There was no military unit specifically for mages. Any sorcerer or sorceress who chose to fight would do so scattered among the ranks, going wherever they were needed if they could. Shelton had always seen that as a weakness, knowing that magic had greater potential when more sorcerers worked cooperatively together. But there simply weren't enough of them in Ryal to have ever made the training worth the time it would require.

Perhaps it was time to change that. Even if this war ended quickly, peace would never last forever.

He pulled on his Altmyr gauntlets studded with numerous violet gems. Many who didn't understand magic might consider the gauntlets frivolous and ridiculous in war, but the stones were actually white quartz that he had infused with magic. The magic could be accessed as easily as internal magic, and the Altmyr helped it channel more easily, though the palm of each gauntlet was left uncovered. Though Altmyr was a great conductor for magic, it still added a slight bit of resistance that Shelton didn't want in combat. His chainmail was also made of Altmyr and lined with violet gems around the neck, just above his shirt.

Other than that, his armor was identical to anything worn by the members of the royal family, including Queen Yvona.

"Where's Galen?" she asked curiously as she entered his room from Deandre's.

"He plans to fight, so I told him he could go prepare," Shelton answered, gathering up his helmet.

Yvona nodded, then watched him for a moment before saying, "It's so strange to see you dressed like that."

Shelton gave her a weak smile. The only time he wore anything other than a violet sorcerer's robe was to sleep at night and when he went riding. "It feels strange to be dressed like this."

"I agree." She stepped up to him and gave him a light kiss. "Take care. I need to go help ready what soldiers we have."

He nodded. "Fight well."

"You, as well."

When she was gone, Shelton stepped into Deandre's room. The Grand King was in full armor and standing at the window, staring into the night. Shelton walked up beside him and gazed out at the stars silently.

"You'll help Wildas?"

Startled, Shelton glanced at his husband, but Deandre continued to stare into the night. "What do you mean?"

The Grand King didn't answer for a few moments, then stated quietly, "I dreamt of my death tonight."

"That hardly means anything," Shelton replied, despite the fear that shot through him.

"And it might. Will you help Wildas when I'm no longer here?"

Shelton felt a strange tightness in his throat. "Of course. If I am capable of it, I swear I will do whatever I can for him."

Deandre nodded and once again fell silent. After a moment he turned to face Shelton and put a hand on his shoulder. "I've already told Yvona, and I tell you this now. I may not have ever been the best at showing my love for anyone, but I have loved you all."

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Shelton put his own hand on Deandre's shoulder. It was hard to speak. "I know."

"You most of all."

Tempting though it was to ask if that was also what he'd told Yvona, Shelton just nodded. "The same is true of me."

They drew as close as their armor allowed and kissed for as long as they dared, and, as they drew apart, Shelton found himself desperately hoping that it wouldn't be their last kiss.

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By the time night faded to dawn, nearly two thousand soldiers were waiting in ranks outside the barred city gates, but barely a thousand of them had had any training. Ryal housed a force of only five hundred Guardsmen and just as few hundred regular soldiers. The rest of the military force was scattered across the country in other holds, though each of those forces numbered only five hundred. In times of war, those holds would increase their forces.

But Ryal had been cut off from the rest of the country, and Varin had infiltrated every hold. There hadn't been enough time to train more soldiers for the defense of Ryal.

Who knew what size army Varin had been able to raise.

Coulta tried not to think about that as he sat on Quiver, waiting with Wildas, Deandre, Shelton, and Yvona. Everything was silent, aside from the rattling of harnesses when a horse shifted. He was holding Quiver's reins so tightly he was amazed that the stallion wasn't doing more than chewing his bit. The leather was biting into his palms, and he almost wished he hadn't given up his gloves at Shelton's suggestion.

Varin's army finally appeared just as the sun began to crest the horizon, and Coulta was glad to see that at least most of his soldiers were on foot. Almost all of the defenders were mounted on horseback. That didn't change the fact that they were outnumbered by at least two-to-one.

As the army drew closer, however, Coulta began to feel a sense of wrongness about it. He glanced over at Shelton, who was grimacing. Whatever it was, it was some sort of evil magic.

The advancing army stopped just inside the treeline, except for a single rider on a bay horse. As they drew closer, the rider lifted one arm and held a white cloth over his head. No one rode out to meet him, and the horse went abruptly from an easy lope to a dead stop in front of Deandre. All the horses danced uneasily as the wind blew the scent of the pair and the sense of magic at them.

Coulta was close enough to smell the stench of death that came off the horse, which was thin and covered in putrid wounds. Quiver tossed his head and sidestepped, and when Coulta looked back up he realized that the horse before them was actually a unicorn, its brown horn capped with a blade.

He looked for some sort of strap holding the horn in place, but he soon realized it actually was a unicorn. They were supposed to be myths, where had Varin gotten one? And one that was some sort of undead creature, at that?

The rider spoke, and his voice drew Coulta's attention. It was Varin's voice, but the rider certainly wasn't Varin. Of course the man wouldn't put himself into so exposed a position. The strange rider sat perfectly still, still holding the flag, and had a faraway stare. He didn't seem to be dead like the unicorn, at least.

"Hand Ryal and all of Phelin over to its rightful king," the rider said, his face blank of the sneer Coulta was familiar with seeing when he heard that tone, "and all of your lives shall be spared."

Deandre sat easily on his agitated chestnut stallion. "Surrender and all your lives will be spared."

A laugh came from the blank face. "I have a secret to share. You've let one of my greatest weapons into your twisted little family." The empty eyes abruptly locked onto to Coulta. "Kill him now, Coulta."

The tone was commanding, but there was no urge to obey. He couldn't hold back a tiny smile of relief for a fear he hadn't realized he still held after all this time. "You no longer have any control over me," he declared.

"Ah, but I will have it again." The rider turned back to Deandre. "Your final answer."

"No," Deandre said flatly.

"Then prepare to die." Rider and unicorn spun and galloped back to Varin's ranks, the white flag left behind.

Deandre moved his horse out a few paces and turned to address his army. He gave no long speech, simply yelled, "It is time to defend our homes against this usurper!"

"For Phelin!" the defenders screamed back.

Then Deandre spun his stallion around and pulled his sword, leading the charge at Varin's army. Coulta resisted the urge to look at Wildas as they followed the Grand King's lead. He didn't need to see his husband's controlled terror, because it was exactly what he felt.