“And look at that,” a knight exclaimed in disgust. “They have women in their ranks.”

“Why don’t they attack us? They have us outnumbered a hundred to one.”

“Perhaps because they’re not armed. Say ‘boo’ at them, and they’ll all run away.”

“Next time I will leave my blade at home and bring a wooden stick. That’s all it would take to puncture that sorry excuse for armor.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Troeven sternly. “I hit something a good solid blow with my sword and didn’t even make a dent.”

Silence fell. The horses, skittish, blew and bared their teeth and flattened their ears. They moved restlessly beneath their riders, so that it was all some of the knights could do to keep them under control. The two knights who had been cut off from the main force were completely engulfed by the warriors. Yet, the warriors made no move to strike.

“The horses don’t like them, that’s for damn certain.”

“Horses are smarter than men, sometimes.”

The knight who had talked about the sharp stick snorted in derision and glanced back over his shoulder. “How’s His Highness?”

“Alive,” Troeven answered shortly.

He took stock of the situation. The Prince’s Own surrounded him and His Highness. The enemy encircled them, and, beyond, the king’s forces were falling all over each other. He could hear the shouts and curses of officers and the beating of drums and the clash and clatter of an army preparing to go suddenly to war. Close at hand, the battlefield was eerily quiet. No sounds of swords thwacking against each other or banging on armor or bashing in shields. No crunch and thud of battle. No panting, grunting, swearing, screaming. Only the buzz of grasshoppers and the rustle of the dry grass as the warriors gathered silently around them, watching, waiting.

“My Lord Summerson, help me get His Highness out from under his horse,” said Troeven.

His voice boomed unnaturally loud in the stillness, causing several of the knights to flinch at the sound. Lord Summerson, a bear of a man, heaved and grunted himself off his horse and lumbered over to assist.

Panting and straining, Summerson managed to lift up the portion of the horse under which the prince was pinned. Troeven gripped the prince by the shoulders and pulled him free. Marcus moaned when the knight shifted him, and Troeven judged by this that the prince had broken bones, but this was no time to try to physic him. They’d have to take off his armor to see what was wrong with him, and he deemed that Marcus was far safer in his armor than out of it—a judgment call that the next few moments would prove horribly wrong.

One of the two knights who had been cut off from their comrades suddenly raised his voice in an oath.