The soldiers surveyed the dead makrasha with open amazement. The many questions they must have been asking themselves were surely the same ones Kevlin had been asking for days. From Ceren they’d have been warned of the threat, but being told about it was different than experiencing it.

Ceren.

She was standing beside the healer. She wore a teal-colored, linen dress. It hung a little loose on her slender frame, but still looked attractive.

Ceren noticed Kevlin at the same time. She shouted his name and rushed toward him. Kevlin moved to meet her, and for a second it looked like she was going to throw her arms around him. Maybe that kiss in the forest had meant something after all.

Or maybe not.

Two paces away she slowed and, instead of hugging him, started peppering him with questions.

“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you watching the fort? Did the Grakonians leave? Is Antigonus dead?”

“Slow down,” he said when she paused for breath. “How did you get here? This isn’t exactly the road back to the fort.”

"I take it you are Kevlin,” the old stalwart interrupted.

“Aye.”

“I am Leander,” he said with a warm smile, his bright blue eyes sparkling as if with suppressed laughter.

"Thanks for your help this morning, sir. You saved my life more than once."

"Well, my boy, why don't you help me down so I can deal with this leg?"

“Oh. Of course.”

The sentinel joined them as Leander settled to the ground, his injured leg thrust out before him. Where Leander's white hair was close cropped, the sentinel's hung halfway to his shoulders. Leander wore his beard neatly trimmed, but the newcomer's hung to his chest.

He stood taller than Leander, and his deep-set eyes were a unique steel-gray. Leander radiated a solid, honest strength, but the sentinel’s shaggier hair and narrower face gave the impression of a predator. Kevlin got the uncomfortable feeling that the old man could read all his secrets.

Despite his dangerous aura, the sentinel asked in a concerned voice, "Is the wound serious, Leander?"

"Nothing to worry about, my old friend," replied Leander calmly. "But I am getting rusty."

"I don’t see how that’s possible considering how busy you keep your Pallian Stalwarts."

Pallian Stalwarts. That explained the hammer. Sort of.

Pallians were commonly known as Hammer Stalwarts and were dedicated to the seemingly contradictory tenets of both justice and mercy. Kevlin wasn't sure what god they served, but they were highly respected. Given the old fellow’s prowess with the hammer, he could see why.

The sentinel turned to Kevlin and extended a hand. “I am Harafin.”

Harafin! Kevlin eagerly clasped hand-to-wrist with the old man. Thank the Lady, something’s finally going right.

Meeting Harafin so soon was a good omen. “I need to talk with you.”

“You and I both have questions."

"Let me fix my leg first," Leander said.

The green-robed healer pushed back her hood and bent over the old stalwart to inspect the injury.

Kevlin stared, transfixed.

She was young, maybe twenty, and her shoulder-length sable hair shone like satin in the morning light. It seemed to caress her face and neck as she moved.

Breathing suddenly became difficult.

Her face was flawless. That was the only word to describe it. Her features were perfectly formed. From the high cheekbones to the curve of her lips, to her creamy white skin, it was as though she had been sculpted by a master artist. Beyond her heart-stopping beauty, she radiated purity, like a glow embedded in her smooth skin.

Kevlin had to focus to finally register the tail end of what she was saying to the old stalwart. “. . .help you with that.”

“I can deal with this just fine, my dear,” Leander said. “There are wounded soldiers who need you far more than I.”

“Who will take the bolt out of your leg?”

“My young friend can help me,” Leander replied, gesturing at Kevlin.

She turned to Kevlin and asked, “Do you have experience with this sort of thing?” He met her gaze and the midnight pools of her eyes captured his soul. His mind went completely blank.

"What?" he finally managed to stammer.

Ceren snorted and glared at him. “He’s a little thick-headed,” she explained to the healer.

Kevlin tried to protest, but the green-robed healer’s gaze stopped his tongue again. She smiled shyly and repeated the question. He had to concentrate to not be distracted by the movement of her lips or the sweet gentleness of her voice.

The words finally registered, and he managed to say, “I’m not a healer, not like Ceren, but I’ve treated battlefield injuries before."

“Good,” said Leander. “Indira, go see to the other wounded. Take Ceren with you. I'm sure she will prove very helpful. I'll be fine with Kevlin’s help.”

“All right, but I‘ll be back soon to check on you,” Indira said with a final warm smile before heading for the rows of wounded. Ceren unstrung her healer’s case and hurried after. Kevlin watched them go, his emotions an indecipherable knot.

“Did you fall asleep standing up?" Harafin asked, poking Kevlin.

“Excuse me?” Kevlin blinked, having forgotten for a moment that he had found Harafin.

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"Just daydreaming," Harafin said, one bushy eyebrow raised.

Leander chuckled. “Indira is my ward. Her compassion is so strong, it’s impossible not to respond to it.”

It wasn't her compassion that left Kevlin breathless.

He glanced back at the women. Indira stood a little taller than Ceren, and although both women moved gracefully, Indira seemed soft and vulnerable next to Ceren’s more athletic gait. No woman had affected him so powerfully in a long time and that made him very nervous.

“Give me a hand here, my boy,” Leander said.

Kevlin crouched beside him, wincing at a fresh twinge from his feet.

“Are you injured too?” Leander asked.

“Nothing new. I’ve been running from those brutes for a few days and my feet haven’t held up well to the punishment.”

“I’m sure we can help you feel better,” Leander said. He then directed Kevlin to cut away the fabric of his trousers to get at the bolt embedded deep in his thigh.

Kevlin grimaced as he surveyed Leander's injury. The old guy must be tough as granite. With a wound like that, I don’t think I could’ve stayed on my feet and kept fighting.

Leander placed his hands on either side of the bolt, closed his eyes, and started chanting softly. Both hands glowed with a gentle white light, but without the hummingbird sound that had accompanied Antigonus' attempt to heal himself. After a moment, Leander took a deep breath, slowly let it out, and opened his eyes.

"Now, cut that bolt out,” Leander said.

Kevlin drew his dagger. "This is going to hurt.”

"I have numbed the flesh around the wound, so have no concerns about that. I just need an efficient extraction. I’ll deal with what’s left of my leg."

Kevlin sliced into the flesh of the old man’s thigh, wincing at how deep he was forced to cut. Then with a firm, steady tug, he pulled the bolt free. Blood flowed thick from the wound. It was a good thing the pain was blocked, or Leander would have screamed and most likely passed out before the operation was complete.

As soon as the bolt came free, Leander pressed the wound closed and resumed chanting. His hands again began to glow with the same soft white light. A full minute slowly ticked by. Kevlin was afraid to move.

When Leander removed his hands, his skin was as clean and unmarked as that of a child’s.

"Well done," commented Harafin.

Kevlin couldn’t help but think of Antigonus’ partially closed wound after he’d tried to heal it. If only he’d succeeded, things would have turned out so differently.

Leander closed his eyes and blew out a long breath.

"You need rest, my friend," said Harafin.

“I know, but not yet.”

“Do not push yourself too hard. That healing took more out of you than you like to admit.”

Leander laughed. “Don’t preach to me. I’m the stalwart.”

Harafin turned to Kevlin. "Now that it appears Leander will live, let us find a suitable place to talk.”

Kevlin suppressed his impatience while Harafin turned and made a beckoning motion. The shadeleech Merab, still imprisoned by Harafin’s magic, began drifting slowly toward them.

The leader of the horsemen approached. Short and thin, he stood barely five and a half feet, even in thick-heeled boots. His large mace looked too big for him to wield effectively. Sweat plastered his straight black hair to his skull when he pulled off his helm. His face was smooth and his gray eyes burned with excitement.

The man's slender build and dark features declared him a citizen of Tamarr. His silver-trimmed armor bore the rank of colonel as well as the personal crest of the emperor. He seemed young for such a rank. Colonels generally assisted legion commanders. How had he ended up in the middle of the Hallvarri wilderness with a command of a hundred lances?

"When Harafin saw your signal, he ordered the charge before we knew what was going on," the newcomer said to Leander. "How did you manage to flush those creatures?"

"It was not my doing."

"Thanks for responding so fast," Kevlin interrupted. "I thought we were dead. . .although, seeing Leander’s prowess with his hammer, maybe I shouldn’t have worried so much."

"I am Colonel Gabral Aradjan," said the soldier proudly, "Bearer of the Mace and champion of the emperor and of Tamarr." As he spoke, he straightened to his full, diminutive height.

"Bearer of the Mace? I’m honored to meet you." Kevlin held out his hand. Gabral hesitated a second before clasping it. “I am Kevlin.”

Kevlin was impressed, but not surprised that one of the Six should have appeared. He had never met any of the bearers of the Six in person, but with the amazing events of the past days it seemed only appropriate that they should be among those who responded to the threat. It was interesting that the Mace from Tamarr and not the Bladestaff from Hallvarr found him first.

Gabral dropped the handshake and frowned. “You are the man Lady Ceren left watching the enemy fortress?”

“Aye.”

“Why have you deserted your post?”

“What?” Kevlin demanded, surprise quickly turning to anger.

“You were left with a specific assignment,” Gabral said stiffly. “And yet we find you here. I don’t like repeating myself, so answer my question.”

After everything Kevlin had been through in the past few days, the accusation stung. He clenched his fists, but managed to keep from going for his sword.

“Men who make stupid assumptions die young,” Kevlin said.

“Enough,” said Harafin. “We will speak inside and learn exactly what has happened.”

Two more soldiers approached and Gabral turned to them, dismissing Kevlin. Both of the newcomers bore the rank of captain. Generally a captain would command a thousand men, leading one of the five columns of a legion. Hopefully that meant there were more troops in town.

Beyond their rank and uniforms, the two captains could not have been more different. The first was a giant of a man, whose shoulders and chest strained the limits of his armor. He towered over everyone, arguably the biggest man Kevlin had ever met.

He bristled with weapons. A huge battle axe hung on his back and a broadsword swung from his belt, along with a dagger and small throwing axe. His curly brown hair hung in thick braids past his shoulders and a dense russet beard sprang out from under his helmet.

No doubt he was from Donarr. Kevlin had known many Donarri in his career and he liked most of the tough, loyal stock who lived in the rugged Donarri highlands.

The second captain was tall, but as trim as his companion was broad, and he walked with a swaying grace that bespoke a life spent in the saddle. He carried a spear capped with an unusually long, thin head, while a quiver of short javelins hung on his back, flanked by intricately-carved handles of two long-knives.

His face was clean-shaven, his eyes a bright, piercing blue, and his hair completely concealed by his helm. The man had to be from Einarr, whose wide plains produced the premier horses in the world, along with riders to match.

"Sir," the second captain spoke crisply to Colonel Gabral, "we have reports of the situation."

“Ukko’s beard, that was a good little fight,” interrupted the towering Donarri captain with a grin.

“Too bad there weren’t more of them,” the Einarri captain said.

Gabral ignored the remark and ordered curtly, "Proceed."

The lanky Einarri captain replied, "All enemy forces have been destroyed."

"Casualties?"

"Five dead, twelve wounded. Indira is working with them."

"Excellent. Thank you, Drystan." Gabral ran a hand over his head and frowned at the sweat that clung to his fingers. "Assign patrols of the area and arrange for burial of our dead."

He turned to the huge Donarri. "Jerrik, find us a place to interrogate the prisoner and speak with this man." He nodded at Kevlin.

A minute later, Kevlin sat between Leander and Harafin on crates in an empty warehouse, with Merab floating in his prison across the room. Jerrik stood between them and the exit and Gabral paced nearby. Piles of crates filled the rest of the huge room and dust hung heavy in the air.

The colonel planted his feet and faced Kevlin. "Explain why those creatures attack openly in the light of day. From what Lady Ceren told us, they were trying to avoid being seen."

Ceren appeared in the door. “They were, last I knew.”

“I thought you were helping Indira,” Kevlin said.

“She has an amazing gift,” Ceren said in an awed voice. “The things she can do. . .she doesn’t really need me, and I wanted to find out what happened to you.”

“Yes, come in,” Leander said with a warm smile.

When Ceren had seated herself, Kevlin said, “They were chasing me.” Although still angry at Gabral’s earlier words, he forced calm into his voice. He needed these men.

“So they discovered you watching their fort?” Gabral prompted. “And exposed their presence just to prevent you from doing so?”

“Not exactly.” Kevlin turned to Harafin. “Can we trust everyone here? I have word from Antigonus, but he commanded me to speak with you. He said nothing about anyone else.”

Gabral opened his mouth to protest, his expression outraged.

Harafin said, “I vouch for these men. They are aware of the danger and details of what has happened.”

“You talked with Antigonus?” Ceren asked.

Kevlin nodded. Then he pulled off his right boot, barely suppressing a groan of pain. He sliced the stitches holding Tia Khoa in place, extracted the bundle, unrolled the rune-covered bag from the linen cloth and dumped the rock into his palm.

“Master Harafin,” he said. “I have Tia Khoa.”