Then his head bowed and his eyes closed, and his breath came deep and easy. The boy stirred once beneath his hands, then was still.

“Blood.”

Morgan whispered the word, but there was an alien quality to the sound that sent a ripple of chill through the watching lords.

“So much blood,” Morgan murmured, louder this time. “Blood everywhere.” His head slowly raised, though the eyes remained tightly closed.

Duncan glanced sharply at Kelson, then edged closer to his kinsman, his pale eyes fixed on the familiar face now gone strange. He had more than a suspicion now what his kinsman was attempting, and the thought chilled him for all his understanding of the act. He wet his lips nervously, his eyes never leaving the strained face of Morgan.

“Who are you?” he said in a low voice.

“Oh, my God, who’s that coming?” Morgan’s voice replied, as though he had not heard, a boyish quality evident even as Duncan had suspected.

“Ah, ’tis only my Lord Jared, with his good allies, the Earl of Marley and his friends…. ‘Boy, bring wine for my Lord of Marley. Bran Coris has come to reinforce us. Bring wine, lad. Show your respect for the Earl of Marley!’”

Morgan’s voice paused, then continued in a lower, darker tone, so that his listeners had to move closer to catch all of his words.

“The armies of Bran Coris join with ours. The royal blue banners of Marley mix and meld with the sleeping lions of Cassan, and all is well.

“But, wait! The soldiers of Bran Coris draw their swords!”

Morgan’s eyes popped open, but he continued to speak in the boy’s voice, his voice rising in pitch, almost cracking with the strain.

“No! Not treachery! It cannot be! Bran Coris’s men ride with the Furstán hart beneath their shield covers! They slay the duke’s men! They cut a swatch of carnage through the ranks of Cassan!

“My lord! My Lord Jared! Flee for your life! The Marley’s men are upon us in treachery! Fly, oh, fly away, Your Grace! We are undone! Oh, my lord, we are undone!”

With an anguished moan, Morgan’s head dropped against his chest, bitter sobs wracking his body. Kelson started to reach out and touch him, but Duncan frowned and shook his head. They watched tensely as Morgan’s sobbing finally stopped and he raised his head once more. The gray eyes were blank and strained, the cheeks strangely damp, the expression that of a man who has just looked on Hell. He stared unseeing for several seconds, and then:

“I see my Lord Jared go down beneath a sword,” he whispered dully. Duncan controlled a gasp of anguish. “I do not know if he is dead. I fall from my horse and am nearly trampled, but I escape, I play dead.”

He shuddered and continued, choking back another sob. “I roll beneath the body of a slain knight, am drenched by his dying blood, but I am not found out. Soon the battle ends and night falls, but even then there is no safety. The Marley’s men take prisoners, and Torenthi death squads dispatch the badly wounded. No living man escapes that field of death except in chains.