Only the fact that she was obviously not a soldier seemed to be keeping Lenore safe right then; that, and the presence of so many of her fathers men around her, shielding her with their efforts, killing those who came too close. Her father was there too, huge and armored, and he seemed the comforting presence that he had always been, strong and safe, impossible to defeat.

Yet one look at the bridge told Lenore how fragile that illusion was. She could see it swaying under the weight of so many men, could hear the creaking of it even above the sounds of the dying. She had felt for herself that no one was truly safe, that men of violence could always find a way to hurt, to kill, to do worse…

There were more men on the bridge than she could count, more still approaching it, mere dots in the distance, given the Slates width. Even on this bank, there were dozens of pockets of them, spread out and fighting, attacking her fathers men from all sides. How could even her father hope to hold against all that? How could any of them? The battle kept going, but in that moment, Lenore couldnt see how they could hope to win it.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

King Godwin stood at the heart of the battle, holding onto his daughters horse and trying to make sense of it all. That was the most important skill for a war leader; not the ability to wade into the fight, not the ability to inspire men, although both mattered. The ability to step back for a second and just look counted for more than the rest of it put together.

Are you safe? he bellowed to Lenore, even over the sounds of the battle.

I… She nodded, but there was something about the way that she did it that spoke of pains that she couldnt voice, not there.

A man came at Godwin in that moment, and for a second, everything was the violence. He smashed the man back, fought his way back to Lenores skittish horse, managed to catch hold of it again.

And what about your brother? he asked. Have you seen Rodry?

This look said almost as much as the last one, and it hurt just as sharply.

He… he came to save me, she said. They killed him, Father. Rodry is dead.

If hed been anywhere but a battle, King Godwin would have collapsed to the ground in grief at the news. Even so, the hurt of it burned through him, making him roar out his grief, lash out at the first enemy to come near.

My son! he bellowed, as he struck down a man. You killed my son!

He killed then, one man after another. His knights formed around him, but even like that, it was hard for them to keep up as he thrust his sword through one man, then hacked down the next.