"Alright there?" Jay asked, looking at Ike shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot out of the corner of his eye.

They stood in a large field that, in spring would be green and lush, but now was yellow and dead and covered in patches of snow. The cold wind moaned as it passed, giving the already tense atmosphere a sense of foreboding of the dark things that were sure to come. Ike and Jay stood among the men that they had been able to gather for battle. There were about three hundred of them, but it didn't feel like enough- especially when they saw the number of tents at the Skilaen army base.

Ike nodded. "Just a bit tense."

"You have no reason to be," Jay said. "You're a great fighter."

"Pa always says you can work harder than anyone else, but that doesn't mean you're the best, and it certainly doesn't guarantee you anything, not even your life."

A wise saying, Jay thought. "Even so, having great skill can assist in keeping you alive a bit longer."

"Pa says that too," Ike said with a tight smile, but it quickly fell from his face. "I wonder where he is. It makes me anxious not knowing."

"Wherever he is," Jay said, placing a comforting hand on Ike's shoulder, "I'm sure he'll be fine." He smiled mischievously. "After all, if he survived raising you, a little army of a thousand is no threat to him."

Ike snorted. "If you think I was a problem child, you should have seen Zia and Heath."

"They were troublemakers?" Jay asked, surprised.

"No, but they sure were a handful." Ike smiled at the memory. "They spent most of their teenage years at each other's throats."

Jay raised his eyebrows in surprise. He opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut short by the sound of a trump, and the Skilaen army appeared in formation before them.

The two armies fell silent, watching each other warily, each waiting for the other to make the first move. The only sound was the wind through the naked trees, moaning like a ghost through the field. 

The drugs had started to work on Zia quickly. Her brain felt fuzzy, as though someone had stuffed her ears full of cotton. Her movements were slow and, though she had no one to talk to, she knew that if she tried to speak her words would be slurred. The one thing that was clear to her was her hatred for taking the tonic. The only reason she had agreed to come to this room was to be of help, however skeptical she was of her ability to do so, and now her mind was so muddled she could barely form an intelligent thought. She wondered how Daxtor could possible find this appealing. How he could live like this on a day-to-day basis. She added that to the things she didn't understand about him. She noticed with a sigh that the list was longer than she would have liked it to be.

The one thing she kept her mind on, the one thought that kept clear through the haze, was that Heath had left her door open- that he had given her a way to escape, to truly help. She clung desperately to this thought, repeating it to herself over and over again so that she did not forget it as she lost all sense of reason and direction. If things were to get desperate, Zia would be more help out of this room than sitting in a bed waiting for a power she didn't even believe in to manifest itself.

Somehow, the loud Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp! of a trump registered through her murky mind and she knew the battle was about to start.

"CHARGE!" The voice of the commanding officer of the Skilaen army broke the silence that had settled over the two armies, and the Skilaen army rush forward, screaming a horrible war cry and looking for all the world as though they were a large wave crashing into the sand. 

"ATTACK!" Jay yelled, his voice going hoarse. He rush forward to meet the Skilaen army, Ike at his side. The rest of the Otarian army followed, echoing the war cry.

The armies crashed in a magnificent boom that seemed to shake the very skies like thunder. Swords were swung, spears were jabbed, arrows went flying from the battlements of the citadel, soaring into the fray. Men fell with cries of pain on both sides, some cursing their luck and others pleading to God for a speedy end.

Both sides fought like demons unleashed. The Skilaen army was well trained, but not very skillful. The Otarians, while they had many skilled warriors, the majority of their numbers were made up of the fathers and sons of the refugees who had more experience putting weight behind a plow than a sword thrust. 

"I find it hard to believe that Heath and Zia fought so much," Jay called to Ike as he tossed a dead body to the side. "They seem to get along very well."

Ike laughed as he drew his knife out of a Skilaen's stomach. "Both of them are stubborn and absolutely convinced that they're right on absolutely everything. Give them a topic that they disagree on and they fight like cats and dogs."

Jay laughed. "I feel guilty for not visiting Zia since we've arrived," he told Ike as he parried a sword coming toward him. "How is she?"

"She's doing well. She put up a bit of a fight when I told her she'd be locked in a room, but I finally convinced her that it was for the best," Ike replied over the clang of weapons and the cries of the injured as he plunged his knife into an enemy's back. 

"I hope she won't resent me for not seeing her," the Captain called.

Ike laughed. "As long as you don't intend to beat your record of twelve years, I think she can find it in her heart to forgive you."

Jay laughed and continued to fight.

On and on they exchanged blows with the enemy. Men fell on both sides, either wounded or dead, and their bodies became an obstacle that others had to fight around. It was impossible to see who was winning in the chaos of it all, each man intently focused on keeping himself alive and taking down as many enemies as he could in the meantime. 

The battle seemed to wage on for days, though it had only been a few short hours. It was mid afternoon and the wind continued to sigh over the sound of clanking weapons and shattering shields. 

Ike fought as he had never fought before. He went into a fighting frenzy, jabbing his knives at anyone adorned in Skilaen yellow. He slashed, he stabbed, he blocked and ducked. He fought with skill he didn't know he had in close combat. He silently thanked his pa for insisting that he learn to fight close-range.

Beside him, Jay's fighting was something wondrous to behold. The speed and accuracy of his sword was terrifying to his enemies and a symbol of hope for his allies, for surely they could triumph with a man of such skill on their side? Every swing, every blow, every strike was aimed to kill, and each fulfilled its intended purpose.

The Otarians with weapons did the fighting and the killing and those without collected the weapons of the fallen and joined in the violence.

All in all, things seemed to be going well, all things considered. But the line between victory and defeat is a very fine one.

The Otarians were tiring. The unfamiliar weapons felt heavy in the refugees' hands. Though they were brave fighters and dedicated men, it was only a matter of time before the sheer number of Skilaen warriors began to overwhelmed them. More men fell more frequently, and it quickly became clear which side was winning and which was losing.

Jay was just contemplating calling for a retreat back to the outside of the citadel (the archers would surely be able to take out more of their enemies from that close range), when Ike's voice called over the roar of the fighting, "Behind you!"

Jay turned to find the largest man he had ever seen charge toward him, a large mace raised over his head. Jay waited until the enemy was nearly close enough to bring down his weapon on Jay's head before he dropped, rolled over one shoulder, and brought himself back to his feet on the other side of his attacker. The man was certainly big, but not very fast, and it took him a moment to realize that his enemy had disappeared before he felt the stab in his belly and looked down to find the tip of Jay's sword protruding out of his abdomen.

"If we live through this, remind me to thank you!" Jay called to Ike as he continued to fight, jumping over the dead body of the large man. 

"We need to retreat!" Ike called back, ignoring his last comment. "Before they break through our defenses. we can't hold out much longer."

Jay looked where Ike was pointing with his knife and knew he was right. The Skilaens had worn the left side of the army thin and were close to breaking through. Once they did break through, there was no stopping their enemy from trampling them underfoot and then making their way to the citadel.

"Retreat!" Jay roared over the din of battle with a voice that carried. The men complied.

The Otarian army formed a blockade of any shields they had around themselves, which protected them from any further attacks as they quickly retreated to the walls just outside the citadel. The Skilaen army, rejuvenated by the sight of their enemy's retreat, pursued after them, their energy fresh and their resolve renewed. 

Zia couldn't be sure what was going on, but she was fairly sure that the battle had moved closer to the castle. The sounds of clashing and banging and the cries of the wounded seemed to be right outside her window. Even through the sedative she could tell that things were not looking good. She prayed that her friends- her family- would be protected.

Zia needed to get a better look of the situation outside. She threw the bedcovers off her legs, exposing her body more fully to the cold wind blowing in through the window. She shivered, but forced herself to move. Her movements were slow and sluggish, as though she were just waking up, but she forced herself to focus on her task. She stood on her legs, at first favoring her left leg, but when she put a little bit of weight on it she didn't feel any pain. Maybe it was the sedative actually doing something helpful.

She made her way over to the window and peered down at the field below her. The room was set on a high tower that gave her a perfect view of the battle below. Her vision swam a little, though whether it was from the drugs or the height she didn't know. She forced herself to focus and steeled herself to watch the battle below. She watched as the Otarian army retreated closer to the citadel and her stomach dropped. She didn't completely understand what was happening, but she could tell that things were not looking good.

They need help, Zia realized. They'll be slaughtered if they don't get more help.

Determination rising in her chest, Zia grabbed her sword, which was lying on the bedside table, and forced herself to focus and make her way to the door. She smiled when it creaked open softly.

Brilliant, she thought. Now to get to the dungeons.

"Another one?" Link asked as a young man dragged a moaning fellow soldier through the door.

The young man nodded grimly. "One of many. Things are not looking well. We need more men." He helped Link haul the soldier onto a spare cot and the old healer began to mix and pound herbs together.

"That's something we do not have," Link said sadly as he worked. "Come to think of it, we don't have most of the things we need."

The young man shook his head sadly. "It would take a miracle to get us all out of this one."

"A miracle indeed," Link agreed. "What's this young man's name?" he asked, gesturing to his patient.

"Tristan, I think. I only met him during our time here."

"Refugees, then?" Link asked, surprised.

The young man nodded. "Tristan was one of the first of us to volunteer to fight."

"Well, then, I'll be sure to take extra care with him."

Zia met no one on her way to the dungeons. She didn't exactly know where the dungeons were, but she did know that they were typically kept underground, so she wandered the castle until she found a staircase leading down. She followed it and, as luck would have it, she found herself exactly were she wanted to be. At least something is going right for me today, she thought. Zia fancied herself an optimist.

The dungeons were lit only by torchlight, and there was a dank, musty smell of unwashed bodies and dirt that made the air thick, almost palpable. Many barred cells lined the walls, and within them were hundreds of women and children, all looking at her with a mixture of surprise, fear, and confusion.

"Who are you?" a portly woman from the nearest cell called gruffly. "And why are you not locked up with the rest of us?"

"My name is Zia," she answered. "And I'm here to let you out."

"Has the battle ended, then?" a young woman asked from a cell further down. "Have we won?"

An old woman with silvery blue hair in a tight bun, a long staff in her hand, and blankets wrapped around her thin frame scoffed. "Won?" she said shrilly. "Won? You think we stood a chance at winning? No, you stupid gel! This gel is here to set us free so we can make a run for it!" She thumped her walking stick firmly on the stone floor, as if that decided the matter.

"The battle's not over," Zia told the young woman. "I'm here to set you free so you can help."

"Help?" the old woman scoffed, thumping her cane once more. "How can we possibly help? Throw burnt bread off the battlements? No, our husbands and sons will have to help themselves."

"Please, Wilma," the young women said to the old. "Let her spea-"

"No, Isolde," Wilma said, thumping her walking stick again. She sat up straight, like her back had suddenly been tied to an iron rod. "Too many times have I sat and watched others make bad decisions, against my better judgment. I let my husband sell our family's land and I've allowed my son, Tristan, to marry you, when I knew he should have been wedded to the Hofferson gel. But in this matter I feel I must stand my ground and sit back no longer. If our husbands and sons are killed, so be it. But we would be endangering ourselves and our little children if we dare move from these cells.

"Please," Zia begged the old woman, "please, I know we can help."

"How?" another woman demanded. "We know nothing of fighting."

"You don't need to," Zia told her. "Just follow your instincts."

"My instincts are telling me that we're safest in here," a boy too young to fight called through the bars on his cell.

"You don't understand the power you hold, do you?" Zia asked, and the cells fell silent. She looked at each grubby, tear-stained face, making eye contact with each one of the refugees. "Don't you understand that you can make a difference? Don't you understand that you are as strong as any warrior? Your homelands are being attacked! Your families' lives are in danger! And you're just going to sit back and let it happen?" She glared at the women in their cells. They wouldn't meet her eye. "Your lives and the lives of those you love are being threatened, and you're just going to sit back and let them die?" She shook her head, disgusted. 

The refugees looked at one another guiltily, then turned to stare hard at the cold stone floor. No one spoke. One a small child who had been woken by the noise made any sound.

"Fine," Zia spat angrily. "Stay here and rot. But don't be surprised when the Skilaens win and there's no one to let you out of these cells. You'll all die down here of starvation and goodness knows what else, and it will be no less than you deserve."

She turned her back on the refugee women and children and was about to leave when a voice called out, "Wait!" She turned back to find the young woman, Isolde, the older woman had called her, standing against the bars of her cell.

"My husband is out there risking his life to protect ours while we sit here safely, waiting. Well, I'm tired of waiting." She turned to her mother-in-law. "You may stay here, Wilma, but as long as I am living and have enemies to fight, I will fight."

Another woman stood. "You're right, Isolde," she said. She turned to Zia. "I will fight too."

"Me too," another girl said.

"And I," said another.

"I will as well."

More and more woman stood, proclaiming their wish to fight, and with every new woman to stand, Wilma's face grew more grave.

A smile came to Zia's face as she collected the keys to the cell doors which were hanging from a hook beneath a torch by the entrance. She unlocked the door of the cell containing Isolde, then tossed the keys to a woman in a nearby cell and instructed her to unlock her own and then pass the keys along to each cell so that their doors could be opened as well.

"William, stay with your grandmother," Isolde instructed a sooty-faced little boy with bright blue eyes.

"But I want to help too!" the little boy protested.

Wilma banged her cane on the stone floor again. "Absolutely not!" she declared. "It is barbaric enough that your mother is going, and I'll not have you go as well and ruin the Hibernia family name." The cell that Wilma was in had already been opened and emptied of women, but the old woman still sat stubbornly wrapped in her blankets.

"But-" the boy started.

"Don't you take that tone with me, young man," Wilma screeched, giving William a withering stare. The boy fell silent and stared at the floor.

"You'll look after all the children, won't you, Wilma?" a woman said as she passed the old woman's cell.

Wilma looked horrified at the thought of taking care of so many children on her own, but when she looked around there were six or seven other women who also chose to remain in their cells.

"Right then," Zia said to the women gathered around her. "Let's be going."

The women dutifully followed Zia up the stairs and into the main part of the castle. The problem was, between the sedative and the vastness of the place, Zia had no idea where they were or how far it was to the outside. She couldn't even remember from which direction she had come. She tried to recall something from when she had been here for Daxtor's trial all those many years ago, but the drug fogged her memory. Besides, the place she was in didn't look very familiar.

"Where to?" a woman from the back of the group called.

"I remember seeing one of the servants go outside from the kitchens," another suggested. "We could go out through there."

"And we can grab anything we could use as a weapon on the way through," yet another agreed.

"But which way is the kitchen?" Zia wondered aloud.

"That way," the young woman called Isolde said, pointing to their left. Now that there was more light, Zia saw that Isolde was quite young and and ragged blonde hair and wide blue eyes.

"Then that way we'll go," Zia decided. "Come on."

She led the way, going as quickly as she could in her drugged haze.

"Take another left here," Isolde told her in soft undertones. "The kitchens are through the first door on the right."

Zia nodded her thanks and followed her instructions, and soon they were rushing through the kitchen doors, causing a few of the cooks to shout in surprise.

"Where's the door to the outside?" Zia demanded of a young serving boy who had dropped a silver platter in his surprise at their entrance. 

He pointed timidly to a door at the back of the kitchen. "The gardens are out that way," he said quietly.

"This way, ladies!" Isolde called, picking up a carving knife from a dish that had been abandoned on the countertop.

The other women followed her lead, picking up knives, wooden spoons, forks, and rolling pins as they followed her out of the kitchens and into the garden. They quickly passed through the empty garden and when they strolled through the gate they found themselves just a stone's throw away from the heart of the battle.

The women stopped short and stared at the men fighting. Zia could see Jay fighting like a lion on the front lines, and Ike fighting just as hard a few meters away. The sight of the war was sickening. Dead men lay scattered all over the field. Dead, alive, and fighting alike had crimson blood covering them from head to toe. The Otarians fought valiantly, but to no avail. The Skilaens were driving them back, slowly but surely. It would not be long before the men were forced to retreat into the citadel or perish.

"Oh my," one woman said in a small voice. She was staring at a pale body lying on the ground a few meters away, pale and covered in blood. Zia watched as the woman burst into tears and wailed. "My son! My beautiful boy!"

"Oh, Bertha, I'm so sorry," Isolde said quietly, placing a comforting arm on the woman's shoulder.

Bertha bowed her head out of respect and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. A steely look entered her eyes when her head came back up, and Zia was sure the woman was going to attack the nearest thing to her. 

"Come on, ladies," Bertha growled. "Let's show this Skilaen scum what happens when they threaten our families."

A courageous roar that would make any man proud rose from all the mouths of each of the women as they charged, screaming vengeance for their lost loved ones and a promise of death for their enemies.

Ike turned as a roar rose up from his left. And as he turned the strangest sight met his eyes.

About a hundred women were charging toward the battle, the strangest weapons raised in their hands: carving knives, brooms, fire pokers, wooden spoons, rolling pins, and he thought he saw one rather portly woman swinging a large cooking pot at an enemy's head.

And in the lead of this oddly weaponed army was Zia, her gold eyes blazing and wavy yellow hair whipping in the wind.

The Skilaens were so taken aback by the sudden arrival of the woman that by the time they remembered they were in a heated battle, the women had already taken out a fair number of them. 

"Need some help?" Zia asked as she joined in the fight at Ike's side.

"What are you doing out here?" Jay demanded angrily. "You're supposed to be sedated and locked up!"

"This is me sedated," Zia promised as she drew her sword out of a Skilaen's belly. "Everything's a little fuzzy, and I can't move as fast."

"You're still supposed to be safe and out of harm's way!" he said as he jabbed his hilt into the temple of a man and watched him crumple to the ground.

"And watch you die from afar?" Zia scoffed. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass. I'd rather be close so I can mock you for letting your defense open."

"Zia," Jay started, but Ike cut him off.

"You're wasting your breath arguing," he said. Then, in a quieter voice, "I told you she was stubborn."

"I figured that one out on my own, funnily enough," Jay muttered back.

"Ouch!" Ike cried.

"Oops, my bad," Zia said as she took her foot off of Ike's toes and turned it to kick an oncoming enemy in the stomach. The man doubled over as the wind was knocked out of him and stumbled back, knocking over others as he went.

"You're leg's not bothering you any more, then?" Ike grumbled.

"Not at the moment, at least," was the reply. "At least the sedative is doing one good thing for me."

The fight waged on. The women were a priceless addition to the Otarian forces, but rolling pins and frying pans were not suitable weapons for fighting an entire army. The enemy hesitated to kill the women, but did wound them in such a way that they could no longer fight. The women were fierce, but they did not have any training, and though they were hard working and strong-willed, they did not have the stamina that was required to make the difference that the army needed. What they needed, everyone knew, was fighting men. Men who had been trained to fight and kill.

Zia fought until she found herself at Isolde's side. The young woman was holding out well on her own, and Zia was surprised at how expertly she handled the carving knife in her hand.

"We won't last much more of this," Zia warned her as she cut down a man who came charging toward them.

Isolde waited until she sidestepped a charging warrior and plunged her knife into his back as he went running past  to reply. "I know," she said grimly. "But I'd rather die out here, free, fighting for my family, than locked in a cell waiting for someone to tell me we've lost and the kingdom has fallen."

Isolde couldn't have been more than a few years older than Zia herself, but she was even smaller than Zia was. Despite her lack of size, Isolde fought as fiercely as any warrior. She fought for her family, her son and her husband. She was a kind of strong that Zia could never be, and she admired her for that.

The drugs were beginning to wear off, and Zia's mind was becoming sharper and more clear. But as it did so the pain in her leg also started to throb. Getting out of the castle and fighting was taking its toll, and Zia knew she would be in great pain later on. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, she told herself.

Once again, the Otarian army seemed to be losing. Cries of pain went up from their side more frequently and they began to grow tired. The small spark of hope that had ignited when the women arrived had clearly died out.

It was early evening and the sun was just starting its descent into horizon. Zia's energy was getting low, and she hoped her adrenaline could last her until nightfall when the battling would have to cease for the night. But whether or not it would she would not find out, because a flash of movement caught her eye on the horizon. A small figure had just crested the hill, followed by another one and another one. Before Zia could wonder what was going on, hundreds of figures had joined the first one, standing on the tip of the hill in the distance.

It's General Bloking and his men, Zia thought. Then she corrected herself. General Bloking would be coming from the south. She checked the sun setting in front of her, at the back of the Skilaen army. Then she checked where the figures had appeared. That's more southwest. It's as if they came from the woods...

The setting sun blinded her before she could get a better look at the men who had mysteriously appeared on the horizon, and she put up a hand to block the glare of the light. Around her many were also blinded and threw up their arms to protect their eyes. The Skilaens took advantage of the opportunity and attacked with new vigor. One enemy solider almost managed to break through Zia's defenses in her distracted state. She managed to just block his stroke that was aimed at her stomach before it cut into her. The sword tip did, however, tear a small rip in Zia's tunic.

She chided herself for losing concentration and continued to fight.

"Can we open fire now?" Heath asked the lead archer for the twelfth time in ten minutes. He hated watching the battle from the safety of the battlements and not being allowed to help.

The lead archer, a tall, lanky, string-bean of a man sighed. "As I said before," he said through gritted teeth, "if we open fire now we'll be endangering-"

"They're already in danger!" Heath shot back. "Sure, we could hit one of our own, but we could also hit our enemies, and that means saved lives for us."

The archer looked like he was on the verge of agreeing. But then he pointed out, "The sun is setting, and we'll be blinded. The risk is simply too great."

Heath had an overwhelming desire to push the lead archer off the battlements and into the chaos below to give him some perspective of how helpful a volley of arrows would be.

But before Heath could act on his insubordinate desire, someone shouted, "Look! On the horizon! Someone's coming!" Heath quickly found a pointing finger and followed its trail to a large group of figures appearing over the horizon.

"Who is it?" one archer asked, leaning precariously over the battlements to get a closer look.

The archers watched from their elevated view as the figures on the horizon surged toward the battle raging below them.

The lead archer's eyes grew wide. "Skilaen reinforcements! Archers, ready your weapons!"

The bowmen scrambled into formation, and nocking arrows to their drawstrings.

"Draw!"

Heath drew back his bow at the leader's command.

As the army charging toward the battle drew closer, the sun glinted on the head of the figure that seemed to be leading them, reflecting a head full of white hair and illuminating his face just long enough for Heath to catch a glimpse of a face he knew better than his own.

"Fi-"

"Hold your fire!" Heath called. The archers looked around, confused at hearing a command from a voice that did not belong to their leader.

The lead archer's chest swelled indigently. "I beg your pardon? I am the commanding officer-"

"They're not Skilaen reinforcements!" Heath shouted excitedly. "They're ours!"

Heath was right, for Arch had finally arrived, and he had brought the Thieves with him.

Zia's heart sank at the sight of the army on the horizon. No, she thought. Please, no. If we could have just held out until nightfall...

But as the army drew closer, Zia could make out a single face through the crowd of oncoming men.

"Arch!" she shouted happily.

Next to her, Ike heard Zia's exclamation and stopped to look and let out a cry of, "Pa!" when he saw his father's face.

Zia saw many faces that she recognized. There was Coral next to Victor Weils, brandishing a javelin over her head. There was Caleb Forthel and Wylie Anderson each wielding battle-axes, and the brothers Ryker and Hamish not far to their left. Zia never thought she would be happy to see Ryker again, but the sight of him wielding his large double-headed axe made her feel much more confident.

The nearby Skilaens hesitated, confused at the sudden interest their enemies were showing to the horizon. When they turned to look, they found their army being charged at by a new, unknown enemy. 

The Skilaen army was suddenly fighting against two armies at once as the Thieves crashed into their side, and in the confusion they lost many men.

The Thieves slowly joined ranks with the Otarians, forming one significantly larger army. 

Zia fought and made her way over to Arch's side. He was just yelling instructions to the Thief guiding a horse pulling a covered wagon when she arrived at his side. The Thief nodded and steered the horse towards the castle.

"Where were you?" Zia called over the roar of combat as she punched a Skilaen in the throat, causing his windpipe to collapse. He choked and fell back into the sword of one of the Thieves.

"We needed weapons," Arch replied as he expertly cut a big, burly man on the leg with his broadsword, causing him to cry out in pain and fall to the ground. "I figured we had enough to donate. After all," he smiled as he cut another man on the hand, forcing him to drop his weapon, "that's what the Thieves are all about."

"Looks like you figured that one out before I did," Zia commented as she narrowly blocked a sword aimed at her abdomen.

"Keep your guard up," Arch cautioned her. "What are you doing out here? I figured they would have locked you up."

"They tried," Zia admitted with a smile. "But I had an ally."

"I assume you had something to do with all the women?" Arch asked, dodging a brutal attack with ease and launching one of his own. He gestured with one hand toward the large woman swinging a cooking pot. 

Zia smiled at the sight of the woman and just barely ducked in time to avoid a savage swing from a mace at her head. 

"Keep your focus," Arch told her. She rolled her eyes. Once an instructor, always an instructor. 

"The King locked them all in the dungeon for their own protection," Zia told him in answer to his question. "Things were looking desperate, and I thought they could help."

"Quick thinking, that was," Arch said as he took down another victim. 

The sun had almost set now, and the last of the light was fading. Surely, Zia thought, it can't be long now until the three horns sound and we all retreat for the night? 

But before the trumps sounded, there was a great rumbling in the ground and another army appeared over the horizon.

"They're coming from the south!" Arch told her. "It's that General Bloking Jay told us about."

"And that means that they have more Skilaen soldiers right behind them," Zia reminded him.

And sure enough, Zia was right. Close on the tail of Bloking's army was a jaw-dropping number of more Skilaen warriors.

The three long, clear Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrps of a trump rang through the field, and Zia slowly retreated with the other Otarians into the citadel.

"Close the gates!" someone called up to the men manning the portcullis.

"No!" Zia shouted. "Wait for them!" She pointed toward where she had last seen Bloking's army retreating, the Skilaens hot on their tail.

To her relief, the gates stayed open, but she was not sure how long they could keep them open before their enemies decided to attack them while the portcullis was drawn up.

"Close the gates!" someone shouted, but Zia was surprised to find that this time it came from someone close by on the outside. 

The portcullis started to descend just as the first soldiers came panting through, quickly followed by another group and another. General Bloking was the last to enter the citadel, and the portcullis was so low that he had to slide underneath it to keep from being squashed. The large gate clattered shut with a loud clang, safely locking the army that had been pursuing them out. 

"Percival!" Jay called to his old friend who was bent over on his knees, panting like a dog. He made his way over to him and placed a hand on the older man's shoulders.

"Captain," Percival panted. "You made it back alright, I see." He quickly looked over his shoulder, as if afraid to be overheard before he leaned close to Jay's ear and whispered something Zia couldn't hear. 

Jay nodded and the two men made their way into the castle, talking quietly back and forth.

A flash of movement caught Zia's eye to show her another old friend.

"Archibald!" she called.

The red haired man looked over and smiled when he saw her. "Miss Zia," he said. "Still alive I see."

She smiled back. "It appears that way. How have you been?"

"It's been an adventure, I will tell ye tha'," he replied grimly. "Will ye excuse me, Miss Zia?" he said. "I have some business to take care of."

"Of course," she said. "It's good to see you again, Archibald."

Archibald smiled at her. "And to ye as well, lass." And he pushed through the gathered people, following the retreating forms of Jay and Percival.

"What was it you wanted to speak with me about?" Jay asked Percival once they were alone. They were outside on the battlements, pretending to do a security sweep of the area. The sun's last rays of light were disappearing over mountains and the first stars were peaking out through the darkness. The cool night breeze helped calm Jay's taut nerves from the battle.

"I have something of vital importance that I need to tell you. It could hold the entire weight of the kingdom in the balance," Percival said hesitantly, wringing is hands.

"What is it?" Jay asked. He was eager to hear what his friend had to say; he had never seen Percival so nervous.

Percival looked back behind his shoulder, making sure the coast was clear. Then he glanced at Jay and said in a soft whisper, "I-I've done something terrible- something that could be the end of us all." 

Had it been anyone else, Jay would have laughed and accused them of jesting. But he had known Percival for many years, and in all that time he had never known Percival to make a joke. And there was something about how nervous he seemed to be that set Jay's nerves on edge. Jay had been in battle with Percival more times than he cared to remember, and never once had he seen Percival be as anxious as he was now. The thought that something could make Percival as edgy as he was at this moment made Jay's stomach clench and his nerves go taut.

"What is it?" Jay repeated.

"You mustn't think ill of me, Jay," Percival said quickly, looking at him for the first time. There was a pleading in his eyes, he was begging Jay to understand.

"Tell me what it is." Jay said it firmly, speaking to him like a Captain speaks to a soldier rather than like a friend speaks to a friend.

Jay's voice had the desired effect on Percival, and some of the man's old steeliness returned. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he said, "I've been selling information to the Skilaen General. I've been a double agent, working for Skilae to bring down the reign of the King."

All the blood drained from Jay's face and he felt as if the world had dropped beneath his feet.

"Bu-but why?" Jay stammered. "I've known you for years, Percival. I've seen you lay down your life to protect the kingdom. Why would you do such a thing?"

Percival looked down into the courtyard below and said so quietly it was hard to hear over the cold, moaning wind, "Because the King killed my family."

"Your family?" Jay asked, confused. Percival wasn't a very emotional or open person, but even after all the time he had known him he had never known that Percival had even had a family.

Percival nodded. "I was married before I ever joined the Royal Guard, Jay. Eight years ago, my wife got terribly sick, and I petitioned the King for his royal healer to be sent to my village, for we lived in a small, out-of-the-way place, and there were no skilled healers nearby. But the King refused and told me that the royal physician had more important things to do than run off to every village that a common cold sprung up in." Percival's voice was thick with emotion and hurt as he said, "My wife, my Olivia, she died three days later. Six days later my son died of the same illness."

"I'm so sorry," Jay said pathetically.

Percival seemed to not have heard him. What he was saying he had held back for eight years, and now that he was speaking, the words just kept coming. "I was so angry. I wanted revenge. I wanted the King to suffer as I had, so I struck a deal with Skilaen General Myrna. He promised me that I could end the King's tyrannical rule, that I could make him pay for what he had done." Tears started to run down Percival's face as he turned to look his Captain in the eye. "I've been selling secrets to him ever since."

Jay did not speak. He was not sure what to say.

"I'm not proud of my actions, Captain," Percival said, his voice cracking. "In fact, I'm ashamed of myself. My wife would hate me to see what I've done- to see what I've become. But that's not all that I wanted to speak with you about tonight," Percival continued. He looked at Jay meaningfully. "I'm not alone."

"Not alone?" Jay repeated. "You're not the only one selling secrets?"

Percival shook his head, his eyes cast downward in shame.

"In the Pass," Jay realized, "when we were poisoning the Skilaen's food, you weren't caught."

Percival shook his head, his eyes looking anywhere but Jay's face.

"You sold us out."

Percival nodded, still not looking at him. 

"And you went with-" Jay got no further in his thought because suddenly a look of shock and pain came over Percival's face. Jay watched in frozen horror as his old friend tipped forward off the battlements and tumbled down below. His body landed among those in the courtyard, and several women screamed in horror. They all gathered around Percival, asking if he was alright. Jay, from his perch, felt his stomach lurch when he saw a long, silver throwing dagger protruding from Percival's back.