Chapter XXXIX - Death

*grin*

That's really all I have to say about this chapter.

~Emily "Firebrand"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The eastern horizon was still dark when Zoe left her tent. Turning, she crouched down beside Brac, who acknowledged her with a faint nicker. She smiled softly. “You’re improving,” she encouraged him. A nicker was not much, but at least it meant he recognized her again. Two days ago he had been fighting a fever and she could have sworn he was delirious for he had been more hostile to her presence than anything else. “It’s good to have you back,” she whispered in his ear, stroking his cheek. Quickly checking his bandage, she was satisfied to see it was clean and no pus had appeared around the edges of the wound. Thank You, Deus.

“I’m leaving you in Shyla’s care again,” she told Brac in a soft voice.

He exhaled slowly and seemed to focus his dark gaze on her face.

“It’ll be okay,” she soothed. “You know she’ll take care of you. And I’ll be careful today. We’re doing something different you know. Tancred told me of it late last night. We’ll be surprising the Elangsians by riding from the west down upon their unprotected flank.”

She mulled over the idea again, as she had for the majority of the night. Despite her lack of sleep, adrenaline kept her mental faculties sharp. It’s a good idea, whoever came up with it, she decided. Tancred had not mentioned who originally proposed it during the conference with King Jaeger and his men. Something about the stealth that would be required on such a venture excited her. I’ve had enough of the clashes in the middle of the field, where nobody really wins and more men are butchered than I can even comprehend.

Zoe bowed her head for a moment, her hand stilling its movement. Memories from the battle constantly assaulted her. She had killed more people in the last three days than she ever had. It’s necessary to fight for Aerilya, I know, I know. But at the same time...why? It’s wastefulness of human life. Deus must love the Elangsians as much as he loves the Aerilyans. Might he be weeping over the bloodbath that has occurred these days?

And yet, how much more had He wept when he saw the wanton slaughter of women and children in that first Aerilyan village that started the whole war off? Tyrannical rulers had to be disposed of, lest there be more spilling of innocent blood, and Brastus Alustate of Elangsia was definitely one of the worst. Heartless, cruel, and utterly driven by lust for more power. He had to be taken down.

Deus, show Your mercy to Aerilya today. Please, let us triumph at last over Brastus and his kind. I pray that peace will come to these lands that have been so destroyed by turmoil. I do not ask for protection over myself, just for protection over my friends and companions.

Silently Zoe waited in the chill of early morning; armor covered her limbs, her hand rested on Brac’s jaw, and her head remained bowed. She sought the face of Deus, hoping to feel a blessing, a confirmation—something.

Look to the sky-blue tent, Zoe.

Startled, she raised her head. She could have sworn a tangible voice had murmured the odd phrase in her ear, yet there was no one around her. That left only one other alternative, but Zoe could make no sense of it.

“Deus?” she whispered. “The sky-blue tent? I don’t understand.”

Nothing was heard but the deep sigh of the early morning breeze as it fingered through the brittle autumn leaves of Mairbrac not far beyond where she crouched.

With one last caress across Brac’s cheek, Zoe stood to her feet and walked to the middle of the camp. Deus’s instruction still made no sense; but she would keep it in her mind and heart as she rode out. Perhaps later something would clarify the command. Until then, Zoe could only wait and trust.

è è è è è è è è è

Tancred swung up on Chale and rode past the lines of cavalry that sat upon their pawing, snorting steeds. The pale gray of the eastern sky told him that morning was over an hour away, yet already the five hundred knights and cavalry from had been sent from Aerilya’s main camp to Tancred. It was well, for Tancred had glimpsed movement on the other side of the field: Elangsia was evidently going to attack earlier that day.

Sir Justyn Trenton, the commander of the five hundred sent to Tancred, had immediately met Tancred and pledged his commitment to him. “Today I follow your orders, my lord Hunter,” he said respectfully as he directed his black charger to stand beside Chale.

Chale shook his mane and inhaled deeply of the air, seeming eager for the day’s activity. All the creatures were able to sense the added tension of the day, though they could not understand the importance of the mission they were about to carry their riders on. Jaedon’s dun gelding Cyclone was relatively calm, especially when compared to Zoe’s horse. Soon after Brac was wounded on the field, she had secured a stallion that had been the steed of one of the recent dead. Naturally, however, she lacked the connection and control with her new steed that she had with Brac.

Reining Chale around, Tancred stopped at the head of the men, facing them. “Secrecy is our best asset,” he told them in a voice that was quiet yet resonant enough to get to the back lines. “We will fall back into the trees of Mairbrac and follow them around to where the trees curve out to the west. Once we have cleared the sidelines of the Elangsians, we may ride out and sweep around their flanks. We will strive to get as far behind them as we can. Follow my command, and look to Sir Trenton as well.

“Other leaders are Lady Zoe Romany—” he nodded to her and she surveyed the men calmly, giving them a brief nod—“Jaedon of Mairbrac, and Lance, one of my captains.” The two men sat on their horses beside Tancred, their expressions stolid. Tancred glanced along the ranks of men and finished, “Follow us into the forest. Ride out!”

Touching his heels to Chale’s sides, the stallion pivoted and cantered toward Mairbrac. Zoe, Jaedon, Sir Trenton, and Lance rode beside him and the cavalry fell in behind them in a well-ordered procession. The sound of hooves was loud but muffled by the soft turf and fallen autumn leaves on the ground. The large company swept through the trees; the riders taking care to avoid low-hanging branches that tried to brush them off their horses and whip-like saplings that slapped against their horses legs.

Abruptly, time seemed to slow. Every stride that Chale took stretched on for long moments. Tancred became aware of each muscle that bunched and eased in the stallion’s body as he cantered onward. The thud of his hooves against the ground was a tempo that matched the beats of Tancred’s heart. Each leaf that clung to the branches of the trees stood out against the dim light of morning with stark definition. The woodsy, familiar scent of the forest lingered in Tancred’s nostrils, infusing him with energy and causing his blood to pound with a sudden, fierce love of life. His chain mail clinked and rustled as his body effortlessly moved with Chale’s sure gait; on his back, his broadsword felt heavy and ready.

Today could be the end.

It was in Deus’s hands, and Tancred was satisfied. You know the path of my life, he prayed, the cool morning breeze caressing his cheek. If this should be the day of my end...I am satisfied.

He would miss the beauty of the world, and the thought of leaving those he loved pained him. But to enter into the glory of the Most High would be a reward above all others.

Chale sped on, his breath coming out in low snorts. Tancred’s heart pumped faster. And peace overwhelmed all.

Too soon, and yet after what seemed like hours of riding, they reached the edge of the forest. Dawn was breaking, spreading a vibrant pink-orange blush across the eastern horizon. It illuminated the marching Elangsian army: a black, terrible array that spread across the plain. Aerilya’s defense look frail in comparison after having sent over a thousand men away from their main forces to form the two attacking flanks that Tancred had proposed the night before.

Tancred raised his hand, wordlessly calling a halt. Chale slowed at the very edge of Mairbrac, snorting and tossing his head after his invigorating run. Zoe and Jaedon pulled up on both of his sides, their faces displaying a contradicting mix of determination, excitement, and calmness. Together, they surveyed the army spread before them.

“They’re almost even with our position,” Tancred murmured. “When they pass us, we charge.”

“Aye,” whispered Zoe, her eyes trained on their foe.

Turning his head to the right, Tancred glanced over at Jaedon. My friend and mentor. He took in the familiar features of the man who had been his father’s closest friend. In so many ways Jaedon had become a part of the Ralyn family, and Tancred respected Jaedon’s counsel as much as he had respected his father’s. “You ready?” he asked the older warrior in soft tones.

Jaedon looked over at Tancred, his hazel eyes clear and sparkling. “I’m always ready to follow my commander,” he told Tancred meaningfully.

The man’s devotion never ceased to amaze Tancred. “Thank you, Jaedon,” he murmured.

“There is nothing to thank me for.” Jaedon looked back on the field, the barest of smiles playing on his lips. “I am merely fulfilling my duty.”

“Tancred.” Zoe’s voice came from his left and Tancred glanced over at her. Her dark green eyes flicked to his face for an instant, than back to the field. “They’ve passed us.”

“Yes.” His acknowledgment was little more than a sigh. “Be careful, Zoe.”

She looked back at him, her gaze serious. Their eyes connected and Tancred wondered if she could see into his soul with her penetrating gaze. As easy as it was for him to read her emotions and feelings, he did not like the idea of somebody else being able to do the same thing to him. And he was almost certain Zoe could.

“You watch yourself too,” she said at last in a subdued tone.

He nodded, and looked over his shoulder. Sir Trenton and Lance waited just behind him, and beyond them were Aerilya’s knights and cavalry. Drawing his sword without a word and facing forward again, Tancred pointed his blade toward Elangsia’s army and kicked Chale into a gallop.

They exploded out of the trees and flooded the field. Hooves pounded, horses snorted, and men readied for the inevitable clash. At the same time Tancred saw the other five hundred Aerilyans streaming toward the Elangsians on the opposite side of the field. A spurt of pleasure shot through him. Stronger in force the Elangsians might be, but being attacked on three different sides would be devastating for any army. Maybe we do have a chance. So far everything was being executed perfectly.

The fiery light of the sun suddenly spilled across the misty field and dispelled the murky dimness. Cries of challenge ascended across the meadow, coming from the men behind Tancred and the ones charging on the other side of the field.

Matching shouts of confusion arose from the Elangsian soldiers; they stopped marching and turned toward their attackers, frantically trying to ready themselves for the onslaught of charging knights. A few lances and halberds came down across the line of Elangsians, a last second attempt to brace against the horseman.

The distance between Tancred’s company and the Elangsians swiftly diminished with each pounding stride of the horses. Dimly he heard Zoe raise a fierce battle cry to his left, which was echoed by everyone behind him, but his attention was wholly trained on the line of the enemy before him. Focus on the goal. Let nothing keep you from attaining the prize.

The clash of horses and infantry was tremendous. The jolt almost shocked Tancred from the saddle but he grimly held on and swung his sword down as he entered into the fray. His blade bit deeply into the helmet of an infantryman; the man fell like a stone, killed instantly by the heavy blow. Shouts rose all around him as the cavalry swept through, trampling the enemy as they rode. Swords sang and steel quivered as enemy blades engaged each other. Tancred could sense the chaos wreaked on the Elangsian side as the Aerilyan horseman swept in among them, cutting a huge swath through their middle.

Then they met Elangsia’s cavalry. The first man on horseback Tancred met was large and armored, wearing a helmet with a horsetail plume cascading down from the crest. He swung his great sword around at Tancred; Tancred brought his own sword up to meet the Elangsian’s, and the two blades ground together as each man exerted his strength on the other.

Ears flat against his head, Chale snapped his teeth at the horse the Elangsian was riding, causing the man’s mount to falter back a half-pace. It was all that Tancred needed to disengage the blades for a moment and lop the man’s head off. Directing Chale with his knees, Tancred used both hands to wield his sword.

Half an hour of fighting passed. Fleeting glimpses of Zoe’s auburn braid and Jaedon’s deep blue tunic informed Tancred that his friends were still alive. Lance was battling with an Elangsian captain but appeared to have the advantage.

An Elangsian galloped toward Tancred, crimson-tipped blade brandished, but was too hasty with his attack. Tancred ducked the man’s swinging sword and buried his own blade deep into the man’s stomach as he rode past. Wrenching his weapon free, he turned Chale away as the eviscerated man toppled from his horse to the ground.

Wiping his brow with the back of his hand, Tancred gaze was caught by a pennant fluttering in the breeze not thirty paces ahead of him. Distinctive blue fabric provided a sharp relief for thick silver embroidery, which had been fashioned into the outline of a hippogriff rearing over a sword. Elangsia’s royal banner.

Tancred crossed blades with another soldier but ended the conflict swiftly and without much trouble. His eyes swerved back to the banner, seeking for a glimpse of the men around it.

There.

King Brastus Alustate sat on his proud black stallion, clad in elaborate battledress and wearing a crimson cloak that looked too fine in the middle of the battle. All around him were his personal guards; men hired to protect him to the end. The king was armed but obviously had not yet had to do battle. His face was suffused with color as he yelled something Tancred could not hear over the tumult around him. Brastus’s words appeared to be directed to a captain covered in battle-grime that sat on his horse in front of the king. Tancred guessed that Brastus was more than a little worried by the surprise multi-pronged attack that was thrust upon him. He had not expected this. And currently, his men were losing the battle.

A cry sounded behind Tancred and he snapped back to attention. Heeling Chale around, Tancred avoided the blade of the enemy soldier that was sitting there on his lathered bay horse and swiftly thrust back. The soldier parried his blow in a capable manner that surprised Tancred. His brow lowered as the blades engaged again, each man feeling out the strengths of the other. The Elangsian struck at Tancred’s shoulder and missed; managed to nick his armpit where the chain mail had an imperfection. Using the momentum of the man’s move, Tancred feinted to the left. The man hurried to block the blow—which was not there. In a quick move, Tancred’s blade slashed sideways and sank deeply into the side of the man’s neck. Eyes wide with surprise, the Elangsian slowly slumped out of the saddle, crimson blood spewing.

A distinctly female yell came from Tancred’s far left and his head whipped around. Zoe! He spotted her almost instantaneously, despite the fact that she had somehow lost her mount and was fighting on the ground. In front of her was a tall, brawny Elangsian who also appeared to be getting the better of her. Anger coursed through Tancred, infusing him with newfound energy as he threw himself off of Chale and sprinted toward Zoe. An Elangsian infantryman opposed him but fell immediately after one of Tancred’s knives neatly slashing across his jugular.

Zoe cried out again, this time in pain, as the Elangsian she fought slammed his sword into her forearm. Apparently he managed to pierce her bracer, for Tancred spotted a gleam of red blood as it streamed out and covered the leather right after the Elangsian pulled his sword free. Zoe lifted her sword and struck for the man’s stomach, but he managed to avoid it and struck at her again. Tancred was only ten paces from them as she dropped to the ground and rolled away to avoid the man’s crushing blow.

The Elangsian pulled his sword out of the ground and Zoe stumbled to her feet. Out of the corner of his eye, Tancred saw her lift her sword in readiness for the Elangsian’s impending attack, but the enemy’s blows never landed on her.

Tancred leapt at the man from the side and struck for his neck. Emitting a grunt of surprise, the man raised his sword and blocked it at the last second. Fueled by adrenaline, Tancred knocked the Elangsian’s blade away and drove his own sword home, splitting the man’s helmet—and skull—wide open.

The man toppled over and Tancred pulled his bloodied sword free. Turning to Zoe, he ran to her and grabbed for her injured arm. “Let me see it!”

“It’s nothing!” she insisted, pushing him away. Swinging her sword around, she met an enemy’s blade. A moment later the man lay dead. “I’ll be all right.”

Tancred’s sword flashed and beheaded an Elangsian rushing at Zoe from behind. “How deep did he cut you?”

“Not badly, the bracer took most of it.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he demanded, seizing her good arm and wrenching her around to face him. Her impossibly green eyes swerved up to his for a moment, shining with incredible beauty in the midst of the dirtiness and grime of battle.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she nodded swiftly. Her eyes darted away and she yelled, “Watch your left!” as she dropped to one knee and readied her sword. Tancred whirled, swinging his broadsword as he did. The man attacking them likely never knew what happened, for he was simultaneously decapitated and disemboweled by their two blades.

Tancred extended his hand to her and she grabbed it, hauling herself to her feet. “Thanks,” he said.

“No. Thank you,” she corrected him without pause. “How’re we faring?”

“I think...we might be winning,” he said slowly, hesitant to say the words for fear of what might happen after his thought was vocalized.

She nodded. “That’s what I thought too. They weren’t expecting us to attack from the sides. It’s definitely working to—” she raised her blade and killed an Elangsian dashing past—“to our advantage,” she finished breathlessly, looking back at him for a second.

“Aye.” Chale trotted up and Tancred swung up into the saddle. “Where’s your horse?” he called down to Zoe.

She shrugged. “Gone, now. It’s okay; we didn’t get along very well anyway.”

Tancred rode closer and said, “Get on behind me. I’ll find you a spare horse.”

She looked as if she was about to decline, but he growled, “Zoe, get on,” and she dipped her head once in acquiescence. Hastily wiping her sword clean as she hurried toward him, she shoved it into her scabbard and vaulted unto Chale with some assistance from Tancred. Her arms wrapped around him, tight but not enough to impede his range of motion, and she locked her hands to her forearms as Tancred reined Chale around and turned back the way he had come.

Even through his chain mail Tancred felt the gentle pressure of Zoe’s arms and something deep within him stirred. Refusing to face it then, he shoved it away. The battle required his full attention. Feelings and emotions had to wait.

The two of them made their way through the fray, which had thinned considerably. Zoe straightened and said in his ear, “Tancred, to your right: there’s a loose chestnut over there.”

He nodded and directed Chale in that direction. A moment later Zoe’s hold loosened on him and she slipped off to grab the reins of the stallion as he ran free. Calming the horse with a touch on the neck and a few words murmured in his ear, Zoe was soon astride him. Glancing over at Tancred, she nodded and called, “Thanks.”

Reaching down, he grabbed his boot dagger and its sheath. Pulling it forth, he tossed it to her. “Take this with you.”

“Won’t you need it?” she asked, fingering its smooth hilt.

“I’ll be fine. Be careful,” he merely replied, turning away on Chale.

He had not gone far before a familiar dun horse trotted up and touched noses with Chale. Cyclone? Tancred scanned Jaedon’s gelding for one terrible moment, and then raised his head to look around for Jaedon. “Jaedon!” he called hoarsely into the fray, searching for the tall warrior.

The royal Elangsian pennant caught Tancred’s gaze again, and he saw Brastus again. But something was different. Tancred’s eyes narrowed as he looked closer...and his heart almost stopped.

Jaedon was battling several of the king’s guards at once, his sword flying from side to side: cool skill mixed with desperation, which was a dangerous combination. But no amount of skill could bring down the king’s entire personal guard. What is he doing? Tancred inwardly demanded as he heeled Chale forward into a gallop. They pounded across the field and Tancred kicked his feet free of the stirrups in preparation for sliding to the ground to aid Jaedon.

By the time he pulled Chale to a stop and slid of the panting stallion, Jaedon had penetrated the wall of guards by some miracle. Tancred began sprinting toward the conglomeration of soldiers around Jaedon, but his movements seemed in slow motion. Jaedon stumbled as he ran to the king, his face lined with the determination that Tancred had learned was inbred to the man. Tancred watched as Brastus drew his great blade; the silver sword rose, almost gracefully, then dropped in a deadly arc.

“Jaedon—no!” Tancred’s warning was little more than an inhuman roar.

His words came too late. Brastus’s sword swept down and Tancred pulled to a stop as he watched his friend collapse lifelessly to the ground. Blood pulsed out of Jaedon’s head, covering the man’s noble brow and soaking the ground around him. Horror paralyzed Tancred for a moment that seemed stretched into eternity.

And then he charged.

His sword whistled and sang as he hurtled forward, his face contorted with sorrow and rage. Three of the king’s guards were downed in a matter of seconds; more rose to meet him but were felled by his relentless blade. Out of the corner of his eye, Tancred saw Brastus riding forward, his sword raised and dripping with red blood. Jaedon’s blood. The thought spurred him on even faster, driving him with emotion stronger than he had ever felt. Four more guards fell. Only a few remained, then Brastus would be alone.

One of the guards slammed his sword into Tancred’s shoulder, biting through the leather. The chain mail stopped it from piercing his flesh, but the shock of the blow rang through Tancred’s whole frame. He staggered back and almost stumbled over Jaedon’s fallen body. The guards pressed their advantage, but he met them with as much fierceness as before. Their attack weakened in the face of his driving opposition. Soon he would overwhelm them completely.

He severed the throat of the last man and whirled to face Brastus. The king eyed him contemptuously and spat out, “You are brave and skilled, as is shown by the bodies of my guard. But rest assured that before you leave this field you will lay dead just as your foolish companion here. I have judged you—and you are found wanting.”

“My death and judgment lies in the hands of Deus and none other,” Tancred replied, his chest heaving and sweat trickling down his brow as he faced the king. “Whether my end comes by your blade or not, it is all in His hands.”

“You fool,” the king growled, heeling his black horse forward. Tancred ducked the blow Brastus swung at him and, drawing one of his knives quickly, buried a dagger in the king’s leg as he rode past.

The king cried out in fury and agony, wheeling his horse around with a jerky movement. His eyes burned beneath his helmet, lit with rage. Brandishing his sword, he kicked his horse back toward Tancred. He struck hard and connected with Tancred’s sword this time, causing the steel of both blades to quiver. Tancred twisted his blade free, simultaneously hooking the hilt of the king’s sword and yanking Brastus from his saddle to the ground.

The king landed heavily on his uninjured side. Tancred was on him in an instant, his sword darting toward the man’s neck. It was time to end this.

But Brastus’s blade snapped up and met Tancred’s with strength. Heaving the blade suddenly, he managed to put Tancred off balance for a second.

“I’m not that easy to kill,” the king hissed, rolling to his feet with a great effort. With a deliberate move, Brastus reached down, gripped the dagger’s hilt firmly, and pulled it out of his leg. A spasm of pain flashed over his reddened countenance but he still managed to grit out, “I’ll cheat death as I have a thousand times, I warn you!”

“You won’t be cheating anyone ever again,” said Tancred as he advanced again and attacked. The king was a better swordsman than he had expected, despite how the pain from his leg injury must have been clouding his judgment. “Now you must pay for the death of Jaedon of Mairbrac; and for the murder of innocents in the villages of Aerilya. Women, children, the elderly...all defenseless, Brastus. You must face what you have done!”

“Aerilya will fall before me,” sneered Brastus, his face still beet red and strands of his unkempt hair falling out from beneath his helmet. His trouser leg was stained dark red by his blood, matching his cloak. “I will answer for none of that—especially to you, a common soldier!”

White hot fire burned through Tancred’s veins. “A soldier I am, but a commoner I am not,” he replied. “I am the son of Lord Liam Ralyn of Aerilya...” he grunted as he blocked a heavy blow from Brastus, “a man whom you ordered killed in your filthy capital, Ruma.”

“I’ve had many men killed in Ruma,” the king laughed harshly, his breath short.

“This one was special. Perhaps you recall him?” Tancred pressed the king harder, forcing him to reevaluate his position and back up half a step. “Tall, dark haired like me, and you had him slain in the courtyard of your palace seven years ago.”

Recognition flooded the king’s pain-lined face after a second. “That spy,” he spat out. “Of course I remember him. You’re his son, are you? You’ve come to dole out judgment on his killer, then?”

“Hardly,” Tancred shot back coolly. “We already established that judgment belongs to Deus. I’m in a battle...you’re the enemy...” he grunted again as his sword slammed against the king’s, “and I am here to defeat you.”

“Son of a lord or not, you cannot overcome my power,” Brastus breathed out heavily. “Even if you kill me, Aerilya will fall.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. The Wild Men aren’t coming to reinforce you, Brastus.”

A telltale flicker of alarm shot through the king’s eyes. “You lie.”

Their blades ground against each other and Tancred smiled tightly at the king, his eyes narrowed. “I don’t lie.”

“How could you know the Wild Men are not coming, pray tell?” the king panted.

“I sent my sister and my men out to stop them,” he replied calmly. He could feel the king weakening beneath his blade. The loss of blood from the dagger wound was affecting him. Also, age was finally beginning to play into their conflict; the king was twice as old as Tancred and despite his dexterity, he was beginning to wane.

“Ha! A woman and some men? They will never stop the fearsome Wild Men.”

Tancred’s smile widened just the slightest. “When that woman and those men are trained by the Hunter of Mairbrac, they will most assuredly stop them.”

The king faltered as if Tancred had hit him with a poisoned dart. Belatedly he tried to keep fighting off Tancred’s unyielding advance, but he had lost his touch. “The Hunter?” he growled in anger and fear. “What do you know of the cursed Hunter?”

“You ask me, yet knowledge of the truth shines in your eyes,” Tancred replied, wrenching his sword around and driving the king down on one knee. The man lumbered to his feet, noticeably slower than the last time, and resumed fighting.

“You...” the king wheezed out, his blue-gray eyes glowing with pure hatred. “You are...”

“The Hunter of Mairbrac,” Tancred finished for him, his tone overlaid with steel.

He pressed his blade down hard, and the king fell to his knees a second time. Tancred kicked the king’s sword out of his hand, sending the heavy blade flying out of reach. Brastus glared up at Tancred, unarmed and wounded. “What will you do, noble Hunter?” he mocked. “Would you kill a defenseless man?”

“Give it up, Brastus,” commanded Tancred, restraining his anger with a great effort. “Surrender! You’ve lost already and refuse to admit it.”

“I will never surrender,” Brastus replied, spitting at Tancred. The spittle landed on Tancred’s cheek and he turned his face away for a second. The king seized the opportunity and lunged for his sword that lay on the ground just out of reach.

Tancred did not hesitate. His sword swept down, and Brastus Alustate, King of Elangsia, was no more.

Chapter XXXVIII - Plans

Evening fell, drawing its black-purple cloak over the land and darkening the field of battle. Slowly the two armies disengaged, and eventually they each drew back toward their own camps. The field they left was littered with the dead. Torches flared, dispelling the darkness as men searched out the bodies of their comrades and dragged them away. Funeral pyres were lit across the plain, signaling the passing of many.

Tancred wiped the grime on his forehead with his equally filthy hand. Lifting his pine torch, he watched as two of his men placed the last of the dead from the Hunter’s band on the pile of wood and straw that had been scavenged from the horses. His muscles ached beneath his armor and chain mail, and he could feel dried blood caking the side of his temple from where he had been struck hours earlier. It was only now beginning to throb with insistent pain. Earlier he had ignored it out of necessity.

The dead were assembled, and the men who had carefully out laid the bodies of their comrades stepped back. They looked to Tancred and then dropped their gazes. Tancred’s throat tightened.

“Men of valor,” he said in a low tone, “we honor you and commit your souls to Deus.”

He lowered the sputtering flame of the torch and lit the oil-drenched straw. The fire spread quickly, engulfing the bodies of the men. The stench of burning flesh wafted up and mixed with the smells of oil and blood and sweat that filled the whole camp. Dipping his head as he stood at the base of the roughly made pyre, Tancred closed his eyes and willed himself to remain strong. But his main concern was not for himself. Deus, fortify my men. Keep us all in Your care.

Without another word, he turned away. The rest of the men dispersed; their expressions were alternately somber or grief-struck, depending on how well they had known one or more of the recently departed.

Striding through the camp, Tancred passed his torch off to Lance. The young captain’s face was streaked with dirt and a jagged cut ran along his jaw line. It was marked by blood that was old and had turned black.

“Sir,” he said, laying his other hand on Tancred’s shoulder to detain him for a moment. Tancred paused and looked over at him silently. Lance dropped his hand. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he said at length.

Tancred did not smile. “Have a healer look at your cut,” he said quietly, then strode off.

At last he made it to his tent. After ducking inside, he stood still for a long moment. His eyes closed. The day’s events swirled through his head, refusing to release him.

Finally he opened his eyes and sank down on his cot. Mechanically, he began taking off his armor. Soon he was clad only in his trousers and sweat-stained tunic. With a groan he stretched out on the cot, knowing he would be able to rest for only a moment. King Jaeger would doubtless wish to meet with him to discuss strategy for the morrow. Tancred needed to know how many Aerilyans had died over the course of the day, too; and how many losses were estimated on the enemy’s side. So much to do and tomorrow it will start all over again.

Zoe.

The name burned through his mind and Tancred sat up. He had watched over her retreat from the battlefield that afternoon, as he had promised her, but he had not seen her since. To his knowledge she had not been close when he rode back to camp. Rising to his feet with a sigh that came from deep within him, he pushed the flap of his tent aside and went back into the night.

He met his mother on his way through the fire-lit camp. “Tancred!” She ran to him and wrapped her arms around him. Pulling back, she scrutinized him. “Your head! Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” he said gently. “It’s just a nick.”

“Be sure to stop at the healer’s tent.”

“He has more important things to tend to right now.”

“If you do not get that cared for I will do it myself,” warned Shyla.

He managed a small smile. “Aye, I know you would. But it really is not bad. Where is Zoe?”

Shyla’s expression of concern deepened. “With Brac,” she said. “Northern edge of the camp, by her tent.”

“Thanks.”

He left his mother, after pressing a brief kiss to her temple, and turned northward. Weaving his way through the pavilions and campfires, he eventually reached the little tent he knew to be Zoe’s. No fire was lit, but he saw that a makeshift sconce to hold a torch had been erected and shoved into the ground beside her tent. In the flickering amber light, Tancred discerned Zoe sitting cross-legged by Brac, her stallion’s head cradled in her arms. For a moment he feared the horse was dead; but then he observed the steady rise and fall of the dark brown flanks, and his alarm passed. Zoe did not look up; evidently she had not yet noticed his presence.

Silently he walked forward. Brac’s ear twitched in his direction, but the horse’s glassy eyes did not seem to focus on Tancred as he crouched down beside Zoe. She did not look up, and her unbound hair fell like a curtain in front of her face, hiding her expression.

“Zoe.” His voice was quiet. Glancing at the bandage on Brac’s neck, he was pleased to see that no blood had seeped through. “How is he?”

“Weak.” At last she lifted her head and met his gaze. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears, and her face was pale. “But his condition seems stable.”

“He’s strong.”

“Aye, he’s the best there ever was,” she breathed hoarsely, her hand stroking Brac’s cheek with a feather light touch. “Taking a crossbow dart, and in the neck, too! That’s my boy, Brac. My brave stallion...” her voice trailed off and she bit her lip hard.

Tancred looked her up and down. She was still clad in her armor and looked just as she had in the battle, only her braid was undone. Reaching forward, he gently took her hand and stopped its motion across Brac’s jaw. “Go to your tent and clean up.”

“No,” she murmured, shaking her head.

“Take off your armor and tie back your hair. I will stay with him.”

“He needs me...”

“He needs you strong,” countered Tancred firmly. He let go of her hand. “Come on. I swear I’ll watch him every moment you’re gone.”

After another moment of vacillation, she nodded and slowly began slipping out from beneath Brac’s head. Tancred supported the stallion’s neck while she extracted herself, and then took up the same position she had just quitted.

Five minutes later she emerged from the tent, freed of the chain mail and leather hide. Her hair was secured at the nape of her neck, and she had rolled her tunic sleeves up to her elbows. She knelt down beside him but did not try to move him from where he sat. She stared down at her horse, her expression vacant.

“How many died today?” she finally asked distantly.

“Thirty-two of my men are confirmed dead,” Tancred managed past a lump that had abruptly reformed in his throat. “Eight still unaccounted for.”

“Anyone...anyone that I know?”

He nodded slowly. “York was found dead.” He did not add the fact that the man’s passing had been bloody and terrible. There was no need to burden her further.

Zoe’s lashes squeezed shut and her expression tightened. “I’m...sorry to hear that. He was kind to me.” Opening her eyes she looked at him intently. “What of Jaedon, and Lance? They are safe?”

“Yes. Jaedon was wounded in his arm, but all he needed were a couple stitches and he claims he feels fine. Lance has a slice along his jaw, but he too is going to be all right.”

“Thank Deus. But...” she hesitated, her gaze rising to his wound. “That looks pretty nasty.”

He reached up to touch it. His head was really beginning to pound now, spreading pain through his whole skull with each throb of his heart. “It’s nothing noteworthy.”

“It looks noteworthy from my vantage point.”

“Head wounds always bleed worse and look more serious than they are.”

“You’re avoiding reality. That must be tended.”

“I’ll stop at the healer’s before I retire.”

She sat still for a moment, eyes narrowed, and then made an impatient gesture with her hands. “That’s not good enough and you know it,” she muttered, standing up again. Brac snorted faintly, and she leaned down to soothe him with a quick touch. “Easy there.”

Tancred watched her disappear into the tent once more, his brows arched slightly. Less than a minute had passed before she marched back out, her expression lined with determination. He caught the flash of a needle in the torchlight as she settled back down close beside him. “Turn your head,” she ordered.

He did, and a moment later he felt her fingers running along the edges of the wound. Her touch was light but probing, and he could not mask a wince when she pressed a little too hard. “Sorry,” she said. “I need to wash this.”

A bucket sat nearby; presumably the same one she had used for tending Brac’s wound earlier. After squeezing out a cloth that had been in the water, she raised it to his head. “This’ll hurt,” she stated grimly as she began working at the dried blood. Gritting his teeth, Tancred resisted the urge to pull away from her. The pain increased and heat washed over his scalp. By the Almighty, that stings! he thought, grimacing again.

She dropped the cloth back into the bucket; it had been stained a sordid rusty color and looked disgusting. Lifting the needle from her lap—it was already threaded—Zoe raised it and took a deep breath. “Don’t move,” she warned softly, setting the sharp point against his skin.

Fire merged with fire, creating an inferno that threatened to burn the skin right off his head. The steady, firm pull of the thread as Zoe sewed up the wound hurt like the blazes. In contrast, her fingertips were cool and surprisingly gentle. Tancred focused on that, trying to drown out the insistent pain. It did not help much, but it was something.

After what seemed like hours, she finished up. “There,” she murmured, leaning back. It was then that he realized she was sweating just as hard as he was; it glistened on her brow like water.

“Thank you,” he managed, clenching his jaw.

“You’re welcome.” She sounded as if she was trying to be brusque, but it was not working. “Don’t leave a wound like that untended or you’ll regret it later.”

He half-grinned. “If you say so, mother.”

“If you want to be sarcastic, we can certainly rip out those stitches and let you do it all over again,” she shot back with traces of her old fire.

“No, this is good.” Silence fell on them for a moment. A cricket chirped nearby, a sound of incredible normalcy that seemed out of place among the death and war that surrounded them. Clearing his throat, Tancred finally brought up the subject he had been wondering about since Zoe left the field. “About this afternoon; the man you saw: he was your brother?”

Her eyes clouded, making him wish he had not mentioned it. But it cannot be avoided forever.

“Yes.” She shrugged hopelessly and sighed. “I’ve thought it over a million times, and there is no way to explain it away. I know that was Aiden.”

He mulled that over. “What does it mean for you?”

“I don’t know. He was running into the Elangsian camp. What does that tell you?”

That he’s either a recruit in the Aerilyan army or a soldier on the other side. Those were the only two logical options. One was appealing, the other laden with misfortune. If this Aiden was fighting for the Aerilyans, Zoe would have a good chance of finding him again, perhaps even within the next few days. But if he was fighting for the Elangsians....

“I know, I’ve already thought it over,” Zoe stated glumly, adroitly reading his thoughts. “If he’s fighting for Aerilya, I swear I will not stop searching until I find him. But if he is with the Elangsians, then he is not the brother I know and love. He would have to be a man twisted beyond recognition to pledge himself to a force that has such evil intentions.”

Tancred objected, “From the Elangsian’s point of view, the Aerilyans are the evil ones, you know. If he came into the conflict and fell in with the other side, he simply may have adopted their view of us—”

“No.” Zoe shook her head calmly but firmly. “No. You do not know Aiden.”

“I don’t. I don’t know the emotional side of all this. I am simply stating the facts.”

She met his eyes, hers shining with anger and sorrow and pain all at once. The silence was prolonged and charged with feeling. “The facts hurt,” she finally said in a strained tone that so quiet he could hardly hear her.

Regret washed over him. He was coming at this in an extremely logical way, not taking into account the fact that without warning, Zoe had seen a brother who had been forcefully separated from her two and a half years earlier. He should have been gentler. “I apologize,” he began, but she raised her hand and cut him off.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. I’ve thought the situation over this afternoon and know there is nothing I can do about it. If he is with Aerilya, good. If he is with Elangsia,” her voice wavered slightly, “then I can do nothing. It is all in Deus’s hands.”

“They are capable hands,” he quietly encouraged.

She nodded; her expression weary. Beside them the cricket kept chirping; Brac’s breath heaved out in steady rhythm; and nearby, a bird of the night released a short, mournful song.

Zoe’s head slowly drooped. She covered her face with hands and her whole frame stiffened as she fought her emotions. No tears seeped through her fingers, but Tancred could almost feel the struggle that raged within her. He had no words to offer her, so fell back on the one recourse that was sure to help her: prayer.

A minute later, footsteps were heard approaching. Zoe raised her head, her features still tense but her clear green eyes reflecting composure again. Looking up, Tancred saw an approaching courier whom he recognized as one of King Jaeger’s attendants. The man panted slightly from his run but still bowed deeply when he came upon them.

“My lord Hunter,” he said quickly. “King Trystellan Jaeger desires your company this night in his private pavilion.”

Tancred thanked the man and slowly stood, lowering Brac’s head to the ground. Before he left, he stooped and laid his hand on Zoe’s shoulder. She met his gaze.

“Stay here, and get some rest,” he instructed in a low tone. “Understand?”

For once she did not argue, dipping her head once in acquiescence.

Without further ado Tancred turned and followed the courier back into the center of camp. After securing a rested horse—Chale was spent from the day on the field—Tancred swung up and rode toward Aerilya’s main camp.

è è è è è è è è è

Two more days passed, full of death, strained nerves, and sleepless nights. The sun rose and shone down upon the field of battle, burnishing the helmets of the men as they rushed at each other, yelling their hatred and weariness and bloodlust. The ground soaked up gallons of blood, and the once tall grass had long since been trampled down into the dirt and grime.

Princess Brysa Alustate had kept herself removed from the battlefield, but it was impossible not to hear the cries of the wounded, smell the stench of the funeral pyres each night at sundown, or feel the tension that gripped the Elangsian camp. What they had to be tense about, Brysa did not know. We’re winning, she thought wearily and with a surprising lack of enthusiasm. And as soon as the Wild Men show up the Aerilyans fate is sealed. There is no need for worry on our part.

The battle had favored the Aerilyans the first day, but since then the tide had turned against them. They had lost well over a thousand of their number, more than a third of their entire force. Elangsia on the other hand, had lost close to fifteen hundred on the first day, but since then had been subjected to a surprisingly small death toll. Matters were going just as Brastus had planned; the Aerilyans were weak and ready to be annihilated as soon as the Wild Men showed up. The arrival of the Wild Men was the straw that would break the back of the Aerilyans.

And for a reason Brysa could not understand or really define, that thought made her sad.

She stood from the cushion she rested upon and began to pace. The short train of her gown rustled along the trampled grass that formed the floor of her tent. She thought back to just before she left Ruma, and the strange conversation she had had with her mother, just after Maurelle had given her the pouch full of poisonous enacoi root. Maurelle had instructed Brysa to kill herself using the poison should Elangsia by chance fall into the hands of the Aerilyans. Brysa had agreed to the terms laid out by her mother out of sheer necessity. The queen would have it no other way.

Now it looked unlikely that the Aerilyans would triumph, so it seemed that the poison was unnecessary. The Wild Men were due to arrive any time now, led by their loathsome masters Naard and Jaquin. They were coming to end the battle. Then, before they departed again for their country, Brysa was to be united with Jaquin in marriage. The very thought made her sick. And, since her time was filled with no occupations other than sitting and waiting, Brysa had thought the situation over many times during the last few days. Sometime between the previous night and now, she had come to a conclusion that frightened her with its cold, calculating reality.

She would kill herself.

It was that simple, and yet it terrified her. Fear is normal when one contemplates death, she reminded herself as she stilled the sudden tremble in her fingers. It was the only way to thwart her father’s plan; in death, she could utter destroy his life as he had destroyed hers. She had the means to do it—the enacoi root would kill her swiftly. It would be painless and easy. All the details were worked out.

And yet there was still the dread. Dread of death. Dread of how far she had fallen. Has it really only been five, six years since I had no thought other than my books and the pleasure I got out of my daily rides? How have I come to the place that death is better than life?

Her eyelashes closed. Those were not her only concerns. For chief in her mind was also the dread of what would come after she drank the poison and lay down on her cushions to wait for the end. Is it the end? Or is there something afterwards? she wondered bleakly.

Her parents were not ones to listen to priests and Brysa had grown up similarly disinterested in them and their religious message. It seemed a frivolous thing to waste time going to chapel. But at the same time.... Brysa hesitated. After a life of indifference, I meet people like Rebekka, and Zoe. They have given their lives to serving this Deus.

If he were a figment of their imagination, a god with no power, why would they give their lives to him? Zoe is not a trusting person, and yet she placed her confidence in the god. Rebekka was of timid disposition, but she had always surprised Brysa by showing strength at the most unusual times and with no warning, telling the Elangsian princess that she must be drawing it from somewhere—or perhaps from someone. And Brysa’s own heart betrayed her; for she could not deny she had felt a stirring inside on several occasions, when all hope seemed gone. Always it seemed that a light shone forth from the darkness around her, an unexplained and unforgettable phenomenon that encouraged her. But was that to be attributed to the love and watchful care of a deity, or mere human inclinations that reinforced her spirit when she most needed it?

“I don’t know,” she said, standing still and clenching her hands into fists. The sound of her voice startled her, and she blinked. Am I going mad like Mother, shying away from my own voice and turning into an introverted maniac?

The idea of that depressed her further, and Brysa sank back unto her cushions. Cradling her head in her hands, her silken black hair falling around her shoulders and face, the princess of Elangsia fought her tears. Desperately she searched for something to cling to, a solid rock that she could seize while the black waters of desolation washed around her and tried to tug her down.

But all she found was cold, unyielding obscurity that encircled her with its black shadow. Finally Brysa gave in, unwilling to fight it any longer. Indeed, death would be far better than life. Anything had to be better than this.

And eagerly, like a hungry beast, the darkness of night and accompanying despair consumed her.

è è è è è è è è è

“We’ve met the Elangsians each day in the field,” said King Jaeger, his finger lightly tapping the center on the map that was unfurled on the table before him. “Three days now we’ve kept them from the camp. But today it was a close thing. If they manage to penetrate our lines and get here, to the encampment, it will spell our doom.”

“Aye, my lord,” agreed Tancred, his hands resting on the table as he also stooped over the parchment. “And I think we all know if the Wild Men were here, we’d already have been completely overcome.”

The two generals nodded, and Prince Garrick said, “Have you heard news from the men you sent after Ricald and the Wild Men? Has a report been sent back detailing their progress?”

“No,” Tancred replied calmly, seeking to hide the twinge of concern he felt each time he thought of the mission he had entrusted to Kristalyn. “But my sister is in command and she will contact me as soon as is feasible. It is her way.”

“Do you think they will stop the Wild Men from arriving at the field?” asked General Marron Kane in his customary blunt way. “That was their express assignment, was it not?”

“Yes, sir it was,” responded Tancred, glancing over at the general. “I have complete faith that they will accomplish the mission. For now I do not believe the Wild Men are our concern. The Elangsians are the immediate problem.”

“But if your men led by Lady Kristalyn fail, and the Wild Men do arrive?” speculated General Trav Quinn. “What then?”

Tancred stood erect and crossed his arms. “Then we pray to Deus and ride out to fight down to our very last man,” he said very quietly.

This elicited a moment of silence. Tancred was certain they all realized what their fate would be should the Wild Men arrive at the battlefield. Already things were looking bleak.

“What can we do to change our odds?” mused the king, staring emptily down at the map.

“Our odds never were very good,” murmured the prince, his gaze similarly vacant as he stared at the ceiling of the tent. “But that is not the point. It never was. The point is that despite the likelihood of defeat, we still fight for honor and Deus’s glory.”

“Well spoken, my lord prince,” murmured General Quinn.

“Aye, well and bravely spoken,” agreed General Kane. “Though we still need a plan for tomorrow.”

Tancred looked up from the map that he had been studying anew. “I have a proposal.”

The other four men looked at him with interest. “And what is that, Ralyn?” inquired the king.

“Almost two weeks ago, when we first met here to discuss strategy, I said that if we hoped to win we would have to be craftier than our opponent,” Tancred stated. “The element of surprise is our most valuable asset, and thus far we have hardly tapped into it.”

“What are you getting at?” asked General Kane.

“As already mentioned, for three days now we’ve ridden out to the middle of the field and met the enemy. That is well and good; but there is nothing surprising about it. Not to mention we are simply going along with the Elangsians war plan without countering them with one of our own.”

“Meaning...?” questioned Prince Garrick with raised brows.

“It’s time for us to come at them with something they don’t expect. We’ve done that to some extent by stopping the Wild Men from arriving.”

“Are you talking about rearranging the men on the field?” King Jaeger asked. “Attacking from new positions? What?”

“Tomorrow we should meet them in the field as always,” Tancred clarified, “but only half of our number should march.”

General Kane’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“The other half of the army will be split into two large divisions. They will ride around the sides of the Elangsian army and attack from there or even from behind the Elangsian army if they are able to get back that far. The enemy will then have to deal with attacks from three different places.” Tancred paused and glanced from face to face of the men around him. “It is a plan of action that uses the strength of our minds, not just the strength of our arms,” he added in a low voice. “And that is what is ultimately needed to stop Elangsia. Nothing else will suffice.”

Again, silence fell over everyone as they mulled over his words. Tancred had been musing on such a plan for the last two days, urgently seeking a way to gain the upper hand against Elangsia. The odds must change, or we are done for, he knew with chilling certainty.

“I think it is a good plan,” General Quinn said at last. “Tancred Ralyn has long been respected not only as a leader of his men but as a military tactician. I will lead one of these flanks that he has proposed, if it pleases my lord king.”

“I will lead the other,” added Tancred quickly.

“Under normal circumstances,” King Jaeger said slowly, “I would likely advise using more caution and consideration before making a decision about such a manner of attacking. But with the current situation...I agree with you, Tancred.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Tancred dipped his head to show respect and hide the relief that shone from his eyes.

“We must organize two flanks, five hundred in each. Cavalry is preferred, but horse-archers may go too,” the king continued, taking command once again. “Infantry and longbow men will stay with the main body of the army. Tancred: you will command the five hundred men that will ride around the western end of the Elangsian forces. I expect your men will go with you? They all are adequately provided with steeds, yes?”

“Aye, sire,” Tancred nodded.

“Very well then. General Quinn, you will lead the other five hundred men around the opposite end of the Elangsians. General Kane, Garrick: you will both ride with men at the head of the infantry in the center of the field.” The king stood tall and looked sharply at each of them. “Are your orders understood?”

“Yes, my lord,” they all responded.

Tancred nodded and raised his right fist to touch his chest over his heart. “It will be as you say. Permission to return to my own camp?”

“Permission granted.” The lines crisscrossing the king’s face relaxed slightly. “Rest easy tonight, Tancred. And thank you—for everything.”

Tancred just nodded and withdrew from the tent. He grabbed Chale’s reins from where they were fastened to a post and would have mounted had not a voice behind him stopped his movement.

“A moment, Tancred.”

He turned and looked into the clear brown gaze of Prince Garrick Jaeger. “My lord prince,” he said quietly.

“Don’t be foolish. Stop standing on such formality when we’ve known each other our whole lives,” Garrick said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Tancred grinned faintly. “Sorry. It’s been awhile since we were children.”

“Indeed it has been.” Garrick hesitated. “I wanted to speak to you alone and since there will be no time tomorrow, I thought to seize the present moment.”

“What must you say?” asked Tancred, looking closely at his friend. It never ceased to amaze him how much the prince looked like his father the king. Tall, dark-haired, and strong in bearing, Garrick was already a commanding man, despite his youth. At twenty-three he is twice as arresting in intellect and appearance as many men double his age.

“Be wary on the field tomorrow,” the prince said in a serious voice. “You’ve made your identity clear by having a gonfalon of your own made and borne into battle. That makes you an even larger target than before, and you have many sworn enemies on the Elangsian side who would love to remove your head.”

“I know,” Tancred said with a smile that did not reach his eyes. “I will be careful. You too. It’s not as if you have no enemies either—you hold a more prestigious position than I.”

“I will watch myself,” Garrick said simply.

Reaching forward, the two of them clasped forearms for a moment in a warrior’s embrace. “I will look for you after the action tomorrow, Garrick.”

“And I you, Tancred. Go with Deus.”

Without another word Tancred released his friend and swung up on Chale. He did not look back as he rode away.

Chapter XXXVII - Aiden

Needless to say...I really Love this chapter!! Hope you do too. :)

~Emily "Firebrand"

The day dawned dark.

Perfect, Brysa thought morosely. A fell sky for a fell day. She stood at the edge of the Elangsian war camp, facing northwest, looking over the hills the army had just traversed across. Mist clung to the ridges, swathing the knolls with an ethereal cloak. In that direction was Ruma; home; familiarity. Not that any of that was much to speak of. Mother’s mad, Father’s power-hungry, and I will not see Ruma again until after my marriage to Jaquin.

Abruptly Brysa swiveled around so she was facing the enormous camp of the Elangsian army, and beyond it, the field the battle between Aerilya and Elangsia would take place on. Beside her the two expressionless guards who had dogged her footsteps since the departure from Ruma, stood silently watching. Always watching.

Her tent—made of sky-blue cloth and flying pennants of silver, the colors of Elangsian royalty—had been erected some distance behind the army, upon a hill. Hence she was able to see the meadow beyond the army in front of her, looming Mairbrac Forest, and the dark, mysterious shape of the encamped Aerilyan army.

What were their men like, Brysa mused. Were the Aerilyan warriors truly as fearsome as the tales portrayed them to be?

They must be, else the war would have ended long ago. Today their numbers are less than ours…will they fall at last? Or will this turn into yet another bloodbath with no resolution?

She looked at one of the two guards. “When will it begin?”

He looked at her, a trace of surprise flickering through his brown gaze. “My lady?”

“The battle,” she said, motioning impatiently. “When do you think it will start?”

The guard exchanged an uncertain look with his comrade before replying, “Probably tomorrow morning. I understand the king was not expecting the Aerilyans to be already prepared for a fight, so he and the generals will need to confer.”

“How do you suppose they anticipated our arrival?”

He shifted on his feet. “A spy, I suppose.”

“A spy,” she murmured, her tone changing.

The other guard decided to pipe up: “That Hunter they’ve got on their side, he’s a sly one, my lady. They say he’s got eyes and ears all over Elangsia. It’s probably his work that resulted in their army being amassed.”

Why does everyone blame everything on the Hunter? she wondered with a streak of dark amusement. He’s smart, but he is human like the rest of us.

Suddenly an image of Rebekka came to mind. In Brysa’s head, the maid was as delicate and beautiful as ever, but wore a haunting expression of sorrow mixed with hope. Brysa’s heart clenched, remembering the mission she had sent Rebekka on: to meet the mysterious and elusive Cormac Alstair in the marketplace in Ruma. Again, Brysa’s suspicions flooded back. Alstair was definitely more than he appeared to be. He was under suspicion by the city soldiers also, she recalled. She already knew he must be a spy for Aerilya...but what if he had been more? Already he would have to be more than an average spy to be sent to the capital of Elangsia on a mission. But perhaps...

She stopped, her blood turning chilly. Perhaps Cormac Alstair had been not just a great spy in Aerilya’s arsenal; perhaps he had been the greatest spy they had.

Perhaps he was the Hunter of Mairbrac.

It was definitely possible. More than possible—it was quite probable. Wouldn’t Father just die if he knew how easily he could have captured his prize a mere few days ago? thought Brysa cynically.

If all her postulations were correct, that meant Zoe knew the Hunter. Brysa half-smiled. Nothing about that girl would surprise me, especially if it involved a rebel Aerilyan leader. A thread of ruefulness drifted through her heart, interwoven with regret. Ah, Zoe. Where are you now?

Brysa glanced over at the enemy lines once again; her lips slightly parted and eyes soft. Zoe was there. She had to be. She was a fighter to her core; she would die before leaving the site of such an important battle.

A wave of longing washed over Brysa, taking her by surprise. She missed the fiery slave girl. She actually missed her; just as fiercely as she missed Rebekka. Gazing up at the leaden sky, the princess closed her eyes against the depressing grayness that closed in on her body and heart. Distractedly, she reached out with her emotions, searching. Hoping.

Deus...if you exist, she prayed slowly, desperately, show yourself. More than that, lend some protection to Zoe. Be with her. If you’re there at all, that is my request.

She felt and heard nothing in reply, and a feeling of foolishness enveloped her. She sighed, opened her eyes, and walked toward her tent, shaking her head at her idiocy.

Still, despite her skepticism about her attempt at prayer, she could not help adding one last thing.

Please, Deus. Please.

è è è è è è è è è

The day passed slowly. Both armies held their positions, staring at each other across the field like two cornered cats that were each calculating the best time and place to strike. Behind the dreary clouds the sun rose, and set, bringing the coolness of night. Only the brightest of stars managed to pierce the haze in the heavens, and even they twinkled dully above the land, offering little light and less hope.

All too soon, and yet not soon enough, the stars faded completely and the eastern horizon began to lighten. It harked the beginning of day once more. And as if on cue, both armies began to stir. Orders were passed, weapons were brought out, and soldiers began to assemble.

In his tent, Tancred pulled a suit of chain mail over his head with an accompanying rustle of metal links. The hauberk covered his torso, upper arms, and thighs, and pressed down on his shoulders with its added weight. Covering it was a tabard of dark green and brown. Moving with smooth, automatic gestures, he next caught up and fastened on his leather breastplate, which was embossed with gleaming metal to form the crest of Aerilya: the rearing unicorn. Following that were the shoulder-guards, made of thick, treated leather that had been sewn into overlapping plates. His fingers pulled the straps through the buckles, a familiar action he had been doing since he was a child.

His leather boots were already on his feet, and soon his broadsword was securely in place across his back, held there by way of the thick baldric that ran across his chest. The sword was followed by all his knives, all of which were sheathed in various places under his clothing, in his boots, and even nestled beneath the sheath on his back.

Tancred paused as he picked up the assassin’s dagger. The knife had been on his person almost constantly since he left Ruma. He rubbed the smooth, worn handle thoughtfully. After a moment of indecision, he placed it back in the sack that lay open on his cot.

Deliberately turning his attention away from the weapon, he picked up his two leather bracers and began laboring to bind them on his forearms. He grimaced slightly. Bracers were much easier to put on when another person was helping, for fastening the leather straps one-handed was troublesome. Blast, he thought darkly as the strap he fumbled with slipped again.

Abruptly, a vivid recollection washed over Tancred, causing him to stay his movements and close his eyes. He exhaled slowly as the memory swept him back....

“Kris, let me help you.” Sixteen-year-old Tancred stepped forward to help Kristalyn with her leather bracers. He had noted the wrinkle of frustration on his sister’s face and quickly pinpointed the reason for it.

“Thanks, Tray,” Kristalyn replied, flicking her blond ponytail over her armored shoulder as she held out her arms to him. He worked quickly, weaving the straps through the buckles and pulling them snug. After he finished, his sister wordlessly picked up his own bracers and motioned for him to hold out his arms. A moment later she had fastened both of his on him too.

“Thank you,” Tancred said quietly. Reaching up to touch the hilt of his sword on his back, reassuring himself, he glanced at Kris again. “You ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said calmly, meeting his gaze with her steady green one.

It was their first solo mission, and both of them were definitely on edge from nerves. Taking a deep breath, Tancred nodded to the right. “The slavers will be coming down the northern road,” he murmured, though he knew Kris was just as aware of it as he was. “Let’s go.”

“I’m right behind you, Tray,” she said as they turned and plunged into the depths of upper Mairbrac Forest.

“Tancred. Tancred?”

Shaking his head, Tancred pulled himself out of the memory with a huge effort. He glanced over to see his mother duck under the flap of his tent, concern etched on her face. Her long hair was drawn back in her typical single braid, but today she wore a sword at her side and a layer of light armor, though he already knew she was not going to be riding into the actual battle.

“Are you all right, son?” she asked, stepping closer to him.

He nodded, blanking his expression and hiding the emotion that had been raised by the memory. “It’s just the bracers,” he said, his voice hoarse. Slightly annoyed, he cleared his throat.

“Let me help you,” his mother said gently. Without another word she reached forward and expertly finished what he had started. “There. You’re set.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he said quietly. Reaching forward, he brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Stay safe today, you hear?”

She managed a small smile. “It’s you who must be staying safe,” she whispered. “You’re the one riding into danger.”

“I’ll be all right.”

“So you say. Your end is up to Deus.”

“Of course.” Tancred swallowed. Death did not faze him, but the idea of losing those he loved was a thought that never ceased to alarm him to his very core. “I’m going to get Chale. If I don’t see you before I ride out...” he hesitated, and then smiled reassuringly at her. “I love you.”

Tears shone in Shyla’s eyes but she valiantly kept them from streaming down her cheeks. “I love you too, Tancred. Go with Deus.”

He simply nodded and turned away, ducking out of his tent. The day had lightened considerably since he first woke, and everything was lit with a vague blue-gray glow from the sun trying to shine through the cloud cover. The men were up and active; many were already mounted on their horses and the excited steeds snorted and pranced. They could sense the coming conflict.

Lance ran up to him, leading Chale who was already saddled and bridled. “Thanks,” Tancred said, grabbing the reins from the younger man. Lance was outfitted in armor much like Tancred’s and his face was set with determination. “Ready, Lance?” he asked simply.

“Aye, sir. Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

“Good man,” Tancred murmured. After glancing around, he asked, “Have you seen Zoe?”

A telltale flicker of warmth, mixed with concern, shot across Lance’s face and caused something to twist in Tancred’s midsection. He frowned. He was aware of Lance’s affection for Zoe. He did not like it much, either.

Oblivious to Tancred’s displeasure, Lance replied, “I’ve not seen her, sir, but Brac is still tethered close to where I got Chale. I believe she’s still in her tent.”

“Thank you,” Tancred replied with more curtness than he had intended to use. Turning sharply to one side, he mounted Chale and heeled the stallion through the churning mass of the camp. After a few moments he stopped in front of Zoe’s tent and dismounted. He tossed Chale’s reins over one of the tent pegs and paused at the opening to the tent. “Zoe?”

The flap opened and Zoe stepped out, looking completely different than she had the night before. Gone were all vestiges of vulnerability; they had been completely replaced by iron-like resolve. The tall young woman was clad in chain mail and a set of leather armor that had either been designed for a medium-sized man, or Kristalyn. Her dark auburn hair was pulled back in one long braid, revealing the contours of her high cheekbones and square jaw. A sword was strapped to her back, and Tancred glimpsed two knives held in place at her hips by her wide leather belt.

“I’m almost ready,” she said, her voice quiet but strong. Her eyes, bright in the luminous light of early morning, swerved away from him and instead scanned the camp. “I’m not late, am I?”

“No,” he said. He dropped his gaze to her hands and amusement flared, quick and bright, as he glimpsed that she was holding her leather bracers. “You need help?” he asked mildly, motioning to the bracers.

A look of frustration crossed her face and she glanced at the offending pieces of equipment. “I can’t get the blasted things on,” she muttered, reluctantly handing them to him.

“Kris and I used to help each other with them,” he explained, swiftly strapping hers on. His fingers grazed the warm skin of her hand and his heart clenched at the thought of that same hand turning white and stiff after the throes of death.

She withdrew from his touch but lifted her gaze to meet his straight on. “Thank you,” she said softly. Her eyes glowed, serving both to warm Tancred and reinforce his overwhelmingly protective instincts.

“Stay close to me,” he said in a low, even voice.

“That will do little for either of us in the middle of a battle.”

His gaze did not soften or waver. “Stay close to me,” he repeated firmly.

A long pause ensued before she nodded very faintly. “I will.”

“Go get Brac. I’m going to assemble the men. Jaedon will be to my left; stay between us.”

“Aye,” she whispered in assent before slipping away.

He turned and watched her walk off, her stride long and measured. Suppressing thoughts that demanded to be acknowledged, he turned to Chale and mounted again. Time was marching swiftly on, and the impending battle would not be denied. He had to be ready, and make sure his men were ready.

è è è è è è è è è

Zoe slid the saddle unto Brac and tightened the girth, patting the stallion’s neck after she finished. “Easy, boy,” she murmured. His nostrils were wide and flared, and his ears swiveled constantly back and forth as he struggled to take in everything around them. “Save your energy for later.”

She swung up into the saddle and heeled him forward. A harsh, distant cry sounded high above, and she raised her gaze to the sky. Circling slowly over the field were vultures, their wings spread wide as they ominously revolved over the plain. Waiting to feast on human flesh, Zoe thought grimly. How the fowl knew to show up when battles were forming, she would never know.

Brac joined the Hunter’s men and Zoe directed him through them toward the front where Jaedon and Tancred were mounted on the dun and golden bay. Chale shook his thick mane as she pulled up alongside them and wheeled Brac around so she was facing the men as Tancred and Jaedon were. She noticed that several of the men were holding a banner that she did not recognize. The banner, usually called a gonfalon, was dark green and had the emblem of a great cat leaping over an orange-red flame embroidered unto it. A new gonfalon? What for? She turned to inquire about it of Tancred, but abruptly stopped herself.

Tancred looked rugged and commanding in his armor; the brown of the leather made his hair appear darker and his blue eyes fairly blaze out of his tanned skin. Raising one hand high, he called for attention.

“We’re riding to join King Jaeger’s main-battle force,” he told them in a loud voice that pierced the early morning air. “While we are giving our strength to the king, remember as always that you are fighting under the banner of the Hunter. Our cause is freedom and justice. Today Elangsia is going to try to take that from us in an attack more brutal than we are used to.”

The men were silent, their eyes trained on Tancred as he continued speaking. Unintentionally, Zoe found herself intently watching him too, unable to look away. His face was lit with fire; the fire of determination and resolve. Vaguely her mind had registered his reference to the ‘banner of the Hunter’ though. That’s what the gonfalon with the cat and fire must be, she realized.

He glanced over the men with his sharp eyes and finished in a quiet but steel-laced tone, “We ourselves are not strong enough to face the enemy. But we know One who is—and it is to Him that we now relinquish our fates and our swords.”

“Aye!” The response from the men was full of fervor.

Tancred was finished, but something in Zoe’s heart stirred and before he turned and gave the order to ride out, she sat straighter in the saddle and lifted her hand to her sword hilt. Drawing it forth with a shing, she lifted it high, so that its iridescent silver hue was visible to all.

“Men of Aerilya,” she cried loudly, wondering at the same time what in the world she was doing, “here is my sword! Today, though I am a foreigner, I fight as one of your own. When you ride out, remember that you represent a country that seeks to uphold the ideals of Deus Himself. Now prepare yourselves, and let’s ride!”

A roar of approval sounded as Zoe sheathed her blade, her breath short on account of adrenaline. She glanced over to glimpse Jaedon’s approving nod, and meet Tancred’s inescapable gaze. Without another word the three of them pulled their mounts around and broke into a canter as they rode away from the Hunter’s camp toward Aerilya’s already gathered main-battle force. Behind them streamed the rest of the men, the hooves of the horses breaking into a drumming that sounded like thunder.

Tancred looked over at her once and said, “Remember: stay close to me!”

“Did I not already promise?” she shot back, her braid whipping behind her. “I will be near at hand. You need somebody to watch your back too, you know.”

He sent her the barest of smiles and faced forward once again. They passed the rearguard, made up of all the archers of Aerilya. They raised their longbows to Tancred as he swept past, and called out to him with encouragement and affection. While many of the Aerilyans had never met the Hunter, they all revered him and what he represented.

Soon they were riding in front of the troops of Aerilya, which were organized and ready to gallop out. The main-battle troops, made up of infantry in the rear and Aerilya’s knights in the front, also cheered as they rushed by. Zoe spotted King Jaeger and his generals at the front of the forces and Tancred appeared to be making his way toward them. Prince Garrick was present also, mounted on a snow-white mare, and Zoe was surprised but pleased to see Father Gywain there as well, riding a brown horse and holding an iron mace held in his right hand.

“Sire.” Tancred pulled to a halt in front of the king and greeted him with a slight bow of his head. The men began pulled up behind them, their horses snorting and blowing after the brief run. Zoe patted Brac and expertly kept the prancing stallion in place. “We are here to offer our arms to Aerilya.”

“And Aerilya accepts,” the king replied formally, though Zoe knew of course all this had been agreed upon long before that moment. “Will you and your captains be riding beside me this day, Lord Hunter?”

“With respect, no,” Tancred said without hesitation. “Today, my lord, my place is at the head of my men.”

King Jaeger nodded, scanning the Hunter’s lines for a moment. “You have a gonfalon of your own?” he questioned with what Zoe thought was a tinge of surprise. “I did not hear of this.”

“I trust you do not object. I ordered a banner made to represent the Hunter and the legacy that title encompasses. My men and I have long been obscure and hidden in legends. Today I wished to make our identities known to friends and foes alike.”

“I do not object. Where will you take your place, sir?”

Tancred tipped his head toward where the vanguard—made up of Aerilyan cavalry—was assembled some ways from the troops in the main-battle. “The northeastern edge of the main-battle would serve us well.”

“Go then,” the king said. “May Deus speed you and keep you all safe.” His eyes flicked to Zoe for a moment, then back to Tancred. “Keep well what is in your care, Ralyn.”

Surprised that the king would address Tancred so informally, Zoe glanced from Tancred to King Jaeger and back again. Is the king referring to Tancred’s men? His responsibilities on the field of battle? What?

To Zoe’s chagrin, Tancred apparently understood whatever it was the king was implying and nodded once. “Aye, sire,” he said in a very low voice.

Fifteen minutes later the Hunter’s men had all formed a flank directly to the right of the body of the main-battle. Staring across the field, Zoe could see Elangisa’s army spread out, like a dark snake that was slowly slithering forward to strike them. Tightening her grip on Brac’s reins, she lifted her chin and glanced over at Tancred. “Orders, sir?”

He did not look at her. “Just follow my lead, Zoe,” he said in an extremely quiet voice that she could hardly hear over the noise of the army to her left and the vanguard to her far right.

“Haven’t I always?” she managed, her voice giving off a tremor that she did not appreciate but could not stop. Courage, Zoe, she muttered to herself. With battle so close, her nerves were rebelling.

He chuckled softly. “Oh, of course. You’ve always been a shining example of womanly submission.”

“Don’t belittle me so close to battle, Tancred,” she breathed back, her eyes lightening with wit that was amusing in and of itself because of their extremely humorless circumstances. “Aren’t you afraid I might not watch your back?”

Unexpectedly he glanced over and their eyes locked. A cry sounded from the area King Jaeger was in, and Zoe realized the army was beginning to march out.

“No,” Tancred evenly replied to her question. “I would trust my life to you.”

Shock washed over her. Before she could think up a reply, Tancred turned forward and raised his hand in a forward motion. “Move out!” he called, and heeled Chale forward.

Still stunned at his admission of trust in her, Zoe mechanically squeezed her legs against Brac and kept pace with Tancred’s stallion. She shook her head and forced her attention to the matter at hand. Focus. Keep your eyes on the enemy. No distractions.

The Hunter’s men stayed in line with the front lines of the main-battle; the drum of hooves surrounded them all and raised a terrible thunder that engulfed the entire plain. The turf beneath them became nothing more than a blur as their pace increased from canter to gallop. Slowly the even frontline of the main-battle shifted to become more of a V-shaped force, with King Jaeger and his knights at the apex. The infantry was swiftly left behind; Zoe knew they were traveling fast enough that they would arrive and join into the fray at the place the two armies eventually clashed, after the first wave of cavalry had collided.

Tancred, Jaedon, and Zoe pressed their mounts on faster and the Hunter’s men broke off slightly from the main-battle to draw ahead. With each pounding stride, the Elangsian’s army became more distinct. Zoe sucked in a breath as she saw that the enemy too was charging at a gallop toward them. Not only that, but the Elangsian knights had their twenty-foot lances lowered to skewer the front lines of the Aerilyans.

“Lances!” Tancred yelled hoarsely to the knights off to his left. They heard him and soon the iron-tipped spears that the Aerilyan knights held swept downward and leveled on the Elangsian front lines. The next moment, Tancred reached back with his right hand and drew forth his huge broadsword. Following his lead, Zoe pulled her own sword out and held it at the ready as Brac flew onward.

They drew closer to the Elangsian lines. Zoe could see the white in the eye of an Elangsian horse. Only a split second more and they would collide—

Deus, keep me.

The two armies impacted.

The dull sound of metal piercing horseflesh rippled over the field and was followed immediately by screams uttered by creature and man alike. The heavy thud as the great steeds fell to the ground, rolling over their riders, was mixed with the clash of steel against steel and the whistle of arrows.

Zoe swung her blade down and to the right, knocking the tip of a lance away from her and Brac as they rushed into the Elangsian’s front lines like a flood. The next second her sword swiped across the throat of the knight who held the lance. Blood spurted, but she did not witness his end for Brac carried her far past him and into the fray. Order dissolved into chaos. Time seemed to slow; each second of life depended on whether her sword was quick enough to block the enemy’s blade, lance, cudgel, or any other weapon.

At first all the men she encountered were mounted on horseback. One galloped toward her, screaming lustily, and wielded his great broadsword around to sever her head. Zoe slipped her right foot out of the stirrup and slid down Brac’s left side so the sword whistled over where she had just been sitting. Wrenching herself back up, she slammed her sword into the back of the man’s helmet with as much force as she could muster. He pulled up his horse to turn back and engage her, but she was soon occupied with another man.

Duck, parry, attack! She struck hard at the man’s shoulder, and her blade snaked between an opening in his armor. He cried out as she pulled her sword out and swung it toward his neck. He was dead in the space of a heartbeat, his partially exposed jugular completely severed.

Brac snorted as blood spattered on his neck, but plunged on without pause. Before she got far she heard a yell behind her and turned to see the knight she’d hit in the helmet was coming back for her. Wheeling Brac around, she raised her sword to meet his.

He hit like a hammer! Gasping at the pain that ran up her arm and into her shoulder, Zoe struggled not to give way, but it was hopeless. He was infinitely stronger than her, and he knew it. He pressed his advantage, pushing her sword further and further down, bringing the edge of his sword closer to her neck.

“Ahh!” Zoe cried out as her shoulder gave a spasm of pain at the pressure.

Thwack. She yelled again, this time in surprise, as a knife flew with deadly precision to bury itself in the man she fought, right under his raised arm. The man jerked with surprise and pain, and the pressure he exerted on her weakened noticeably. Quickly disengaging their blades, Zoe finished him off. Before she rode off, she grabbed the long knife from under his arm and pulled it out in one swift yank. She wanted to gag at the shining blood that coated its entire length, but she forced herself to ignore it and slipped it into her belt.

Looking up, she saw another enemy rushing toward her. He held a surprisingly small sword that she would probably be able to knock loose easily. Readying herself she heeled Brac toward him, trying to calculate how the enemy held his sword and how she had the best chance to disarm him...

Abruptly she heard a small whoosh sound, and Brac jolted. Her stallion bellowed in pain and lurched to his knees just before the man with the short sword reached them. Unable to engage him, Zoe lost her sword as she flew through the air and curled herself into a ball when she hit the ground. Shaking her head, she immediately stumbled to her feet, though she was dizzy. Hooves pounded all around her, and there were hundreds of others who had been dismounted and were battling it out with the Elangsian infantry.

“Brac!” she shouted, looking back the way she had flown from. “Brac!”

She spotted him floundering on the ground, his legs churning as he struggled to right himself. She began clawing her way back toward him, through the churning mass of warriors. One man raised his sword against her, but she drew one of her knives and buried it in his neck before he had a chance to do anything to her. Fear pulsed through her as she drew closer to Brac. No, no, no, she thought erratically. Brac, no!

Blood coated his neck, and in the middle of the gushing crimson flood, Zoe saw the black-feathered tip of a crossbow dart. He gave a sort of half-snort, half-whinny. The sound was infused with pain. “Brac,” she soothed in a trembling voice, dropping to her knees by him. “It’s okay, boy, it’s okay.”

Her fingers shook as they neared the dart. She would have to pull it out. But then what? She had nothing to bind the stallion’s wound with, and without it he would bleed to death. “I can’t do it,” she cried to no one in particular.

Brac, you’re mine. You’re mine from Aiden. You’re my living connection to him, to them. My family. Oh, Deus, what is this? What is this cruelty?

She looked up, tears threatening. Through her blurred vision she saw a wave of enemy infantry rushing at her; she leapt to her feet and drew her other knife and the one she had pulled out of the dead knight earlier. Fueled by anger and fear, she threw them with deadly accuracy and two of the charging men fell. Breathing hard, she turned and saw a corpse lying on the ground with a sword in his breast. Grabbing its hilt with both hands, she pulled with all her strength and wrenched it free. Swinging around, she stood in front of Brac and readied herself for impact. She gritted her teeth and yelled as they drew closer. “Ahh!”

Her sword slashed again and again, felling the enemies as they came close. Before long she was aided by some knights of Aerilya who swept through the infantry and cut them down like scythes severing wheat. Panting, Zoe again dropped down by Brac, grateful for a quick break in the battle.

“This is going to hurt, boy,” she whispered in warning as her fingers hovered over the dart in his neck. His dark eyes were clouded in agony and his breath whistled as he wheezed out each lungful of air.

Closing her fingers around the dart, Zoe closed her eyes and yanked as hard as she could.

Brac screamed, his body arching in a great spasm as the barb came free and blood spurted out anew. His whole frame trembled and writhed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she cried, pressing her hands down on the wound in an attempt to stem the blood flow. Hot sticky blood gushed around her palms and through her fingers, mocking her attempt to help her horse. “I’m sorry!”

“Zoe!”

She glanced up with wide eyes to see Tancred gallop over on Chale. Both of them were streaked with blood and battle grim. Tancred took in her situation in a half-second and jumped off of Chale. “Take off his saddle and bridle so he can breathe,” he ordered, crouching down beside her.

Zoe hurried to obey, loosening the girth and slipped the bit out of Brac’s mouth, which hung open slackly as he struggled to suck in each breath. Tancred produced a long scarf from somewhere and yelled, “I’m going to bind up his neck; can you hold him down and keep him calm while I do?”

“Yes,” she nodded, strands of hair sticking to her forehead and neck. Laying her hand on Brac’s cheek, she whispered in his ear, “Be strong, my brave boy. You can do it. Easy, easy!” she hastened as Brac threatened to rebel against Tancred’s gentle but firm touch. Brac gave a desperate, strangled whinny when Tancred applied pressure to the wound. “Hush, hold still. Remember, just like when we trained with each other. You didn’t like me a bit, way back then. Aiden had to help us, to show you and me how to stay calm...easy now, easy.”

She raised her gaze, unable to meet Brac’s tortured eyes or watch Tancred as he bound up the wound. She kept talking, not hearing her own words, only thinking of keeping her beloved horse calm. All around them the battle had thinned and moved to another area in the field, providing them the time to take care of the stallion. Aimlessly Zoe’s eyes roved the field, dulled by now to the sights of death, gore, and blood that assaulted her. Men ran from one end of the field to the other, engaging the enemy and raising cries of fury and pain.

A dark-haired man appeared suddenly, arresting Zoe’s attention. Tall and strongly built, he was armed to the teeth and appeared to be rushing toward the Elangsian camp. Beside him, almost hidden from Zoe’s view, was a golden-haired companion. As she kept watching the man, mostly to keep her mind off of Brac’s pain, something deep in her heart stirred and her muscles clenched. Her eyesight, blurred with sweat, sharpened.

It could not be. And yet, her eyes did not lie.

Aiden?

Her breath caught. “Aiden!” she screamed.

Brac jerked at the volume of her voice and judging by Tancred’s sharp intake of breath, he had been startled too. “What is it?” he demanded, finishing up Brac’s bandage and turning toward her. Zoe hardly noticed as she propelled herself to her feet. She would have dashed off after Aiden had not Tancred laid hold of her arm and stopped her. “Zoe! You’re not armed. What has come over you?”

“That’s Aiden, that’s my brother!” she said, her voice shaking as she pointed to the man who was almost gone in the fray. “Let go of me, I need to see him!”

“No,” Tancred said firmly, though his eyes held sorrow in them. “That’s deep on the Elangsian’s side. You’d be killed. If that’s truly your brother, he may yet find us after the confusion has passed.”

Tortured, Zoe shook her head. He did not understand...he was wasting time! “That’s my brother,” she said as calmly as she could muster. “Let me go.”

Tancred shook his head, but released her arm. Without pausing for a second, Zoe darted away, catching up a sword from the ground as she ran. Behind her she heard Tancred yell something indiscernible, but she blocked him out. A moment later he drew abreast of her, but she merely dug deeper in her reserves of strength to pump her legs faster and did not listen when he shouted, “Zoe, stop! You’re being a fool!”

Zoe’s veins were rushing with adrenaline and she kept her eyes trained on the dark head of the man she knew was her brother. Aiden, don’t go; don’t disappear, not again. Stay a little longer! Aiden’s head turned for a second and she was able to see his profile—achingly familiar and yet completely foreign at the same time.

“Aiden!” she yelled again.

Her cry was lost in the tumult of battle. She and Tancred cut their way through several of the Elangsian lines, but Zoe’s heart sank as she realized Aiden had not seen her and he was gone now. The sorrow that washed over her threatened to incapacitate her; Tancred grabbed her arm again and dragged her out of the fray and halfway back toward Brac before she regained her composure.

“Don’t do that ever again,” Tancred growled harshly as they approached where Brac lay and she shook him off. He sheathed his sword in one swift thrust, his whole body rigid with anger. “What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry,” Zoe whispered, feeling empty. “It was him; Aiden.”

“I believe you. But throwing yourself into blatant danger like that was not just insubordination, it was recklessness. I will not allow those serving under me to behave recklessly, do you understand?” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her slightly. “Zoe!”

“I understand,” she said in a low tone. Her midsection twisted with angst that she refused to show but could barely hide. Aiden...Aiden!

Tancred’s gaze softened infinitesimally and he released her. “Go care for Brac. He’s lost a lot of blood. He needs you.”

She nodded listlessly. “I’ll take him back to camp.”

“Be careful. I’ll watch your retreat.” He swung up on Chale and reined the stallion around, his broadsword out of its scabbard once again.

She looked up at him with an expression completely devoid of life. “Thanks,” she whispered. Then without another word she ducked away.