There was something wrong. Rel crouched in the underbrush, safely hidden under the dafina bush’s thick waxy leaves. To his left, the methodical thunder of the legion’s march, to his right, silence. Only it was the wrong kind of silence. One breath and ceremonial dagger was spun so the biting edge’s sharp silver faced out at the silence. Two breaths and an answering glint appeared from behind the low sweeping branches of the sessil grove. The dull grey of the speaking edge flashed twice, then vanished. Rel took another two breaths to answer, torn between his targets and curiosity.