didn’t waste it. The bottle top came off in the fight.”
“I’ll have to tell him what’s happened,” Sam warned as March inhaled.
March rolled his eyes. “Course you will, Sam. Make sure he knows you graciously shared your smoke too.”
And Sam did go straight to Harold.
When March joined them, Harold eyed March, saying, “You lost your smoke, March? That’s uncharacteristically careless of you. You’re one of my golden boys. You should be shining. You should be radiant. You should not be careless.”
“I’ll be more careful in future, Your Highness. It’s an honor to be one of your elite, and I do my best to be a good example for the other boys. Sam was generous enough to share some of his smoke with me.” March was used to hiding his feelings, but with Harold he needed to grovel enthusiastically. He was determined to arouse no suspicion of being anything other than devoted to his prince. It was a horrible game, but he’d do his best to play it for a bit longer. And then, knowing that Edyon had safely escaped across the sea, he would find a way to kill Harold.
The boy army left Calia at a run, heading back to the border wall, leaving smoldering wreckage, debris, and bodies in their wake. They ran through the day faster than ever, using the coast road, but not stopping to destroy anything as they passed. And so, at the end of the day, as the sun was setting, they approached the Brigantine border and the point in the wall where they’d crossed a few days earlier.
Harold stopped the boy army on the top of a hill with a view of the wall. Smoke still rose from the ditch on its far side. The wall itself had been damaged and broken through to make a narrow gap. Thornlees must have done that. And then it appeared that he’d advanced, but no more than a few hundred paces, where a battle had clearly been fought. The ground was littered with bodies and weapons. Horses too lay on the ground; one was still whinnying, trying to get up but failing. A dog tentatively stepped over the bodies, sniffing at one, then pulling at it with his teeth.
Harold shook his head in disgust. “Thornlees couldn’t even do this one simple task. Couldn’t even hold the wall. That man is useless.”
March had a feeling Thornlees was useless no more, but he said nothing.
Harold strode down the slope to the battlefield, and the boys slowly followed as their leader walked through the bodies, slashing randomly with his sword, killing the horse and kicking at the dog, which whimpered and skulked off.
A wounded Brigantine soldier was found and dragged to Harold. Rashford knelt by him and asked, “What happened here, soldier?”
The soldier replied, “We lost.”
Harold’s anger instantly left him and he laughed. “Well, I can’t find fault with this man’s analysis.” He bent over the soldier. “Can you tell me why you lost?”
“There were too many of them.”
“Too many for old fools like Thornlees.”
“They came from the higher ground as soon as we’d come through the gap in the wall. The Calidorians outnum-bered us three to one and forced us back, but the gap was too narrow to retreat quickly. Their bowmen took many. Lord Thornlees was shot in the neck early on.”
“Thornlees is dead?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“He deserved to die for this failure. He was supposed to hold the wall, not advance.”
So were you, March thought. If you’d stayed, this wouldn’t have happened.
“Where are my Bears?” Harold demanded. “I left them here to help you old men defend the wall.”
“The Calidorian archers took most of them. The Bears had no shields. The arrows were falling so thick there was no hiding from them, but they did have speed, so many of them fled.”
Harold seemed to ignore this accusation of desertion by his precious boys. He stood upright and looked around, muttering, “They’ll try the arrows again.” In a louder voice he added, “Where are the Calidorians now? I can’t see them on the wall.”
The leader of the Foxes replied, “My scouts say they’ve moved into the hills around us.”
Harold smirked. “They think to set a trap for us.”
The Fox leader nodded. “And we’ve walked into it.”
Harold shrugged as if it was what he expected. “It’s a simple plan. Textbook stuff. A little unimaginative, but that’s how old men fight. We’ll win anyway. We can have Thelonius strung up by lunch tomorrow.” Harold turned to March to add, “The final