The expedition members declined a lavish feast offered by Lord Leon, telling him instead to distribute the food to the poor and the refugees. There was celebration in the streets below his citadel, and there would be for days. The first defeat Arztilla had suffered on the field of battle since Caesar Dulane proclaimed the Panarchy! And they’d done it, Eric thought. They’d changed the course of history for an entire world. Or maybe he was getting ahead of himself. He returned to prodding his ration-pack of lasagna while Selva continued:
“They’ve fallen back all the way to their camp, here.” She showed it on a tablet. “Surveillance says they were likely overstretching their supply lines, counting on breaking through to Highwater Mountain and seizing it as a base from which to fan out across the countryside. It’ll be a while before they muster strength to attack again.”
“We’ve got the next crossbow design,” Temerin said. “And we’ve figured out instructions for chain mail and plate. With enough of a lead time this place should be well-protected against another invasion.” He sorted through sheets of parchment on the table in the palace room, while a cool night breeze wafted in through the windows.
“Even so, the balance of power is still going to alter in the region. And I doubt Dulane will give up on the Freeholds so easily.” Selva’s eyes met Eric’s, as he stared blankly into the tomato-sauce-encrusted pouch. “What’s on your mind?”
“It’s just…” Eric set the fork down. “Yeah, we won, and yeah, the Arztillans would’ve done terrible things if we hadn’t been there and they’d broken through, but there was a lot of death and destruction today, and in a way most of it was my fault.”
“No,” Selva said. “They forced the situation, left us with no choice to respond. It’s a tragedy that there are people out there willing to resort to such evils, but the ultimate fault lies with them.”
The door creaked open, fast enough to make Selva rise from her chair. Lord Leon stepped inside, Sir Wotoc behind with a length of rope coiled over his shoulder.
“You must leave, now.” Leon looked harried.
“Why?” Rachel asked.
“Sir Gerend means to kill you, so you cannot spread your arts to the other Holds.”
“Reward for a job well done,” Temerin guffawed, and downed the last of the vodka.
“My squires wait in the city with our horses,” Wotoc said. “Let us not delay.”
“You’re coming with us?” Eric asked.
The gigantic man-of-honor walked up and put a hand on Eric’s shoulder. “Ever since my old pledge-lord died I have wandered the land, looking for a purpose. You have given me something beyond my greatest dreams—a cause, worthy of songs and legends! I will follow you to the edge of the world! Or beyond it, since that is where you are from.”
He took the rope and a thick curtain rod, tied one to the other, and tossed the coil out the window.
“You heard him,” Temerin said. “Let’s be off.”
As they rode into the night beyond the city, Eric knew one thing: their mission had only just begun.
