“Then so be it, Perrin Aybara,” Galad said. “I name your punishment here, this night, at this moment.”

Perrin frowned, turning away from his contemplation of the battle lines. “What? Now?”

“I deem, as punishment, that you pay blood price to the families of the dead Children in the amount of five hundred crowns. I also order you to fight in the Last Battle with all the strength you can muster. Do these things, and I pronounce you cleansed of guilt.”

It was an odd time for him to give this proclamation, but he had made his decision. They would still fight, and perhaps one would fall. Galad wanted Aybara to know the judgment, in case.

Aybara studied him, then nodded. “I name that fair, Galad Damodred.” He held up his hand.

“Creature of darkness!” Someone moved behind Aybara. A figure, pulling free his sword. A hiss, a flash of metal. Byar’s eyes, alight with anger. He’d positioned himself right where he could strike Aybara in the back.

Aybara spun; Galad raised his sword. Both were too slow.

But Jaret Byar’s blow did not fall. He stood with his weapon upraised, frozen, blood dribbling from his lips. He fell to his knees, then flopped onto the ground right at Aybara’s feet.

Bornhald stood behind him, eyes wide with horror. He looked down at his sword. “I…It wasn’t right, to strike a man in the back after he saved us. It…” He dropped his sword, stumbling back from Byar’s corpse.

“You did the right thing, Child Bornhald,” Galad said with regret. He shook his head. “He was a fine officer. Unpleasant at times, perhaps, but also brave. I am sorry to lose him.”

Aybara glanced to the sides, as if looking for other Children who might strike him. “From the beginning, that one was looking for an excuse to see me dead.”

Bornhald looked at Aybara, eyes still hateful, then cleaned his sword and rammed it into its sheath. He walked away, toward the area where the wounded had been taken. The area around Galad and Aybara was increasingly safe, the Trollocs pushed back, more solid battle lines forming, made of Aybara’s men and the remaining Children.

“That one still thinks I killed his father,” Aybara said.

“No,” Galad replied. “I think he believes that you did not. But he has hated you for very long, Lord Aybara, and has loved Byar longer.” He shook his head. “Killing a friend. It is sometimes painful to do what is right.”

Aybara grunted. “You should get to the wounded,” he said, hefting his hammer and looking toward where the fighting was still thick.

“I am well enough to fight if I have your mount.”

“Well then, let’s be on with it.” Aybara eyed him. “I’ll stay by you, though, just in case it looks like you might fall.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m fond of the horse.”

Smiling, Galad joined him, and they waded back into the melee.