“Halt!” Gill shouted over the drumming rain as he pulled his sword from its sheath and brandished it at the stranger. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

“I’m here to see Commander Parker,” the man said, not showing any signs of slowing. “Take me to him at once.”

Gill laughed. “Oh, aren’t you the bold one?” he said, extending the sword. The stranger walked right up to the tip, as if he meant to impale himself. “Stop or I’ll run—”

Before Gill could finish, the man hit the flat face of the sword. The vibration ran down the blade, breaking Gill’s grip. A second later, the man had the weapon and was pointing it at him.

“I gave you an order, picket,” the stranger snapped. “I’m not accustomed to repeating myself to my troops. Look sharp or I’ll have you flogged.”

Then the man returned his sword, which only made matters worse.

“What’s your name, picket?”

“Gill, ah, sir,” he said, adding the sir in case this man was an officer.

“Gill, in the future when standing watch, arm yourself with a crossbow and never let even one man approach to within one hundred feet without putting a hole through him, do you understand?” The man did not wait for an answer. He walked past him and continued striding up the hill through the tall wet grass.

“Umm, yes, sir, but I don’t have a crossbow, sir,” Gill said as he jogged behind him.

“Then you had best get one, isn’t that right?” the man called over his shoulder.

“Yes, sir.” Gill nodded even though the man was ahead of him.

The man walked past scores of tents, heading toward the middle of the camp. Everyone was inside, away from the rain, and no one saw him pass. The tents were a haphazard array of rope and stick-propped canvas. No two were alike, as the soldiers had scrounged supplies as they moved. Most were cut from ship sails grabbed at the port in Vernes and again in Kilnar. Others made do with nothing but old bed linens, and in a few rare cases, actual tents were used.

The stranger paused at the top of the hill. When Gill caught up, he asked, “Which of these tents belongs to Parker?”

“Parker? He’s not in a tent, sir. He’s in the farmhouse down that way,” Gill said, pointing.

“Gill, why are you off your post?” Sergeant Milford growled at him as he came out of his tent, blinking as the rain stung his eyes. He was wrapped in a cloak, his pale bare feet showing beneath it.

“Well, I—” Gill began, but the stranger interrupted.

“Who is this now?” The stranger walked right up to Milford and, scowling, stood with his hands on his hips.

“This here is Sergeant Milford, sir,” Gill answered, and the sergeant looked confused.