Chapter 18: Chapter 18: The Battle

Approaching the horse slowly, I talked to it. “Hey there, big guy. Hello. Yup. It’s me. I’m just going to get on you now.” I’d made it to the stable, but how was I going to get on the horse? My big bodyguard simply lifted me into the saddle yesterday.

“Ok, boy, kneel.” The horse stared at me. “Put your legs down!” The horse stared more. Yeah, I was not getting on this horse by asking it. I needed a stablehand.

Fortunately, there was one. It took some time to explain that I needed help to mount a horse. That idea just wasn’t something he imagined possible. Finally, he led me and the horse to some small steps, which I climbed and got on.

“Now, Your Highness, when in the field, use a large rock. Or a hillside. Or you can grab his mane and pull yourself up! Jump at the same time.”

I gave him my thanks and rode off. Instead of going through the encampment, I traveled along the river. Less chance of running into anyone notable that way. Though a few people stared, probably at the dark golden mail, no one yelled at me to stop.

They had a half an hour to an hour head start on me. But I wasn’t about to gallop. Nope! We trotted along until getting to the bridge. It was slightly faster than walking, which made me question my decision to bring the horse. Somehow, it felt more regal.

Two guards on this side. They didn’t know what to do with me, but this worked, “I’m the princess, let me pass.”

“Your Highness.”

Four guards at the other end of the bridge. One horse. I had its rider take me to the battlefield, which fortunately for my horse wasn’t very far. Unfortunately for our encampment, I thought to myself. Along the river for a bit, left around a hill, following the trampled grass, and a valley opened up before us. I dismissed the guard. My horse and I trotted up to a small party above the main armies, the duke and generals. They remained on their horses, flag bearers nearby.

“You’re wearing Prince Rimley’s armor,” said the duke who’d turned his backside to me back at the command tent. I still didn’t know his name, but decided he was even uglier on a horse.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Princess, a battle is-”

“-no place for a girl. Yes, I know. I came here to watch and learn.”

The duke gave me a disgusted one up, from horse to head, “And what did the dowager-regent say about this?”

“To be frank, Your Grace, I do not care what that old bi-, ah, what the dowager thinks.”

He shook his head in disapproval but had a slight smile, like a cat might have upon cornering a mouse, “You should care what the old woman thinks. You really should.” He then resumed watching the battle formations.

We were on a hill. Directly below us was a regiment of archers. Leather armor, short swords, bows, two arrow holders, one on their back, one on their leg. I reminded myself that I really had to learn the local terminology for everyday objects. Quiver! I suddenly remembered.

Beyond the quiver holders, three regiments – at least, that’s what I was calling them – of phalanx. They carried long pikes, shields in their left hand and short swords at their hip. These wore chain hauberks past their knees, helmets that covered their faces with eye slits. To the right were another group with what looked like slings and javelins. Leather armor. Off to the left of the phalanx I could see my brother, his enormous frame atop an equally large horse. The cavalry. No stirrups, long spears, greatsword as a backup, chainmail armor and a shield.

Behind his cavalry was a group of misfits, clad in whatever they wanted. Some in robes. Others in dresses. The grand magister was standing with them, these had to be the wizards. And wizardesses, I guess. I wondered what they were going to do.

No ballistae, catapults, or large weapons of any kind. Huh. It dawned on me then that I could instantly re-make warfare here. All I’d have to do is introduce catapults and shot and we’d have force multipliers. Except that I knew nothing about their tactics. Or warfare in general, outside of the history videos on YouTube. It might not work out the way I imagined. For one thing, these were people in formation, not rectangles on a screen.

“Duke, why are these ranged troops way up here? Can their bows reach the enemy from here?”

“No, no, the range is too great.” He waved his hand in annoyance, “They’re in reserve.” I guess I was bothering him. Tough! I needed this knowledge.

The enemy was positioned similarly. Almost exactly, matching phalanx with phalanx, cavalry with cavalry and their leadership was sitting opposite, atop a hill, like us. The battle was to take place in the valley between our two positions. Unlike our reserve, though, theirs included a phalanx regiment standing forward of their reserve ranged. I wondered why a superior force would match our inferior numbers rather than overwhelm us. Nothing here made sense.

One of the generals in our little group broke formation peeled off behind us and stopped his horse beside me. He glanced at the duke before raising his eyebrows at me. “Your Highness, if I may be of assistance in explaining the battle to you so that His Grace can concentrate?”

“That would be lovely.” He moved his horse, amazingly and masterfully, sideways. He took hold of my reins and pulled us a little way apart from the duke.

“Thanks. I don’t ride that well.”

“Ah. Entirely my pleasure, ma’am.”

“Cayce, my name is Cayce. And what is yours?” He had black hair, short beard. Then it dawned on me, this was the only helpful general I’d met at the command tent, yesterday. He hadn’t seemed pleased with the plans they were making at the time.

“An honor and a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Princess Cayce. I am Brundle. General in the prince’s army.”

“May I ask, what is a general doing up here? I mean no disrespect, I simply know very little about battle tactics, formations, units, everything. Seriously,” I looked at him with what I hoped was earnest curiosity and not outright begging, “anything you can teach me about this battle, these events, would be most illuminating and I would deeply, deeply appreciate it.”

“Ah. I see. Well, from this vantage point, I seek to gain insight into the enemy’s tactics. They’re, uhm, military movements. You see how they’re holding a phalanx in reserve?”

“Yes.”

“That means one of two things. They either think our cavalry will break through, in which case the phalanx will protect them, or the unit will be used to hit our flank in a pincher move.”

“Ok. That makes sense.” I tried to think what Alexander would do. He wasn’t called ‘the Great’ for nothing. He’d send his phalanx in at an angle, left side forward, right side trailing, forcing the enemy to alter their front and exposing their flank, where he’d send his own cavalry. But we didn’t have cavalry on each side, just on our left, so that maneuver wouldn’t work for us. The two armies here were essentially mirrored, except for those in reserve.

For a long while, the two opposing lines jeered and taunted each other, but didn’t leave their positions. From what I’d learned in history classes and YouTube videos, before the armies engaged, archers and skirmishers would launch their ballistic attacks against the opposing side. That didn’t happen here. A horn blared to my left, answered on the other side, the two armies moved slowly toward each other and began thrusting their long spears at each other. They did not merge like in the movies but held their lines.

“Why aren’t the archers firing?”

“The spellcasters would put a stop to it. There, look, they’re fighting their own pitched battles.” He was right, those grouped loosely around the grand magister were moving slowly, as if in deep concentration, and pushing their hands toward the sky. Between them and their counterparts on the opposite hill, the air shimmered and warped, like that over the desert or an open flame. Dirt suddenly flared up near the magister, as if a cannon ball had smashed into the ground.

“So, the wizards protect our side with . . . magical shields?”

“Yes.”

“What happens if our wizards get, uh, squashed.”

He scrunched up his face, “Well, then we lose the battle. But that rarely happens. Lucky for us, we have about the same number of spellcasters as they do. Maybe just a few more.”

“Can’t we attack their wizards?”

“Troops that do that wouldn’t survive. You can’t get close, look at the air around them.”

It vibrated, distorted. A bunch of arrows were sent up from the other side onto our wizards, but the shafts crashed into an invisible wall, breaking and sliding as if along a dome to the ground.

“Well, those guys tried to shoot our guys.”

“Testing their weaknesses. Possibly one of their mages thought he’d gotten through our mages’ shields. Look, Your Highness! Your brother!” He pointed with his entire arm.

The big man was hard to miss. He charged the enemy, stabbing over and over with his spear. It wasn’t a lance, he was holding it over his head, bringing it down into the chests of his enemies. At his charge, others joined him to the left and right, forming a wedge that pushed into the enemy, who broke, retreated and reformed a line.

“It looks like our side has the advantage – yes, Prince Thomler is pressing it!”

The rude duke to my left shouted to his right. “Signal advance! Entire army.” A horn blew out and flags were waved. Now I could see men near the army, looking back at us, shouting orders. Spotters I guess, relaying the duke’s commands.

The enemy line backed up in lockstep, but my brother’s cavalry thrust at them, over and over. On the other flank, the enemy phalanx was also retreating. Ours pursued in a fashion I couldn’t have imagined with YouTube videos. The first line of spears held their ground while the second and subsequent lines marched past them. The second line stopped one man ahead of the first, and the third passed, and so on. I felt stupid having never thought about how a phalanx would keep its frontlines fresh, but there they were, rotating lines to the back. But you know what? Phalanxes just didn’t come up very often in the nuclear age.

Despite the enemy lines retreating, they didn’t take many losses. A man fell, stabbed by a spear, in front of the advancing phalanx. When they got up to him, they ran him through with their short swords. But that was the exception. Very few men were taking hits, but men from all sides kept thrusting their spears.

Meanwhile, the skirmishers on both sides weren’t so much harassing the opposite’s phalanx, but each other, keeping each other in check it seemed. A large man caught my view there – it was Morrentz! What the hell? Sure enough, the boy was beside him, slinging away. Tread. No wonder I didn’t see them this morning. The old hag had them reassigned.

That meant she’d planned this morning’s house arrest well in advance. And the only thing that thwarted her plans was Sapphire. God, I wasn’t even in the game. I was just coasting along like a boat in a river, mindless to the waterfall ahead.

My stomach tightened with growing horror. The dowager would want to remove all obstacles in her path. “Tell me, General, what regiment is the most dangerous for a man to be in?”

“The skirmishers,” he said without hesitation. “They have the least protection, the weakest formation. The only thing keeping them from harm is mobility. See their armor? Leather instead of chain. No large spears, small shield. Yet they can easily outrun a phalanx. And what you can outrun, you can barrage with missiles.”

“But what about cavalry? Without spears, it doesn’t seem like they’d stand a chance.”

“Ah, my lady catches on quickly. Yes, skirmishers are no match for cavalry.”

“Even with their, uhm, missiles?”

“They might get a few, I suppose.”

“I see. Why don’t we have cavalry posted with the skirmishers then?”

“One can do that, of course. The duke felt it better that all our cavalry were checking the enemy’s regiments. If we didn’t, they’d pose a grave danger to our phalanx.”

This situation was bothering me. Upper management in a corporation is competitive. Sometimes, you throw someone to the wolves. You set them up to fail on a task. To make them look bad, get them out of the running for a better position or just as a patsy when you’ve figured out shit is going to hit the fan and want out of the room. It felt like that now.

My protection had been taken off the board. Well, was in the process of that. They weren’t dead yet. Yet, if the dowager could strip me of the few loyal soldiers I had, what could I possibly do? First rule in manipulation and control: isolate your target.

Then, new enemy cavalry regiments crested the opposite hill on both sides of our line. One regiment raced down toward my brother, the other to the skirmishers – and my bodyguards – at our phalanx’s right flank. I looked over at the duke, expected a retreat and caught just the barest hint of a smile in his eyes, slightest curl of his lips. He briefly turned toward me, glaring, eyes narrowing.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“Aren’t you going to issue a retreat?” I asked. The general to my right leaned in, waiting for the answer.

The duke didn’t provide one or give instructions. He instead watched as the fresh regiments smashed into our line. Our skirmishers turned and fled. They were indeed no match for cavalry, as the horsemen barreled into them, cutting them down. I could just make out a greatsword swinging, but dust kicked up by the charge obscured my view.

The calvary then swung toward the rear of our phalanx.

“Duke!” I shouted, “Do something! Our troops are getting wrecked! Order our archers to fire!” Just then, over by the wizards, another cannon ball like explosion, only close enough for dirt to spray all over them.

“Hold,” the duke said, and the horn blared, flags waved.

The men in the back rows of the phalanx, where the new calvary charge aimed, whirled their long spears about, presenting the horses with a wall of pointed metal. The horsemen pulled up and formed up a line.

The general to my right inhaled sharply, “Bows! They have bows!”

The back line of the phalanx tightened up, shield to shield, but some arrows hit true and men began to fall. Even I could see that our line was in trouble.

It was the same on the opposite side, except that I could see my brother’s massive figure zig zagging through the enemy, slashing with his great sword now. He must have lost his spear and no wonder, they were all about him. Our line had broken there, but so had the enemies, and both armies were in a pitched, close melee.

I looked over at the duke, nothing but grim determination in his face. “Well, fuck you’re a useless leader!” I shouted and kicked my horse forward toward our reserve ranged. Nearing them, I pulled on the reins, trying to slow my horse, but he shook his head, reared up and sent me flying off.

Somehow, I landed on grass and not stones, not too hurt, pulled myself up, gave a glare to my horse, and shouted at the men. “Fire into that cavalry! They’re tearing our troops apart!”

The flag bearer looked toward the duke and, seeing no message, asked me “Just who the hell are you?”

“I’m your princess! Fire into that cavalry! Good god, man, they’re tearing our troops up!”

“Fire into them?” He looked bewildered, “You want us to throw torches?”

“What? No, fire your arrows!”

“We don’t have oil.”

It finally dawned on me that the word ‘fire’ didn’t mean what I thought it meant to these people. Pre-guns. I made the motion, pretending with a bow, aiming, and firing. “Ok, take aim and shoot – just make your arrows go into the enemy!”

“The duke hasn’t giv-”

“Fuck the duke!”

Many of the soldiers appeared to be wondering why they weren’t firing and a few of them picked up their bows and took aim. That prompted the remainder to, as well. I shouted at the flag bearer, “Attack them!”

“You heard her men, let loose!” Finally, they shot into the backs of the cavalry. Some of them fell and the rear of the cavalry positioned themselves to return fire. Our troops fired on these first. The enemy cavalry suddenly found itself trapped between advancing phalanx and a barrage of arrows. The problem was that our retreating phalanx was also under attack by the enemy phalanx and skirmishers. While our ranged offered some respite, we were getting hammered.

Off to my right and downhill, the remnants of our skirmishers were pulling themselves together into a formation. I was delighted and relieved to see Morry shouting orders, gesturing wildly at the enemy. They directed their harassment at the cavalry – a dangerous counterattack, I knew, for if they once again became the target of attention, they couldn’t hold. But their actions combined with the archers beside me were having an effect, making the cavalry’s position untenable.

To my right, Brundle raced over to my horse, took its reins and trotted toward me.

I didn’t know what further to do. So, I shouted at the general holding my horse, “Why hasn’t the duke given any orders?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you’re a general, what should we do?”

“We need a full withdrawal at this point! We’re outnumbered badly and – oh no, your brother!”

I followed his gaze to my brother’s position. He was encircled in the army alone. He must have gotten trapped in one of his wedge assaults. He was fighting viciously, swinging and stabbing his greatsword. Attackers fell, his horse wheeled about. Then a spear pierced his back, a horseman broke the circle, charging him. He managed to deflect the next thrust and counterattack, cutting deeply into the horseman’s neck, but others rallied and several horsemen charged his back side, stabbing and stabbing and I watched him fall. Some of our cavalry dashed themselves against the enemy’s line trying to reach him, but they didn’t make it far, were encircled and similarly cut down.

Our line collapsed.

Beginning with the prince’s cavalry, they turned, racing away. The enemy cheered and chased them.

The collapse spread like fire along our line. From the leftmost phalanx to the center, they turned and fled. Some throwing their long spears at the enemy, some dropping them, a few carrying theirs as they ran. Only the ranks of the right phalanx held together and only because they were wedged between phalanx, skirmishers, and cavalry. Had they fled, they’d be shredded.

But they were about to be, regardless. The enemy’s central phalanx turned, marching to square in ours.

I grabbed the ranged leader by the shirt and yelled in his face, “Get these men to attack continuously at those cavalry! Open a hole for our troops to come through!”

“Loose! Loose! As many as you can!” He shouted and arrows arced slightly up and down into horses and men, a storm of death upon them.

“Loose everything!” I added with my loudest voice.

The enemy cavalry in front of us had enough of our harassment, their spearmen formed up and charged. The archers beside me ceased arching their arrows and shot them straight into the advancing line. Many fell, but many more were coming.

The cavalry leaving was enough for our phalanx to break through and they took it, some dropping their spears in a desperate run to get away from the crush, others not bothering to pull them out of the bodies they’d stabbed.

“Your Highness, we must go!”

“No, we have to help the skirmishers!”

The general picked me up from his horse and tossed me in front of him, then turned the horse into a gallop toward the bridge. My horse was on its own. I looked back and saw the ranged regiment break formation, retreating as fast as their legs could carry them. The skirmishers likewise running, some straight up the hillside nearest them and away from us. I couldn’t find my guards. It was a full-on rout, our army was defeated.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but I couldn’t leave you there for another moment.”

I was shaking, out of fear or anger or shock, I did not know. I had nothing to say to this guy. He’d probably saved my life. That was worth a comment or two.

The duke, of course, had fled the battlefield before we reached his position and passed it. As we raced along to the river crossing, I wondered how many of our troops would make it. I’d thought, in this style of combat, most soldiers make it out alive. But some armies, for sure, suffer total defeat – and it looked like we were soon among those.

The prince, that impossibly large man, a human tank. Gone.

My mind focused on the duke. I couldn’t get his smile out of my mind. Or smirk, or whatever that mark of delight was on his face when he saw the enemy’s reinforcements. It almost felt like this result was his plan. He betrayed us to the enemy! But, why? Having just come to this world, I had no idea. I could ask around, but I didn’t see any helpful communication bubbles.

We were nearing the river and I knew that without leadership, it was going to be a slaughter. “Stop! General, stop. We have to organize the retreat, or we’ll lose most of our troops.”

“Your Highness, it’s already a rout.”

“General, we have to hold that bridge at all costs and to do so we have to organize an orderly retreat. Now, quit being a coward and explain how to do that.” I expected him to backhand my head, but he didn’t. My insult seemed to pull him together.

“Yes, my lady, you are correct. We need the phalanx out front reformed, wizards behind them, archers on the bridge in single file, and the rest marching across the river.”

I slid off the horse, “Shout at them, get it done. I’ll see what I can do at the bridge.”

“Will do, my lady.” He galloped away, up and down the line of retreating men, pulling those with pikes off to the side and rebuilding a formation.

I headed to the entrance of the bridge, separating those with weapons from those without. Some listened to me, some were panicking and ran across the bridge, heedless.

“But I have no arrows!”

“Ok, head back to our camp, refill your, uh, arrow holder, and get into formation over there! We may need protection as we exit this side.” His eyes were wide with panic, and he raced off down the bridge. I hoped he’d do as I said but didn’t think so. That conversation was repeated a few times. With some who were too frightened or low on arrows, I took their remaining ones and redistributed them to those in line. Eventually, I found a higher-ranking officer and gave him instructions to reform ranged regiments on the other side of the bank to cover us as we retreated.

“You’ll not be coming over now then, Your Highness?”

“No,” I said, with all kinds of annoying cliches running through my head like ‘I’m needed here’ and ‘I need to keep these men organized,’ etc., but just added, “No. I’ll see you on the other side. Go!” He saluted and left. That’s when I remembered. It’s called a quiver, not an arrow holder. Thanks, memory, good timing.

“Please keep moving,” I shouted at the retreating men, “across the bridge as quick as you can!”

Those remaining behind had a strange calmness about them. No one talked, except to encourage their fellows along. All eyes staring toward the path around the hill, waiting for what was to come.

The general succeeded in putting together a phalanx regiment out of the ragged, beaten soldiers. He divided them into two, set on each side of the bridge entrance, allowing the remaining troops to flee between them. When ranged or skirmishers came through, I positioned those I could behind the phalanx.

Oddly, our returning soldiers had yet to be followed by harassing enemies and I couldn’t explain it. Unless the enemy was likewise reforming. If so, we were going to have real problems soon. I mean, maybe they were just laughing and gloating, allowing us to get away, but that seemed unlikely.

I glanced at our troops to gauge whether I could run off to check on the enemy army. The look on each man’s face in the phalanx confirmed this truth: they expected to soon die. Some were resigned, a few had silent tears, perhaps having lost friends. Most simply stared ahead, unmoving. Like statues holding weapons, waiting for the inevitable, watching time pass on.

I needed to see for myself. I walked out in front and jogged back – certainly wasn’t taking a damn horse! – toward the disastrous battlefield, against the tide of retreating soldiers. Wizards! That’s what we were missing. No spellcasters racing toward me. Where were they?

Around a bend, the last of the orderly retreating phalanx was coming up the hill. They’d since ceased guarding their flank and were moving quickly, the enemy not following. Why not? I jogged ahead to a better viewpoint, loathe to give up elevation. The further I went to investigate, the closer I came to the enemy. Not an encounter I wanted.

Below, the enemy army waited in formation. Behind them, their spellcasters gestured, pushing and pulling as if they were drunk mimes, a bizarre dance that could only mean our wizards provided them with an impassable magical obstacle.

Across the road, the land elevated steeply and atop that summit, our wizards. Like the enemy ones, they stepped and moved, their arms moving in strange patterns. I wondered how to get them down, get them across the river.

A lone spear was flung toward our retreating stragglers. It collided with an invisible wall midway, crashing to the ground. I looked up at our wizards. One of them collapsed. None came to his aid. They kept motioning and moving, must have been too dire to stop and check on the fellow.

Not knowing what to do for the mages, I jogged back toward our retreating army. They were protecting us, ensuring our safe retreat. There seemed nothing I could do for them. What they were was beyond my understanding.

***

“Princess, are we to hold this position?”

“No. I don’t think we can.” I said, feeling like a true imposter and that I was making this up as I went, “Let’s retreat to the other side of the bridge and barricade it. There, we’ll be in a more defensible position and they’ll be vulnerable on the bridge, unable to defend themselves.”

“Excellent plan.” He yelled at everyone to retreat. First, the ranged, then the phalanx. What was left of the cavalry had already gone to the other side. I saw few skirmishers and not the two I wanted to see. My horse was lost. I hoped the stable boy wouldn’t be too angry. Dumb horse. I felt bad for it even though it threw me. It was the fault of the rider and not the ridden.

I gave a glance back at the wizards. How long would they hold? Even with the bulk of our army retreating now, stragglers were arriving. They were beat up, injured, some bleeding. Not many, but a few. I waited, like an usher at the world’s craziest costume wedding, urging them on. “Hurry now! Keep it together, you’re almost safe!”

Men passed. Limping, helping each other, carrying the desperately injured, sometimes the unconscious. They moved on and on, a long line of defeat.

I grabbed a passing skirmisher, shouted at him, “Have you seen Morrentz?”

“No. No. I’m sorry.”

“When was the last time you saw him? Was he cut down?”

The man simply stared at me. He was holding his chest, blood trickling through his fingers. I let him go.

“Princess!” The general shouted, “You aren’t safe here. You must cross the bridge now.”

“But,” my head screamed, we didn’t get everyone across! “We aren’t finished, there’re still men coming.”

“And they are here to protect you, not the other way around. Now go!”

It was the strangest feeling, like leaving the party early when you still wanted to drink. You have to go, but the action continues. One last look at the wizards – they were now leaving the crest of the hill, coming to our side. “What about the mages?”

“They can take care of themselves. Hurry! With them stopping, the enemy will soon be upon us!” Indeed, dust from their advance wafted in the air ahead of them. A dry warning.

I turned, did what everyone else was doing, and fled. It’d be their cavalry that would catch up to us first. Cutting down injured troops on a bridge would hardly draw sweat. “As fast as you can!” I shouted to the stragglers, “Their cavalry will be coming soon!” They limped along as best they could. One faltered, leaning against the bridge rails. I ducked under his arm, held it against my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”

But he was crazy heavy for my little frame, and I struggled to move him along. I was suddenly and harshly dragged away from the injured soldier. “Princess! You have to move!” The general shoved me along.

“But what about him?”

He held my arm like a clamp, forcing me into a jog. “He’s going to die. You can’t. Your brother is dead! We can’t lose you, too.” He barreled us through the injured, pushing them right and left, yelling, “Move aside! Coming through!”

I kept expecting to hear the crashing of hooves against stone behind me, more screams, but it never came. We reached the other side with scant trouble. No barrier was erected, no phalanx guarding this side of the bridge – what the hell?

Our camp was divided. Fresh spearmen in full armor were separating soldiers that carried their arms in retreat to those who hadn’t. One side of the divide held phalanx, the other lacking. Both were ragged, exhausted.

The duke was in the middle, surrounded by his soldiers, gleaming and fresh. They were kept in reserve here and that made my blood boil.

“What the hell is going on?” I shouted at the duke. “Why are you separating our soldiers out like this?”

He looked down upon me, “These men fled the battlefield. They threw their weapons aside! Decimation. They are to be decimated in punishment.”

My mind was racing, it had been a long while since I’d heard that term. It meant the duke was going to have one in ten of my brother’s troops executed. “You’re going to kill our soldiers, our men, when a larger enemy force is across the river and almost upon us? What the hell is wrong with you?”

He waved his hand at me as if I was beneath him. Two of his soldiers marched on me.

I shouted again, “You are the person responsible for our loss! You coward!”

“What did you say?”

“You heard me! You are a cowardly, ugly man. You aren’t fit to command! You weren’t capable of giving orders on the battlefield.” A slight cheer rose up from our troops, the ones who’d fought today. Some of his men looked around uncomfortable, but the two soldiers approaching me took hold of my arms. I shook them off, but they grabbed again harder, “Let go of me! Stop this idiocy, you moron, we need to set up a defense!”

His face was red with anger and he shook a finger at me, “The dowager was right about you! You filthy little demon.”

“You wanted him killed, didn’t you! You needed my brother dead! For what?” At that, I was proud to see that some of the exhausted phalanx lowered their spears and stepped forward. The duke’s men, way more of them, instantly formed up, shields high, spears down.

“Enough!” The dowager-regent stormed in, between each formation. “Put your weapons down. Duke, restrain your men.” Annoyingly, the phalanx listened to her. “This child is misinformed. She is not in her right mind and hasn’t been since she came back.”

“Listen to me,” I appealed to her, “the duke is going to kill our soldiers. Our own people! And we need every last soldier!”

“The duke is in command now.” There was too much happiness in her eyes. “You are to be examined for possession. The child will be exorcized!”

Since I couldn’t sway her, and she was babbling nonsense, I spoke as loudly as I could, for the soldiers, “These men have families! They were protecting us. You can’t just kill them! The duke was useless on the battlefield – our troops fell because of him. He should be the one strung up!”

“That’s enough out of you. Take the child away.”

The soldiers roughly took me by my arms and forced me away. I stole a glance at the unarmed troops to be decimated, but they’d given up. For a second, I thought I saw a large man among them, but I couldn’t be sure, and I didn’t see the boy.