Page 116 of A War of Three Kings

A horn blows behind me, deep and long, and it sends a wave of reaction through the foot soldiers and cavalry surrounding me. They slow to a stop. I stride through the crowd to the front line, surrounded by a halo of my Spring Court fae, roughly pulling people out of my way.

The black mass of the enemy is getting away from us, funneling down a large decline in the landscape that leads into a natural bowl. My fingers twitch with the need to pursue them like a savage storm of death and fury, but this is the plan we agreed on.

That horn bellows from behind once more and we form our ranks. The front line of attack is my command post this day.

Edmund gallops past on horseback, sword raised. “Cavalry! With me!” he yells, crafting an air wield to project his voice. “Take your positions!”

The ground thunders as those on horseback circle around the bulk of our mass and line up with Edmund. Satisfaction fills me when Lords Bradford and Adalwolf join him, alongside Countess Lynna. I have little respect for nobility who send their soldiers to war but don’t join the fight for their lands and people.

At the front line, I pace up and down the bulk of our army. “SHIELD WALL!” I roar. “Assemble your ranks!”

The bodies slot into their places before me, row upon neat row, lining up their shields to overlap. This is a human invention, one I had never seen before coming to this realm. I must admit, it would be utterly terrifying to come up against this unprepared. The front row forms a solid wall that reaches from the warriors’ knees to their chins. The row behind them lifts their shields to create a roof that protects the heads of both rows, and the third holds spears over their shoulders, ready to throw.

To the enemy, it would indeed be like attacking a metal wall.

Our horns call out a third time, but there is no response from the other side of the valley. The enemy still swarms down the decline, pooling in the vast, level ground at its depths, as their numbers are slow in racing back up the other side.

This is our chosen battlefield, if we get the timing right.

We have set up a pincer attack between the two sides of this valley, to squeeze the enemy between, but the other half of our forces is yet to arrive. The only other exit is a narrow channel clogged with trees at the base of the bowl, leading back to the south. A choke point we intend to force them down.

I strain my eyes, desperately hoping to see the glint of spear tips on the far hill, but it is empty save for weeds. In the distance, the ruins of Wenchwick Hold look down upon us like a silent,gloomy specter, just out of reach. It is little more than broken shards of towers, lone arches and a stout wall on a rocky incline.

Edmund’s horse prances as his agitation bleeds into it. He pulls away from his unit and canters over. That burning green gaze lands on me. “Your man, Cyprien. How reliable is he?” His features are demonic beneath his helmet, which reveals only his eyes and mouth in harsh angles, with multiple metal horns and spikes rearing up from it. A long ponytail erupts from its crest.

“As reliable as your daughters, who are with him. He’ll be here on time,” I say, with confidence I don’t feel. It is always risky to split an army.

Edmund’s scowl deepens. “It is past time!” He throws out an arm toward the battlefield, which is disappointingly devoid of spilled blood. The enemy is cresting the rise now, a handful reaching the top, but the vast majority are still stuck at its bottom. “The most important element in warfare is timing.”

I roll my shoulders to release the tension building there. “We still have time, Edmund. You need patience.”

His lips peel back in a snarl, but then I see it. The ripple of fear that dances across his face and disappears just as quickly. The terror of a father not knowing where his children are in a slaughter. It is the same beast that has been clawing within my chest, fueling my murderous wrath.

I have no idea if Keira is safe.

If she was attacked on the road when she and Caitlin skirted their force around both armies to meet Cyprien and the fae he recruited from my realm…the thought is more chilling than the thousands in the horde before us, hell-bent on our destruction.

Worse is the knowledge that Keira will join me in this madness. In the vicious hacking and slicing of battle. The stench of fear, the screams for mercy, the red-drenched soil. The constant terror of your life or limbs being torn from you by theenemies all around. I cannot protect her from it. I won’t even have her at my side during the carnage.

This scares me most of all.

“How do you do it?” I move closer to Edmund, snagging his attention from the enemy. “How do you fight a battle not knowing where your daughters are within it? The idea of Keira out there somewhere is driving me to insanity.”

“You and me both.” His voice is husky. “But I would never willingly hold them back.”

We turn back to the enemy scaling that slope. They look like ants.

“Edmund, why did you not train your son to ride to battle with you?” I give him a sidelong glance. “How did you end up with warrior daughters instead?”

He scratches his chin, but doesn’t take his eyes from the horizon. “Diarmuid is a gentle soul, and this sort of mindless slaughter would destroy him. Caitlin was born with my mother’s fire in her heart, and I don’t think any man could hold her back from picking up a sword, so it made sense to teach her how to use it.

“Keira is a complex combination of the two. When she lets someone into her heart, she gives them the power to raise her up or destroy her. She is both stronger and more fragile than she appears. I would give up everything I have to protect her: money, titles, land. Her heart has been shattered once before by the mad king, and I will not allow any man to hurt her again, so tread your path carefully, Aldrin.”

Edmund kicks his horse and rides back to his unit, leaving me to stare after him. Despite everything this man has done to me and my people, I can’t help the respect that blooms within my chest. He doesn’t force his children into molds that would break them.

I stalk to my position in the front line, taking the shield Silvan holds out for me and slotting it in line with the others. It is fucking hot in here, with so many bodies pressed so closely together, and it reeks of the sweat of soldiers waiting to clash with the enemy. The shield over my head rattles against mine as the soldier behind me trembles.

No one warns a new recruit how the wait before the attack twists a warrior’s gut with sickness and sets their nerves on fire. It can be worse than the fight itself.

---