“She is not my matria,” said Malcius.
“No, but she will be once she defeats the echelon’s champion. You are a lucky man.”
“You seem confident that we will prevail.”
“I am a truthseeker.”
“You can see the future?”
Dolinar laughed. “No, that is not a talent I bear. I see things as they truly are. Knight Yserria is worthy of her title. Her confidence is genuine. The echelon fears her.”
“So, you chose the side you think will win?”
“I choose the side that I desire to win. I do not care for the echelon. She is devious, always scheming. It hurts my eyes to see so much deception, but it is most common in women of power in our queendom. The only way to gain power here is to take it, and the support of their peers is crucial. The good are eventually corrupted of necessity. That one, though, she shows her true self. It is most refreshing.”
Malcius followed Dolinar’s gaze. Yserria was standing at the war table speaking with Balen’s sons. A ray of light shined through a crack in the clouds to glint off the torque around her neck. Malcius said, “Perhaps she can afford to be true because she is backed by one more devious than the rest.”
“You speak of your king?”
“And yours,” Malcius said, meeting the man’s dark gaze.
“Hmm, it is not wise to speak of royalty with such disdain.”
“He would not deny it. I think he prides himself in the effort, but he seems to feel no pride—or anything, for that matter.”
“You know him well?”
Malcius glanced at Yserria. “I once called him friend.”
“But no longer?”
“You ask many questions,” Malcius replied.
Dolinar shrugged. “It is my talent. I seek to understand the things I see. I do not believe you reject your king.”
Malcius kicked a rock. “No, I do not reject him as my king. As a friend—it is complicated. I have blamed him for all our troubles, and I depend on him to solve them.” He glanced at Dolinar’s knowing gaze and shook his head. “I guess, inside I know he is not responsible, yet I trust he will make amends, regardless.” He growled in frustration. “I just—I cannot let go of the anger.”
Dolinar nodded. “When I was young, my father was killed in a challenge. I blamed our matrianera for a long time even though she was not responsible for his death. It was easier to blame someone I cared about, someone with whom I felt safe, than the true enemy that frightened me.” Dolinar briefly crossed his wrists and said, “If you will excuse me, Malcius Jebai, I must confer with my comrades.”
As Dolinar walked away, Balen said, “He is a wise man. You would do well to heed his words.”
Yserria shaded her eyes with her hand. The clouds had dissipated by late morning, and the sun shone bright over the battle field. Echelon Orina’s troops were scattered around the base of the hill to the north, the largest group toward the west, as she had predicted. She did not look to the south where Balen led the second unit down the river.
“Are you sure we can trust them?” said Malcius.
“We have no choice,” she replied.
“Balen seems a decent fellow, but these people are conniving. He admitted that he is Ifigen’s second. What better way to sabotage us?”
“What does it matter?” she said. “If he betrays us, then we lose. If he were not with us, we would have no troops, and we would still lose. If he is with us, at least we have a chance at winning.”
“You should have let me lead the second unit.”
“He is more familiar with the terrain and the men.”
She saw his frustration in his dark glare and clenched jaw. He said, “Where do you want me then, matria?”
She scowled at him. “Go wherever you want.”
He lifted his chin and said, “Then, I shall stand beside you.”
The first horn blared, and the troops on both sides began to move into position. Yserria found that her men were well accustomed to the challenge of battle and required little encouragement or direction. She spied Ifigen on the far hill. He was pacing back and forth in front of his men, presumably delivering some inspiring speech. Yserria had no such speech. These men did not know her, nor did they care much for her cause. Most of them probably fought because they relished the battle.
She walked along the front line, then turned and raised her voice. “You do not know me, so to ask you to fight for me would be less than inspiring; but, you do know Echelon Deshari. If we win, you need no longer concern yourself with her.” Her gaze roved over their faces. None cheered, probably out of fear of what might happen to them should they lose, but a fire lit within their hungry gazes. She grinned. “We fight to secure our survival, and we fight to destroy our common enemy. We fight as one, as a pack. We fight as wolves.”
This time, the men rooted. It was the same cadence they had chanted during the dance, and it was inspiring. Their chant grew louder, and even those on the adjacent fields turned to stare. The second horn blared, and the battle began.
The front line of Orina’s troops pushed forward, ascending Yserria’s hill. They hid behind large shields attached to logs on wheels, each pushed by half a dozen men up the slope. Ifigen’s archers cast the first volley of arrows at the men climbing his hill, but Yserria waited. After two volleys on the adjacent hill, the frontline infantry rushed from behind the shields to attack Ifigen’s forces.
Yserria returned her attention to her own battle. When Orina’s front line was nearly to the top, she raised a signal flag. Her men abruptly shifted into a grid with large gaps between the files. Dolinar cast his spell, and dozens of boulders from the other side of the hill began rolling forward between the columns. Yserria gave the signal to the archers, who aimed high so that their arrows would drop behind the shields to strike the men pushing the logs. The arrows struck just as the boulders tumbled down the front slope, crashing into the shields. With no one to hold them, the logs plummeted backward, rolling over and dragging the men behind them. Some of the men were able to escape the shields before they were crushed, and Yserria’s infantry met them with force.
Just as Yserria was beginning to feel confident, a fierce wind began swirling atop the hill, capturing shields and shoving her troops into one another. Dozens of small fireballs, none large enough to kill but certainly large enough to cause damage, were cast toward the crest where they were whipped up by the wind. The fire spread, and the fireballs struck at random. During the commotion, Orina’s forces gained ground. They began to swarm the hill.
Yserria could hear the pounding of hooves, but she could not find their source. Suddenly, the illusion dropped, as if a curtain were drawn back, and a small cavalry unit plowed through their lines. She called to one of her mages, a life mage who was already in the midst of casting a spell. The horses suddenly reared and began thrashing against nonexistent restraints. As the confused horses ran amuck, her archers and pike men took down their riders.
After striking down an infantryman who had been unlucky enough to top the hill, she turned to Malcius. She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him away from the man with whom he was engaged. After running her sword through the man’s ribs, she turned to him.
She held the signal flare out for him and said, “Lead the charge!”
“What? Me? Now?”