Secrets of the Stonechaser (The Law of Eight Book 1) by Nicholas Andrews

Qabala, to present her the gift of victory. And then...
    What then? Stay at her side in Palehorse? Become a Dume-General and rule with her? The throne was not for him, Nerris knew that much. But was Qabala?
    He fell into a fitful slumber from which he awoke an hour later. He knew why. He had reached for Qabala while asleep, and upon not finding her, panic jolted him awake. He sighed. Who was this strange, beautiful, captivating woman who had ensnared his affections so fluidly?
    Nerris dressed himself and left the tent. The chirping of crickets filled the chilly night air, and Nerris noted he could now see his own breath. The season had begun to turn. He encountered a guard at the camp perimeter, who looked half asleep himself. He hailed Nerris with a sloppy salute. “Uh, Commander—”
    “It’s all right,” Nerris said as he walked past him. “Just taking a piss. I can’t abide the smell of chamber pots.”
    The guard nodded and let him through. Nerris wandered away from the camp, stepping carefully in the dark. He had not lied; encampments tended to smell of piss and shit and smoke, and he never had much liking for it. He wanted to get into the forest, to feel the cool breeze on his face and listen to the sounds of nature.
    Though Nerris had grown up in the Great Oak Forest, these woods had their own unique presence. The gnarled trees seemed like hulking giants, especially in the dark, and it was no wonder the place had such a frightening reputation. Even Nerris, who braved horrors both physical and supernatural with frequency, kept a hand on his scabbard. He found a trail, and stepped over the fallen leaves silently, as he had been taught in his hunting classes at Gauntlet. Whether ghosts were out here or not, his presence was best kept secret.
    Nerris thought about the coming battle as he walked, and Prince Lahnel’s feeble attempts to slow him. Something didn’t seem right about that business with the archers. What had he hoped to accomplish?
    Lost in thought, he suddenly realized he had strayed far from the camp. He had climbed a hill, and could see the cook fires glowing in the distance. He strained to hear any sound, a man’s shout, a horse’s whinny, but he was too far away. He found a likely spot, and rolled down his riding pants, relieving himself on a tree stump.
    When he finished, he pulled his pants up and buckled his belt. That was when he finally heard a sound, drifting into his ears from over the hill. He heard many voices, raised in processional chant. It was faint, but it carried on the wind.
    Nerris knew he was in command of an army and had no business risking his neck so flippantly, but a lifetime of habitual curiosity was difficult to deny. Nerris sneaked over the crest of the hill and came upon a small copse, overlooking a glade in the far distance, well below his perch.
    Many chanters littered the glade, each wearing some kind of robe. Those on the fringe carried torches, giving light to their gathering. As Nerris strained to hear, a twig snapped behind him. In one quick motion, Nerris freed his katana from its scabbard and spun, swinging the blade in an arc.
    Steel clashed against steel as the figure behind him got his sword up. “Nerris, it’s me!” Rade hissed.
    Nerris hesitated before he went for his next stroke, and saw the old man’s gray beard and eyes twinkling in the moonlight. Nerris sheathed his sword. “Don’t ever do that, Rade,” he said. “I nearly cut you in half.”
    “Good thing my sword-arm reflexes haven’t gone to rust like the rest of me,” Rade replied.
    “What are you doing out here, anyway?”
    “Might ask you the same thing, Commander.” Rade sheathed his own blade. “It’s a nice night for a moonlight stroll, but you’re too valuable to lose. I’m just acting under Lady Qabala’s orders. She wants you tailed at all times.”
    “Tailed?”
    Rade shrugged. “She really wants you to come back to her. What’s so important that you need to leave camp