Shouts erupted from the right and the left, and he swiveled to see that two other groups were bearing down on the enemy from either side.

Silvie froze for just a moment, then charged the Horde. “Take them from behind!”

The Scab warriors had turned to the new enemy and bared their backs. Silvie tore into them, taking down one, then two, like straw puppets. Five spun back to defend their rear, but she retreated uphill before they could reach her.

She wheeled back for another attack the moment they refocused their attention on the much larger Guard threat on the flanks. The Horde had killed both her mother and her father, and she’d sworn to avenge their deaths. Tonight she was making good on that promise.

Johnis joined her on this second attack, swinging his sword with his right arm, which was now regaining its feeling.

“Johnis!”

He jerked around and saw a horse cutting through scattering Scabs. And on that horse sat Thomas Hunter, supreme commander of the Forest Guard. Relief flooded him, immediately replaced by horror.

He’d been the cause of this slaughter, and Thomas’s dark eyes spoke his disapproval with nail-pounding conviction.

Johnis averted his eyes. On the hill behind he could see the outline of a lone horse—the commander who’d known his name. And beyond the commander lay the Horde camp, now hidden by the dune. And in that Horde camp, his mother.

She had to be there.

“Now, Johnis!” Thomas shouted, smacking a Scab in the forehead with the butt of his sword. The beast dropped on his seat and toppled unconscious. “Silvie, now! Follow me!”

Thomas veered to the south, followed hard by Silvie and Johnis. They skirted the battle and ran back toward the open desert.

“Retreat!” Thomas screamed. “To the desert!”

“Retreat!” voices cried, carrying the order through the battlefield. “To the desert!”

Johnis glanced back at the dune on which the Third Fighting Group had taken its stand for him. The number of fallen bodies dressed in familiar Guard uniforms was too high to count.

He lost his head at the sight and pulled back on the reins. The emotions that rolled through his chest numbed him. Terror and fear and pain—the raw physical pain of death.

He couldn’t leave them!

Silvie reared back just ahead. “Johnis! There’s nothing you can do! Run! For the sake of Elyon, run!”

So he ran. But he didn’t run with any forethought or direction. He let bitter regret wash over his chest and silent tears run down his cheeks.

Silvie was yelling something else at him, but he couldn’t make out her words any longer. Ahead lay sandy dunes and night, and he wanted to vanish there where no one could find him.

Johnis wasn’t sure how long his horse galloped, but when he finally pulled up, all was silent. He fell off his horse, lay facedown in the sand, and wept.