Darsal was grinning, but Johnis couldn’t tell if it was a wicked grin or one of satisfaction.

Silvie frowned, her jaw muscles bunched.

Billos had crossed his arms and was pretending to be interested in something in the trees. A company of parrots squawked and took flight over the stadium. Okay, so maybe he had seen something.

Milic, a friend to Johnis, was the only fighter on the field who was clearly pleased with this turn of events.

Johnis started to walk for the sidelines, unsure how he was supposed to feel. Or what he was supposed to do, for that matter. He wasn’t even sure what had happened.

His father suddenly thrust both fists above his head and screamed his approval in a terrifying, raspy wail. Cheering erupted like a huge wave, thundering cries of approval.

Johnis stopped. For the first time the significance of his feat became clear. He might not be eligible for the Forest Guard—in all honesty he wasn’t even sure he wanted to be eligible. But in his mind he’d honored the memory of his mother, Rosa, by crossing the line for all to see, with the very Horde hair harvested by his father.

He’d followed his instincts, and he’d done it for love of his mother. He had thought with his heart, as Thomas himself had insisted the others do.

Thomas Hunter strode toward him, face sullen. He stopped and took a bow. “Well done, lad.”

He stepped forward and touched the top of Johnis’s head, the tips of his fingers bloody as he retracted his hand. He gripped Johnis’s jaw and turned his head gently as if examining him for something, then lowered his arm. “You have won the horse that I was going to give to Jackov.” Thomas bowed again. “Thank you. You may join your father.”

Johnis walked off the field to another roar from the crowd, still unsure how he felt about all of this.

His father dipped his head. “Elyon’s strength, boy.”

“Elyon’s strength.”

Thomas raised his hand at the center of the field and the throng quieted.

“I’ve made my decision,” the supreme commander said, pacing around the group of fighters. “These are dangerous times we live in. We have received word from our scouts that the Horde is gathering to the east”—he pointed his sword toward his left, eastward—“and will march on this forest in four days with an army over two hundred thousand strong.”

Johnis caught his breath. Such a large army against their much smaller Guard? A parrot squawked far away.

“Normally our recruits would prepare for months before being thrust into battle, but those days are gone,” Thomas said. “The thousand new recruits will fight by our sides in four days’ time.”

A mother cried out. But only one. Somewhere a child was crying, oblivious to all.