The dog signaled that he’d found someone. The edge of a purple cloak sticking out from the small cave at the base of the great oak told Major Kyant whom it was he found.

“Sire, come out. We need to move quickly. The orcs aren’t far behind,” called Kyant to his king. “We have a few minutes, maybe not even that.”

“It’s you, Kyant?” the king said as he came out of the cave. His cloak was torn, his clothing muddied, and he bled from a cut on his forehead, but there looked to be no serious injuries.

“Yes, I’ve gathered a company of our men. As best we could. We don’t have any more horses, climb up with me.”

The king hesitated. He’d been hoping for more dignified transport in his retreat. He looked over the men gathered before him. About four dozen Vatharian soldiers, mostly from the cavalry, some from the supply brigades. They had horses and a couple of wagons. A few had stopped to help their king, but most were trotting past. They kept looking back as they did.

King Neydon reached up to Kyant, and Kyant pulled him onto the horse. Neither was a heavy man, and the horse was strong, so Kyant figured they had an hour before he tired of the additional load.

“On me, men. Let’s make haste,” Kyant called to the men around him, who rode in a protective ring around their king.

One of the sergeants had to prod the druid Milnik, on his white horse. The druid was near-catatonic, still dealing with the shock of having been punched in the face by a tree during the battle. “My whole life has been a lie,” he kept muttering to himself. “The trees hate me!”

The orcs had already overrun the main road back to Vathary and had advanced past the border. Kyant’s group was avoiding that road and instead headed up a deer path further into the interior. There, if the maps were correct, they should find a path on the other side of the hill that would take them south. If they pushed the horses hard, Kyant figured they would make it.

The king said nothing for the first twenty minutes of the trip. He held on to Kyant and looked back occasionally. As the company made their way up the path, they could catch occasional glimpses through the trees of the battlefield on the plain below, and all the way to the sea.

It looked to be a complete route. No remaining resistance could be spotted from the Vatharians in the field of battle. The soldiers who hadn’t fled were being rounded up and taken prisoner.

Of the Vatharian navy, not a ship remained afloat. The only traces of His Majesty’s ships were the bow of one sticking out across a group of large rocks, and another ship whose captain had managed to run it ashore.

Further north along the shore, Kyant and the king could see a group of sea elves, mounted on their killer whales. They were dragging lifeboats full of Vatharian sailors to the shore where a group of goblins waited.

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“Is my army gone?” asked the king, as they watched the sailors brought in and turned over to the goblins.

“Luckily, I think the men lost their faith in you very early in the battle,” said Kyant to his king as they continued the ride up the hill.

Kyant gave a last look at the battlefield as they reached the crest of the hill. The path ahead continued down and south, back to Vathary.

“I'd guess almost half are now prisoners, including the navy and most of the units on the right flank, the ones caught by the singing witch. The rest of the army fled. If the healers in Pelsa treat our wounded that they've captured or found left on the battlefield, the casualties should be low. If.”

“But how could this happen, Kyant?” asked the king. “Our generals seemed so confident.”

“They never were. They just wouldn't tell you, as they knew you didn’t want to hear it. Even then though, we underestimated Jend and his creatures on everything. Especially the number of soldiers they could field, and their motivation to fight.”

“How could they be stronger? How are they unified? They are all different. How can they work and fight together?”

“Any competent commander knows that you don’t have to all be the same to fight together on the same side. What is important is that you just have to recognize that you are stronger if you work together. Then you need to make sure that everybody is treated fairly and gets a part of the success.”

“Was I not a fair king? I tried to do right for the people.”

“Did you? You’ve spent more time thinking about your race horses than you did thinking about your people. Did you not notice that over half your subjects are serfs? And the nobles long ago learned that the path to success is not creating something new, but in exploiting the serfs harder, while keeping their heads down. How hard are any of those people going to fight for you?”

“Kyant, I must warn you that you are being extremely impertinent. You forget your place.”

“My place is currently on the front of this horse, fleeing an orc horde. Your place is on the back of the horse,” Kyant reminded his king. “You can get down whenever you want, and we'll find out if the men around us are keeping you alive out of respect for me, or loyalty to you.”

The king looked around and decided to stay with Kyant.

“I'll forgive you this, Kyant. It has been a hard day and you aren't thinking clearly.”

“Save your forgiveness, Neydon. I have always only spoken the truth to you. I do not ask for forgiveness.”

The conversation stopped, as a young red dragon was spotted overhead, riding south toward Keley. The company hid in the trees until it passed, and then rode hard, staying on the forest paths away from the shore.

- - - -

Sir Bowen woke up in a dark tent. He tried to sit up.

“No, don’t get up. Stay lying down. Your wounds have been healed, but you are still weak,” said a female voice as she gently but firmly pushed him back down to the cot.

“Where am I?”

“You are safe,” said the orc woman, who sounded familiar to Bowen. “The Circle has set up a hospital and they are treating the wounded. You’ve been healed, and they are busy, so don’t make things harder for them by trying to get up. You would just collapse.”

“What happened?”

“You were hit by our cavalry. Your horse landed on you, and you were stabbed. Broken leg, punctured lung, a lot of lost blood. You are lucky to be alive, even with the skills of our healers.”

“Who are you?”

“Don’t you remember me? We spent an evening dancing together.”

“Klea?”

“Yes, Bowen.”

“Hi Klea. And thank you.”