Beneath the Shadowlanders

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Abigail

We zip back to the encampment, passing more and more soldiers as we go. Each one feels like another small victory. One more person who doesn't have to die in this pointless war.

We practically fly into the cart lot, parking it at the end of a row. Terrance pockets the keys again, ensuring we have transportation if things get ugly. We jump out and rush back into the camp.

There are still hundreds of soldiers here. At least as many as have left. It's a little disheartening, but Terrance turns to face me and plants a kiss on my forehead. "It's not all of them, but it's enough," he murmurs happily. "Now, let's see what else we can do."

I nod and we make our way in, starting at the supply tent. The soldier at the table is the same one from last night. He recognizes us. "What can I do for you?" he asks.

"Actually, we're here to see what we can do," Terrance replies charmingly.

The man looks surprised, especially given how cold Terrance was last night, but he recovers quickly. "We're actually not where the help is needed, sir," he admits. "They're running short on soldiers. Something about hundreds of deserters. They need men on the front lines."

Terrance nods curtly and takes my hand as he starts to walk away. We march through the camp, passing dozens upon dozens of officers. "If they're so desperate for front line men, why don't any of the officers do it?" he comments snarkily, glaring at a few of them as we pass.

We're nearing the strategy tent we invaded last night when we pass an officer dragging a line of handcuffed men toward a transport vehicle.

"Hey," Terrance calls, "What are you doing with those men?"

The officer turns and looks him up and down, sneering slightly. "Taking them to the front lines, of course. That's what we do with deserters around here." He spits into the dirt, nearly hitting one of the prisoners.

"So, these men decided they don't want to fight your war, and your solution is to, what, murder them in cold blood?" Terrance demands.

"We're using them as bait," the officer admits almost proudly. "If they die, well, better them than one of my real men." He scoffs at them and begins loading them into the transport, with quite a bit more roughness than is strictly necessary.

Terrance is fairly seething at this point, his eyes lit up with fire and his cheeks catching the burn. He clenches his hands into fists, turning his knuckles white. He's about to say something more when the officer interrupts him.

"Look, I'm just following orders. You got a problem, you take it up with the commander."

Terrance spits in his direction before grabbing my hand again. He marches us right back into the strategy tent, only to discover it's empty.

"Damn!" he curses, slapping his palms down onto the table in the middle of the room. He turns and faces me. "These men are going to be slaughtered. They're dying, Bee, in a war that they can't even win."

"I know," I soothe him. "We'll find a way to stop it, I swear."

The tent flaps open and a low-ranking officer steps through. Seeing us there, he tries to back out of the tent, but Terrance has already latched onto him. "Where's the commander?" he demands.

"Last I heard, he was reviewing some prisoners, trying to find out if they're deserters," the man responds shakily.

"Where?" Terrance spits.

"The prison tent, sir. 724."

Terrance releases him, then, and he runs out of the tent without another word.