"That horse actually kicked me..." Carl Clawyn still couldn't believe it; his chest throbbed with a warmth that was equal parts pain and wounded pride. "That white mare accomplished what no soldier could. We lost our chance because of a horse."

  "Your breastplate saved your life. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise," Tyler replied with forced nonchalance. "After your failed attempt to capture the Queen was discovered and you hit the ground, her knights reacted with alarming speed. I received this wound while dragging you to safety, caught by their blades as I fled. I ran with you, desperately blocking with my shield, only escaping when we reached the Friez forces. Had that horse not kicked you, we might both be decorating the battlefield now. But," he sighed softly, "in war, who can truly say what might have been?"

  "How stands the battle now?" Carl asked, changing the subject.

  "We continue to yield ground, though our retreat has slowed somewhat. In numbers, the forces remain evenly matched, but in spirit—the difference is like heaven and earth. They have their reinforcements, led by the Queen herself."

  "Indeed." Carl sighed heavily. "And where are our reinforcements?"

  "Until we breach the Gate of Cynthia, expect nothing. Remember, we're merely..."

  "Chips on the gaming table," a knight interjected as he hurried past them.

  "Jess Hilton," Tyler remarked, rising to watch the white-haired knight's retreating figure. "An odd man."

  "What became of the Queen afterward?"

  "After you lost consciousness, you mean?" Carl nodded. "Her knights formed a protective ring around her. One of the Friezs did manage to pull her from her saddle, intending their usual depravity, but a knight sacrificed himself to ensure her safety. Soon after, most of the Friezs lay dead or had fled." Tyler noticed Carl's expression of relief. "You were concerned for her welfare?"

  "I simply wish for this war to end," he replied deliberately. "I no longer understand what I'm fighting for, or what meaning any of this holds."

  "We fight for our wives and daughters. For our families."

  "And for what else? For what cause do we throw away our honor and cut down so many innocent people?"

  "Nothing does. We bear no grudge against the people of Crivi, Cynthia, or any northerners. Our families are the sole reason we participate in this conflict. But I've come to understand—war contains no true innocents. Everyone bears some measure of responsibility. We can only ensure that those who fall to our blades aren't among the least deserving."

  "I'm grateful we've maintained some degree of self-control, unlike the Friezs who revel in brutality. Yet some in our detachment have been infected by their savagery. I cannot believe that Crent, a man who was once the very picture of a cultured knight, could do that to those boys--and one of them still a babe in swaddling. I cannot imagine what went through his mind as he brought his boot down on that infant's skull. Nor can I reconcile that I stood beside him and did nothing to intervene. In that moment, I became both coward and accomplice to his crime."

  "I witnessed it too," Tyler Wynlers said, placing a comforting hand on his companion's shoulder. "In some measure, we are all collaborators—morally tainted by association. We can only govern our own actions, not those of others."

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  "Whatever the case, may this war conclude swiftly," Carl's expression reflected both anguish and profound sadness. "For I fear becoming like them. I fear descending into madness."

  "May it be so."

  "I truly... feel wretched," Ash Davan managed to utter her second complete sentence since mounting as their horses finally slowed their pace. "Everything hurts—my backside, my chest—everything."

  "You're simply unaccustomed to riding, my dear," Aurelia observed, slowing her bay stallion to match Ash's pace. "A full gallop would discomfort even experienced riders." She offered an encouraging smile. "You'll grow accustomed to it eventually." Ash attempted to nod, but the motion only intensified her nausea. "Hold steady, Ash. Deep breaths," the senior sorceress instructed, reaching out to stabilize the younger witch who threatened to topple from her saddle. "Maintain your composure here, of all places."

  They had anticipated a desolate battlefield near the Goldbrick Wall. What astonished them instead was the throng of Godman soldiers still gathered before the barrier that had claimed countless lives, hurling insults across at the Cynthian defenders. "This must be the place Raveirmom spoke of," Lostya Huggins said, her eyes narrowing to slits. "But it is far too crowded."

  The sorceresses carefully guided their mounts through the grim obstacle course of scattered bodies—both human and equine. These unfortunate souls had not perished from contact with the barrier itself, but rather from the crushing weight of their armor combined with the force of their falls. Ash Davan observed with morbid fascination a heavy cavalryman whose foot had been grotesquely deformed, the ankle joint bent at an impossible angle. Several spearmen labored to drag their fallen comrades aside. "So this is the reality of the battlefield," she murmured. "Quite the education."

  The Godman soldiers clustered near the barrier were predominantly infantry; most of the cavalry lay dead behind them, with a few still weakly struggling. They reluctantly created a narrow path for the four sorceresses, though they remained uncomfortably close on either side. "Identify yourselves," commanded a knight of apparent rank, emerging from the crowd on horseback, stretching his neck to its full height in a display of authority. "What business do four women have here? This is a battlefield, not a marketplace."

  "We've come to offer assistance," Aurelia replied evenly.

  "Assistance?" The knight's expression shifted from surprise to lewd amusement. "Did you hear that, brothers? These women have come to 'assist' us." The infantry responded with coarse laughter. "And precisely what assistance might you provide? Even if you're offering the only service women are good for in wartime, there are but four of you. We have over two thousand men here—not counting," he gestured expansively behind him, "the Sixth and Tenth Legions, which comprise another five thousand. What help could four little cunts like you be to an army?"

  Julia's face flushed crimson with indignation. She opened her mouth to respond, but Lostya preempted her. "You doubt our capacity to help, Sir Knight?" she inquired coolly.

  "Mind how you address me, woman. You will refer to me as 'my lord.'"

  "You would do well to mind your tongue, Sir Knight," Lostya Huggins retorted, her voice like ice and her posture that of a queen. "I am Lostya, 'the Wind of Catoria,' Chief Court Mage of the Empire. These women who accompany me are Imperial Court Mages. We come by direct command of Raveirmom Dear, Duke of Actins and High Commander, to assist in breaching this golden barrier. You will address us as 'My Ladies.' Do I make myself clear?"

  The mentions of "court mage" and "Raveirmom Dear" visibly deflated the knight's arrogance. "I... I apologize, ladies," he stammered, thoroughly discomfited. "I mistook you for common women."

  "Have your men withdraw," Lostya commanded, maintaining her imperious tone. "Clear this area immediately. We require space to work our magic."

  "That would be... difficult to arrange."

  "Your men's presence will impede our spellcasting, Sir Knight. Furthermore, the magic we employ may cause unintentional harm to those nearby."

  "Our orders are to hold this ground at all costs, so that we can charge the instant that barrier falls," he explained, gesturing to the Cynthians on the other side, who were shaking their spears at them. "These orders come directly from Lord Raveirmom himself. We cannot disobey them, my lady."

  "...Very well," the raven-haired sorceress conceded reluctantly. "At minimum, have them fall back three hundred feet. Breaching this barrier involves considerable danger." The knight nodded in agreement, accepting this compromise.