The council's decree burned slowly.
I held it over the brazier in my tent and watched the edges curl, blacken, and crumble. The wax seal dripped like blood before catching fire. The parchment followed, collapsing into ash.
Ril stood nearby, arms crossed. "That's one way to answer them."
"They wanted obedience," I said. "They got smoke."
He snorted. "They're going to lose their minds."
"They lost them long before this," I replied. "They just didn't notice.
"
Outside, the camp was already awake. Not bustling—alert. Soldiers sharpened blades that didn't need sharpening. Scouts checked gear twice. Men cursed softly when straps snapped or buckles froze.
This was the sound of people who knew the next blow was coming.
The first argument broke out before sunrise.
Two captains nearly came to blows near the supply wagons. One accused the other of hoarding grain. The other called him a paranoid bastard who'd piss himself at shadows.
I stepped between them.
"If either of you want to fight," I said flatly, "do it where Draeven can see you."
They froze.
"Good," I continued. "Now shut the fuck up and fix the problem."
They saluted and moved.
Ril raised an eyebrow. "You're in a mood."
"I'm in a war," I said. "And I'm tired of pretending that politeness wins them."
By midmorning, the scouts returned.
Not breathless. Not panicked.
Which was worse.
"They're regrouping south of the ford," the lead scout reported. "Not massing. Digging in. Supply lines being reinforced."
I nodded. "Valen's digging his claws in."
Elren frowned over the map. "He's not pushing."
"No," I agreed. "He's waiting."
"For what?" Ril asked.
"For us to crack," I said. "Or for the council to do his work for him."
That shut everyone up.
The crack came sooner than expected.
A delegation from Rathmere arrived just after noon—same woman as before, but now flanked by armed men. Not soldiers. Militia.
She didn't sit this time.
"We've heard the council's order," she said. "And we've heard you burned it."
I met her gaze. "Then you're well-informed."
Her jaw tightened. "If Kaeldor disowns you, we stand alone."
"You were alone the moment Stonewake fell," I said. "You just didn't know it yet."
One of her men spat on the ground. "That's easy to say when you've got an army."
I leaned forward. "This army is standing between your children and Draeven knives. If you want to test how alone you are, I'll pull back a mile and let Valen prove the point."
Silence.
The woman exhaled slowly. "You're asking us to gamble our lives on a man the council might hang
."
"Yes," I said. "Welcome to war."
She studied me for a long moment. "If we back you… and you lose…"
"Then I die first," I said. "That's the deal."
That settled it.
The next blow came at dusk.
Not from Draeven.
From Kaeldor.
A second decree arrived—this one sharper, uglier.
I was officially stripped of rank.
Declared acting without mandate.
Any who followed me did so without the crown's protection.
Ril read it aloud, voice tight. "They're cutting you loose."
"No," I said quietly. "They're throwing me forward."
Elren slammed his fist against the table. "Those spineless shits—"
"Careful," I interrupted. "They're still our people."
He laughed bitterly. "They don't act like it."
"No," I agreed. "They act like survivors who've never been hunted."
That night, I walked the camp again.
Men looked up as I passed—not with uncertainty, but something harder.
Choice.
A young archer stepped forward. "Commander—sir. Are we… still Kaeldor?"
I stopped.
"That depends," I said. "Why do you ask?"
He swallowed. "Because my brother's in the capital. If this goes bad—"
I placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then history will sort us out. But right now, you're soldiers holding a river against bastards who'd burn your home without blinking."
I met his eyes. "You don't need a crown to know what's right."
He nodded.
Word spread faster than any decree.
By midnight, fewer than a dozen men had left.
The rest stayed.
Draeven tested us again before dawn.
A night raid—fast, vicious. They hit a supply outpost west of Bramholt, hoping to scatter guards and steal grain.
They failed.
Badly.
Our response was brutal and loud.
Horn blasts tore the night apart. Archers loosed into shadows. Infantry surged, cursing, hacking, driving the raiders back into the dark.
I fought alongside them, blade wet, breath burning.
A Draeven sergeant lunged at me, shouting something about traitors and rivers.
I broke his jaw with my pommel and shoved him into the mud.
"Fuck your speeches," I snarled, and finished it.
When it was over, seven Draeven lay dead.
One lived.
We dragged the survivor into the firelight.
He was young. Terrified. Bleeding from the scalp.
Ril looked at me. "Orders?"
I studied the man.
"Send him back," I said.
Elren blinked. "Again?"
"Yes," I said. "But not whole."
I turned to the prisoner. "You're going to walk
back to your commander."
The man nodded frantically.
"You're going to tell him this," I continued. "Every step he takes toward this river costs him blood. Every trick costs him men."
I leaned closer. "And tell Valen Draegor that I've stopped asking permission."
The man sobbed.
Good.
Fear carried messages better than ravens.
At sunrise, the river towns gathered.
Not summoned.
They came on their own.
Farmers. Merchants. Militia leaders. Mothers with children on their hips.
The woman from Rathmere stood forward.
"The council won't protect us."
"No," I said. "They won't."
She drew a breath. "Will you?"
I didn't soften my voice.
"I'll protect this river," I said. "And anyone standing on its banks who doesn't sell their soul to Draeven."
Murmurs rippled.
A man shouted, "And when Kaeldor comes for you?"
I met his eyes. "Then they'll have to cross the same river."
That did it.
No cheers.
But no one left.
Later, alone, Ril finally said it.
"You know what this makes you."
I didn't look up. "Say it."
"A rebel."
I smiled without humor. "No. Rebels fight for change."
He waited.
"I'm fighting so there's still something left to change," I said.
Outside, the river flowed on—quiet now, patient, carrying ash and memory southward.
Valen Draegor was still out there.
The council was sharpening knives.
And my hands were no longer clean.
Good.
Clean hands never won wars.