Page 127 of War Hour

My stomach rolls, knowing how easily I could have been one of the dead left to be trampled, sword still trapped in my ribs. Lord Drytas’s plan falls into place in my head as I look between the two opposing sides.

There is no going home for the Untrialed—otherwise, the guards would fight right alongside them. Even if they survived here on the battlefield, Drytas would sacrifice them to Truth’s Trial.

And Lord Gennady’s guards? Is there an option for them to surrender? Or were they sentenced to die with their opponents? What would it mean for the citizens who lived in the city beyond the castle?

Standing at the frontline between the two courts, I’m torn between what to do. I don’t have the energy in me left to fight, and even if I did—could I fight against my own, knowing they had little choice?

If the two sides knew the truth, would they continue fighting against each other?

The Court of Truth is only defending themselves from attack. It had been the decision of the Crowns to not convey the threat Lord Drytas posed until they could prove it credible, and instead it had left their people unprepared. These people who fought with every ounce of life they had left to give, likely didn’t even know their lord was dead.

I could only assume the lies Lord Drytas had fed the people of Valor, the Untrialed, to get them to fight for his selfish terrorism. Perhaps he hadn’t deemed them worthy of an explanation, instead forcing them to battle under threat of their lives.

It all needed to stop.

I’m not a Crown or an Heir. I lack the training the other courts have received since birth. But I can’t leave the saving to someone else anymore. No one is coming. If the other courts haven’t arrived already, then they won’t arrive in time. Not when only a hundred or so remained on either side.

Gathering every drop of energy in my reserves, I summon my shield. The exhaustion of my Trial weighs on me, but it cannot suffocate the fight I have left.

Raising my hands, I form the shield into a divide. Cutting off the fight that unravels closest to me. Two opponents step back at the shield separating them, looking at the other in shock. Reaching deep, I stretch the shield, pushing it to expand—reaching further down the frontline. A trickle of sweat beads at my forehead, feeling cool against the fire that burns under my skin.

As the shield makes its way further into the battlefront, more swords are lowered in astonishment at the barrier that protects them against their foe.

Too much of the war still rages on, beyond where my shield seemed to reach. With groans and clenched teeth, I push myself to the limit, feeling the ache in my muscles and bones. My head spins, vision blurring, as I push the shield to cross the entire battle line.

It’s impossible to separate every Valor Untrialed from every Truth Untrialed, but I don’t need to. The sound of the dying battle is audible. Swords thud dully on the shield, no longer scraping against their opponents’ blades. The roar of battle seeps away as people turn to question the lull in fighting.

The stillness travels away from the shield in waves, as more and more of the battle comes to a screeching halt. Even Lord Drytas in the distance can see the change, as he angrily turns to the men around him.

There wouldn’t be much time before he would be on us.

What did one say to people that have lost everything?

“No one has told you the truth,” I bellow, my voice echoing across the frozen field.

The murmurs that had raced from neighbor to neighbor quiet, all turning to search for the voice that rings out. Those that stand closest to me pinpoint me as the speaker, turning to watch me with suspicious gazes.

Their watchful gazes stir doubt. Who am I to speak to them?

Resolving myself, I step forward, slowly walking toward where the shield starts. My knees shake, and I worry they will give out from weakness. I’m pushing myself too far. Stretching my power too much. If I’m not careful, I will burn myself out and then, if the fight resumes, I’ll be defenseless.

“Your enemy does not stand opposite you. Your swords do not slay those who conspire against you.” I shout the words as loud as my lungs will allow, my throat protesting as it cracks.

Following the gazes of their neighbors, more of the battlefront turns to follow me. When I stand in arm’s reach of the shield, I focus on pushing it back. Each step I take, the shield shrinks back another foot.

“Valor!” I shout, gesturing to the people on the left of my shield. “I am one of your own. I too was Untrialed until Lord Drytas forced me to bend to his will, just like he does to you now.” I hesitate, letting my words sink in. “Lord Drytas manipulates you—controls you. He is prepared to sacrifice you in exchange for power.”

Pointing at Drytas from his perch on the hill, I shout at them with fervor.

“He is your enemy.”

Turning to my right, I swallow. Staring down the people of the Court of Truth.

“Truth! You are fighting for your home and your fellow citizens against people who do not wish to take it from you.”

When I reach where the shield separates the two sides, I hesitate. If I lower the shield now, and the battle reignites, I won’t have the strength to raise it again. But even now I can feel the well of magic inside me emptying rapidly. I can only hold on for so much longer either way.

Looking between the two individuals, who only a minute ago were fighting each other for their life, I decide. Inching back the shield, I breathe a sigh of relief as both sides refrain from attacking one another. I continue my words, pushing the shield backward as I walk the line separating the battlefronts.

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