feet, eyeing him with unconcealed hatred, but with fear as well. Swords, hammers, bows and arrows, daggers, and pikes lay in a pile before him. And a column of men filed toward the palace gate and the freedom he had promised them.
The first battle was his, and with it the Imperial Palace.
He looked up at the tower. Harel was no longer by the window, but Nitara was there, gazing down at him. He could imagine her expression, the look of adoration in her eyes. Just this once, he didn’t mind.
Chapter Five
The Moorlands, Eibithar
The skirmish had begun without warning, just like the others. One moment all had been quiet; the next the silence was riven by war cries and the clash of steel on steel, the rhythmic shouts of army commanders and the whistle of arrows soaring high into the hazy sky before beginning their deadly descent. Once again, the encounter was initiated by the Braedon army, which seemed capable of striking at any given moment, anywhere on the battle plain.
Eibithar’s king had arrayed the three armies—his own guard, as well as the soldiers of Curgh and Heneagh—as best he could. But they were outnumbered, and would be until the soldiers of Thorald, Labruinn, and Tremain arrived. Add to that the fact that Heneagh’s men lacked the discipline and skill of the other two armies, and it was something of a miracle that they hadn’t been overrun already. Had Galdasten sent soldiers, or Sussyn, or Domnall, or any of the other houses that stood with Kentigern in defiance of the king, matters would have been different. As it was, it seemed to Tavis that the survival of the kingdom was in doubt.
The previous night, Braedon’s warriors had struck at Kearney’s lines, on the eastern front, nearest to the river. The battle had been short-lived—a few volleys of arrows exchanged and a brief, fierce engagement between swordsmen which left several men dead and many more injured—and had ended as abruptly as it began, with the soldiers of Braedon breaking away and retreating. The morning before that, the enemy had staged a similar attack on the Curgh lines, striking and withdrawing with astonishing swiftness.
This time, the empire’s men were attacking the western end of the Eibitharian lines, which were defended by the army of Heneagh.
“They’re testing us,” said Tavis’s father, the duke of Curgh, his face grim and etched with concern as he watched this latest skirmish unfold. “They’re looking for weaknesses in our lines, trying to decide where to concentrate their assault when it begins in earnest.”
“Can Heneagh hold them?” Xaver MarCullet asked, standing beside his father, Hagan, Curgh’s swordmaster.
Hagan shrugged. “I don’t know. But if the duke’s right, I think they’ve probably found what they were looking for.”
Within just a few minutes, the Braedon raiding party had withdrawn. They were pursued briefly by a large group of Heneagh’s men, but Welfyl’s swordmaster quickly called them back. It had seemed to Tavis that this skirmish was even briefer than the previous night’s, but he couldn’t say if he thought this boded well or ill for Eibithar’s forces.
“We should check on them,” the duke said, swinging himself onto his mount. “They may need healers.” Javan glanced down at Tavis. “Come with me?”
The young lord nodded, a smile springing to his lips. Then he climbed onto his horse. Grinsa followed, as did Xaver and Hagan.
Tavis and Grinsa had finally caught up with Kearney’s army four days before, finding the king some ten leagues north of Domnall, where he waited for the armies of Curgh and Heneagh to join his own. From there they had ridden northward with the king and dukes for two days until finally encountering the empire’s invading force on this plain in the northeastern corner of the Moorlands, within sight of Binthar’s Wash and only seven leagues or so from Galdasten Castle. The skirmishes had begun almost immediately, and though Tavis’s
The first battle was his, and with it the Imperial Palace.
He looked up at the tower. Harel was no longer by the window, but Nitara was there, gazing down at him. He could imagine her expression, the look of adoration in her eyes. Just this once, he didn’t mind.
Chapter Five
The Moorlands, Eibithar
The skirmish had begun without warning, just like the others. One moment all had been quiet; the next the silence was riven by war cries and the clash of steel on steel, the rhythmic shouts of army commanders and the whistle of arrows soaring high into the hazy sky before beginning their deadly descent. Once again, the encounter was initiated by the Braedon army, which seemed capable of striking at any given moment, anywhere on the battle plain.
Eibithar’s king had arrayed the three armies—his own guard, as well as the soldiers of Curgh and Heneagh—as best he could. But they were outnumbered, and would be until the soldiers of Thorald, Labruinn, and Tremain arrived. Add to that the fact that Heneagh’s men lacked the discipline and skill of the other two armies, and it was something of a miracle that they hadn’t been overrun already. Had Galdasten sent soldiers, or Sussyn, or Domnall, or any of the other houses that stood with Kentigern in defiance of the king, matters would have been different. As it was, it seemed to Tavis that the survival of the kingdom was in doubt.
The previous night, Braedon’s warriors had struck at Kearney’s lines, on the eastern front, nearest to the river. The battle had been short-lived—a few volleys of arrows exchanged and a brief, fierce engagement between swordsmen which left several men dead and many more injured—and had ended as abruptly as it began, with the soldiers of Braedon breaking away and retreating. The morning before that, the enemy had staged a similar attack on the Curgh lines, striking and withdrawing with astonishing swiftness.
This time, the empire’s men were attacking the western end of the Eibitharian lines, which were defended by the army of Heneagh.
“They’re testing us,” said Tavis’s father, the duke of Curgh, his face grim and etched with concern as he watched this latest skirmish unfold. “They’re looking for weaknesses in our lines, trying to decide where to concentrate their assault when it begins in earnest.”
“Can Heneagh hold them?” Xaver MarCullet asked, standing beside his father, Hagan, Curgh’s swordmaster.
Hagan shrugged. “I don’t know. But if the duke’s right, I think they’ve probably found what they were looking for.”
Within just a few minutes, the Braedon raiding party had withdrawn. They were pursued briefly by a large group of Heneagh’s men, but Welfyl’s swordmaster quickly called them back. It had seemed to Tavis that this skirmish was even briefer than the previous night’s, but he couldn’t say if he thought this boded well or ill for Eibithar’s forces.
“We should check on them,” the duke said, swinging himself onto his mount. “They may need healers.” Javan glanced down at Tavis. “Come with me?”
The young lord nodded, a smile springing to his lips. Then he climbed onto his horse. Grinsa followed, as did Xaver and Hagan.
Tavis and Grinsa had finally caught up with Kearney’s army four days before, finding the king some ten leagues north of Domnall, where he waited for the armies of Curgh and Heneagh to join his own. From there they had ridden northward with the king and dukes for two days until finally encountering the empire’s invading force on this plain in the northeastern corner of the Moorlands, within sight of Binthar’s Wash and only seven leagues or so from Galdasten Castle. The skirmishes had begun almost immediately, and though Tavis’s
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