“He’s surrendering? Brack?” Jara said when they were back with the horses. Nyssa was undressing from her Cyrus costume; she was still going over what she saw in her mind.

“We have to do something, my Queen,” Ark said again.

Nyssa was lost in thought. She didn’t disagree, but without knowing more about this Bael and his troops, what could twelve more men do? It was obvious he was threatening Brack with more than even he had.

It was less than an hour before sunrise. They were out of time.

“We need to take up positions behind whatever entourage Brack brings with him. If he brings the whole company, we have to stay hidden and that will be a challenge. We need to get into a position that if we can take out this Bael, we will. Surprise is still our advantage,” Nyssa said then.

The knights immediately began their preparations. Just as the sun was lighting the eastern sky, they started out into the field. She let herself fall into step with Ark.

“Send me, Brund,” she said barely above a whisper. Ark nodded and turned immediately. A few minutes later, the courier was beside her.

“Take this to His Majesty,” she said to him and gave him a small package and envelope. “Brund,” he stopped and looked back at her. “Ride hard.” He nodded and disappeared in the fading dark.

For Nyssa, if it meant surrender or death, she knew what Brack would choose. She couldn’t let that happen. Dascus was not taking another member of her family. Her father had been killed two years before and her mother fifteen, and just last year a group had been sent to kidnap her, all at the hands of the Roguns. She would not allow it to continue, for her or any Orak’Thune. Not if she had something to say about it.

The sun was low on the horizon still. Fast moving insects skimmed the top of the grass fields and the mist hung low near to the ground. Nyssa and her knights were spread out in the long grass at the base of a berm that gave them a good view of the groups that were amassing toward the centre. She was waiting for Brack.

“There he is,” Jara said barely above a whisper. She had seen him already and was watching who he had chosen to go with him.

She counted six soldiers. Two were his commanding officers; four were men in his guard, including the brothers. On the opposing side, a black cloaked figure with a black and gold flag was waiting on his horse. He began to move forward slowly when he saw them. In a few seconds, the rest of his group emerged and she could see at least a fifty mounted men behind him.

Nyssa was furious, but she held her tongue and her temper. Ark was watching her nervously.

“Do you know him?” Nyssa asked after the two men had come close enough and had stopped their horses.

“I can’t tell from here, my Queen,” Jara replied calmly.

“It’s not Dascus, that’s for certain,” Nyssa heard a whisper from somewhere behind him.

She twisted to try and see but couldn’t without making movement in the grass. She looked at Ark, who seemed to be getting a relay of the message. He nodded and looked back to her.

Who is this Bael? she wondered to herself and was trying to remember her reports on the Rogun Imperial Court. Bael… She couldn’t place him. Maybe he was new.

“Do you recognize the name?” she asked Jara. He shook his head.

“Does he look magicked?” he asked her and waited, but she could only shrug and shake her head.

The last Rogun leader she’d faced had shimmered when she’d looked at him. He had been capable of some sort of teleportation, seemingly able to disappear and reappear at will.

She waited and watched Brack again, who was by this time rigid in his rage and starting to fail at controlling it. His guards had moved up and were holding tight to his horse’s flanks.

“I can’t say for sure, but it’s possible,” she replied finally.

Just then, Brack’s horse reared and Brack himself stood in his stirrups. He pointed his sword at the rider and the pennant—baring her royal seal—that his guard carried beside, echoed the stance. Even from her distant position, Nyssa could tell it was a challenge. Nyssa swore.

“Captain, General Brack didn’t bring the company. If they are unaffected by this rabble in any way, I want them ready. Brack has twenty-five men. Send ten of them back a mile and start them riding around to the coastal settlements to warn them; there could be more Rogun’s not present here. All citizens are to make for their walled and armed neighbours at Port Town, post-haste. Tell the knights to make the full sweep of the shore, and then head to the barracks at Cross Town to make their report. They’ll know to inform Titus directly and quickly. The rest are to join us at the rendezvous point, but they must first know we are here. We have about fifteen minutes before Brack and this rider get organized. Go now!” she urged and Ark began inching backwards quickly to give her orders.

Nyssa returned to watching Brack and saw the preparations they were making. The rider had squires preparing a run and bringing up lances. She hated jousting on the field of actual battle. It was brutal and too much was given to chance because no one practised sufficiently anymore to keep up the skill. Brack was a relic of a more carnival age, a peacetime when knights needed exercise and challenges. She hadn’t experienced that much free time since her father had been killed. He was the best at it then and probably still could hold his own now, but this was not a tournament. This was to the death and she knew he was tired and unprepared.

She pulled back with Jara and the remaining men to regroup. At the halfway point, Nyssa came up on a quiet but chaotic group of men and horses. She was looking for the captain when one of her black knights caught up with her.

“It’s starting, my Queen,” he said and disappeared again quickly.

Nyssa turned, glanced through the crowd to find her horse, saw Jara holding it for her and ran to it. She mounted and yelled to the closest officer, Roan dancing with excitement.

“Mount up and move out! Crescent formation behind me!” she called to Jara and he turned around to repeat and carry through her order.

Nyssa rode hard through the short glen back to the open area. She could feel the vibration of hooves and was relieved that more of Brack’s men had been ready to follow her. At the edge, she saw the two riders aiming straight for each other. In an instant, a great crash and the lances bowed and splintered, both riders leaning far back, but holding on. Nyssa was enraged and taking no chances. This was her element of surprise and there was no turning back. She burst into the opening and rode straight up the middle. Her eyes were on that black-cloaked rider and her sword was ready. He was dispensing with the broken lance and had turned his back away from her. She lifted her sword in the signal to attack and the crescent that had formed around her picked up speed. The rider turned then and lurched in surprise. He threw down the lance and unsheathed his sword, kicking his horse’s flanks to move faster to meet her.

Brack saw this too and was out of the gate and racing after them. The Rogun forces, told to hold back and wait the results of the tournament, were caught off guard. The large crescent of near thirty riders encircled them. One second of thunderous horses’ hooves and then a monstrous clash of metal erupted as the two forces met.

Nyssa’s surprise worked surprisingly well, considering Bael’s troops were armed and waiting. Her own forces were working on adrenaline and abrupt speed, wasting no time in their advance. They’d had a good quarter mile to gain and maintain momentum before they hit their targets, and the result was utter chaos on their enemy who had expected them to line up and prepare.

Nyssa had made contact with Bael, who seemed still surprised and off guard. She gauged right away that he was nowhere near equal to the black-robed man she had met on the valley field. He was human size, for one. This was a regular officer, a human officer. With this knowledge, Nyssa spurred Roan expertly, and chopped heavy swings into the man’s armoured torso and forearms. Her swings were decisive and faster and she had the man on the defensive, controlling her pitch and angle almost before he could adjust. Bael was obviously not prepared to meet her. He was also outmatched and he waned quickly.

After a series of like swings, she caught him, a hook into the underside of his gauntlet. He yowled, and she saw the blood spurt from the whole of his left hand where she had split it from wrist to knuckle up the middle. He dropped his sword and, breathing heavily, backed away from her. One handed, he had no choice.

“Do you yield?” she asked him quietly, working to control her breathing again.

“Never,” he seethed at her.

He was about to back away, but he’d lost sight of his surroundings in his concentration for her. His troops were in disarray and were fleeing in every direction. Her own were either on the chase or cutting the last of them down. He was backing into a crowd of angry fighting and then her knights were there. Three of them stopped his horses’ retreat. One grabbing his reins, the other two dismounting quickly and dragging him from his saddle. He landed with an audible clang and thud, a muffled groan from his injured hand. When they rolled him over, he was covered in his blood; it poured from the bloody mess he was trying to hold onto, and his colour was changing.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“Why?” she snapped and came over to stand on his leg. He grimaced at her. She stabbed him under his chin and tilted it up so he could look at her.

“Why?” she repeated.

“Rogun will consume you,” Bael growled at her. “Rogun will consume you all, and Dascus will begin again himself with your queen,” he added and his eyes began to glaze over. He was breathing heavily, sweating.

“His life’s blood is draining,” she heard Jara say calmly behind her. “If you have anything else, best be quick about it.”

“Do you want us to save you?” she asked lightly. Bael looked at her uncomprehending.

“We could save you, bandage your arm. Give you water and drink, send you on your way, after you’ve rested. Have one of your men return you to Rogun,” she continued and shrugged lightly.

Bael was looking at her. His expression was one of pain and defeat. It looked as if he wanted to take her offer, but he feared to at the same time.

“I just want to know one thing,” she said then. “What would you tell Dascus about what you experienced here?” She turned her shoulders and spread her arms wide to indicate the countryside, “in Orak’Thune?”

“Rogun is ready,” Bael said, barely above a whisper. “Ready I am or not, Dascus will take your queen’s power for himself and through him, Rogun will rule all this world. Rogun is ready,” he said again, and it sounded as if he were repeating a tyrannical speech he’d heard. Suddenly, he lurched and stiffened; his uninjured arm reached upward.

“Beware to your queen: the emperor seeks his rebirth and reincarnation! All of Rogun will hunt her!! When he is reborn, Dascus as overlord will eat her flesh and when he is finished, her gnawed bones will hang from the Imperial Throne at Orak’Thune…”

In the next blink of her eye, Nyssa saw a double edged, heavy broadsword come down and impale itself directly between Bael’s eyes. She blinked in surprise and turned coolly around to see who it was. Brack was standing there, bemusement in his tired face, his armoured hands still gripping the pommel.

“I am tired and I want to return to my home,” he said informally and turned away from them.

She watched him mount his horse and head back toward his camp, flanked by Polt and Piltz. Ark coughed awkwardly and Jara’s mouth twitched slightly at the corners. She turned to look at him, still not sure what to say.

“The prisoners?” Jara asked her helpfully. She blinked and nodded, coming back to the present. She turned to Ark.

“Round them up, and interrogate them,” she began, and was slowly starting to think more clearly again. She was about to collect her things and find Roan, but she turned back to Ark.

“I want you to select a very small group of prisoners, those most helpful perhaps, and take them back to Port Town. I’d like to see this ship of theirs, so I want you to gather more information about their arrival and activities shortly thereafter. Once you are satisfied you have it all, do what you see fit with these animals. Kill them if you do not trust them to cause further harm. In fact,” and she stopped to turn back to him, “throw them in the sea anyway. If we return them to Rogun, they will simply return with Dascus’s next campaign. Until we’re sure he’s no longer trying, every Rogun soldier is a threat we could face on the battlefield. There are no civilian tourists here anymore. Kill every Rogun you find who carries a weapon and send any not carrying away. And that includes anyone carrying intelligence, Ark,” she reminded him and he nodded smartly. “Take as many men as you deem necessary but travel light. I’d hope to see you back at Orak’Thune within a month,” she added and Ark nodded in the affirmative, saluted and left to start his preparations.

When Nyssa arrived back at Brack’s camp, she felt the fatigue of battle, but also the weight of intense and prolonged stress of being in subterfuge and wakefulness for most of the last two weeks. She slid limply from Roan’s saddle and gratefully handed his reins to a groom.

“Feed him something special, carrots perhaps,” she said and patted the huge neck. Roan snorted in appreciation and nudged her shoulder where she was unbuckling her sword.

“You did excellently, my friend,” she soothed him, patting his enormous head and scratching his nose. She kissed the soft part. “Sleep now. I want to go home soon,” she said.

She had her saddlebags and equipment over one shoulder and her sheathed sword in the other. She was still wearing her Elite armour, which was lighter in many respects, but she felt as heavy and agile as anvil. She hesitated just as Brack’s tent came into view. She really wasn’t looking for a fight. She knew he was likely to be very angry with her for having come directly. She sighed and went ahead.

“Your Majesty!” Polt and Piltz said in unison and saluted. She tried to salute back, but her hands were full.

“Move it, fools!” Cyrus snapped and came forward quickly to get her gear from her arms. When he had all that she carried, he bowed and stepped aside so she could enter. Once relieved, she saluted the two guards and walked past Cyrus into the tent.

Brack was sitting, or rather half lying, on a few trunks covered with a rug. He had a cup in one hand, most of his armour removed, but sat with his hauberk still on. His expression was stormy. Nyssa stopped in the middle and waited for him to determine the mood.

“Why are you here, my Queen?” he said gruffly, and she could tell he was too exhausted to fight.

“Why did you miss my wedding?” she asked him in return, crossing her arms. Brack blinked, several times. He moved a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes.

“Wedding?” he asked.

“You were notified, were you not?” she asked him.

He cleared his throat. He seemed to be trying to recall. He glanced at his desk, which was a mess and likely would not have been helpful.

“I…” he started but cleared his throat and sat up slowly. “I don’t recall being notified, no,” he said finally. He looked up at her, “Nyssa, what have you done?”

Nyssa smiled and then she laughed. She came over to him and sat on a little stool beside the trunks. He was a big man, as big as her father had been. She felt like a child at his knee. He looked at her with interest, but not contempt.

“Rest assured, General, my brother is in full support. He married us in the Crown Hall with all the appropriate fanciness required,” she began with him. Brack raised an eyebrow and swung his head back to take a drink. “I married Captain Hedir of the Bough. Well, he’s a general now. And a duke,” she said lightly and slightly randomly.

“A Bough?” Brack interrupted her.

She stopped talking and sat back to watch him. His eyes flicked to the flaps of his tent, but they were alone.

“He better be some Bough,” Brack grumbled and slugged back the rest of his drink.

When it was empty and his head came back forward, he wobbled a bit. Nyssa took the empty cup from him and sniffed it. It reeked of brandy.

“Because I am not sure how much of this you have consumed, and you haven’t offered me any, I will forgive that last statement,” she said to him, rising to set the cup down on the table.

She noticed he blinked at her, squinted a bit, and then pointed to the smaller cupboard by his cot. She saw the pewter decanter and cork stopper and went for it. She stopped to remove her chest armour, undoing the long leather straps and dropping it in the corner. She arched her back and picked up the decanter and another cup, coming back to sit on the little stool.

Refilling his cup, she poured her own. She raised her glass to him.

“To your nuptials, my Queen,” he said more formally and raised his cup to her. “I am sure your father is very proud.” And he threw his head back to consume the entire quantity in his cup.

Nyssa hadn’t sipped hers yet. When he began to tip back further than was natural, she called for Cyrus’ help.

With Brack tucked away in his cot, snoring, she set herself to some dispatches while Cyrus prepared her own bed. She didn’t want to be far away from Brack right now. She had a lot to discuss with him and she was too tired to wait for a whole other tent to be prepared for her. The day had been mostly consumed with the battle and the aftermath clean-up; it was nearly twilight now.

Officers had been stopping by all day with reports of bits gleaned from the prisoners. It was nothing interesting, nothing concrete. She needed to know more and hoped Ark’s expedition would be fruitful.

She penned a detailed account of her experiences and left no detail out of her encounter with Bael, including his final warning. She applied her seal, signed it to the attention of her royal regent, to be opened by Patrick alone, and set it aside.

Next, she started her letter to Hedir. She had missed him so intensely the last two weeks. She missed his touch, and closed her eyes to remember him, feel him, and she imagined she could. The scent of him, his hands on her thighs, her breasts… she sighed, and then came abruptly aware again when she heard a cough from in front of her.

She opened her eyes to see Jara standing there. He was distinctly unhappy.

“I have my report to Patrick complete. You may send the courier in a few minutes,” she said, trying to recover herself.

“You need to sleep,” he said. She was beginning to wave him off, but he cut her off. “You need to sleep so I can sleep,” he clarified and she understood his foul humour.

Without a word, he pulled some of the rugs from the chests and a few pillows from the sitting chairs and curled up between her cot and the door. Cyrus huffed when he had to exit her area by stepping over him.

Within seconds, he was asleep. She smiled at the lump on the floor. She figured he would regret that in the morning but knew it wouldn’t matter until then.

The packet she had sent with Brund would not arrive for several days, they not having access to any messenger pigeons in Brack’s makeshift camp. It had been an urgent and rushed version of what she expected lay ahead; she hoped now it wouldn’t frighten them too much, but she also hoped it would update Patrick on the seriousness of the situation. The final conclusion she had just completed would help to prepare him immensely in briefing the council and to formulate ideas of what they should do. She looked forward to that conversation when she could get home.

For Hedir, she felt trepidation. She wanted so much to tell him how she felt, that she missed him, she missed having him close. Physical reasons aside, she missed his practical advice and his cool and even temperament. He was a soothing travelling companion, and he made her feel confident and decisive. She missed having him to consult with on all matters; she missed him reminding her the winds carried all knowledge, and that they would be breathing the same air. That he was never far from her, and that all she had to do was see the sky, listen to the wind. It was the same sky and the same wind.

She wrote to him.

Beloved,

I look up at the emerging stars and I think of you. I think I feel you here beside me, hear you on the winds, calling my name. I am with you, Hedir, wherever you might be standing, sitting or lying, I am next to you and that gives me comfort. I am with you. Always.

With love and intense impatience to be with you again,

Nyssa