"You're wounded." Carl moved closer to the knight who had joined them during the pursuit.

  "Just a scratch." The man looked barely into middle age, his hair cropped short. He clutched his side, his labored breathing betraying his attempt to conceal the pain.

  "You're missing armor plating at your right hip," Tyler observed after examining the wound. "Otherwise a straight blade could never have found you."

  "No time to fix it," the knight said through gritted teeth. "After the battle at Ivy Keep we rode straight for Phyal—no chance to repair or refit."

  Carl Clawyn tore strips from a dead peasant's tunic and handed them over. "Thanks," the knight nodded as he took them. "Though I doubt they'll do much good."

  Big Mouth Simon sat on the ground, gulping air. Upon noticing that everyone else remained mounted, looking down at him with thinly veiled disdain, the fat man hastily scrambled up and threw himself onto his bay horse. The animal tossed its head in protest.

  "You fought at Ivy Keep," Carl said, easing his mount alongside the knight's. "I heard there were dozens of battles, large and small."

  "That's right," the knight confirmed. "We were locked in a constant tug-of-war around the keep, with battle lines shifting daily. I've no idea why that ruin warranted such bloodshed from both sides. "There's an evil magic in that place," the knight said, his gaze distant. He glanced at his wound, where fresh blood was seeping through the rags. "It's hard to put words to. First, you feel this need to possess it. Then... you feel a need to become it. That's the only way I can explain."

  They followed their path back toward the city proper. "What about you?" the knight asked after a period of silence, his voice weakening with fatigue. "Which approach did your company take?"

  "We came up from Kadenford," Carl answered. "So while in Losmore City, we weren't part of the Ivy Keep assault."

  "Kadenford," the knight repeated thoughtfully. "By the Triad, don't tell me you're from the West Wall detachment?"

  "By the Triad, that's exactly who we are."

  "Gods' blood," he swore. "Do you realize? The tales of what you did back there... they're already spreading through the legions. Men are calling you heroes. Heroes. And I just fought shoulder to shoulder with you."

  "Fucking right you did," Big Mouth Simon declared, his earlier fear and humiliation already transformed into profane bravado.

  A ripple of laughter spread through the group. "Heroes?" Tyler raised an eyebrow. "Is that truly how they see us? I'd have thought they'd curse us for idling by the wall while they bled."

  "The men who took the greatest risks were those fighting outside the gate," Carl agreed. "Your sacrifices far outweigh ours. To my mind, you're the real heroes."

  "The front line..." the knight said, his gaze vacant, "it was a slaughterhouse. The memory is worse than this hole in my side." He glanced at his wound. "I was with the Tenth Legion. I survived the rain of arrows and the crush of stone... only by the Triad's mercy. But what I'll never forget is that accursed Goldbrick Wall. You can't imagine how many it killed."

  "I've heard the empire's court sorceresses distinguished themselves in that battle," Tyler commented.

  "Indeed they did. They shattered the magical barrier and cleared our path forward." The knight paused. "But before their arrival, we hurled ourselves against that wall again and again."

  "You charged it?" Carl glanced over. "I'm not familiar with the details of the front line. Are you saying you tried to breach the wall with cavalry and infantry charges before the sorceresses arrived?"

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  "Every kind of charge imaginable," the knight confirmed with a grimace. "Knights at full gallop, footmen with long spears at a dead run. The heavy cavalry charges were the worst to watch. Just the sound of their hooves all striking at once... it was enough to make your blood run cold."

  "A heavy lance at full charge can shatter stone most would think impenetrable," Tyler observed.

  "Usually," the knight agreed. "A heavy rider at full tilt can punch through a stone curtain wall. But against magic? Utterly worthless."

  "So the charges accomplished nothing?"

  "I suppose it did something," he grunted, wincing at the memory as much as the pain. "The court witches broke it right after. But the cost... those charges cost us hundreds of lives. The instant you made contact with that barrier, the magical backlash would hurl you skyward, then slam you back to earth. For a heavily armored rider, such a fall meant death or permanent crippling. Those without proper armor were charred black as cinders. It's an experience you'd only survive once—if you're unfortunate enough to experience it at all."

  "It's a miracle you're here to tell it, friend," Carl said quietly.

  "As am I," the knight managed a pained smile. "I was positioned directly behind the last knight to charge. I'll never forget the sight of those four court sorceresses, just... riding calmly through our broken ranks. It was the strangest thing I've ever seen. We were covered in filth and blood, and there they were, as clean and graceful as ladies at a royal ball. Still, I'm grateful to them. Without their intervention, I'd never have had the honor of fighting alongside heroes like you."

  As they drew nearer to the city proper, the concentration of soldiers and evidence of killing increased. "We've secured the city outskirts, then?" the knight asked, his voice increasingly strained with pain.

  "More or less," Carl confirmed. "The majority of Phyal's defenders have retreated to Cynthia Palace. The outer districts are firmly under our control."

  "Good," the knight began to cough. "You should continue without me. Either I'm getting too old for this, or that Cynthian bastard had something foul on his blade. I need to rest a moment."

  "Here?" Carl looked around with concern. "We're still in the outskirts. You should at least make it to an infirmary within the city."

  The knight waved dismissively. "To hell with infirmaries. I just need to catch my breath under a tree." He patted his horse's neck. "Go on without me, heroes."

  At the front of their group, Tyler pulled on his reins. "I don't think that's wise, friend. We may control this area, but there will be stragglers—as those riders we chased proved. And we might encounter mobs of civilians with farming implements. If someone cracks your skull from behind while you're resting, what then?"

  "He's right!" Simon chimed in. "Even the farmers around Kadenford weren't this bloody vicious!"

  "I appreciate your concern, heroes. But I simply can't continue riding—gods above." He winced sharply. "Every jolt of the saddle feels like fire in my side."

  "Very well, I'll stay with you," Carl declared, the words escaping before he could reconsider.

  "I don't think that's a good idea," Tyler Wynlers immediately objected. "Devalosfang's original plan was to regroup at the Plaza of Priests. I'd wager that hasn't changed. If we delay here too long, our captain won't be pleased."

  "What were your orders?" Carl asked the wounded knight.

  "Same as yours—proceed to the Plaza. Most of our forces will gather there. It's spacious enough." He spoke while clutching his wounded side. "Please, continue without me. I truly only need a brief rest in the shade."

  "His destination matches ours, Tyler. All the more reason I shouldn't abandon him," Carl said with finality. "You and Simon go ahead and report to the captain. We'll follow to the Plaza of Priests once he's rested."

  Tyler sensed his companion had additional motives but chose not to press further. "Carl," he leaned close, murmuring into his friend's ear, "whatever you're planning, be careful."

  "I'm not planning anything," Carl offered a slight smile. "I'm simply looking after a wounded comrade."

  "Your reactions have been slow today. Have you noticed?" Tyler's voice carried unmistakable concern. "In the city, you were constantly distracted—people and bodies falling from windows would capture your attention. You wouldn't respond even when called by name. During the skirmish with the Cynthian riders, I saw how the peasant attackers divided your focus. Such lapses are fatal on the battlefield. One moment of distraction and you could lose your head. Ever since Kadenford, your eyes... they're not the same. They used to be clear, cold, lethal. Now they're clouded. Full of doubt and... shadows."

  "I'm no different than before," Carl retorted impatiently. "As for 'clear eyes'—after experiencing this kind of warfare, whose gaze remains unclouded?"

  "I won't argue metaphors with you," Tyler sighed. "But you have changed, whether you recognize it or not. Be vigilant. Be cautious. I'll say no more on it."

  Carl shrugged. "I understand my condition. I can manage it."

  "I certainly hope so," Tyler replied, clearly unconvinced.