Page 84 of Oath
“Come home, Hound,” he whispered under his breath. “She deserves to know you. And so do I.”
Chapter twenty
The Last Redoubt
The war tent smelled of damp wool and blood. Maps sprawled across the long table, weighed down by daggers and stones to keep the corners from curling in the damp. Candlelight guttered against the canvas walls, throwing the men inside into sharp relief—gaunt faces, hollow eyes, hands that shook only when they thought no one was watching.
Clyde stood at the head of the table, armour unpolished but functional, shoulders squared against the weight of command. The Western flank looked to him, though their gazes carried little hope.
General Corbin’s fist slammed onto the table, rattling the ink pots. “We can’t hold another month. Supplies are gone. Half my men wear boots stuffed with straw. If we stay, we starve.”
“And if we retreat,” another commander snapped, “we give the rebels free run to the coast. They’ll burn Valemont’s riverside towns before winter’s out.”
Murmurs of agreement. Desperation, raw and bitter.
Clyde leaned over the map. He traced the inked lines of the terrain—the jagged ridges, the deep marshes, the single choke point where the rebel supply lines ran narrowest. His hand hovered there. “We can cut them,” he said at last, his voice low but firm. “Here. Strike at the Hollow Ridge pass. Sever their supply trains, cripple their numbers.”
Silence followed.
General Corbin spat into the dirt. “That’s madness. It’s fortified. They’ll have the high ground.”
“They won’t expect us to try,” Clyde replied. His eyes swept the table, steady, unflinching. “We go at night. Through the marsh. It will cost us—” he paused, letting the words weigh heavy, “—but if we survive, we end it here. We break them before spring.”
The commanders exchanged uneasy glances. One man muttered, “If we survive. And if we don’t?”
Clyde straightened, jaw hard as iron. “Then we die. And better we die ending it than rotting in trenches waiting for the tide to crush us.”
The silence stretched again, thick as smoke. No one argued. They all knew there was no good way forward. Only this way.
At last, General Corbin nodded once, grim and sharp. “High risk. High reward. We move at dawn tomorrow.”
The meeting broke, men filing out with the weight of their own mortality pressed heavy on their backs.
Clyde remained, staring down at the map, one gloved hand pressed to the inside of his chestplate where a faded ribbon lay.He thought of Aerion’s last letter, of Isolde’s name scrawled in the margins, of the plea written between every line.
He closed his eyes. Exhaled.
If he lived, the war would end.
If he died, at least it would mean something.
The camp was too quiet.
Not with true silence—there was always the shuffle of boots, the crackle of fires, the low murmur of men trying to laugh away their fear—but quiet in the way of men who knew tomorrow might be their last. No songs tonight. No dice rattling in cups. Only the soft, uneven chorus of breaths held too long.
Clyde sat alone in his tent, a single lantern flickering on the crate he used for a table. His armour rested beside him, straps loosened, his sword oiled and waiting. He had sharpened it twice already. Busy hands were better than a racing mind.
But now, there was nothing left to do but write.
He pulled out the parchment, his fingers clumsy from exhaustion. The ribbon tucked beneath his chestplate brushed against his palm when he bent forward, and he lingered on it a moment—frayed, faded, stained by sweat and blood, yet still red where it folded tight. He pressed it briefly to his lips before he began.
A,
Tomorrow we move. Hollow Ridge. High ground, narrow pass. High risk, high reward. You’d mock me for saying it out loud—I can hear you now: “Risk is for fools, reward is for gamblers.” Perhaps you’re right. But I’d rather fall with a sword in my hand than rot waiting for winter to bury us all.
If this letter reaches you, it will mean one of two things: either we succeeded, or I failed to return.
There’s no glory here. Only ghosts. But you’ve kept me alive longer than I thought possible. Your name shields me. I write it on my tongue before every charge. It steadies me when my hands shake.
