CASSIAN AND THE INFINITE THRONE

CASSIAN AND THE INFINITE THRONE

Volume 1: The Frontier Years

Chapter 15: The Last Quiet Night

The ridge was the best defensive position Sir Roland Ashcombe could find before sunset, which unfortunately said more about the surrounding forest than it did about the ridge itself.

The rise of stone overlooked the surrounding wilderness well enough to prevent an immediate surprise attack, but not well enough to inspire confidence. Dense trees surrounded most of the area, while the eastern slope descended into tangled undergrowth and broken terrain that seemed determined to conceal anything moving through it. The western side offered better visibility, though a clever enemy could still approach beneath the cover of darkness if given enough patience.

Roland stood near the highest point and studied the fading sunlight.

Years of military service had taught him that terrain rarely decided battles by itself. Terrain simply rewarded whichever side understood it first.

The Ironclaw worried him because every sign suggested the creature understood far more than it should.

Below him, camp preparations continued. Soldiers gathered firewood. Cooking pots were unpacked. Bedrolls appeared. Weapons received final inspections.

The familiar routine helped. Not because it removed fear. Because routine reminded people that they still possessed control over something.

A burst of laughter drifted across the ridge. Roland immediately recognized Tomas Reed.

The infantryman stood beside a large cooking pot while stirring stew with enough enthusiasm to suggest he had personally invented the concept of soup.

“…and then she looked directly at me and said that volunteering for dangerous expeditions was proof that marriage had failed to improve my judgment. I want everyone present to understand that my wife delivered this statement without hesitation, compassion, or even the slightest attempt at diplomacy.”

Several soldiers laughed. Brann Mercer sat nearby sharpening a short sword.

The massive veteran didn’t even look up. “Your wife probably skipped diplomacy because she already knew you would ignore it.”

More laughter followed.

Tomas pointed his spoon. “You consistently choose the least supportive option available during every conversation. If friendship were judged as a military skill, you would be considered catastrophically unqualified.”

Brann shrugged. “That’s because you mistake honesty for hostility. Those are completely different things.”

Tomas looked around the fire. “Do you hear that? That is the sound of a man defending cruelty with confidence.”

Lucas Hart laughed slightly later than everyone else.

The delay was small. Roland noticed anyway.

The young soldier sat near the fire with a spear resting across his knees. His posture remained too rigid. His shoulders remained too tense.

Fear. Nothing unusual. Most young soldiers experienced it before difficult battles. The difference was that Lucas seemed determined to hide it.

Garrick Stone noticed the same thing. The older veteran reached over and tapped the spear shaft. “You’ve been holding that thing like you’re trying to strangle it for the last fifteen minutes. If you squeeze any harder, the weapon might surrender before the monster arrives.”

Several soldiers chuckled.

Lucas loosened his grip immediately. “I was checking whether my hands would slip during a fight. It seemed better to discover that problem now rather than after something with claws larger than my head decided to attack.”

Garrick studied him for a moment. “That answer is reasonable enough that I almost believe it. Unfortunately, I’ve spent years teaching recruits, and every one of them develops the same habit when fear starts crawling around inside their skull.”

Lucas smiled awkwardly. “You always know?”

“I always know.” Garrick leaned back. “Young soldiers think veterans became fearless. The truth is that veterans simply recognize the symptoms because we used to suffer from them ourselves.”

That drew a few nods from nearby soldiers. Even Brann looked mildly approving.

Tomas immediately pointed toward Garrick. “Do you see that, Lucas? That was wisdom. Genuine wisdom. Make sure you appreciate it because Garrick only shares useful life lessons when the moon is positioned correctly.”

Garrick rolled his eyes. “I regret helping you survive your first campaign.”

“You say that every year.”

“Because every year proves me right.”

The laughter returned. Stronger this time. More natural.

For a few moments, the expedition looked less like a group preparing to hunt a monster and more like ordinary men enjoying an evening together.

Roland found himself appreciating the sight. Not because morale solved problems. Because morale allowed people to face problems without breaking.

Footsteps approached from the lower slope. Cedric Vale emerged carrying two cups of tea.

The mage offered one to Roland before settling near the fire.

His dark blue robes were mostly hidden beneath a practical traveling cloak stained by mud and dust.

Several days in the wilderness had not improved his opinion of wilderness.

“You look concerned,” Cedric observed.

Roland accepted the tea. “The forest continues giving me reasons.”

Cedric nodded. “I had hoped that statement would become less true over time. Instead, the evidence appears determined to embarrass every theory I’ve developed since leaving Lord Marwick’s estate.”

Tomas immediately seized the opportunity. “I find enormous comfort in knowing that educated people are confused as well. It would be deeply unfair if ordinary soldiers had to suffer uncertainty alone.”

Cedric sighed. “I attended one of the finest academies on the continent. Admitting uncertainty in front of infantrymen should not be part of my professional responsibilities.”

Brann looked up. “That’s because you’re still thinking like a scholar.”

The mage raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Brann returned to sharpening his sword. “It means every time reality disagrees with your expectations, you seem personally offended.”

The fire erupted with laughter.

Cedric stared at him. The mage clearly wanted to object. Unfortunately, the accusation was accurate enough to weaken his position.

Even Roland found himself smiling.

Cedric eventually shook his head. “I dislike how many people appear to agree with that statement.”

“That’s because you’ve been arguing with reality all week.”

Tomas pointed toward Brann again. “There he goes. Another accidental piece of wisdom.”

The giant veteran frowned. “How is it accidental if I’m doing it repeatedly?”

Nobody had an answer. That somehow made the moment even funnier.

The laughter gradually faded. Not completely. Just enough for silence to settle comfortably around the fire. For a time, nobody seemed eager to disturb it.

The sun finally disappeared. Darkness spread across the forest. The fires became brighter. The surrounding wilderness became larger.

Lucas stared into the flames. The question had been bothering him since they left Frostwood. Perhaps longer. The closer they came to the Ironclaw, the heavier it became.

Eventually, curiosity defeated hesitation. “Sir Roland, may I ask something?”

The conversation quieted naturally. Not because Roland demanded attention. Because everyone recognized the tone.

Lucas wasn’t asking for instructions. He was asking for understanding.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Roland set his cup aside. “You can ask. Whether you’ll enjoy the answer is a separate matter entirely.”

Several smiles appeared around the fire. The knight’s response relaxed the younger soldier slightly.

Lucas took a breath. Then another. Then finally spoke.

“I’ve been trying to understand something ever since we entered these woods. Everyone talks about courage as though it’s obvious, but the closer we get to finding the Ironclaw, the less certain I become that I understand what courage actually is.”

Nobody interrupted. Nobody joked. The question carried too much sincerity.

Lucas continued. “How do experienced people tell the difference between bravery and simply refusing to admit that something is stronger than them? At what point does courage stop being admirable and start becoming foolishness?”

The fire crackled softly. For several moments, nobody spoke. Not because the question lacked an answer.

Because everyone around the fire had probably asked themselves the same thing at some point in their lives.

Roland studied the young soldier. Then he looked around the camp. Then toward the darkness beyond the firelight. When he finally answered, his voice carried neither certainty nor drama.

Only experience.

“When I was younger, I believed courage came from confidence. I thought experienced warriors eventually stopped being afraid because they had survived enough battles to trust themselves. The older I became, the more I realized that belief was nonsense.”

The fire reflected in his eyes. “Fear never truly leaves. Experience simply teaches you that fear is not entitled to make decisions on your behalf.”

The camp remained silent. Everyone listened. Even Tomas. Even Brann.

Even Rowan, who had arrived with Gareth several minutes earlier and now sat quietly near the edge of the firelight.

Roland continued. “A knight who claims he always knows victory is possible is usually lying to others, lying to himself, or too inexperienced to recognize uncertainty when it stands directly in front of him. I’ve entered battles expecting victory. I’ve entered battles expecting casualties. I’ve entered battles genuinely uncertain whether I would survive until sunset.”

Lucas listened carefully. The answer wasn’t what he expected. That was precisely why it mattered.

Lucas stared into the flames while Roland’s words settled over the campfire. The answer sounded simple at first, yet the more he considered it, the more complicated it became. Fear not being allowed to make decisions sounded admirable when spoken by a knight who had survived countless battles. It sounded significantly more difficult when applied to a young soldier whose most dangerous opponent before this expedition had been a drunken poacher with poor balance and worse judgment.

Tomas leaned back against a log and scratched his chin thoughtfully. “You know what bothers me about Roland’s answer? The fact that it sounds wise enough to carve into a monument while being completely unhelpful to someone who still has all their limbs attached.”

Several soldiers laughed.

Roland sighed.

Tomas pointed toward Lucas. “Think about it from his perspective. He’s sitting here wondering whether he’s brave, and our honorable commander responds with a philosophical lesson about fear and responsibility. That’s excellent advice for a veteran. It’s significantly less comforting for a young man who may have to stand in front of a monster tomorrow.”

Lucas looked relieved somebody had voiced the concern.

Roland noticed immediately. “So what would you tell him instead?”

Tomas grinned. The expression lacked its usual theatrical energy. This answer mattered to him.

“I’d tell him that most brave people never realize they’re brave until after the dangerous part ends. When my daughter was born, I nearly fainted three separate times before lunch. I spent the entire day convinced that every decision I made would somehow ruin her life forever.”

Several soldiers chuckled.

Tomas continued. “The strange part is that I never thought of myself as courageous. I was terrified. The midwife was terrifying. My wife was terrifying. The responsibility was terrifying. Looking back, though, I kept doing what needed doing despite being scared half to death.”

He shrugged. “Most courage feels like that. It feels awful while it’s happening.”

The fire erupted with laughter. Even Roland smiled.

Brann shook his head. “Only you could compare hunting a monster to becoming a father.”

“Both situations involve being terrified and making poor decisions while pretending everything is under control.”

“That explanation was unfortunately reasonable.”

Tomas pointed triumphantly. “You see? Brann agrees with me.”

Brann immediately frowned. “No. I said the explanation was reasonable. Those are completely different statements.”

Cedric took a sip from his tea. “Watching the two of you argue has convinced me that language is a fundamentally flawed invention.”

The laughter returned. For a few moments, the tension around the fire loosened. Not completely. The Ironclaw remained too close for complete comfort.

Still, the conversation felt warmer now. More honest.

Lucas looked toward Brann. “You disagree with Sir Roland and Tomas?”

The giant veteran considered the question. “I disagree with parts of what they said. Roland thinks like a commander. Tomas thinks like a father. Both perspectives make sense because both men are responsible for people.”

Brann rested the sword across his knees. “My problem is that people spend too much time trying to define courage. Monsters don’t care about definitions. Fear doesn’t care about definitions. Death certainly doesn’t care.”

The fire crackled softly.

Brann’s voice remained calm. “When my father taught me blacksmithing, he used to say that steel doesn’t care what you believe. You can tell yourself a blade is strong. You can pray that it’s strong. You can write songs about how strong it is. Then you hit something hard and reality gives you the answer.”

Several veterans nodded. They understood exactly what he meant.

Brann pointed toward the darkness beyond the firelight. “The Ironclaw doesn’t care whether we call ourselves brave. Tomorrow will reveal whether we are capable.”

Cedric raised an eyebrow. “That’s a very practical philosophy.”

“It has worked so far.”

The mage smiled slightly. “Your survival would suggest that it has.”

Brann looked pleased for approximately half a second before suspicion appeared. “That sounded like a compliment.”

“It was.”

“I don’t trust it.”

Several soldiers laughed.

Cedric shook his head. “I spend years studying magical theory, ancient texts, and monster behavior only to discover that infantrymen become uncomfortable when praised.”

“That’s because compliments usually arrive before additional work.”

The fire erupted again. This time even Cedric laughed.

Lucas watched the exchange carefully. Something about it fascinated him. These men were different. Not merely in experience but in perspective.

Everyone seemed to view the same problem through a completely different lens.

Roland noticed the thoughtful expression. “What are you thinking?”

Lucas hesitated. Then answered honestly. “I expected everyone to have similar answers. Instead, it feels like each person is describing a different version of courage.”

Cedric nodded immediately. “That’s because they are.”

The mage leaned forward slightly. “Academies spend an absurd amount of time discussing virtues as though they are fixed concepts. Then reality arrives and ruins the discussion. Courage looks different depending on who needs it.”

Lucas frowned.

Cedric continued. “A commander needs courage to make decisions that may cost lives. A father needs courage to accept responsibility for a family. A hunter needs courage to follow dangerous tracks. A scholar needs courage to admit ignorance.”

Tomas pointed dramatically. “That last one sounds suspiciously personal.”

“It is personal.” Cedric didn’t even attempt to deny it. “I arrived on this expedition believing I understood monsters better than frightened villagers. The Ironclaw has spent four days proving that assumption incorrect.”

Rowan finally spoke.

The hunter had remained quiet for most of the discussion, listening with the patience of a man accustomed to observing before acting. “At least you admitted it.”

Several heads turned. Rowan rarely wasted words.

Cedric nodded. “I didn’t have much choice.”

“You always have a choice.” Rowan’s gaze drifted toward the forest. “Most people choose pride.”

The statement hung in the air. Not hostile and not aggressive. Just honest.

Cedric studied him for several moments. Then slowly smiled. “That might be the nicest criticism anyone has ever given me.”

Tomas immediately pointed toward Rowan. “See? That’s why hunters are dangerous. They spend years alone in forests and eventually learn how to insult people with surgical precision.”

Even Rowan laughed at that. A rare sound, short, quiet and genuine.

For the first time since the expedition began, Lucas realized something important.

These men weren’t fearless. They weren’t legends. They weren’t heroes from stories. They were simply people.

Experienced people. Capable people. People who understood fear and continued moving anyway.

Strangely enough, that realization comforted him far more than any tale of invincible warriors ever could.

The laughter gradually faded, though the warmth it created lingered around the campfire. The forest remained dark. The Ironclaw remained somewhere beyond the trees. Neither fact changed.

Yet the atmosphere felt different. The fear hadn’t disappeared. It had simply become shared.

Roland had always believed shared burdens became lighter, even when the burden itself remained unchanged.

Garrick tossed another piece of firewood into the flames. Sparks drifted upward before disappearing into the night. “You know what I find amusing?” the older soldier asked.

Tomas immediately groaned. “That opening sentence has never led to anything reassuring.”

“I’m serious.”

“That doesn’t improve my confidence.”

Several soldiers chuckled.

Garrick ignored him. “When I was young, I thought experienced warriors spent their evenings discussing glorious battles, heroic victories, and famous monsters.”

The veteran shook his head. “Then I became experienced and discovered that most veterans spend their evenings complaining about sore knees, poor weather, and younger soldiers.”

Lucas smiled. “I’m beginning to notice that.”

“You should.” Garrick pointed at him. “Because one day you’ll be sitting around a fire criticizing some terrified recruit while pretending you were never exactly like him.”

Lucas laughed. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget how nervous I feel right now.”

Brann snorted. “Every generation says that.”

The giant veteran set aside his whetstone. “Then twenty years pass, and suddenly they’re giving advice they swore they’d never give.”

Tomas looked horrified. “You’re telling me I become Garrick?”

“No.” Brann’s expression remained perfectly serious. “You become worse.”

The fire exploded with laughter. Even Garrick looked pleased.

Tomas placed both hands over his chest. “I spend years bringing joy and entertainment into people’s lives, and this is the gratitude I receive.”

“Correct.”

The answer came from half the camp simultaneously. That only made everyone laugh harder. For several moments, the expedition looked almost normal.

Almost.

The illusion shattered when Gareth finally spoke. The hunter had remained quiet for most of the evening.

Not because he disliked conversation. Because memory had been sitting beside him all night. Every person around the fire noticed the change immediately.

The laughter faded. The camp settled. Even Tomas remained silent.

Gareth stared into the flames. When he finally spoke, his voice carried none of the humor surrounding the previous conversation. “I think all of you are fortunate.”

Several people exchanged confused looks. The statement sounded strange coming from him.

Roland leaned forward slightly. “What makes you say that?”

Gareth took several moments before answering. The pause felt deliberate. As though he were choosing words carefully.

“When you talk about courage, you’re talking about something you’ve experienced before. Different battles. Different monsters. Different dangers.”

His eyes remained fixed on the fire. “You’ve all faced fear and survived it.”

Nobody interrupted. Nobody rushed him.

Gareth continued. “The first time I saw the Ironclaw, I lost that certainty.”

The atmosphere changed instantly. The campfire remained warm. The night did not.

Lucas felt his stomach tighten. Even Brann stopped moving. Gareth rarely discussed the encounter. When he did, people listened.

The hunter slowly exhaled. “I’ve hunted monsters for most of my life. Wolves. Dire boars. Shadowcats. Rockfang bears. Things capable of killing ordinary men without difficulty.”

His fingers tightened around the wooden bowl. “Every dangerous creature follows certain rules. Maybe you don’t know exactly how strong it is. Maybe you don’t know exactly how fast it is. But eventually you understand what you’re dealing with.”

The fire crackled softly. “The Ironclaw was the first creature that made me question whether I understood anything at all.”

Nobody spoke. The words carried too much weight.

Cedric studied Gareth carefully. The mage had heard pieces of the story before. Never like this.

“What happened?”

The question emerged quietly. Respectfully.

Gareth nodded. “You deserve the full answer.”

End of Chapter 15