When Nevandians died.
Ruenen put a hand on the bony shoulder of the nearest boy. “Fight hard tomorrow. Together, we’ll defeat Tacorn and bring peace to our lands.”
The boys nodded; their youthful, dirty faces brimming with nervous courage.
“All hail, Prince Ruenen,” one of them shouted.
Ruenen’s breath caught as the chant echoed throughout the camp.
Avilyard led Ruenen to his own tent. Ruenen brushed aside the canvas flap, revealing accommodations fit for a king. Fur rugs lined the ground and walls, along with small tapestries depicting the Nevandian coat of arms. A table and two chairs had been placed in the center. A cot with lavish pillows and blankets sat on the other side. Food and wine were readily available in the hands of servants stationed inside. It was far warmer and more comfortable than any of the other tents. Guilt sliced through Ruenen as he thought of those boys outside with their stale bread.
“Bring some of this outside to the men. We don’t need all of this food,” he said to Mayestral, who conveyed the order to a duo of servants.
“Our spies spotted Varanese flags across the moor,” said Commander Gasparian as the servants loaded up trays with half of the spread. “The armies have joined. A thousand more men. All the players in place.”
Thora and Kadiatu huddled near Raife, eyes wide. Their shaking fingers entwined. They looked so small in a room full of armor and weapons. Neither of them carried a blade. They didn’t examine the maps that highlighted the overwhelming odds of failure. Their brows furrowed in confusion at the language of war.
They shouldn’t be here, Ruenen thought savagely. It was wrong of him to uproot two gentle souls with hands that had never killed and simply wanted to heal and nurture. Thora and Kadiatu didn’t belong on that field, never mind the war tent.
Another commander shook his shaggy head. “With those numbers, Tacorn outnumbers us nearly four to one.”
Avilyard’s eyes raked over the maps. Miniature wooden flags indicated different units; green for Nevandia, black for Tacorn, and blue for Varana. They’d been positioned like pieces on a chess board. The number of black and blue flags on the other side of the road overwhelmed the green. White flags for Grelta sat off to the side of the map.
“Rayghast stationed Varana on the far left side, and assembled Tacorn’s cavalry and main infantry along the middle.” Avilyard pointed to the thicket of black flags. “This is where we should focus our strength.”
“But then you’re leaving the left and right flanks entirely open,” Ruenen said. He wasn’t used to strategy. War was something he never imagined taking part in, but he wasn’t blind. Varanese forces would shatter the left side of the Nevandian army, then come around behind and swallow Ruenen’s troops whole.
“We’re already spread too thin as it is,” said Avilyard, a hint of resignation in his eyes. “Our priority should be Rayghast. Get to him, and we win it all. Varanese forces will fall back if Rayghast is no longer in charge. They have no stake in this, other than their deal with Tacorn. Without Rayghast, the deal is off.”
“Put us on the left flank,” said a voice of cold steel.
Ruenen’s eyes bolted across the table. Blood rushed to his ears. Marai’s gaze pinned him in place.
“Marai,” Thora gasped, yanking on Marai’s arm to no avail.
The room was silent, other than a small whimper from a trembling Kadiatu. Keshel’s face was unreadable.
“That’s generous of you, Lady Marai, but seven faeries are no match for an army,” Avilyard said, looking from Marai to Kadiatu, who was hugging Keshel’s arm to her torso.
“Not just seven faeries,” Tarik said with gusto from the back of the packed tent, “but six wolves, as well.”
The werewolves thumped their weapons against their chests in a show of strength and pride.
“While I admire your bravery, I don’t see how this will work without all thirteen of you getting slaughtered,” Avilyard said. “I may not know much about werewolves, but I do know that in your human forms, you’re no stronger than the average man.”
“Yeah, but we’ve each got more grit than twenty of you,” Tarik said, holding his head high with a smirk.
Grit could only account for so much. Fear like nothing Ruenen had ever known pierced his lungs, driving a shard of ice through his heart. But Ruenen knew that Marai would never suggest this plan if she didn’t wholly believe it. He met Marai’s stare, and read her resolve.
“Can you do it?” Ruenen asked. His heart was fracturing. He shouldn’t be encouraging this idea. As Prince, he could tell her no.
Raife stepped forward, clapping a hand on Tarik’s shoulder. “We can hold the line. We’ll be the rock that breaks the wave.”
Thora gaped up at him, one tear streaking down her cheek.
“We’ll pull out all the stops, at least until Grelta arrives,” Leif said with a roguish shrug.
Avilyard stared from fae to werewolf. “How do you intend to do this?” Skepticism laced every word.
Marai cocked her head, looking up at Keshel. He stepped up to the table. “Shields. Magical barriers. I’ll place one around the entire Nevandian army.”
Jaws dropped.
“What exactly do you mean?” asked Commander Filitto next to Ruenen. Swords and arrows were one thing humans could understand, but magic was an entirely different entity.
“After our army is in place, I’ll erect an invisible shield. Let Tacorn and Varana waste their arrows. They won’t penetrate the barrier.”
“You cannot hold that shield forever,” Ruenen said, knowing that all magic had limits.
“I’ll slowly pull back, unit by unit, until I no longer have the power.” He would use it all. Keshel would spend every ounce of his magic to create and hold that shield. “Once my shield comes down, the rest of the fae will use their magic.” His eyes went strangely blank for a moment, gazing at something far off in the distance. “Except for Marai. She’ll be our last line of defense.”
The look that passed between Keshel and Marai was deep and filled with so much meaning. Ruenen stiffened. What had Keshel seen? An ominous feeling crept up Ruenen’s spine.
“Count me in on the left,” came Nosficio’s silky voice from the tent entrance. Bodies shifted and recoiled as Nosficio strode to Marai’s side, eating up the attention and shocked expressions. “Magical folk fight together.”
Marai crookedly smirked.
“A vampire?” asked Tarik. A few of the werewolves raised their weapons higher. “You certainly are a welcoming country.”
