Tilal, blood streaming down his cheek from a slice above his eye, cried out in alarm as Rohan swayed, Davvi yelled at him to get the prince out of the line. Rohan wobbled, unable to defend himself with a right arm growing numb, and Tilal leaned precariously over to grab Pashta’s reins. He kicked his own horse into a gallop and ignored Rohan’s luridly phrased opinion of the retreat.
When they were safe on the hill beneath some trees, Tilal flung himself down from his horse and shouted for a physician. Rohan glared down at him, and the boy stammered, “My lord, you’re injured—it’s my duty—”
“Damn your duty!”
“Shut up,” came a familiar growl, and Chay, his forearm bound with white cloth, reached with his good hand and hauled Rohan out of the saddle. “You’ll have that tended or I’ll tie you up myself.”
A large goblet of strong wine and some rough ministrations later, Rohan grudgingly admitted that Tilal and Chay had been right. His surly tone made Chay grin tightly.
“Our gracious, generous prince,” he told the young squire. “Don’t worry about that cut, Tilal. There won’t be any scar, and you’ll not lose a whit of those good looks.”
The boy blushed and picked at the bandage across his forehead. “It doesn’t even hurt.”
“Well, mine does,” Chay said, flicking a finger at his arm. “Serves me right for not anticipating Roelstra’s move north. Let that be a lesson to you, Tilal.” He stretched and shook his head. “I’m getting too old for this sort of thing. But it’s a good fight just the same. A pity you’ll miss the rest of it, Rohan.”
“The hell I will!” He flexed his shoulder and held back a flinch. “Once the salve gets to work and I can hold my sword again—”
“Oh, really? Here—catch!” Chay threw an empty goblet at him and blinked in surprise as Rohan caught it neatly. “All right, you win,” he muttered.
“Not yet, but it won’t be long now.” Rohan hid the pain the catch had cost him and went on, “We’re doing well to the north, in spite of Roelstra’s charge. Davvi’s got the regrouping in hand, and we’ll close around them like dragon claws. But they’re not falling back through the center as fast as I’d like. What now, tactician?”
“I’ll order the south to pull back a little at a time, and that should confuse them some. We’ll swing around and attack from the rear.” He glanced around, picked up a long stick, and sketched the action in the dirt. “Like this. See?”
Rohan committed the plan to memory and nodded. “Right. Tilal, my horse.”
“But your wound, my lord—”
“Can’t feel a thing,” Rohan lied cheerfully. “Let’s go. It’s late afternoon and I still haven’t had sight of Roelstra.”
“Signal me when you find him,” Chay remind him.
“I will. Goddess knows, you’re easy enough to spot.”
“Tobin finds me irresistible in this,” Chay informed him, eyes dancing.
“She’d better find you in one piece at the end of the day!” He rose and gripped Chay’s hand briefly. “Luck to you, and Goddess blessing.”
“And to you, my prince.”
As the light began to fail, Roelstra’s defenses failed with it. Maarken had set Sunrunner’s Fire atop a hill that lit the near portion of the battlefield like an arena. By the eerie light Rohan fought and killed and was fiercely glad that circumstances had compelled him into battle himself. Had he been forced to sit watching much longer, he would have gone mad. But now his fever was of use to his soldiers, and their cheers welcoming him into the fray still rang in his ears. If this was to be the last time his sword tasted blood, then let it drink deep.
Every free instant he swept his gaze in a furious search for Roelstra. Had the coward quit the field early? Was he hiding? Where in all hells was he? And Pandsala—what of her? Did she scan the fight on the waning sun, directing her father’s armies? He would find them if it took all night and morning.
All at once Tilal cried out. Rohan saw a cluster of riders thundering up from the south, about fifty of them, skirting Desert lines. Too far away in the twilight for him to identify, he hacked his way clear of troops wearing Saumer of Isel’s colors and snarled as his sword caught in a leather strap. Yanking it free, he bellowed Tilal’s name.