The healer didn’t find them until dawn, and by then Nyal’s wounds had begun to fester, though they’d been washed with what water Beka and the others had left.

The exhausted young drysian came to them with a servant hauling his cart of simples. He dressed Nyal’s wound and those of the other riders who had them, and gave them healing blessings. When he was done, Beka pulled him aside.

“Thank you, Brother, for all you’ve done. Please, will my husband survive his wounds?”

“The infection wasn’t too bad, but if that bone doesn’t mend well, he could lose the arm.”

Beka nodded and turned back to the others. She’d love Nyal just as well with one arm as two, but what it would do to him, not to be able to hunt or draw a bow anymore, she couldn’t imagine.

Phoria’s body had been rescued and lay in state in her pavilion under a black shroud. In front of it, the bodies of fallen officers were laid out on cloaks with their hands clasped on their breasts and their swords beside them. Danos was not among them, Klia noted. Either he’d taken Phoria’s words to heart, or been lucky.

There was no time to mourn her fallen sister yet. She first sent word of the victory and the queen’s loss the fastest way she could, with a message sphere to Thero, asking that he bring word to Korathan. Then she spent a weary night conferring with General Moraus and her surviving officers, taking in the number of dead, and trying to reapportion commands. By right of birth, she was now Marshal of the Armies, assuming Phoria’s command until the new queen could do so.

Just after dawn Beka Cavish returned with word of more casualties—Nyal was among them, badly wounded.

Standing by the dying fire, Klia looked around at all her gathered officers. “Take heart. The war is over, and though our losses are grievous, the service we have done Skala will ensure the safety of our land for generations to come. As we mourn the loss of our queen, so must we honor her sacrifice and victory.”

“But the victory is yours,” one of the generals, Sarit, said.

“I only finished what my sister started,” Klia told him. “And now I must complete another task. I’m starting for Skala today by sea, to bring the Sword of Gherilain to its rightful owner. In the meantime, General Moraus, you will assume command here; see to the wounded until spring, then bring the army home.” She paused. “And I have a field promotion to make. Captain Beka Cavish, step forward.”