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“I do not fear Garrett,” Loric answered.

Aldric nodded in agreement. “I am sure you do not.” There was a pause between them,

before Aldric swallowed something he disliked and spoke again, saying, “I am sorry I did not stand up for Marblin before it became necessary for you to disobey me. I am at fault for your disobedience.”

“I am sorry to have disobeyed you, lord, but my actions would be the same, no matter the lord, no matter the day,” he returned. “My father taught me to do right by others and fear not the consequences. Garrett was wrong. I would have taken my beating with honor.”

“Understood,” was Aldric’s reply. “Your service will not be required any further this evening. Rest well. You will need it.” He gave Loric a pat on the back and made to leave him.

“Lord?” Loric questioned. “Were you able to learn anything from the, uh.... black-cloaked man?”

Aldric leaned close and whispered, “He spoke vaguely of a Sacred Brotherhood of the

Dragon Talon--whatever that is. I think he was crazed, for he would speak of nothing else, besides a few vague hints that there would be more displays of his dark society’s power. I also gathered that this has something to do with keeping Beledon free from larger controlling powers and their evils-”

“Could he have meant Regalsturn?” Loric questioned softly.

Aldric nodded and said, “It is clear that this man is not working alone at his game. But aside from his threats about what dark deeds the other, as yet unnamed, members of his extremist order were going to do to me when they found out that I had detained him, I learned nothing of an individual employer, whether nobleman, merchant or pauper.”

“How curious,” Loric remarked, his spine tingling from Aldric’s chilling news.

“This secret brotherhood is more than curious,” Aldric said bluntly. “It is quite dangerous.

Until we learn who sponsors and funds its activities, it will remain a threat to Princess Avalana and King Avalar--not to mention our ranking nobles.” When Aldric noticed the effect this information was having on his squire, he encouraged him, offering, “We will keep the princess safe from harm.”

“But we are many miles away from her, lord. If another attempt is made, we are powerless to prevent it.”

“Not to worry, my young friend,” Aldric assured him. “I have many eyes watching over the princess. She is safe from this threat for now.” With a pat to Loric’s shoulder, he made off for his own tent.

Separated from Avalana as he was, Loric had no choice but to push the matter from his mind. It helped when he found a fire and a share in such provisions as were rationed out that night. He needed the distraction of camaraderie, a warm spot and a hot meal.

Loric received pats on the back, handshakes and praise from both Garrett’s Men of

Durbansdan and Aldric’s Egolstadters. One elderly fighter with a cloudy eye and a raspy voice mussed his hair and told him, “That young lord needs a switch. You served him right, you did.”

“He is the Heir of Durbansdan,” Loric reminded the man. “We are sworn to his banner.

Hush your talk of switches.”

The old veteran nodded, “You are right. Just know that I will watch your back before his.”

Nods, cheers and whistles answered the old timer.

“Loric will need it, too,” promised a barrel-chested fellow with lumpy earlobes.

Another man with a bushy beard and bright eyes murmured, “That such as Garrett is our heir should worry us all.”

The man received equal reaction to the old man.

“No doubting that, Crin!” shouted a baldpate just behind him.

Loric waved down the conversation. He could sense that bloodshed and violence would

mark Garrett’s coming rule in Durbansdan. However, he had nothing else to say, for or against the prince.

“Enough. Let us all look after one another, so we can get back to the ones we love,” Loric proposed.

“To Loric!” Crin shouted, raising his wooden tankard in toast.

“To Loric!” echoed back at him.

Loric and Crin nodded approval to one another, as did Loric and the old man, Jamison. Loric now felt as though he belonged with these men. For the first time since he had given his oath to Aldric, he was part of the unit, not some outsider the Lord of Egolstadt had adopted into their family and placed near their head.

A march-weary rest preceded the second day of travel, which was little different from the first. Gradually birches to the right of the column disappeared. Then elms and oaks dwindled, until they at last failed altogether. The road before them began to slope steadily downward at a gentle grade. Aside from geographical changes, only weather was different from the previous day. Although it was still cool, it remained dry.

Aldric spoke with Loric as they rode, commenting, “It seems that Lord Garrett has been asking about you.”

“Indeed?” Loric questioned. “What has his lordship been asking?”

“He is interested in knowing everything about your stay in Taeglin--who housed you and where they can be found, who your friends were and whether or not you have a love interest there.... things like that,” Aldric replied.

“If only he would ask me, I would gladly tell him myself,” Loric said with a chuckle.

Aldric grinned.

There was silence between them, which the younger man broke, asking, “What do you

expect will be the outcome when we meet Turtioc’s forces?”

“All will go well, of course. In fact, I met with Lord Garrick last night to discuss our battle plans,” he added. “All is ready. In two days, we should reach Stone Keep. We sent out scouts overnight. Unfortunately, those men have yet to return to me.”

Loric’s dreams had told him a different story. He had foreseen disaster and chaos in the night. He wanted to speak of it, but he could not. No one outside of Taeglin could ever know of his weird dreams that came to be. Instead, he asked, “Should the scouts not have reported already?”

“That they have not come back fills my heart with foreboding,” Aldric admitted. When he read Loric’s face, he added, “It could be that their road was more dangerous than we anticipated it to be--and so, they were forced to take longer routes back to us.”

Even as Aldric finished speaking, a rider came into view from the north. He was pushing his foamy mount to the point of exhaustion and beyond. Even before he veered toward them, Loric noted that he wore the woodland colors of Egolstadt. The scout thundered up before Aldric, dismounted with a toss of his blond braids and offered a slight bow in hurried salute.

Loric still did not know what to make of the rider, although he had met him before. His hair was wild and falling out of braids that hung down his back. There was a small scar just below his left eye, which was part of a vibrant blue pair. He was shorter than the average man was, but he still sat tall and proud in his saddle. There was arrogance, or perhaps just tremendous confidence, in the way he carried himself. He was Nyck the Storyteller, whom Loric had met at
Taggert’s
Pub
; he was also Warnyck the Scout, the man Loric had rescued from a Bushubu Tribesmen on the road to Moonriver Castle.

“Milord,” the man gasped, “I was set upon by outriders of Nindronburg.” He drew a deep breath and continued, “But not before I discovered that Turtioc himself has gathered his hordes, with whom he rides to meet us on the open field. I was spotted as I withdrew from my

reconnaissance, but I led the villains a good chase.” The messenger smiled proudly, adding, “I think I lost them near the eaves of Dimwood Forest, whereupon I returned with all possible haste.”

A flash of surprise showed in Aldric’s eyes as he received this message. “How great is Turtioc’s host?” he asked.

“It is no small number!” the scout exclaimed. “I should say at least five thousands, but scarcely five hundreds of the wild men ride.” The scout grimaced and shook his head, before he spoke on, saying, “They are skilled in their craft, for I have traveled far bearing these.” As Warnyck rotated and tilted his torso toward them, Loric saw broken, splintered shafts of two arrows protruding from the back of his left arm and shoulder respectively. “I snapped them off on the run,” said the scout, with a wince. “It was ride or die for me, milord.”

Lord Aldric ordered Loric, “Ride to the rear and fetch this man a fresh horse. He continued,

“Tell Elberon that we have a wounded soldier, just returned from the border. Tell him we need him to come and tend injuries.”

Without another word, Aldric spurred Snowstorm forward and raced to the head of the host.

Loric wheeled Sunset about and sped off in the opposite direction. He passed Elberon along the way and relayed Aldric’s message to him. Elberon--one of the late arrivals to Moonriver Castle, under Captain Hauldren’s command--hurried ahead as ordered, ever eager to make use of his skill in treating wounds.

Loric moved to the rear of the column, where the army kept spare mounts. He removed

excess baggage from one horse and tossed it onto two others. He lashed the bags tight and proceeded back up the long line with a fresh mount for Warnyck.

Loric found Warnyck and wizened old Elberon stopped alongside the road. There, the

primary physician of Aldric’s host was examining the scout’s wounds with many an,
“uhuh,”

and,
“aha.”
Elberon spotted Loric and requested his help removing the darts from Warnyck’s arm and shoulder, so he obliged to hold the scout down while the physician tortured him. That was how it seemed to Loric, as the graybeard worked the remains of each arrowhead free from Warnyck’s flesh. Then Elberon bound his wounds in cloth.

Elberon showed Warnyck a gap-toothed smile when he was finished binding him and

assured him, “I am done with you for now, but when we make camp, I intend to burn the fever out of your wounds with a hot iron.”

Warnyck grimaced sourly at the thought, but he nodded in agreement. “Thank you,” he

offered gratefully.

Loric helped Warnyck climb astride a fresh horse. Then he rode alongside the scout and the physician. When the three of them arrived at the front of the column, Aldric was waiting for them. They were eager to know Garrick’s reaction to Warnyck’s findings, but their leader volunteered nothing on the subject. He did not look at them or acknowledge them, but rather stared at the space between Snowstorm’s ears, as though he were concentrating on the sights of a crossbow.

“Lord,” asked Loric, “what does this mean?”

“It means we are poorly positioned,” answered Aldric, “but not as poorly as we would be, fighting at the base of Stone Keep. This was unexpected, to be sure. Now, we must push on until dusk, ere we make our battle camp. Let us hope we reach the fords across Moon River before nightfall or we will still be at a disadvantage on the morrow.” The upturned corners of his mouth were sources of hope to his men as he shared, “Turtioc has made a terrible blunder by coming out of his castle to meet us in the open. It is up to us to make him pay dearly for his mistake.”

“Let us hope we do so, my lord,” said Loric, swallowing the consequences of the alternative to his statement. “If we do, we will soon be discussing our victory over full tankards.”

“That would be nice,” Warnyck sighed contentedly, as if he were already lifting his brew.

“Aye,” said Aldric and Elberon in unison.

A devilish grin contorted Warnyck’s features as he added euphorically, “While that sounds tremendous, I should much prefer the company of a buxom wench to fierce warriors like you.”

They all chuckled at Warnyck’s remark, but then they fell silent, considering all that might happen in the battle ahead. Each man knew the Soul Snatcher was waiting to collect His dues.

They waited to twine fingers with Him to dance, and the dance could be their last, each and all of them.

The army veered north of the King’s Way Crossing, prompting Loric to inquire why they had left the road when haste was their goal. Aldric quietly informed his pupil in command that they were avoiding Shadoc’s Creek, which he pointedly referenced as both a,
....deserter’s
paradise,
and,
....an army leader’s worst enemy,
because of its alluring taverns, with their,

....casks of romance,
and,
....their serving girls, who look more attractive and more in need of a
husband with each pint gone.
Loric nodded, his mind distracted by his own love interest back at Moonriver Castle. Only by sheer force of will did he beat back the image of Lady Hadelia, who had somehow lodged herself into his daily thoughts as well.

Will I ever escape your kiss, Hadelia?
Loric questioned inwardly.
My heart belongs to
Avalana.
With a touch of the bracelet she had given him, he bent his heart and mind to accepting that resolution.

Loric was still wrestling with his unwelcome thoughts of Hadregeon’s cunning niece two hours later, when the host regained the road. The army marched on without rest until the sun dropped below the horizon. Aldric informed Loric that Garrick had decided to push on to the fords, which provided the most defensible terrain from which to protect Durbansdan’s western border. Ahead, Moon River bent to the north, where it channeled wider. There, the army would wade across the shallows. Garrick’s intent was clear. He wanted to arrive at the fords before Turtioc’s barbarians could establish a firm foothold on the opposite side.

Loric was nearly nodding off in his saddle by the time the army at last achieved its goal.

Heavy fog was spreading over both banks of the river, but there were no visual or audible enemy contacts in the area. All was proceeding in accordance with Garrick’s plan. He had averted the disaster he had most feared. Turtioc’s forces had not yet crossed the river. Neither were they entrenched on the eastern shore.

Lord Aldric’s companies camped north of the King’s Way Crossing, which the Lord of

Egolstadt foretold as the toughest ground to defend in the event that Turtioc should strike first.

Garrick’s host settled to each side of the road, by halves, with those companies to the north forming central command. The southernmost of those forces remained under Garrett’s authority.