Kolby entered the circle. In his hands, he held his big sword. “You have dishonored, misfit legionnaires. I command the legendary might of the Teshlor Guild minus only Manuel Triora, who sends his regrets for drawing the short straw, and Ethan Yardley, who I am certain is watching us from Alysin and wishing he could be here.” Kolby stared at Vicross, then let his glare sweep across the ring of men. “The princess is under our protection. We have sworn to die in her defense, and we’ll kill any that attempt to harm her. Fight us and you will die.”

The ex-governor nodded. “Thanks to you and your princess, each of these men already face death sentences for treason. This is our only way out. We have nothing to lose.”

Kile stepped to Farilane’s side. As he did, she noticed his awkward grip shifted on the haft. She smiled at him then, as if they were the only two in that field—as if they were the only two in the world.

In an attempt to win the battle before swords crossed, Vicross, Lars, and the first prymus rushed Farilane with their daggers. Using the handle of the ax, Kile broke Lars’s wrist and knocked Vicross off-balance, but the prymus’s weapon punched into Kile. An instant later, Kolby’s great sword flashed, and three heads hit the grass.

Kile dropped the ax and grabbed his side.

“Kile!” Farilane shouted.

He tried to pull away, struggled to retreat, but she was on him, her hands searching for the wound. She had seen the blade go in. The prymus was an experienced soldier and knew how to turn a knife. Regardless of what organs may have been punctured, Kile would bleed out. The look on his face was desperate. Then, as her hands found the spot, he sighed, and Farilane gasped.

No blood. No wound. The princess found the tear in his tunic where the blade had gone in, but that was all.

As the world around them filled with the clash of metal and the cries of men, the two stared at one another.

“What a fool I’ve been,” Farilane said. “Somewhere in the afterlife, Virgil is laughing at me.”

Chapter 22: The Prophecy

Chapter Twenty-Two
The Prophecy

The sight that afternoon was something Farilane could never have imagined and would never forget. The Battle of Shepherd’s Field—as Farilane instantly dubbed it—was perhaps the shortest conflict of its size. Nearly five hundred legionnaires faced one hundred Teshlor Knights. The fight, she estimated, took little more than fifteen minutes. More than two hundred legionnaires were killed. The rest fled. Not a single knight died.