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.

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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.

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“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.