The morning we left was gray and cold, with mist clinging to the river like ghostly fingers.
Elisabeth and I stood at the edge of the village with our meager possessions slung over our shoulders. Everything we owned fit into two cloth bundles. Everything that mattered couldn't be packed at all.
The messenger sat on his expensive horse, checking the position of the sun with theatrical impatience. "Come along," he called. "His Lordship's time is valuable."
Henrik pressed a small leather pouch into my hand. "Emergency funds," he whispered. "Hidden in the lining of your pack. Don't let anyone see it."
The Guardian clasped my shoulder with surprising gentleness. "Remember what I taught you. Trust your instincts. And watch each other's backs."
Elisabeth hugged her parents with fierce intensity. Her mother was crying. Her father's jaw was set in the stubborn line of a man trying not to break down.
"Come home to us," her mother whispered.
"I will," Elisabeth promised. A lie told with such conviction it almost sounded true.
The entire village had turned out to see us off. Faces I'd known for five years. People who'd watched me grow from a broken child into... whatever I was now.
They were trusting us with their lives. With their future. With everything they couldn't protect themselves.
No pressure at all.
"Enough," the messenger snapped. "We have a schedule to keep."
We followed him out of the village on foot. The horse's hooves clopped against the packed earth road while Elisabeth and I walked alongside. Like servants accompanying their better.
Which, I suppose, we were now.
I looked back once when we reached the first bend in the road. The village was already disappearing behind trees and rolling hills. Five years of safety and healing vanishing like morning mist.
Elisabeth's hand found mine. Squeezed once. A reminder that I wasn't facing this alone.
We walked in silence for the first few hours. The messenger seemed content to ignore us completely. Occasionally he'd consult a piece of parchment or adjust his seat in the saddle, but otherwise he might have been traveling alone.
The road led south and east. Away from everything familiar. Through landscapes that grew progressively stranger as the miles passed.
"Where exactly are we going?" Elisabeth asked during our first rest stop.
The messenger glanced at her with mild surprise. Like he'd forgotten we could speak.
"His Lordship's war camp," he replied. "Three days' march. You'll serve there until more permanent arrangements can be made."
War camp. Not the Baron's household. Not his castle or manor house.
A military installation where soldiers prepared for battle.
"Who is he fighting?" I asked carefully.
"Rebels. Bandits. The usual troublemakers who refuse to accept proper authority."
The casual way he said it made my skin crawl. How many villages like ours had been labeled as troublemakers? How many communities had been destroyed for the crime of wanting to govern themselves?
"What kind of service will we be providing?" Elisabeth pressed.
The messenger's smile was unpleasant. "Whatever is required. Camp followers serve many functions. Cooking. Cleaning. Entertainment."
The way he said 'entertainment' made both of us tense. But we couldn't afford to react. Not yet. Not until we knew more about what we were walking into.
We spent that night in a roadside inn that had seen better decades. The rooms were small and dirty. The food was barely edible. But it was shelter, and we were grateful for it.
Elisabeth and I shared a room to save money. Two narrow beds separated by barely three feet of floor space.
"Entertainment," she said quietly after we'd blown out the candle.
"I know."
"If they try to force me..."
"They won't," I said with more confidence than I felt. "We won't let it get that far."
"How do you know?"
Because I'll kill anyone who touches you, I thought. Because I'll burn the entire camp down before I let them hurt you.
"Because we're smarter than they think we are," I said instead. "Because we're not really servants. We're spies with a mission."
"And if the mission gets us killed?"
"Then at least we'll die trying to protect something that matters."
She was quiet for a long time after that. I thought she'd fallen asleep until her voice drifted across the darkness.
"I'm glad it's you," she said softly.
"What?"
"If I had to walk into hell with someone, I'm glad it's you."
I didn't know how to respond to that. Didn't trust myself to say the right thing.
So I just lay there in the darkness, listening to her breathe, and tried not to think about all the ways this could go wrong.
The second day brought us closer to our destination. The road became more traveled. We passed other groups heading in the same direction. Merchants with wagons full of supplies. Mercenaries looking for work. Camp followers of various descriptions.
All feeding the great machine of war that the Baron had constructed.
"Big operation," Elisabeth murmured.
"Bigger than I expected," I agreed.
By the third day, we could smell the camp before we could see it. Smoke. Sweat. The distinctive odor of too many people living too close together.
Then we crested a hill and saw it spread out below us.
The Baron's war camp was enormous. Hundreds of tents arranged in orderly rows. Cooking fires sending smoke into the afternoon sky. Training grounds where soldiers practiced with sword and spear.
And everywhere, movement. People going about the business of preparing for war.
"Sweet mother of God," Elisabeth breathed.
I estimated at least a thousand men. Maybe more. Professional soldiers mixed with local recruits. Mercenaries from a dozen different kingdoms. All organized under the Baron's banner.
"Remember," I said quietly. "We're nobody special. Just village kids grateful for the chance to serve."
"Right. Invisible until we're ready not to be."
The messenger led us through the camp's main gate without ceremony. Guards looked us over with bored professionalism. Checking for weapons. Making note of new arrivals.
Inside the camp, the controlled chaos was overwhelming. Men shouted orders. Horses whinnied. Hammers rang against metal as smiths repaired weapons and armor.
And everywhere, eyes turned to look at Elisabeth.
She was the only woman in sight. The only female face in a sea of masculine roughness. And the attention she drew was immediate and unsettling.
"Keep walking," I muttered. "Don't make eye contact."
But it was impossible to ignore the stares. The whispered comments. The way conversations stopped as we passed.
Most of the looks were merely curious. But some held hunger that made my hand itch for a weapon.
We passed through sections of the camp that seemed to represent different social strata. Professional soldiers with good equipment and military bearing. Local recruits still learning how to hold a spear properly. Camp followers in various states of respectability.
And standing like a wall near the command tents, a figure that made me stop and stare.
He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Completely encased in plate armor that looked like it had been forged by masters. Even in the relaxed atmosphere of the camp, he remained fully armored. Helmet secured. Weapons at his side.
White and blue cloth was braided around his helmet in an intricate pattern. The colors were bright against the steel. Fresh. Recently renewed.
He stood perfectly still. Watching everything. Missing nothing.
"Professional," Elisabeth said quietly.
"Very," I agreed.
The messenger noticed our attention and followed our gaze. His expression grew respectful.
"Sir Marcus," he called. "I bring the volunteers from the northern village."
The armored knight turned toward us. I couldn't see his face through the helmet's visor, but I felt the weight of his attention like a physical thing.
"Two?" His voice was muffled by the metal but carried clear authority.
"As requested, Sir. Young. Capable. Ready to serve His Lordship faithfully."
Sir Marcus studied us for a long moment. I had the uncomfortable feeling he was seeing more than our carefully constructed facade revealed.
"The girl will work in the kitchen," he said finally. "The boy can help with the horses. Report to the quartermaster for assignments."
"Thank you, Sir Marcus," the messenger said with obvious relief.
The knight didn't respond. Just turned back to his vigil. Watching over the camp like a sentinel made of steel and determination.
We were dismissed. Led away to find the quartermaster and begin our new lives as servants in an army preparing for war.
The quartermaster was a thin man with ink-stained fingers and the harried expression of someone managing too many details. He looked up from his ledgers with barely concealed irritation.
"Two more," the messenger announced. "Kitchen duty and stable work."
"Fine. Names?"
"Erik," I said, using the identity we'd prepared. "This is Astrid."
Elisabeth had insisted on keeping a Norse name. Said it would be easier to remember under pressure.
The quartermaster made notes in his ledger. "Kitchen tent is that direction. Stable is opposite. You'll be given bedding and assigned sleeping areas. Work begins at dawn. Any questions?"
"No, sir," we both said.
"Good. Next."
And just like that, we were part of the Baron's war machine.
Elisabeth was led away toward the cooking fires by a woman who looked like she'd been organizing camp kitchens since before we were born. I watched her go with growing unease.
Separation hadn't been part of our plan. But we'd known it was likely. Military camps operated on strict hierarchy and division of labor.
I followed a stable boy toward the horse lines. The animals were well-cared for. Professional cavalry mounts mixed with sturdy draft horses. All of them representing significant investment.
The Baron took his military operations seriously.
My assigned duties were simple enough. Feed the horses. Clean their stalls. Help with grooming and basic maintenance. Work that would keep me busy but allow for observation.
The stable master was a gruff man named Thomas who seemed more interested in the horses than the humans caring for them. He showed me the routine with economical efficiency.
"Feed twice daily. Water always available. Any sign of illness or injury, report immediately. These animals are worth more than you are."
Pleasant fellow.
I spent the rest of the day learning the rhythms of camp life. Where people went. When duties shifted. Who seemed to be in charge of what.
And trying not to worry about Elisabeth.
By evening, the camp had settled into its nighttime routine. Cooking fires blazed. Men gathered around them to share food and stories. Dice games appeared. Someone produced a lute and began playing drinking songs.
I found Elisabeth near the kitchen tent. She was helping serve the evening meal to a long line of hungry soldiers.
The attention she'd attracted during our arrival had only intensified. Men lingered near the food line longer than necessary. Made comments just loud enough for her to hear. Tested boundaries with increasing boldness.
She handled it with remarkable grace. Polite but distant. Friendly but not encouraging. Professional in a way that somehow managed to deflect most of the unwanted interest.
But not all of it.
"Well, well," a voice said behind me. "What have we here?"
I turned to find three soldiers watching Elisabeth with expressions that made my jaw clench. They were older than the average recruits. Scarred. Hard-looking men who'd clearly seen combat.
And they were drunk.
"Pretty little thing," one of them continued. "Been too long since we had proper entertainment in camp."
"Maybe she'd like some company tonight," another suggested. "Help her settle in proper."
The third one laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.
I was already moving before conscious thought kicked in. Three steps brought me within arm's reach of the speaker.
"She's busy," I said quietly.
All three men turned to look at me. Taking in my youth. My size. My apparent helplessness.
"You her keeper, boy?" the first one asked with amusement.
"Her brother," I lied smoothly. "And she's tired from travel. Maybe another time."
It was a mistake. The lie made me seem more protective. More challenging to their intentions.
"Brother," the second man repeated. "How sweet. Maybe brother wants to watch."
That's when Sir Marcus appeared.
He didn't announce himself. Didn't make noise. One moment the conversation was heading toward violence, and the next he was simply there.
Still fully armored. Still radiating quiet authority.
"Problem?" he asked.
The drunk soldiers sobered immediately. Straightened their posture. Remembered they were in a military camp with military discipline.
"No problem, Sir Marcus," the first one said quickly. "Just welcoming the new arrivals."
"How thoughtful. I'm sure they appreciate the gesture."
His tone was perfectly polite. But something in it made all three men take an involuntary step backward.
"Perhaps you gentlemen have duties to attend to?"
It wasn't really a question.
"Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir. Right away."
They departed with the haste of men who'd suddenly remembered pressing engagements elsewhere.
Sir Marcus watched them go. Then turned his attention to me.
"Protective instincts," he observed. "Admirable. Also dangerous in a place like this."
"She's my sister," I said, maintaining the lie.
"Is she?"
The question hung in the air. I had the uncomfortable feeling that Sir Marcus saw through our deception as easily as looking through clear water.
"Be careful," he said finally. "This camp is full of predators. And prey animals rarely survive long."
He walked away before I could respond. Leaving me to wonder whether that had been advice or warning.
Elisabeth appeared at my elbow. "What was that about?"
"Nothing good. How are you holding up?"
"Better than expected. The kitchen supervisor is decent enough. Hard but fair. And most of the men are keeping their distance."
"Most?"
"There are always a few who don't understand boundaries. But nothing I can't handle."
I hoped she was right. But the way some of the soldiers looked at her suggested our mission had just become significantly more complicated.
We found our assigned sleeping area as full darkness settled over the camp. A section of ground near the supply wagons where camp followers and other non-combatants bedded down.
Elisabeth and I had managed to claim space next to each other. Close enough for mutual protection. Far enough from others to allow for quiet conversation.
We set up a makeshift shelter using canvas and rope. Nothing elaborate. Just enough to provide some privacy and keep the worst of the weather off.
"Tomorrow we start gathering real information," Elisabeth said quietly as we arranged our bedrolls.
"Carefully," I warned. "That knight, Sir Marcus. He's watching us."
"I noticed. Think he suspects something?"
"Maybe. Or maybe he's just careful by nature."
We lay down side by side in our narrow shelter. Close enough that I could hear her breathing. Close enough to know she was as tense as I was.
"Erik," she said softly.
Using my assumed name. Smart. Even in private, we needed to maintain our identities.
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For earlier. With those soldiers."
"You don't need to thank me for that."
"Yes, I do. Because in a place like this, having someone who'll stand up for you... that matters."
I turned onto my side to face her. In the darkness, I could just make out the outline of her profile.
"I told you before," I said. "We watch each other's backs."
"I know. But still. Thank you."
She was quiet for a moment. Then: "Do you think we can actually do this? Gather intelligence without getting ourselves killed?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "But we have to try."
"What if they discover who we really are?"
"Then we improvise. Adapt. Find another way."
"And if there is no other way?"
The question hung between us in the darkness. What if our mission was hopeless? What if we'd walked into a trap we couldn't escape?
"Then we make sure our deaths count for something," I said finally.
It wasn't much comfort. But it was honest.
Elisabeth reached out in the darkness. Found my hand. Squeezed gently.
"Together," she said.
"Together."
Around us, the camp settled into its nighttime rhythms. Guards patrolling the perimeter. Horses shifting in their lines. The distant sound of dice games and drinking songs.
Somewhere in this maze of tents and men, the Baron was planning his next conquest. His next village to "protect." His next step toward building an empire.
Tomorrow, Elisabeth and I would begin the dangerous work of finding his weaknesses. Of learning how to strike back at a tyrant who thought himself untouchable.
Tonight, we held hands in the darkness and tried not to think about all the ways we could die.
But as I drifted toward sleep, I realized something had changed.
For five years, I'd been hiding. Healing. Preparing for someday.
Someday had arrived.
And despite the fear, despite the overwhelming odds against us, I felt something I hadn't experienced since that terrible morning in the marble hall.
Purpose.
We were here for a reason. Not just to gather intelligence or strike at the Baron's operations.
We were here to prove that tyrants could be resisted. That communities like ours didn't have to submit to fear.
We were here to fight back.
The camp began to stir before dawn. Soldiers rising to begin their daily routines. Horses whickering for their morning feed. The organized chaos of a military force preparing for another day.
A gruff voice cut through the morning air: "Head count! Everyone up! Movement begins in one hour!"
I sat up quickly, immediately alert. Elisabeth was already awake beside me, her hand instinctively moving toward the knife hidden in her boot.
Around us, camp followers and support staff were emerging from their shelters. Grumbling about the early hour but moving with the practiced efficiency of people accustomed to military schedules.
"Head count!" the voice called again. "Form up by sections!"
We scrambled to pack our few belongings. Whatever this movement was, we were about to become part of it.
The Baron's war machine was on the move.
And we were going with it.