We have caught up to the army.
“Son of a scorpion.” I drop behind a log. Yatin pulls Natesa down, and they kneel beside me. Rohan teeters up to us and slumps over, lounging on a leaf pile. I would lie down too, if I thought I could get up again. I drop my pack to lighten my load. “Yatin and Natesa, stay here. Rohan and I will go ahead and stake out the camp while it’s dark.”
“Why do I have to go?” Rohan gripes, his young voice breaking. “I’m starved!”
He has not complained once during our trek. I hesitate to push him further, but we are here to find Opal and Brac. And I need Rohan to do so. I grasp the back of his shirt and lift him. Fortunately, he is not fully grown or I would not have the strength. “I need your sharp hearing. Are any scouts nearby?”
Rohan listens to the breeze stirring the branches above. “No, but the soldiers setting up camp are loud, so I could be missing them over the ruckus.”
Scouring the army’s camp could take us all night. Rohan’s exceptional hearing is the only chance we have of succeeding. “Expect our return by dawn,” I tell Yatin. “Be on watch.”
“Eat before you go,” says Natesa, passing out rations.
I force down several bites of dried fish. The briny taste clings to my tongue like barnacles. I drain my water flask and give Rohan the rest of my fish. He shoves the chunk into his mouth, his cheeks bulging, and we set out.
The nearer we creep to the army, the wider the hole in my stomach expands. Torches extend so far into the distance I cannot make out the other end of camp.
Rohan and I carefully navigate the leaf-strewn forest, sneaking closer to the men, horses, and tents. We stop in the shadows and duck low in the brush. Torchlights illuminate the peaks of several buildings—barracks.
This is not just a camp. The army has stopped at a military outpost.
My mind spins to figure out which one. Yatin is the more proficient navigator, but if I remember right, the closest outpost to the location where Brac and Opal crashed was well within the Tarachand border. The army has traveled farther than I presumed. Should they continue their grueling pace, they will reach Vanhi a day ahead of schedule, and do so with swelling ranks. This outpost houses five hundred men, all of whom will be eager to join the imperial army under the direction of their returned rajah.
Their numbers are already large. They must have recruited while marching. When the army left Iresh, they could not have had more than two thousand men, both sworn-in soldiers and volunteer citizens. Now their ranks are vast. I estimate the army is composed of several infantry units, a light cavalry, and archers. But I am unable to accurately tally the army’s head count in the dark. Perhaps it is better that I cannot discern how big their camp is, or else I might turn away.
Unbending from my crouch, I signal for Rohan to lead on. The trees shield us as we dart across an opening to the back side of a barrack. He listens for stray guards, then shakes his head. We have not been discovered. I peer around the corner.
Soldiers mill about between the pitched tents, cleaning their jackets and brushing off their boots. Many wear no military garb, but they fly the Tarachand colors, a black scorpion on a red backdrop. Though they are short on uniforms, they have plenty of weapons. Khandas, haladies, and machetes are propped against every tent. Wagons full of food and water are parked intermittently across camp. A massive wooden catapult rests off to the side. Wagons brimming with ammunition, bolts, and boulders outnumber those hauling food supplies.
I rejoin Rohan and whisper, “Any trace of Brac or your sister?”
“Nothing.” Rohan’s huge eyes are even wider than normal. He looks so young. “We should turn back. Something isn’t right. When I reach for the wind, it doesn’t come.”
A breeze flows over us. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Something is stopping the wind’s whisperings.”
A gong rings far off. I draw farther into the shadows. Rohan fits his thin back tighter against the wall, his chin lifted. The lump of his voice box protrudes from his elongated throat.