The wind carried the smoke before the scent.
Senjar stood at the edge of a ridge, he looking out over the forest. Pines were stretched far across the valley, it was dark and still in the fading light. But above them, thin gray trails rose into the sky like broken fingers.
He narrowed his eyes.
"Another camp," Kaelric said beside him.
"One of ours, maybe."
"Or what's left of one," Senjar replied.
Behind them, their column moved slow through the trees. Less than a thousand. They marched with quiet steps now. Even the children had stopped asking when they'd stop for food.
Senjar turned to Kaelric. "I want twenty men. Bows only. Quiet. I want eyes on it before we move the whole group."
Kaelric nodded. "You or me, who's leading?"
"I'll go."
Kaelric raised an eyebrow. "You're Arl now."
"Which is why I go first."
They moved fast through the forest, feet soft on pine needles, eyes sharp. No fires. No noise. The smoke ahead thickened as they approached, curling between trees like warning signs.
Soon, they found the camp.
It was small, barely standing. There were few burned tents, some broken spears in the dirt. But people were there. No more than thirty. They were dirty, pale, and hollow-eyed. They looked up as Senjar approached.
One of them, an older warrior with a torn cloak, stepped forward.
"Arl Senjar?" he asked, disbelief in his voice.
Senjar nodded.
"What happened?"
The man lowered his head. "Morhaal found us two nights ago. We tried to hold them, but they came from both sides. Only a few of us got out. Since then we've been hiding, waiting for a signal. We thought… we thought maybe no one was left."
Senjar looked at the faces behind him. Wounded. Starving. One girl held a baby that didn't move.
"You're not alone," Senjar said simply.
"You'll march with us now."
The man looked like he might cry, but didn't.
Kaelric leaned close. "There'll be more like this. Stragglers. They will make us slow."
"We can't leave them," Senjar said.
He turned back to the broken camp.
"Bury the dead. Burn what's left. We leave before nightfall."
The last of the smoke had died down. The bodies were buried. Nothing was left in that clearing but scorched earth and quiet.
The sun was low again. The forest began to turn cold.
Senjar stood near the front of the line, checking packs and ranks. Kaelric was speaking with the new arrivals, placing them in one of the marching bands. It was almost time to move.
That's when the voice came.
"You think dragging more half dead people will help us live?"
Senjar looked at him.
A young man stepped forward from one of the rear columns. He was lean, tall, maybe a year younger than Senjar. His dark cloak was torn but clean. His armor was still shining. He didn't look worn like the others.
His name was Rell, and Senjar recognized him immediately, son of Chieftain Torvar, who had died on the first day of the siege.
"We don't have enough food," Rell said, louder now. "We barely have the strength. And now you slow us down for the sake of thirty more ghosts?"
A few heads turned. Not many. But enough.
Senjar was still calm.
"You have something to say, say it."
Rell took a step closer. "My father died at Skeldrhall. So did yours. I don't remember anyone calling a vote to name you Arl. I remember you running."
Kaelric moved fast, one hand already on his sword, but Senjar raised a hand.
"Let him speak," Senjar said. His voice was quiet, but it carried enough weight.
Rell's mouth tightened. He was expecting anger. A fight. Not this calmness.
"We need a warlord," Rell said. "Not a shepherd."
Senjar stepped forward, slow and steady, until he one step away from him.
"Warlord, you say" he said. "Look around you, and tell me should I go to war with this?"
He raised the sword slightly, just enough for the firelight to catch the wolf sigil on its hilt.
"This was given to me by the man who bled for that title. And you will follow it, or you will go alone."
Rell's jaw worked silently.
"You want to lead?" Senjar asked. "Then do it. Leave now. Take whoever follows you. But if you stay, you walk when I say walk. You fight when I say fight."
Rell looked around himself. No one moved. No one stepped toward him.
He swallowed his pride, stepped back, and said nothing more.
Kaelric spoke only once they were alone again.
"You could have cut him down."
"I will," Senjar said, "if he gives me a small reason."
Night fell quietly.
The forest was colder now. The wind ran through the trees in long, and low breaths. The camp had no fires. There was just silence, and soft steps in the dark.
Senjar sat alone on a flat stone near the edge of the clearing, sharpening his blade by feel. He didn't need light. The sound of steel against stone calmed him more than sleep.
Kaelric approached from the trees, his expression were serious.
"We caught one."
Senjar stood without a word.
They walked to a small hollow behind the main camp. Two guards stood with bows raised. Between them, on his knees, was a Morhaal scout, he was young, wiry, blood on his lip and a cut above his eye. His hands were tied with leather cord. His chest rose and fell quickly.
"He was tracking our outer column," Kaelric said. "Tried to run. But didn't get far."
Senjar knelt in front of the boy.
"You're not old enough to shave," he said. "But you're old enough to kill?"
The scout didn't answer.
Senjar grabbed his jaw and turned his face toward the moonlight.
"You're not the first one we've caught," he said. "The last one begged for his tongue back."
The boy's eyes flicked, then dropped.
Senjar let go.
"How many?" he asked.
The boy hesitated. Then: "Four warbands. Each 200 in numbers. They are scattered. They are moving fast. The orders are to kill and burn. To leave nothing."
"Who gave the order?"
"Arl Vargan," the scout said. "He says no one from Harkorall walks into the next season."
Senjar stood slowly.
"Where's the nearest warband now?"
The boy shook his head. "I don't know. But they're everywhere. Not just chasing you. They're sweeping the whole east."
Senjar looked at Kaelric.
"It seems they're not just hunting me," he said. "They're erasing us."
Kaelric's face darkened.
"What do we do with him?" one of the guards asked.
Senjar looked back at the boy.
"Feed him," he said.
Both guards blinked.
"Then tie him to a tree. Make sure the knot's weak enough, so he can break it in an hour."
Kaelric raised an eyebrow.
"We want him to live?"
Senjar sheathed his sword. "We want him to bring the hunters to the wolves."
Senjar turned back to the camp and walked away.
Kaelric watched him go.
The wind had died down, but the cold had not.
They sat in a tight half circle, no fires lit. there were just torches, low to the ground. Shadows danced across tired faces of men, women, and children wrapped in furs and hunger.
Senjar stood before them with Kaelric at his side. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"They're not chasing us," Senjar said. "They're erasing us."
No one spoke, but every head lifted.
"The scout we caught said there are four warbands, two hundred strong each. They're not just looking for me. They're sweeping the east. Hunting down anyone left who wears the name Harkorall."
He let that settle.
Then spoke again.
"We won't outrun them. We won't hide from them. And if we keep moving like this, we'll be picked off one by one."
He stepped forward, looked at the tired faces in front of him.
"That's the truth. I won't dress it up nicely."
More silence.
He turned toward Kaelric.
"My father trusted you. So do I."
Kaelric blinked, but said nothing.
"You'll take the tribe every child, every elder, every blade that can't march fast—and lead them to the meeting point by the border. You will regroup there with the rest of the tribe. You must find out how many of us are still breathing."
Kaelric's voice was quiet. "And you, my Lord?"
Senjar looked to the trees.
"I'm staying behind. With anyone who can still fight."
Gasps. Murmurs. One woman stood as if to speak, but sat again when Senjar raised a hand.
"We're not running anymore," he said. "We will bleed them. Just like what they have done to us."
"And what if you fall, my Lord?" Kaelric asked.
Senjar didn't answer right away. Then: "Then let the tribe remember that wolves fight even with their backs broken."
He turned to the crowd.
"I'm not asking. I'm telling. Kaelric leads you now. And I'll join you… when I'm done here."
No cheers came.
Only nods.