Alpheo sat at the head of the long wooden table inside his command tent. Around him sat those closest to him—Shahab, his son Jared, and finally Jarza and Egil.
The meal before them was nothing grand, just simple pasta with a drizzle of oil and herbs, followed by a side of well-cooked meat.
Outside the tent, the sounds of the camp carried through—soldiers laughing, sharpening their weapons, sharing stories of the day's victory. The battle had been short but decisive. And while they had not caught as many as they'd wanted, they had still won, and with victory came food.
Alpheo was no fool. He knew the weight that pressed on his men's shoulders. They were outnumbered, surrounded on multiple sides, and fighting for a prince that many would say was walking toward his doom.
