I was falling for the Druid so hard and fast and deep that I'd grown too tired to try to fight it. There was no point in resisting anymore anyway. He'd burrowed his way into my heart.
A group of twinkling lights, about fifty yards away, paused my train of thought.
"Serena, can you see that far ahead?" Hansa whispered as we stopped.
I used my True Sight to discover a camp of about fifty incubi in military attire, most of them sleeping around several fires. Some were still eating and talking. They were all beautiful specimens, with symmetrical features, smooth silvery skin, deep set eyes, and short black hair, as if they had been sculpted by the same artist tortured by his desire to achieve aesthetic perfection.
"There's an incubus camp there. Four fires, about ten to fifteen gathered around each fire," I replied. They're soldiers, judging by the attire. Most of them are sleeping, but some are still awake eating. Their weapons are put away, except for two incubi keeping watch on the northern and southern side of the camp."
"We'll have to be quiet and move around them," Draven said.
"I think we should pass through," Hansa replied. "We might pick up some information on the way. They can't see us."
Draven pondered the issue for a minute, then whispered, "I agree with Hansa. Let's meet on the other side of the camp by the giant purple tree." He tugged my arm, and we moved ahead, straight into the camp.
I looked ahead and saw exactly which tree he meant. An incubus slept there, his head resting on one of the thick but smaller roots. It was the only purple tree around. Hansa hissed thrice as she swiftly moved into the camp.
We followed her closely, careful not to make any noise. The spell that Draven had spoken implied that we would be soundless, but we couldn't take any chances. After all, we could hear each other.
Most of the incubi were submerged in deep slumber, the occasional snore rising from the sea of bodies in military attire. We stopped in front of one of the camp fires, where five incubi were still eating from their rations of dried meat and bread. One was sharpening his sword with a black stone. The whistle of the metal cut through the peaceful night like a reminder that more blood would be spilled.
"I don't like this, Mal," one incubus said to another, his mouth full. "We're stuck here looking out for nothing in particular, while Sverik's stuck in a cage. It's not right."
"There's nothing we can do about it, Yaron," Mal replied while running the black stone down the blade again.
"We could go get him," a third one interjected.
"How do you suggest we do that, Capheus?" Mal asked sarcastically. "Do we just walk in and ask one of those grotesque Destroyers to kindly escort us to Captain Sverik? Do you think they'll offer us sweet water as a courtesy, too?"
Capheus rolled his eyes and chewed another piece of dry meat, visibly displeased with its taste but hungry enough to eat it anyway.
"That's what I thought," Mal added. "We sit here and wait for orders, like we were told. Until then, we figure out what to do next and how to handle our new commander. Goren's a prickly bastard."
"Prickly? I would've gone for fat oversized snake with a brain the size of a pea!" Yaron replied. "I can't believe we have to listen to him."
I heard Hansa hiss three times from behind Yaron, who sat across the fire from where Draven and I were standing. We didn't move, but Draven hissed back. The incubi looked around, frowning.
"Snakes? See anything?" asked Mal, checking the ground behind him.
They all shook their heads, unable to see anything.
"They might be lurking in the grass nearby," said Yaron. "They won't come any closer. Like most creatures out there, they don't fare well with fire."
"My point is," Mal continued, "it's either obey or die with these creeps. It's bad enough we have sworn fealty to them. Let's keep our garrison alive and fight for Sverik another day. His father's planning another assault with Goren anyway. They're looking further north now. They might take us with them."
"So we can spill our blood while the Destroyers prance around on their winged horses throwing their poisonous spears?" Yaron was clearly displeased with the entire situation.
"What would you rather do then, Yaron?" Capheus snapped. "Curl up and die? They won't let you. They'll lock you up and torture you and chip away at your very soul until you beg them to kill you. That's worse than death, my friend. Snap out of it. We obey or we suffer the same fate as Sverik. At least we can still bear arms."
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