The Black Legion camp was a maze of flickering torches and worn-out soldiers.
Tents stretched in uneven rows across the rocky ground. Armor clinked. Boots shuffled.
Somewhere in the distance. A man coughed harshly, followed by a low groan.
The air smelled thick. Smoke, sweat, and something else bitter… like burnt herbs and old blood.
Kyle walked silently with the others, following the soldier who had brought them from the command tent.
His legs felt like lead. His arms ached from holding Zalrielle for so long.
They stopped near the edge of the camp. Where a smaller tent was set up.
A black kettle hung over a weak fire, and a wooden table held stacks of dented bowls.
A gruff soldier behind it eyed them once. Then shoved a bowl into Kyle's hands.
The bowl sloshed. Inside was a gray, lumpy stew.
Chunks of something.
Meat? roots?
Floated in the thick broth. It looked like it had been boiled for hours, maybe days.
