Chapter 19: Seeds of the Betrayer
The quiet after battle was deceptive. Though the battlefield had gone silent, the true war—one of minds, loyalty, and hidden hands—was only beginning. Even in the calm light of dawn, an air of unrest clung to the rebel camp like smoke that refused to disperse. While they had repelled the Order's assault, the witch knew such victories were only the beginning. The deeper threat now lurked within.
From the ridge overlooking the camp, Elias observed the horizon, his hand resting unconsciously on the relic hidden beneath his cloak. Beside him stood Tavian, weary but alert, his youthful features hardening into the weathered lines of experience.
"They'll regroup," Tavian said quietly. "Strike again when we least expect."
Elias nodded. "Yes. And next time, they'll bring more than soldiers. They'll bring fear. And perhaps, betrayal."
He glanced down into the camp, where healers moved among the wounded, and scouts debriefed in hushed tones. The witch stood near the command tent, speaking in low voices with Marcellus and a small gathering of trusted warriors. Her presence was a beacon, her control steady, but Elias sensed something shifting.
Too many eyes darted away when met. Too many whispered conversations fell silent when he approached.
Within the hour, the witch summoned him. In the privacy of the command tent, she laid out the beginnings of a disturbing pattern.
"Three minor supply caravans, all meant to arrive yesterday, have vanished," she said. "No word. No signs of skirmish. No tracks."
Elias frowned. "You think the Order ambushed them?"
"I think someone within knew their routes. And told our enemies."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and leaden.
"We need to find the leak," Elias said. "Quietly. Before suspicion fractures what little unity we've built."
The witch nodded. "Choose those you trust. Observe. Ask nothing directly yet. We root this out with care, or we risk turning on ourselves."
By midday, Elias had discreetly selected four individuals—Tavian among them—to monitor internal communications and movements. They avoided the appearance of interrogations, instead posing as routine check-ins or assistance. The effort was subtle, slow.
But by evening, cracks began to show.
A runner, eyes wide with panic, arrived breathlessly. "Sir! One of the captured Order scouts… he's dead. Poisoned."
Elias and Tavian rushed to the prisoner's tent. The body was curled unnaturally on the ground, lips dark, veins pronounced with the telltale signs of wolfsbane. No one claimed responsibility. No one had seen anything.
Later that night, the witch gathered her inner circle. Her eyes were sharper than ever, her voice calm but laced with steel.
"The Order's scout was our best chance to track their next movements," she said. "Someone knew that. Someone chose to silence him."
Marcellus growled, fists clenched. "Then let's drag every soul in this camp before us and question them. We'll find the traitor."
"No," the witch said sharply. "That plays into the betrayer's hand. They want us fractured. We'll give them no such gift."
Elias leaned forward. "We isolate those with access. Narrow the list. Watch who visits the food stores, the armory, the messengers. Whoever killed that scout made a mistake. They'll make another."
Outside, the wind howled through the trees, and the storm they had weathered the night before seemed to whisper through the tents again. In the shadow of their recent victory, unease took root.
That unease reached a peak when, in the dead of night, another attack struck—not from outside, but from within.
A cache of enchanted weapons, meant for the frontlines, exploded in a controlled blaze. No lives were lost, but the message was clear: someone inside the camp had knowledge of the rebel's strongest tools—and was actively sabotaging them.
By dawn, the witch's expression had hardened. She stood before the camp's main square, calling all commanders and aides.
"We have fought death itself to stand here," she said, voice like iron. "We have faced blades and fire, exile and silence. But I tell you now—the greatest danger we face is not out there. It is the dagger hidden in our own hands. Until we reveal it, we will be hunted not only by the Order, but by our own mistrust."
She held up her hand, and a single rune flared to life—a binding charm of truth and clarity. "From this moment forward, all actions concerning supplies, strategies, and communication will be channeled through a single line. One controlled, monitored, and warded against deceit."
Murmurs ran through the crowd. Some were defiant. Others relieved. A few, deeply nervous.
Elias stepped beside her. "We will root out the traitor. Not with fear, but with truth."
As the gathering dispersed, Elias caught sight of one rebel—a logistics officer named Branik—slipping away too quickly. Too quietly. Tavian was already on his heels.
By nightfall, the trap had been set. A forged message was leaked, detailing a fake shipment heading for a supposed allied outpost. Branik took the bait.
Hours later, they caught him red-handed, attempting to intercept the shipment before it ever left camp. His face, once calm and forgettable, twisted in desperation.
"You don't understand," he spat as he was bound. "They promised peace. Promised that if I helped, no more would die."
"You betrayed every soul here," Elias said coldly. "You gave them our hope."
The witch stood over the man, gaze unreadable. "You thought you were ending the war by feeding us to the wolves. But all you did was show us how deep their claws go."
Branik was imprisoned, his confession taken and verified by magic. The camp exhaled a breath it hadn't known it was holding. One traitor down. How many more?
That night, the witch stood beneath the stars, wind tugging at her cloak. Elias approached quietly.
"This was only one," he said. "There could be more. There probably are."
"There always are," she murmured. "But now, the camp knows we are watching. And we are stronger for it."
Elias looked to the stars. "Then we fight from the inside out. No rot left beneath our roots."
The witch nodded. "And when the Order comes again, they will find us not only ready… but unbreakable."
The fire in her eyes flared anew, mirrored in Elias's own. The rebels had survived betrayal, survived a siege, and survived doubt. What lay ahead was uncertain.
But they would face it together.
And they would endure.