"What's the matter?" Zia asked immediately. "What happened?"

Archibald and Percival were hunched over their knees, gasping for breath like fish out of water. Finally, Percival gained enough breath to pant, "Did... bad.. Wild... un... familiar... Never... before... Run!"

Zia looked at Heath. "Could you make anything out of that?"

Heath shook his head. "Percival, Archibald, listen to me. Take five deep breaths; in and out." And when they had done as Heath had instructed and could once again speak, Heath asked, "Now, tell us what happened."

Archibald took one more deep breath before he answered. "Percival an' I snuck into the Skilaen's camp to poison the food in the middle of the camp, an' on our way back, we found a cage. An' inside tha' cage was a pair of the largest wild cats I've ever seen. I stopped to admire them, an' some of the guards saw us an' threatened to raise the alarm. I panicked. So I drew my sword, and broke the chains on the animals' cage an' set them free."

It was extremely difficult to make out anything Archibald was saying with his thick accent, and the panic that made him speak quickly and slur his words did little to help. Zia could make out enough to know that they had done something bad.

"What happened after that?"

"We ran," Percival panted. "As far as I can tell, the cats attacked the man that caught us. But whether or not he survived, I cannot tell."

"We need to warn Jay," Zia told Heath. "He'll know what to do."

"We don't need to go running to Captain Pretty Boy every time trouble stirs, you know," Heath grumbled as they began to run around the camp, looking for him.

Zia stopped in her tracks and Heath stopped next to her. "What are you talking about?"

"We can handle this by ourselves," Heath insisted. "We don't need the Captain's help every time something goes wrong."

Zia rolled her eyes, though she doubted Heath could see her in the dark. "When are you going to give this up?" she asked as she began to walk again.

"Give what up?"

"This!" Zia gestured angrily at him with her hands. "You arguing with everything I say. What happened to 'you're my best friend, Zia'?"

"You are my best friend," Heath said, getting angry. He didn't understand where this was going, but he had a feeling he would find out soon.

"Then why have you been countering everything I say as of late?" Zia questioned, once again stopped. "Best friends don't do that."

Heath scoffed. "You're one to talk. Best friends also don't befriend people who could endanger their other friends."

Zia let out a frustrated grunt. "We will continue this conversation later. Right now, our company is in danger, and that's a little more important than your paranoia."

"She might be a danger to our company!" Heath pointed out angrily.

Zia glared long and hard at Heath until she was sure he could feel it. "That's enough, Heath. I've tried to make you see reason, but you insist on being a stubborn thorn in my side. I've been patient, understanding even, but this has gone on long enough. Until you can stop behaving like a child, I am not interested in anything you have to say. So go ahead: Scream to the Skilaen army that you think their kind are all traitorous scum; call to the sky that you don't believe that Elaina is genuine. I don't care anymore. Now if you'll excuse me, our people's lives are in danger, and we need an experienced war captain to give us thorough, thought-out plans, not your silly little accusations built on nothing but your own selfishness and lack of compassion!"

Zia stomped away to find Jay in the dark, leaving Heath stunned in the inky blackness of the night.

"Wild animals?" Jay asked incredulously. "What were they thinking?"

Zia had explained the situation as best she could to Jay, and now she was regretting it. Jay paced back and forth, running his hands through his mousy hair as he walked to and fro.

"We should send someone in," Zia suggested. "Someone to make sure we're in no danger of them."

"No, that's too risky." Jay suddenly stopped. "How did Archibald and Percival manage to sneak in undetected?"

Zia hadn't asked herself that. She had been a little preoccupied with her argument with Heath and trying to find Jay in the dark. She had searched for what felt like hours with the pressure of little time bearing down on her and had finally found him by the supply wagon they had taken from the smugglers.

"I'm not sure," she answered slowly. "That would be a question for them to answer, seeing as they are the ones who managed it."

"It was simple," a voice said. 

Zia jumped and turned around. It was Percival. 

Jay crossed his arms over his chest and glared through the inky blackness at his soldier. "Would you care to enlighten us?"

Percival shrugged. "If you believe and act like you're supposed to be where you are, people will believe it."

"How did you trick yourself into believing you belonged with a Skilaen army on its way to kill thousands of innocent people?" Zia said with narrow eyes.

"Child's play: It's an army, I am a soldier. I was in a familiar setting." Percival shrugged as if to say It's quite simple, really.

"Either way, Percival," Jay said in an official tone, "you jeopardized this entire operation with that 'simple' antic. As Captain of the Royal Guard of the court of His Majesty King Donathan of Otar, it is my duty to officially reprimand you for your foolish actions."

With a face completely lacking in any expression and a voice to match, Percival replied, "In that case, I consider myself reprimanded."

Jay's face suddenly got very dangerous. "I'd tread carefully if I were you, Percival. You are walking a fine line, and I'll not hesitate to put you in your place should you forget who is in charge here."

Zia raised her eyebrows in surprise. She had never seen Jay so angry- so controlling. It made her do a double take, and she couldn't help but wonder what else she didn't know about the Captain. It intrigued her, but also scared her. Jay was a superb fighter, and if he did have such a dark side she was immensely glad he was on her side.

"Back to the task at hand," Zia said, pulling herself from her thoughts. "There's a chance that they have already recaptured the wild cats, but we can't be certain." Then a thought struck her. "They could have seen Percival and Archibald running this way. They could be planning an attack on us at this very moment."

"She's right," Jay said, resuming his pacing. "That means there's a chance that they've not eaten, which means we have a much bigger problem on our hands."

"There's always the chance that their leader ordered them to eat before they attacked," Zia said hopefully, but she knew it was useless. Something told her the army was already preparing their attack, sharpening swords and counting arrows.

Jay shook his head just as she thought this. "No. It's Skilaen belief that if an enemy is sighted, they must not eat, drink, or sleep until he is dead."

"They're a lovely people, aren't they?" Zia said sarcastically. 

"This is all my fault," a voice said.

Zia spun around to see the dark shadowy outline of Archibald. 

"This is all my fault," he repeated. "I was the one who convinced Percival tha' th' cookin' pots tha' we couldn' reach from th' cliffside needed to be poisoned. I was th' one who got caught loitering near the cage. I was th' one who set those animals free. It's my faul' they're comin' after us."

Zia felt her heart go out to the redheaded man. He had had to leave his homeland because of the war, and had proved himself worthy of being on the Guard (no easy feat), and now he had probably just made one of the biggest mess-ups in secret, stop-an-army-from-destroying-the-kingdom history.

The worst part? Neither Jay nor Percival tried to deny Archibald's claims. Sure, maybe he had done all those things, but he had done them all for their quest, because he felt it necessary to do them.

"It's not your fault, Archibald," Zia started to say, but the Scullin cut her off.

"Yes it is." Then, turning to his Captain, he stood at attention and said, "I am prepared to accept whatever punishment you see fit to give me."

"Archibald, really," Zia said in a desperate attempt to make him feel better. Though she admired his courage in taking responsibility for his actions, she felt she needed to say something. "I think you're being a bit dramatic."

"There's nothin' dramatic abou' it, Miss Zia," he said in his thick accent.

Zia suddenly flashed back to the first time she had met Archibald, in the dark back at the Thieves' hideout. Part of their conversation played back in her mind. "Archibald," she said slowly. "What's your name?"

Archibald reeled back. "I-I beg your pardon?"

"What is your name?" Zia repeated.

Archibald's eyebrows were drawn together, confused. He glanced to Percival and Jay, looking for confirmation that he was in fact hearing what his ears were telling him he was, but both looked just as confused as he did.

"Uh, I believe my name is still Archibald..." he said uncertainly. "It hasn' ever changed."

"Yes, your name is Archibald," Zia agreed.

This just made the poor man even more confused. "I'm sorry, am I misunderstandin' somethin'?"

Ignoring him, Zia continued, "Your name is Archibald. And what does 'Archibald' mean?"

Still not understanding, he answered, "'Genuine and bold'?"

"Exactly!" Zia exclaimed. "That is exactly what you are."

Archibald gave up trying to understand what she was getting at. "I don' follow."

"Archibald, you did all those things because you are exactly what your name states: Genuine and bold. Yes, you messed up. But you messed up with pure intentions. You did what you felt was needed for this quest to be successful, no matter what would happen should you fail. That's what real- genuine- courage is."

Archibald was silent as he took her words in. He digested them as if each one was a rare delicacy.

"She's right, Archibald," Jay said. "There will be no punishment required. I think that what's to come will be punishment enough."

"In any event," said Percival, who was done with the touchy-feely turn the conversation had taken, "we need a new plan, and we need one now. We are astronomically outnumbered, we've lost the element of surprise, and they have wild animals at their disposal, which, by the way, I don't think they will hesitate in using."

Jay once again began to pace back and forth. "If only there were more of us," he groaned desperately.

Something clicked in Zia's brain. She glanced at the supply wagon, or more specifically, the contents within. It was filled with fine clothes of silk, strange tools that she didn't recognize, and many bottles of alcohol. "I may have an idea," she said slowly. "But it's incredibly risky and dangerous."

"I'm loving it already." They all turned to see the third intruder of what had originally been Zia and Jay's conversation- Ike. "What are we talking about?"

"This is madness," Percival hissed into Jay's ear.

Jay flinched away. Wiping the spittle from his ear, he whispered, "Do you have a better idea?"

They were crouched together behind a large boulder, a large pile of food, clothing, and other odds and ends from the smugglers' wagon within easy reach. After Zia had explained her plan to them, the company had made haste to clear any sign of their camp's existence. Then they had split into groups of two or three, taking fardels of clothing, alcohol, and other odd bits that they found in the wagon.

Percival grunted. "Any idea is better than this harebrained plan."

"After your harebrained plan to go strolling merrily into the enemy camp, your opinion has no value until further notice," Jay hissed.

"Need I remind you it was Archibald's harebrained idea, not mine."

"Yes, and you still went through with it. Now hush." Jay held a flask full of strong whiskey tightly in his hand. He heard the familiar stomping sound of men at march coming from the far side of the Pass. Going by the volume and density of the sound, Jay judged that there were about two hundred men soon to come around the bend. And when they did come, Jay, and everyone else, would be ready for them.

Arch paced back in forth in his tent, a nervous habit that he had. The dirt on the ground had a groove from where Arch's feet had frequently been placed.

"He's late. He should have been here by now," he said to himself.

The tent flap suddenly swung open, letting a cold chill into his tent, along with the person Arch had been waiting for- the King's messenger.

"You're late," Arch said at once.

The messenger shook the snowflakes off his jacket. He appeared to be about twenty years of age. His hair was black as night, and his eyes as blue as the Lar Ocean. "Sorry 'bout that. The storm is blowin' somethin' fierce. You picked a good place for a hideout, though. I could barely see two meters past me face. I would've been lost to the storm if one of yer patrol hadn't found me wanderin' in the snow. Me name's Charles, by the way."

Arch chided himself. It wasn't like him to be so short with people. This man was cold and he'd had a long journey. He was probably hungry too.

"My apologies," Arch said. "Here, come closer to the fire. I'll have Cook bring you a hearty stew to warm your toes."

"That's right kind of ye," the messenger said, drawing closer to the fire in a raised grate that was placed in the center of the tent. He rubbed his hands together, bringing some warmth to his fingertips.

As Charles did this, Arch made his way to the tent entrance. He stuck his head out. In normal, pleasant weather, his men would be camping under the stars. And while their hideout was well protected from the elements by the tall pine trees that surrounded them, tonight was bitter cold, and the men had pitched small tents in order to protect themselves from the frosty air.

"Cook!" Arch called over the whistling wind.

The nearby dining tent set up especially for when it was too cold to eat outside had large flaps, and one of these flaps opened wide to show a large-bellied man with a stained white apron. "Need some grub, boss?" the man called cheerily.

"Yes, please," Arch called back. "And some peppermint tea, too, if you can."

Cook saluted. "I'll have it ready in a jiffy, sir."

"Thank you. Have it brought to my tent when it's ready." Arch pulled his head back into the warmth of his tent, where the young messenger was still standing by the fire.

"Please," Arch said, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of his desk, "have a seat."

The young man sat.

"What news from His Majesty?" Arch asked as he sat down across from the messenger.

"King Donathan is getting worried," Charles said. "He said that he expected to hear from the special task force days ago and hasn't heard a word. But, before you worry," he added quickly, for he saw that Arch was indeed worried, and that he had risen and was beginning to make the pacing groove in the dirt deeper, "the King has sent reinforcements."

Arch ceased his pacing. "When did they leave?"

"Three days ago," the boy answered. "The King suspects your men and his Guards were delayed because of the snow, but he still wanted to send the reinforcements just in case. If they are where His Majesty thinks they are, the special force should be reaching Captain Jay and his men any day now."

"How many men did he send?"

"Fifty highly, highly trained fightin' men. They are of the most highly decorated and skillful and trained men in the world. Each one could kill one hundred men with their feet tied together with those spades of theirs'."

"Spades, you say?" Arch said, surprised.

The tent door opened and a Thief entered, holding a steaming bowl of rabbit and carrot stew and a hot cup of peppermint tea.

"Ah, thank you, Reginald," Arch said to the man, who nodded after handing Charles the food and exited the tent without a word.

Charles ate and drank his food and tea with relish. Arch waited patiently as he ate, though he paced back and forth, thinking hard through most of it.

"Is there anything else Donathan said?" he asked once Charles had finally finished eating.

He nodded. "As I'm sure you know, the King has been going through negotiations with King Holen of Skilae."

The man paused and Arch nodded. The King had, in fact, made him aware of the attempts of peace with Skilae during his visit to the Thieves' headquarters.

"Well, His Majesty says that the negotiations have failed. King Holen insists that his men will be ordered to kill every Otarian man, woman, and child until they have found the Golden-Eyed One. He is beyond reason."

Arch stiffened suddenly. He rounded on the messenger. "What did you say?"

"'He is beyond reason'?" he said, confused.

"No, before that."

"'King Holen will kill every Otarian man, woman, and child'?"

"No, after that! About the Golden-Eyed One."

The messenger paled. "Did I say Golden-Eyed One?"

"Why do they want the Golden-Eyed One?" Arch demanded. His voice was not loud, but soft and dangerous.

"I-I-I-I, ah, w-w-w-well, you see," Charles stuttered, "I-I have a habit, a very bad habit, horrible, really, of sayin' things that aren't even part of the conversation. Funny how I became a messenger for the King with that, but there you have it."

"Who is the Golden-Eyed One?" Arch growled dangerously low. His eyes were narrowed and his eyebrows drawn close. His icy blue eyes held a dangerous light, like a mama bear protecting her cubs.

"Eh, uh, well, you see, I, uh, don't know exactly who, it's just a myth. Like I said, King Harlen is beyond reason," Charles stuttered nervously.

Charles gulped as Arch leaned over the wooden desk and got as close as he could to Charles's face.

"What myth?" Arch demanded.

Charles's lip began to quiver, and it wasn't from the cold. "I-I-I-I don't know."

Arch leaned in closer. "What. Myth?" he repeated.

Words came tumbling out of Charles's mouth like a dam had broken. "The-legend-aboutat-the-end-of-the-war-between-Otar-and-Skilae-before-they-were-really-countries-and-how-the-Silver-Dragon-gave-Otar-the-gift-of-a-child-with-golden-eyes-that-would-be-able-to-call-upon-the-power-of-the-Silver-Dragon-when-they-need-it. The-gift-has-been-handed-down-from-child-to-child-and-now-King-Holen-thinks-we're-going-to-use-the-Golden-Eyed-One-against-him-and-that's-the-reason-for-this-entire-war-in-the-first-place... But I could be wrong."

"WHAT?!" Arch roared. He began to pace again, faster this time, muttering things under his breath.

"I-I-I could be wrong," Charles repeated. "I mean, after all, it's just a legend."

Arch's voice was low and dangerous. "It better be."

"Here they come," Zia whispered to Ed, who was crouched next to her on top of a shelf jutting out of the mountain. Ed nodded and dipped one of his atlatl dart tips into the flask of spirits that Zia held in her hand. Once the tip was soaked, Zia gratefully set the alcohol down as far from her as she could and grabbed the flint and steel on the ground next to her. She struck them together quickly a few times while Ed held the soaked atlatl dart tip near.

The flame roared to life, lighting the dart. Ed quickly loaded it and back toward their company's camp, so that the others a few hundred yards away them would see the signal.

"Come on, let's move," Zia whispered. She picked up the bottle of spirits, holding it far from her body to keep the familiar scent from overwhelming her nose.

They crept silently along the top of the Pass as quickly as they could manage, trying to match the beat of the pulsing footsteps of the enemy. They reached the large boulder that Ike and Archibald were hiding behind and ducked down next to them.

"Ready?" Zia asked them. Archibald nodded firmly. He was desperate to redeem himself after the wild cat incident. Ike, on the other hand, shook his head and said,

"I don't like leaving her by herself down there."

Zia barely managed to hold in her sigh and eye roll. "Ike, don't worry. I've hidden Elaina in a crevice in the side of the mountain. It's protected by shadows, and if she's quiet, no one will pay it any mind. I promise, she's fine."

Ike didn't say anything, but Zia could tell that he didn't like the situation one bit.

"Here they come." Archibald's voice brought them back to the problem at hand. And sure enough, the glow of the enemy's torches glowing off the Pass walls were getting brighter.

They got closer and closer, and Zia held her breath, waiting until they were in just the right place before she acted. 

The Skilaen army rounded the bend, marching dutifully. They were heavily armed, and had large numbers. They were all donned in chainmail and thick yellow tunics with the Skilaen emblem emblazoned on the chest- a phoenix.

Come on, she thought. Just a little closer... Just a little... Now!

She leaped into action. She jumped up and tucked into a roll. When she came out of the roll she was at the edge of the cliff. She threw the contents of her flask as far as it could reach. It landed on the Pass floor with a series of wet splats. It quickly followed by the alcohol thrown by Ike and Archibald, and by the six other men on the other side of the canyon.

"Now!" Zia yelled, and a glowing arrow went zipping through the air, right where they had dumped the spirits. When the arrow found its target, a large line of fire appeared... just as the first men stepped in the alcohol.

About fifty men died in the first fire they set. Many more were able to put themselves out before they took their last strangled breath, but they were left with terrible burns that would definitely leave scars. The horrid smell of burning flesh filled the air, and Zia had to pull her tunic over her nose to keep the smell from making her vomit.

She was behind a line of archers, crossbow wielders, and javelin throwers, her sword drawn. The fires would go out soon, as all the alcohol burned, and when they did, Zia knew she could very possibly be facing her death. But unlike when Daxtor and the large smuggler with a mace had tried to kill her, she didn't feel afraid.

The fire went out much faster than any other fire Zia had seen, for with no fuel to burn, the fire could not stay. About seventy men were put out of action from the fire, but it was still not enough. She wished that her enemy would disappear like the flames, but no such luck.

The long-range fighters ran out of ammunition far too quickly for Zia's liking. The archers and crossbowmen did a good job taking out the closest targets, but for every man they shot down another one took his place. The Skilaen army advanced closer without the constant fire of slings and arrows, and Zia felt her pulse quicken. There were more than a hundred men left, all of them angry, large, and mean-looking.

Jay gave a command and Zia joined ranks with Percival, Ryker, and all the other close-range fighters in their group. Each held a weapon in a battle-ready position.

"For Otar!" Jay yelled, and Zia shouted it back along with the others before she rushed to face the enemy.

The fight was a blur in Zia's mind. She cut down man after man, and with each man that went down at the end of her sword she felt her stomach lurch, but she kept going. She fought like a demon, taking down anyone who crossed her path. Adrenaline ran through her veins like her life depended on it- something, she was well aware, that might actually be a reality. She couldn't have counted the number of men she killed, maimed, or wounded if she had five extra hands, and the pit in her stomach got deeper at the thought.

She swung, parried, dodged, and swung again. She fought men with swords, maces, spears, and axes, until each and every one she fought was piled up on the Westfell floor.

But she was tiring. The adrenaline could only keep her going for so long, and that time was running out quickly. She didn't know how long she had been fighting, but from the fatigue her body felt she could guess that it had been a long time. Her swings began to become slower, sluggish. Her sword began to feel heavy in her hand. Her breath was coming in short, harsh rasps. She couldn't go on like this much longer.

Suddenly, the voice of one of her comrades cried out, "They've flanked us! They're in our rear! They're going to destroy us!"