Trumpets lifted brazen throats, drums boomed, and Queen dolora of leukas stalked forth into battle. She came high and white and icily fair, her face chiseled and immobile in its haughtiness under the crowned helmet, and stood two squares in front of her husband, looming over Carlon. Behind her, her own Bishop sorkas poised in his stronghold, hefting his mace in armored hands. Carlon of Cinnabar spat at dolora’s feet, and she looked at him from cool blue eyes and then looked away. The hot dry wind did not ruffle her long pale hair; she was like a statue, standing there and waiting.

“Ocher,” said Evyan softly, “out of my way.”

“I like not retreat, my lady,” he answered in a thin tone.

“Nor I,” said Evyan. “But I must have an escape route open. We will fight again.”

Slowly, Ocher withdrew, back to his own home. Evyan chuckled once, and a wry grin twisted her young face.

Rogard was looking at her so tautly that he did not see what was happening until a great shout of iron slammed his head around. Then he saw Bishop sorkas, standing in Carlon’s square with a bloodied mace in his hands, and Carlon lay dead at his feet.

Carlon, your hands are empty, life has slipped from them and there is an unending darkness, risen in you who loved the world. Goodnight, my Carlon, goodnight.

“Madame—” Bishop sorkas spoke quietly, bowing a little, and there was a smile on his crafty face. “I regret, madame, that—ah—”

“Yes. I must leave you.” Evyan shook her head, as if she had been struck, and moved a square backwards and sideways. Then, turning, she threw the glance of an eagle down the black squares to leukas’ Earl aracles. He looked away nervously as if he would crouch behind the three soldiers who warded him. Evyan drew a deep breath sobbing into her lungs.

Sir theutas, dolora’s Knight, sprang from his stronghold, to place himself between Evyan and the Earl. Rogard wondered dully if he meant to kill Ulfar the soldier; he could do it now. Ulfar looked at the Knight who sat crouched, and hefted his spear and waited for his own weird.

“Rogard!”

The Bishop leaped, and for a moment there was fire-streaked darkness before his eyes.

“Rogard, to me! To me, and help sweep them from the world!”

Evyan’s voice.

She stood in her scarred and dinted armor, holding her sword aloft, and on that smitten field she was laughing with a new-born hope. Rogard could not shout his reply. There were no words. But he raised his mace and ran.

The black squares slid beneath his feet, footfalls pounding, jarring his teeth, muscles stretching with a resurgent glory and all the world singing. At the frontier, he stopped, knowing it was Evyan’s will though he could not have said how he knew. Then he faced about, and with clearing eyes looked back over that field of iron and ruin. Save for one soldier and a knight, Cinnabar was now cleared of leukan forces, Evyan was safe, a counterblow was readying like the first whistle of hurricane. Before him were the proud banners of leukas—now to throw them into the dust! Now to ride with Evyan into the home of mikillati!