“It looks like the fighting moved that way,” says Arxa. “Be on your guard.”

An enemy archer materializes on the hillside below us.

“Commander, watch out!”

I act out of instinct, grabbing the closest rock and hurling it at the archer as hard as I can. It knocks him in the shoulder, and the arrow goes awry. I sprint down the cliffside again, thinking only to get to him before he can let off another shot. We collide and fall in an explosion of painfully jagged pebbles, skidding down the mountainside, snapping branches and bouncing off rocks along the way. I splay my limbs out, trying to stop our fall, but I have to pull in my arms to fend off the man’s blows. Finally, we come to a firm stop with him on top of me. He pins my arms with his knees. Through the spots dancing before my eyes, I see him pull a knife out of its sheath. He’s an ugly man, with one eye missing. I struggle to throw him off, but he’s got me pinned solid.

He raises the blade. I grit my teeth.

Arxa’s boot connects with the man’s head, and he falls off me. I push myself onto my elbows, grimacing, and Arxa offers me a hand up.

“Thank you, sir,” I say.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says.

As if by magic, more rebels appear on the cliff below us.

“Back up to the trail,” Arxa says. “Regroup with Pisinah and Walgash.”

I do my best to scramble up the mountainside, but going up is much harder than coming down, and my feet can find no purchase. It’s like I’m running in place.

Suddenly, shouts sound from above. My heart lifts to see twenty—no, thirty or forty—of Neju’s Guard coming up the trail.

“For Ampara!” comes the battle cry. The rebels turn to flee. A volley of arrows chases them, followed by our troops. When the dust settles, the only remaining rebels are the ones who are too wounded to get away.

Arxa scans our surroundings, then slowly turns to address the troops. “Check the fallen,” he says.

The troops around me rush to work, bandaging our injured. We check the surviving rebels as well. The only one in good enough shape to take prisoner is the archer I tackled. Everyone else, we finish off.

It’s gruesome work. Arxa points to a young fighter on the ground who’d been hobbled by an arrow to the hamstring. “Dineas, take care of that one.”

“Yes, sir.” The Shidadi looks up at me with pure desperation, and he starts to hyperventilate. A chill goes through me. It’s one thing to cut down an enemy in battle, but to kill someone who’s been rendered helpless…

“Quickly, Dineas,” says Arxa.