Jon Sprunk - Shadow's master

Balaam observed them for a long heartbeat. “I must see to my own affairs, but I can take her.”

Kit placed a hand on his chest. “No, I won't leave you again.”

He wanted to kiss her, but instead lifted her in his arms. “I'll be right behind you.”

She smacked him in the chest. “Liar.”

“Isn't that why you love me?”

Kit smiled and planted a peck on his chin instead. “Hurry then.”

Caim handed her to Balaam, who held her awkwardly. Caim started to turn away, but the swordsman stopped him.

“Wait. Take this.”

Balaam held out his sword. The black steel shimmered.

“I…” Caim recalled his father's sword, and how wielding it had made him feel. “I can't accept that.”

Balaam tossed the sword, and Caim caught it by the hilt. He braced himself for a flood of bloodlust, but felt nothing special. It was just a sword, though extremely light and well-balanced. The edge looked sharp enough to shave with. He sheathed his seax knife.

“Be careful,” Kit said, her eyes closing.

Caim stepped back from them and opened a portal in the spot of the glowing marker. Raising the black sword to Balaam in a salute, he stepped through.

White mist hovered above the plain, obscuring everything beyond the stream, which was swift and turbulent from the recent rain.

Sitting astride Lightning, Josey looked across the valley floor. The soldiers were set before her. Their helmets and the points of their spears reflected the dull morning light. Damp flags hung limp in the hands of the standard-bearers. The ranks were drawn up differently than last time. Lord General Argentus had been an old-school strategist who followed the traditional methods-infantry had to be deployed a certain way, with archers placed just so, and the pikemen thusly-but Colonel Klovus and Brian were more flexible. The troops were not so spread out as before, but the steep hills on either side of the field protected their flanks. They had no siege weapons this time, and few archers, but a platoon of crossbowmen had survived the last confrontation. They were placed on the slopes of each hill. Josey hoped it was a good tactic, but the troops looked woefully exposed on the bare tors. A priest moved among the men, touching their foreheads as he prayed. His white cloak billowed behind him in the breeze.

Lightning stamped on the soft ground, and she leaned forward. “Easy, boy. It's all right.”

He calmed down, but Josey's stomach was turning cartwheels. I wish someone would tell me that everything is going to be all right. She touched her belly. Again last night, her officers had urged her to quit the battle and flee south. Josey knew their concern was genuine, especially Brian's, but she couldn't leave now. It was her decision to give battle; she owed it to the men risking their lives to stand with them. And if she should fall, she knew Hubert would defend the realm.

In the early light of dawn, Brian had stood with her, outlining his plans, but she had interrupted with a question. “What is this place?”

She saw pieces of stone, too regular to be natural formations, jutting from the ground at the base of their hill.

“It's the Valley of Seven Arrows,” he replied, gazing with her.

The name sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it.

“This is where King Guldrien and his Knights Brethren made their last stand.”

Josey looked down into the valley again with new eyes as fragments of the epic poem floated through her mind. “‘And anon they stood shoulder to shoulder against the tyrant's charge,’” she quoted.

“‘Each was pierced through the heart with deathly steel and fell down at his feet,’” Brian finished.

“This is a place of honor.”

He smiled. “Not everyone would see it that way.”

Josey was shaken from her thoughts as a clarion call resounded across the field. It looked as if High Captain Keegan had been correct; the invaders were coming straight at them. Heaven help us.

The Uthenorians arrived in a great, roiling tide. Like before, they followed no order of battle. Spearmen marched beside men carrying huge axes and swords, even a few wielding hammers on long handles. Their numbers appeared even greater than last time, if that was possible. As Hirsch had said, there was little cover in the valley. The only true obstacle was the creek, but the water was just waist high. The first enemy units plunged into the cold waters without pause. They were halfway across when the vanguard bunched up. Their shouts echoed in the rising mists as blood swirled in the water. It had been Brian's suggestion to plant sharpened stakes in the streambed. An officer called out, and a flight of arrows and bolts sailed high, falling on the enemy. Men collapsed and were dragged away by the swift current, but the reprieve was short-lived as the mass of soldiers surged onward to the shore. The missiles from her troops continued to fall, but they were pitifully meager compared to the number of enemies approaching. As the invaders gained the southern bank, they drove ahead.

Brian commanded the center of the battle line where the bulk of her infantry was concentrated. He rode back and forth through the ranks, exhorting them to stand firm. The troops readied their weapons. Less than a hundred yards separated the two armies.

Just as Josey wondered where Hirsch was, the adept rode up. His pants and boots were caked with mud. Leaves and dirt were smeared across his oversized jacket. If possible, his hat looked even sadder and floppier than before.

He handed her a slim package wrapped in burlap. “Here, lass. I thought you might be missing this.”

Josey handled the pouch gingerly. “What did you do to it?”

“Just a little something in case things take a turn for the worst. But keep it out of sight and hope we won't need it.”

She slid it into a pocket in her riding jacket. “Yes. Let's hope.”

The enemy rolled toward them like a front of storm clouds, vast and unstoppable. When they came within throwing range, javelins and flying blades flew between the armies. Josey was heartened to see her soldiers get the better of the volley, but her joy was fleeting as the first elements of the two forces clashed. Her soldiers locked shields and dug in their heels, but they couldn't hold back the tide. Holes appeared in her front line and widened to gaping rents through which the enemy poured in. Everywhere Josey looked, her soldiers were falling back, except for the center where Brian stood firm inside a knot of stubborn pikemen. Yet, when he got down from his steed-or was knocked down-that section gave way as well. A sick feeling bubbled in Josey's stomach. She flinched at the screams of the dying and wounded. This was her fault. She wrapped the reins tighter around her hands.

But then a standard waved back and forth through the rising mists. It bore the green eagle of House Therbold on a golden field. The fighting cleared for a moment, and Josey saw Brian on his feet, waving the standard amid a cluster of her soldiers. To her amazement, they held for a moment against the grinding invader force surrounding them. The moment extended to a full minute, and then another. Bodies piled up around the standard, both enemy and ally alike, but Brian did not falter. Josey's heart pounded. Pain squeezed her fingers, and she looked down to see her hands bound up in loops of Lightning's reins, so tight it cut off her circulation.

Lightning took a couple steps as she unwound her hands, but Hirsch caught hold of the lead. “Not yet, lass.”

Josey swallowed her tears. Brian's men held out, but they were isolated in a sea of gray and black. She looked to the eastern hills where the mists were thinning, and saw only a few scrub trees. Where are they?