouth to speak, but Galamon cut in, “I have no issue.”

Argrave thought Galamon was reliable enough it was pointless for him to confirm that, but he still nodded in quiet satisfaction. Orion stepped past him, though, walking to stand before Galamon.

“Take off your helmet,” Orion said. “I would look at you.”

Argrave felt some panic seize him—had the prince noticed something amiss about his companion? The elven vampire wore a helmet that covered his eyes and the top of his head, yet the mouth was left exposed. Though Galamon’s teeth were not unexplainably large, it was still noticeable.

Galamon did nothing, and his white-eyed gaze turned to Argrave for command.

“…take it off,” Argrave nodded, preparing excuses in his head for any discrepancies Orion might have noticed.

across his pale white skin. He fixed his hair with one gauntleted hand,

neck, then said seriously, “You are an able protector, and steadfastly loyal.” He looked back to Argrave. “When this is done, I must ensure

not balk at the promise from a royal of better

Durran?” Orion spoke to him, causing a seemingly involuntarily flinch from the tribal. “Can you handle a night

suggested. Argrave thought it was a joke and chuckled, but as he stared at Durran, he realized the man might

beard. “Yet, it would be unfair

with them,” Durran continued. “I’m sure they’ll

after some hesitation. “Considering there may be attacks, no one will be able to

Argrave bitterly, then laughed. “I’m fine. A bit sore, but I’ve fought battles

this one promises to be, Argrave

neglect you. Though you have grown broader, I still recall your many troubles with disease, broken

to stifle Orion. “Then… there is no time for breaks, for rest. We must march.” He looked to Silvic. “Scout out the final path,”

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waved in front

unblemished. He was shirtless presently, exposing a warrior’s body. A large streak of waxpox had corrupted most of his forearm, some of his upper arm, while a single streak rose up his neck and

eyes, stopped moving the stick in front of Elias’ face. “Uncover your eye,” he

lowered his hand. “It’s well and truly

was another in the room—a mage belonging to the

“But… it still persists. This disease feeds on magic. Your power hastens

His tone was as though he was not discussing his own sight. “I suppose a spellcaster needs sight less than a warrior. It is a good thing I took the path I did,

from Jast informed Elias. “Broken bones, cuts, gouges… easy enough to heal, as

to keep moving, root out the

to his temple, greatly frustrated. The focus of his frustration appeared to

#####

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