Galad glanced back at the line of men. They were muddied, sweaty, and fatigued. But still, they were a grand sight, their armor replaced, their faces determined. They had followed him through this pit of a swamp. They were good men.
“Pass the word to the other Lords Captain, Trom,” Galad said. “Have them send word to their legions. We’ll be out of this in under an hour.”
The older man smiled, looking as relieved as Galad felt. Galad continued onward, jaw set against the pain of his leg. The cut was well bound, and there was little danger of further damage. It was painful, but pain could be dealt with.
Finally free of this bog! He would need to plot their next course carefully, staying away from any towns, major roads, or estates held by influential lords. He ran through the maps in his head—maps memorized before his tenth nameday.
He was thus engaged when the yellow canopy thinned, clouded sunlight peeking between branches. Soon he caught sight of Barlett waiting at the edge of the line of trees. The forest ended abruptly, almost as neat as a line on a map.
Galad sighed in relief, relishing the thought of being out in the open again. He stepped from the trees. Only then did an enormous force of troops begin to appear, climbing over a rise directly to his right.
Armor clanged, horses whinnying, as thousands of soldiers lined up atop the rise. Some were Children in their plate and mail, with conical helms shined to perfection. Their pristine tabards and cloaks shone, sunbursts glittering at the br**sts, lances raised in ranks. The larger number were foot soldiers, not wearing the white of the Children, but instead simple brown leathers. Amadicians, likely provided by the Seanchan. Many had bows.
Galad stumbled back, hand going to his sword. But he knew, immediately, that he had been trapped. Not a few of the Children wore clothing adorned with the crook of the Hand of the Light—the Questioners. If ordinary Children were a flame to burn away evil, the Questioners were a raging bonfire.
Galad did a quick count. Three to four thousand Children and at least another six to eight thousand foot, half of those with bows. Ten thousand fresh troops. His heart sank.
Trom, Bornhald and Byar hastened out of the forest behind Galad along with a group of other Children. Trom cursed softly.
“So,” Galad said, turning to the scout, Barlett, “you are a traitor?”
“You are the traitor, Child Damodred,” the scout replied, face hard.
“Yes,” Galad said, “I suppose it could be perceived that way.” This march through the swamp had been suggested by his scouts. Galad could see now; it had been a delaying tactic, a way for Asunawa to get ahead of Galad. The march had also left Galad’s men tired while Asunawa’s force was fresh and ready for battle.
A sword scraped in its sheath.
Galad immediately raised a hand without turning. “Peace, Child Byar.” Byar would have been the one to reach for his weapon, probably to strike down Barlett.
Perhaps something of this could be salvaged. Galad made his decision swiftly. “Child Byar and Child Bornhald, you are with me. Trom, you and the other Lords Captain bring our men out in ranks onto the field.”
A large cluster of men near the front of Asunawa’s force was riding forward, down the hillside. Many wore the crook of the Questioners. They could have sprung their ambush and killed Galad’s group quickly. Instead, they sent down a group to parley. That was a good sign.
Galad mounted, suppressing a wince for his wounded leg. Byar and Bornhald mounted as well, and they followed him onto the field, hoofbeats muffled by the thick, yellowed grass. Asunawa himself was among the group approaching. He had thick, graying eyebrows and was so thin as to appear a doll made of sticks, with fabric stretched across them to imitate skin.
Asunawa was not smiling. He rarely did.
Galad pulled his horse up before the High Inquisitor. Asunawa was surrounded by a small guard of his Questioners, but was also accompanied by five Lords Captain, each of whom Galad had met with—or served under—during his short time in the Children.
Asunawa leaned forward in his saddle, sunken eyes narrowing. “Your rebels form ranks. Tell them to stand down or my archers will loose.”
“Surely you would not ignore the rules of formal engagement?” Galad said. “You would draw arrows upon men as they form ranks? Where is your honor?”
“Darkfriends deserve no honor,” Asunawa snapped. “Nor do they deserve pity.”
“You name us Darkfriends then?” Galad asked, turning his mount slightly. “All seven thousand Children who were under Valda’s command? Men your soldiers have served with, eaten with, known and fought beside? Men you yourself watched over not two months ago?”
Asunawa hesitated. Naming seven thousand of the Children as Darkfriends would be ridiculous—it would mean that two out of three remaining Children had gone to the Shadow.
“No,” Asunawa said. “Perhaps they are simply…misguided. Even a good man can stray down shadowed paths if his leaders are Darkfriends.”
“I am no Darkfriend.” Galad met Asunawa’s eyes.
“Submit to my questioning and prove it.”
“The Lord Captain Commander submits himself to no one,” Galad said. “Under the Light, I order you to stand down.”
Asunawa laughed. “Child, we hold a knife to your throat! This is your chance to surrender!”