On the seventh morning, their boots still carried dust from the first day's walk.
East was the first word. Then more east, until words ran out and only a finger aimed across the land. They walked behind that gesture since no better guide showed up. A track cut through brittle bushes, barely earning its title as road, broad enough for four soldiers side by side. Deep grooves bit into the dirt - left by carts, maybe days ago. Others had come. Loads of others. The marks did not lie.
On the third day, the first man fell down.
Aldric. That was the man's name. Not someone Kael knew closely - came from Millside, older than most, possibly forty, built thick like winter wool, already soaked in sweat by midmorning on day one, lagging just behind ever after. He fell without spectacle, which struck deeper somehow. No shout, no wobble. One step forward, then flat, still. The line flowed past, silent, bodies shifting as if skirting a root in wet earth.
Kael stopped.
Staring ahead, he saw the riders beside the marching line - two men on horseback, their crisp gray uniforms marking them as part of the temporary order. They kept pace without pausing. A quick flicker of eyes toward Aldric came from one, yet his gaze returned straight ahead just as fast.
Kael lowered himself slowly. Ashen, like dust on stone, Aldric's skin told its own story. A faint rhythm moved his chest - breath still there. Likely heat sickness. Water had been too little, stretched thin across days. Worse, trudging forward under iron gear, sun beating without mercy, nowhere to hide beneath an empty sky.
Later, he managed to move alone. Within an hour, steps came without help. They lifted Aldric slowly, each holding one arm, moving through dust and silence. Beside Kael now stood Sorin, close, steady. The water skin hung at the man's hip - almost gone - so Kael offered what little he had left. Nothing true came to mind except those few words: rise when ready.
One by one, the officers stayed silent. Not a single voice rose to confirm it.
Something stirred in the ranks, yet none of the officers gave it a glance unless hooves faltered. Horses moving fast meant eyes stayed forward. A disturbance meant nothing if the pace held. Only when speed dipped did anyone turn. Unrest passed unnoticed beneath the rhythm of steady riding.
Fourth morning came. She spoke up about something small she'd watched without saying much before now. The wagon trailing behind them carried less weight than it ought to. War meant tighter rations - nobody argued that point. Yet the math didn't land right. What they received each day lined up with roster numbers. Only problem? Those roster numbers were stretched when names got written down. Things on paper that weren't attached to people. She'd watched the cops sort through those sheets, just like she saw everything else - quietly, closely, never letting on.
Later that night, while the group stayed near the edge of camp, speaking softly so the breeze wouldn't carry their words, she murmured, "There's a gap - and someone's claiming it.".
"Taking it where?" Bren asked.
"I don't know. Back toward the city, probably. Sold. Skimmed. It's an old trick."
"How do you know that?" Orren asked.
"My father ran cargo on the river docks for fifteen years," Ysse said. "I know what a padded manifest looks like."
Kael moved quick, boots tapping stone, mind stuck on clerks scribbling names. Each alley brought another list, full of marks that didn't match the rations doled out at dawn. Numbers stretched too far, mismatched like ill-fit shoes. Somewhere down the road, someone counted coins instead of mouths to feed.
Out there beyond the dust, he figured, we weren't visible anymore. Slipping away, maybe, through miles and mirage, erased slowly by numbers drawn up long before any of us stepped forward.
Out loud, he kept quiet. Passing Bren the final piece of stiff bread from his share, he observed how the boy gulped it down without slowing - how kids tend to chew quick, certain another bite is always coming.
That mark on the spear stayed with him. Ysse's figures lingered just behind his thoughts.
One more thing joined the pile of mysteries sitting in his mind. Survival meant staying around till those answers showed up.