His words could scarcely be heard against the din. As the lines parted to admit Morgan and the limp Derry, the line to the left began to surge forward of its own accord, its officers no longer able to maintain control. Kelson saw their intention and made one last, futile attempt to order them back, then jerked his horse’s head around and began galloping out ahead of the men. He pulled up short and whirled his black charger in a perfect levade, then dropped the reins as the animal stood stock-still. Standing slightly in the stirrups, he threw back his head and thrust his arms heavenward, pronouncing forbidden words that only the wind heard.

Light flashed from his fingertips like crimson fire as he thrust his arms upward again, flaring to sear a crimson line of warning in the spring turf. The riders who had broken from the line pulled up in fear and confusion, their crazed horses plunging wildly before the wall of flame that had sprung up where the red fire seared.

To Kelson’s amazement and relief, the Torenthi lines held behind him. Rhydon, Lionel, and their archer escort had reached the safety of their own lines even as Kelson’s army started to break.

But Kelson was not concerned with that just now. As he lowered his arms and glared at the men with his proud Haldane eyes, his soldiers managed to bring their terrified mounts under control and sped back to their places in the ranks, trying once more to bring some order out of chaos.

Quiet descended on both the armies as Kelson spread his arms again and passed his hands palm-down above the fire he had made. The flames died, the seared lines faded away. As he lowered his arms, the crimson aura that had surrounded him like a royal mantle fell away and disappeared, leaving the King of Gwynedd human once more.

Taut and stiff with repressed anger, Kelson gathered up his reins and turned his head to slowly survey the enemy. Not a sound disturbed the silence save the snorting and blowing of horses and the jingle and creak of harness. Kelson searched them long with his gray Haldane eyes, memorizing every banner, every detail of the awful fruit of the gallows trees.

Then, after a moment, he turned his face back toward his own army and began riding slowly back to them: regal, meticulous. The deadly silence persisted until he had nearly reached the lines; then a lone sword began beating against a shield in approval—an emphatic commentary that was quickly picked up and echoed by more and more men, until the entire army was vibrating to the music of steel on leather-covered wood and steel.

Kelson held his head high as he drew rein before them. After a moment he raised one hand for silence. Morgan, the limp form of Derry still held across his saddle, could only stare in amazement, watching in wonder as the royal eyes slowly became fully human once more.