It looked like the camp had suffered a severe storm that had uprooted tents, knocked over chairs and sent bowls and cups flying through the air. Blood was smeared across the ground, and as Jale walked his horse past the kitchen, he saw the pile of bodies that had been placed outside.

Jale gagged at the sight of the Netle and his kitchen boys. Only the heartless would kill those who were weak and unable to defend themselves properly. He turned and headed towards his tent, fear mounting in his chest. He hadn't seen Drean amongst the bodies. Had he managed to fight back or escape?

Jale rounded a corner and stopped short.

It was as if he had been punched in the stomach and the air had been knocked out of his lungs. He dismounted his horse and ran the rest of the way towards Drean's body, his legs collapsing under him as his mind processed the carnage his eyes were seeing.

"No, no, no," he uttered to himself, ignoring the blood in the snow seeping into his trousers and making them soggy.

It was too late.

He could tell by how still and lifeless Drean's body was.

Gently, he eased Drean over. A sob escaped Jale's mouth when he saw the state Drean was in; the bloody swollen eye, the thick lip, the blood that had escaped his mouth, and the thick jagged gash across his neck. Jale noted Drean's arms tied behind his back. That was no way to die with your hands tied behind your back. He had been defenseless and unable to fight.

Fucking cowards, Jale raged. He didn't know where the anger originated from, it surged through his body too quickly. He would avenge Drean's death. No matter how long it took, he would find those who were responsible.

Amongst the other dead bodies, Jale spied the arrows. Someone had tried to help Drean. Small arrows, arrows that didn't belong to his soldiers or the mountain clansmen.

A sudden noise came from behind, and Jale tried to retrieve the dagger from his side, his sword unavailable in the position he was in. He cursed. His anger and grief had distracted him. Just when he had promised to avenge Drean's death, he would be dead before he had any idea of how he was going to go about it.

Jale swivelled on his knee and frowned in confusion. He had turned in time to see one of his men crumble to the floor. Their hand was outstretched with a blade pointing in Jale's direction, only now the soldier had a knife protruding from his neck.

Delba stood over his body and looked at Jale.

"What in all the hells happened here?" she asked. "Your soldier was just about to kill you."

She held out her hand towards Jale to help him up, her eyes landing on Drean's dead body.

"No!" she breathed. She swept a pitiful glance at Jale and stepped towards him. "I'm so sorry, Jale."

Jale didn't answer. Pain and anger were etched all over his face, it coursed through his whole body. He was cold then hot, his knees trembled and his arms shook. The horror of this day, and Jale worried that it would scar him for life. No, in actual fact, he wanted it to scar him. He never wanted to forget this day. To never forget Drean. To never forget the people who had betrayed him.

Delba stepped up and brought Jale into her embrace. Her gentle touch seemed to pull him out of his daze.

"You just saved my life," he said without acknowledging her reaction upon seeing Drean dead in the snow. He took a step back and looked in her in the eyes. "Thank you."

Delba pulled her cloak tighter to her body and looked around nervously.

"What can I do?" she asked bending down to retrieve her knife. At a time like this, she wanted it still in her hand.

Jale tilted his head to the side. "You can help me?"

"Yes?" she asked looking back at him. "Anything."

"One day, you can help me to avenge Drean's death."

Delba never let her gaze falter from Jale's. "Absolutely," she breathed. "I'll help you."

>>

Jale believed it was the longest day of his life. It was a day of misery and horror, of death and howls from wolves that had long ago caught the smell of blood in the air but were being scared off by the mountain men on the outskirts of the camp. A fire was built, and the bodies were cremated as the ground was too hard for graves to be dug. It was frightfully cold. Jale was hungry, but also too exhausted to eat.

They were safe.

After Delba killed the last soldier, she headed off to Prince Rathner's camp, and the mountain clansmen did another sweep to ensure that no traitors remained. It was during that time Jale discovered Trent had been murdered as well. He was found face down in his tent with a blade sticking out of his back and his arm outstretched to where his sword lay in its hilt on his bed.

There were only ten soldiers left from Uleron's original regiment.

Night had fallen. It was quiet. The sound of the busy but orderly camp that Jale had become accustomed to and enjoyed, was gone. He gazed at the burning fire and let his thoughts race as he considered their next steps.

Brelen, Jale had been told, had ordered ten men to stay behind and monitor the entrance to the pass to ensure that none of the Brandeen civilians tried to come back down the pass during the night.

Disturbingly, a mountain clansman had also approached Jale to inform him that a set of footprints had been found in the snow, running off into the forest and into the Keglar Kingdom. On further description of the man, it became apparent it was most likely Prince Tolder, the clansman apologizing for not following. He had spied Ladet in the tree and believed he was in more trouble than the escaping man.

Jale sent two men to see if they could track Prince Tolder. There was a possibility they could find him with his footprints so clear in the snow. Or, hopefully, the wolves would find him first.

In the long term, the pass still needed to be protected. They couldn't go anywhere but Jale was vulnerable. Not only to the risk of another large group coming through the pass but also of the possibility of another attack from his very own people. He didn't know whether his family had been aware of the order of his own death.

Would he be welcome back in his own home? Where would he go once this post was finished? Would he always be looking over his shoulder to ensure he was safe? Was his father aware of this attack? Had he been involved? Was that why he had agreed to send Jale to this post knowing that he was going to be murdered?

Jale shook his head and hoped that his father was not capable of such betrayal and evilness.

And what about the soldiers that had stood by his side? They wouldn't be able to return to their homes either. They could be labeled as traitors as well.

And then, another thought struck Jale. Why start a war by killing the heir to the throne of the neighbouring empire anyway? Why would they feel so secure and confident that they could win when times were so uncertain?

Whoever had planned this attack was either stupid or far more daring and riskier than Jale would ever be. All Jale could think of was the chaos a war would cause right now. The perfect kind of chaos, Jale thought, if you wanted to destroy everything that was currently standing. If you wanted to try and rid the world of the newly formed empire while a plague was ravaging out of control in another kingdom with the potential of crossing into their own border.

No.

It was too risky.

The plague was one factor that could not be controled. Even if you thought you could destroy your neighbors, for whatever reason it was, the plague could still easily wipe through your very own kingdom and kill everyone there as well.

Yes, too risky.

The noise of the surrounding men faded away, and Jale's gaze remained hypnotised by the flames licking their way up towards the night sky.

It was too risky unless, it wasn't risky at all, and the only way it couldn't be risky was if you had a cure for the plague.

Jale sat up tall.

Was it possible? Did the Keglar Kingdom have a cure to this curse of a plague? Somebody wanted to murder the future heir of the Talbecan Empire and start a war. Only someone with a cure could risk such an act.

Jale sat frozen, still considering, still wondering, and the world moved around him.

Prince Tolder, a man from the Brandeen Kingdom, struggling to find a cure when someone else had already found one. Who would know this to be true? Prince Yernal's name had been on Uleron's lips before he had been killed, Jale had been told. Would Prince Yernal be aware of this?

Jale had not seen his cousin since childhood. He did not have any impression of the man, or whether he was capable of devising such an elaborate and bold plan. All of this was speculation, Jale mused. He also had no idea how large this break was in the Keglar Kingdom. For all he knew, the King may be non-the-wiser.

Jale sighed and rested his head on his hand, and his thoughts went back to their current predicament. What to do now? And what should he do about Prince Rathner especially when the winter was over and he was to return to his own empire? Would someone try to assassinate him on the road back to the Talbecan border?

Jale was snatched from his thoughts when the very man he was thinking about, suddenly appeared in front of him, blocking his vision of the flames. Delba and Ladet stood by his side. A sudden shout came from behind them and the three turned to see Brelen running. Ladet spied his cousin and raced towards him. The young boy was quickly wrapped into his cousin's embrace.

"At least there is one good thing that has happened today," Prince Rathner said wearily.

Ladet walked towards Jale. It was the first time the boy had spoken directly to him. He lifted his hand and pointed to one of the men who had surrendered, tied and gagged, sitting on the ground.

"That one," his voice shaking. "He was one of the men that murdered Drean. I killed three, but I wasn't able to get the last one."

Jale rose to his feet and gave Ladet a soft squeeze on the shoulder. He turned slowly, looked to the man that Ladet had pointed to and started to walk towards him. The man scuffled to his feet and stood defiantly, glaring at Jale while the other four men scurried away at Jale's approach.

Jale didn't pause, he pulled his arm back and delivered a powerful punch to the man's jaw. His head flicked back, and Jale reached out and grabbed the gag off his mouth and face. The man spat, blood landing in the snow.

"For killing, Drean," Jale hissed.

The man turned his head back, fists clenched but there was little he could do with his hands bound. Jale delivered another punch to the man's eye, splitting the skin open and blood began to trickle down the man's face. Jale delivered another punch to the man's stomach. He bowled over, gasping for air, and Jale walked slowly around the man's hunched over position and withdrew his knife from his side.

"Maybe I should tie your hands behind your back as well and see how you feel? But I guess you now know what it feels like not to be able to fight back."

Jale kicked the man forward, and he landed face first into the snow. He leaned down and pulled the man's upper body high by holding onto the hair on his hair. The man growled in protest as his head was ripped back. The man's eyes, wide now with fear, looked up at Jale.

"Unfortunately, I don't have time to waste on scum."

Jale lifted his knife and ran it over the man's neck, slitting the skin in a slick smooth line. His blood spilled and his bound hands reached up to his neck, clasping as if to try to hold the blood in.

Jale turned and walked away. He didn't even look back to see whether the job had been complete. He walked past Brelen on the way to his tent.

"Execute the other men," he ordered.

Brelen nodded quickly.

Jale stormed into his commanding tent. His hands shook as he paced the compartment of his tent that had only the day before hosted Prince Rathner, Drean and himself amongst the cushions. His two best friends had dined with them as well, and now they were gone.

Jale dropped his knife onto the table, and he placed both bloodied hands onto its surface. His body heaved, his breathing rough and labored. He couldn't hold it back any longer, and he let out a sob. He had to steady himself. This was not normal. Jale's remaining men, the pathetic small group of them, needed a leader. They didn't need a man who was falling apart. They needed someone calm and composed.

"How are you holding up?" Prince Rathner asked quietly from behind.

Jale spun. He had not heard the Prince enter. Jale gave a bitter laugh and wiped his nose with the back of his arm. "I've had better days."

"I think it's about to get worse," Prince Rathner said.

Jale frowned. "What do you mean? How in all the hells could it get worse?"

Prince Rathner's expression was hard as ice. "My men have started to feel unwell."

Jale's stomach sank. "What? Sick in what way? That quickly?" Jale took a step forward and dared to whisper, "The Plague?"

Prince Rathner didn't say anything, his face said it all.

"Take me to see them," Jale ordered.

>>

Prince Rathner stood next to Jale as he stared into the tent, the men lying on their camp beds.

"Fever," Prince Rathner told Jale. "Their eyes started to darken and that's when they started to black out."

"How many?" Jale asked.

"Eight so far," the Prince replied.

"How many soldiers do you have left?" Jale asked.

"Not many, thirty at most," Prince Rathner stated. "Have you checked if your men fair well?"

Jale shook his head. "Not all of them. I will get Brelen to do the rounds and doublecheck on everyone's situation."

Jale turned from the Prince and then stopped. Without looking at Prince Rathner, he spoke again. "I will never regret fighting to protect you today."

Jale took a step forward and stumbled. He reached out to hold onto something, anything to help, but there was nothing to hold on to. He went down to one knee and tried to push himself up, not wanting to cause a scene.

How long had it been since he had eaten? It had been a long time. He had not eaten that day, come to think of it. He had been woken by the horn and had gone straight to the pass. Jale had not stopped since then. No wonder he was feeling light-headed and dizzy.

He heard footsteps behind him, and he turned.

"I have not eaten," he said, trying to get in before Prince Rathner could speak. He looked at the Prince's features and saw the concern there anyway. Tiredness set in. Rest, that was all he needed. He stumbled on the spot as Prince Rathner reached out and tried to support him.

"Jale," Prince Rathner breathed with despair in his voice. "You're sick, too."

"What?" Jale murmured, whatever strength he had left in him, draining from his body and causing his legs to collapse underneath him.

"Your eyes," Prince Rathner said sadly. "You're infected, too."