He struggled to speak, but his throat and mouth were not his own, not now while the visions held him. He knew dimly that he had gone rigid as a plank, jaw clenched, unable even to whimper.

Fire. Murder. Fear. Death. It went on forever. He was the helpless observer, unable to do anything save—sometimes, in brief moments when the visions released him—babble a report of what he saw, and where it was. Names came to him, the names of villages? Villages that were not going to exist shortly—but he called them out anyway. How much was now and how much soon? How many places were far enough distant that help might come in time?

He was engulfed in a sea of horror, until, without warning, the visions let go of him entirely, and he dropped back into his own time and place.

Head swimming, he looked up through streaming eyes to find that he was clinging with both hands to Kantor’s stirrup and the pommel of the saddle, that he had buried his face in Kantor’s shoulder.

Sendar and the Lord Marshal were arguing at the tops of their lungs, while Selenay’s gaze switched from one to the other. Her face was white and pinched, and her hands in their armored gauntlets shook.

“But then, we’ll have no reserves!” the Lord Marshal shouted.

“And what good will reserves do us if every creature older than a child on this side of the Border is dead?” Sendar shouted back. He whirled and turned to Talamir. “This is a royal command, King’s Own. You heard where the attackers are, now deploy the reserves and every Herald not in combat to the rescue!”

Talamir bowed his head and closed his eyes for a moment, while Taver stood as steady as a statue. “Done, Majesty,” the Herald said in a perfectly calm and slightly distant voice. “But you do realize that this will leave us seriously outnumbered on this field?”

Alberich was aware of movement, massive movement, behind them. The reserve troops were moving out, to the right and the left, the cavalry first. Ahead of them, on the swiftest steeds of all, two wings of Heralds, already speeding out of sight over the crest of the ridge, like a flock of swift, white birds. Behind them, the troops pulled out, leaving their rear unprotected.

“Of course I realize it,” Sendar growled; and drew his sword, with a bright metallic scrape. It glittered wickedly in the sun, matching the hard gleam in the King’s eyes. “We need to end this—now. Or we won’t have a country left when we win the war.” There was something wild in the King’s eyes that Alberich recognized; something he had felt himself, down in the taverns of Haven…