Thomas bolted up from the table, spilling his beetroot soup. He snatched his sword from the wall and took a step toward her before he’d had time to process her claim.

Waiting here in the village while his officers tried to determine where the battle would come from had driven sleep from him for the past two days. Now his daughter was informing him that the Horde had been found. He had to get to his men!

But this was Marie crying at him. Why would his young daughter bring news of the Horde?

“The Horde?” he demanded. “Who? What’re you talking about?”

“Johnis! Billos, Silvie, Darsal! Your recruits are back!”

Thomas closed his eyes, stilled the tremor in his tired limbs, and stepped back to his chair. “Don’t be silly, child.” He sat again, surveying the mess he’d made. The children had turned the four dead recruits into heroes and played games around the clock, pretending to be them. Now they actually believed their games. It was going too far.

“This is nothing to play with!”

His son, Samuel, sprinted in, face white as a pastry puff. “Father, they’re entering the stadium now!”

Rachelle stood from the end of the table. “Thomas?” Her voice made it clear that she saw truth here. At the very least, Marie and Samuel believed their story to be true.

Could it be?

“They’re in the stadium now? With Mikil?”

“All four,” Samuel said, “with Mikil and another ten of the Guard. The village is coming out to see them.” He whirled and was gone in a blur of arms and legs, followed by Marie.

“I told you!” Marie cried. “I told you!”

Thomas tore from the house, vaulted one of the rosebushes at the end of his walk, and ran toward the wide path that split the circular village like a spoke of a wheel.

He heard them before he found them, only because at least a thousand others had already found them and were ushering them into the stadium. Dusk was falling; the daily Gathering would begin soon. If Marie and Samuel were right about the recruits, these four would be the talk of the forest for a week.

He ran past a few hundred villagers hurrying to the amphitheater, spun into the passage that led to the field, and ran toward the cries and whistles of approval.

He could see them now. A group of roughly fifteen Forest Guard led by Mikil had stopped in the middle, facing the field entrance in expectation of his arrival. This was Mikil’s idea, no doubt. She was making a spectacle of this turn of events, knowing it would bring courage to them all.

The stadium was filling as word spread. Thomas slowed to a walk and stepped onto the field. Almost immediately the crowd saw him and hushed.