The cloaked riders' retreat had devolved into chaos, and despite standing orders, the reinforcement knights yearned to press their advantage. Battle cries tangled in the air as they raised their swords, eager to chase down their fleeing prey.

"Cease pursuit! Knights!" Devalosfang's voice cut through the clamor. "Our people are rescued! Do not pursue the fight!"

The pursuing knights reined in their mounts with visible reluctance, their curses mingling with the clash of frustrated weapons.

"Save your breath - they wouldn't understand anyway," the squad leader remarked as he approached with Carl and Tyler in tow. "We need to recross the river immediately. Keep your pace slow - Carl's mount has already raced through heaven and hell. It has little strength remaining." As he led his men into a measured trot, his voice steadied. "Now we talk."

Devalosfang's tone had regained its characteristic cool, though the chaos of recent combat still echoed in his bearing.

"First tell me - how many did we save?"

Silence stretched like a drawn bow, heavy with imminent truth.

"Four, Captain. We rescued four brothers."

"Three," came the correction from a knight whose mount bore a second, motionless burden. "If we don't count the dead. Kova fell - they took half his sword hand."

"Then three it is," the squad leader's voice carried the weight of fresh grief. Carl's eyes fixed anxiously on Simon's weakened form. O gods above, you've claimed enough today. Spare him, at least.

The gods seemed to heed his prayer - the dreaded words remained unspoken, the count of survivors unchanged at three.

"Bring what remains of Kova back intact," Devalosfang said, brushing dirt from his long hair. "Now, tell me everything that happened."

As Carl began recounting what felt like ancient history, Devalosfang felt the burning gaze of another survivor upon his back.

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"You're insane, Stellan. You fool! You almost gave us away," Lannord hung back deliberately, making his rebuke easier to deliver.

"Insane? Please, Lannord. You'd have done the same - torn them to pieces..." Stellan pressed his hand against his right eye, unable to stem the blood seeping between his fingers. "If you hadn't interfered with those pretty family words, I'd have slaughtered them all."

"Then thank me, you fool. If I hadn't stopped you, your entire bloodline would have been purged." Lannord noticed his voice had risen too high, drawing glances from the riders ahead. "Next time you lose control like that, I'll have the Duke chain you in your chambers."

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Stellan lowered his hand from his eye. Save for some swelling and redness, it looked perfectly normal - even the vicious scar had vanished as if erased by magic. His cold, furious gaze fixed on Lannord.

"I advise you not to provoke me further, Lannord. I am not to be trifled with." With that, he spurred his mount forward.

Lannord embraced Moar's neck gently, releasing a weary sigh. "You're not to be trifled with, nor am I. But humans - humans are the ones we dare not cross."

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Firelight flickered like scattered stars in the night wind, accompanied by the rise and fall of hushed conversations.

"So they lay in wait - in fields, woods, and abandoned houses - timing their attack perfectly?" Eoch asked, gazing across the river.

They stood at the water's edge, where wind and current played as they detailed the ambush at Ronnar to the knight commander. Earlier, Eoch had ordered the vanguard to make camp on The Doby Stream's southern bank, the day's events forcing him to abandon any thought of crossing. Soldiers huddled around campfires, taking what comfort they could from flame and food. Few spoke, and those who did kept their voices low - their first battle's bitter defeat had struck deep at their spirits.

Tyler stared at Devalosfang's back, lost in thought, until Carl's gentle tug at his sleeve reminded him of the knight commander's question. Flustered, he answered, "Yes, sir. My horse was spooked and difficult to control, so I had to lead her on foot. That's when I noticed something strange about the nearby fields and went to investigate. The crops were already burned, but there were tracks in the ash." Tyler strained to recall the details. "Both human and horse prints. They led to a nearby cabin, so I went to check."

"Hmph. Brave of you. Lucky they didn't turn you into a pincushion or mince you into sausage," Eoch kicked a stone into the river without ceremony.

"Indeed, sir. I didn't realize how foolish I'd been until I'd already opened the door. Fortunately, the cabin was empty - no chance of becoming either pincushion or sausage." He glanced at Carl, who offered an encouraging smile. "Once I collected myself, I searched thoroughly and found something interesting."

"What? Don't keep me waiting - I'm not in the mood for suspense."

"Recently extinguished torches and flint, sir. That's when I knew we were being ambushed. But by the time I got back to my horse, Carl and the others were already engaged."

"If you'd discovered it sooner, or managed to sound an alarm, we might not have lost seventeen brothers. But... no matter. It's not your fault." The knight commander kicked another stone. "Who carried the Green Torch?"

"Corslin. The troll boy," Carl answered softly.

"The Triad preserve us! Not him..." Eoch sank down by the riverbank. "So young, so promising - now dead in this cursed soil. And a Silian child, no less, with half his family back in Kree. What possessed me to let him join the vanguard? What will I tell Raveirmom - or the Emperor?"

"Duke Silian serves as Davidow's minister and knows Duke Dear well," Devalosfang explained quietly to the others.

"Still, you three are fortunate," Eoch said, lying back against the bank. "If big-mouth Simon pulls through, you'll be known as the Three Survivors."

"What do you mean by that?" Carl asked, sensing something amiss.