Word was spreading; through the ranks of Haomane’s Allies, through the Army of Darkhaven. Holding his dripping sword before him, Tanaros backed away. He stood guard over Ushahin Dreamspinner, who rose to retrieve the two halves of the broken Helm. Aracus Altorus stared at him as though made of stone, tears running down his expressionless face. Malthus the Counselor had bowed his head.

Word spread.

In its wake came wild cheers and cries of grief.

“Go,” Tanaros said harshly, shoving Ushahin, “Take what remains of the Helm back to Darkhaven, Dreamspinner! You will do more good there than here.” He found his mount without looking, mounted without thinking. He reached out his hand, and someone placed a helm in it. A mortal helm, made of mere steel. He clapped it on his head, his vision narrowed but unchanged.

Four Borderguandsmen had dismounted. One removed his dun-colored cloak, draping it over the body of Blaise Caveros. Together, they lifted him with care and began walking from the field. Tanaros let them go unmolested.

Aracus Altorus pointed at Tanaros with his sword. “You seal your own fate, Kingslayer. Haomane help me, I will kill you myself, enchanted blade or no.”

Tanaros gave his bitter smile. “You may try, Scion of Altorus. I will be coming for you next.”

Malthus the Counselor lifted his head, and the sorrow in his eyes was deep, deep as the Well of the World. But from a scabbard at his side, he drew forth a bright sword of Ellylon craftsmanship. The clear Soumanië on his breast blazed and all the horns of the Rivenlost rang forth in answer at once. Against the silvery blare of triumph a lone horn sounded a grieving descant, the tones intermingling with a terrible beauty.

From Darkhaven, silence.

When the Helm of Shadows is broken …

Tanaros exchanged a glance with Hyrgolf, saw the same knowledge reflected in his field marshal’s gaze. He thought of the crudely carved rhios in Hyrgolf’s den. Not bad for a mere pup, eh, General?

Hyrgolf smiled ruefully, extending one hand. “For his Lordship’s honor, Lord General?”

Tanaros clasped his hand. “For his Lordship’s honor.”

On his order, the army of Darkhaven charged.

MERONIL WAS FILLED WITH THE sound of distant horns.

Lilias of Beshtanag stood before the tall windows in her tower chamber, opening them wide onto the open air to catch the strains of sound. Throughout the day, it seemed they blew without cease.

The clarion call of challenge she heard many times over; and the undaunted call of defiance. Once, there was a peal of victory, brief and vaunting; but defiance and a rallying alarum followed, and she knew the battle was not ended.

This was different.

Triumph; a great triumph, resonant with joy, and a single note of sorrow threaded through it. Haomane’s Allies had won a great victory, and suffered a dire loss.

Lilias rested her brow on the window-jamb, wondering who had died.