“Veran?”

“My lord.” - he said immediately, shaking his head.

“I asked you about the battlefields.”

“The more of them you see, sire, the quicker you run out of reasons to pick up a sword.”

“Then I’m glad you found one to be with us today.”

Veran looked the boy in the eyes and nodded. The young lord, still untainted by the filth of politics and war. Still hopeful that he can make a change. He was his reason to pick up the sword yet again. The boy was the only one who could pull that final “yes” out of him. One last march, the boy promised him, then he would be confident he’d given him everything he could.

“You brought up fighting, my lord. There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

“Yes, Veran?”

But the general’s next sentence was cut off by the sound of hooves. Two of their riders surfaced from the fog.

“My lord.” - one of them started - “There’s a village up ahead, but it’s not on our maps”

Ozren turned to the commander, waiting for his response.

“We don’t know their allegiance this close to Rhana. Did you see any people, any soldiers?”

“No, sir, we didn’t see anyone. No kettle nearby nor smoke coming out of the houses. They’re not walled either.”

“Deserted probably, but I wouldn’t rule out an ambush. Take five more riders with you and scout the village and the outskirts. If it comes to fighting, do not engage. Retreat and report.”

“Yes, sir.”

Orders flew from the general to the captains. From the captains to the men. The scouts sank back into the fog as shouts filled the forest. Only Veran spoke with a hushed, calm tone. He was once again collected and ready. Ozren would be fine.

“Put your helmet on, sire.”

“But they said it was deserted?”

“Being careful doesn’t bring any harm at war.”