It wasn't until Coulta had cut down several soldiers that he changed his focus from blindly hacking at any enemy soldier he could reach physically and magically, to finding Varin and removing the bastard's head from his body.

Knowing Varin's dislike for doing his own killing, Coulta assumed he would be somewhere at the back of the field, likely watching the battle from a secure location. He might even be in the treeline itself. So Coulta urged Quiver on, deeper into the fray, hoping to push his way to the rear of the enemy ranks. He kept a careful eye out for Wildas, but knew that if the curse wasn't pulling Coulta to his side, Wildas was doing fine.

He quickly realized as he went, however, that dispatching Varin's soldiers wasn't as simple as he'd expected. They didn't seem to respond to pain like they should. Deep cuts didn't faze them. Magic only slowed them slightly. Heavy blows did nothing to knock them down. Not even being trampled by a horse kept them from fighting. The only way Coulta found to stop them was to sever their heads or burn them alive.

It was worse than any killing Coulta had done before. Blood and churned bodies mingled with the morning dew, leaving the ground a wretched mess. The air was filled with screams of challenge, screams of pain, and screams of fear. Above that was the sound of weapons clashing, armor clanging, and horses pounding through the ranks.

Only once did it occur to Coulta that he felt no remorse over the lives he was taking. It was a matter of survival. He needed to keep going so he could kill the man commanding this battle. If he could only kill Varin perhaps the battle would end in their favor. Perhaps this mysterious spell over the nearly immortal soldiers would be lifted and they would cease to fight so strongly. Perhaps they could end this.

So focused on moving forward, Coulta quickly lost sight of Wildas, but again left his protection to the curse.

It wasn't until he had nearly reached the trees and began looking more earnestly for Varin that he felt the undeniable pull of the curse.

Wildas was in danger.

His final thought before the curse clouded his mind was to spin Quiver away from the trees once more.

It didn't take long for Wildas to come to the same conclusion Coulta had about the near immortality of Varin's soldiers. He didn't stop to wonder how they had gotten that way or what sort of power Varin had come into possession of. He simply started aiming his sword for soldiers' throats.

He was surprised to find himself fighting more than he had expected. Apparently Coulta's curse knew when he'd be able to fight off would-be killers in such a situation. They were separated by the flow of battle fairly quickly, but Wildas didn't have much time to worry about his husband as he tried to stay close to his father. All he could do was hope that Coulta would find him again when he needed to.

Shelton had also left them as soon as he saw the way the twenty unicorns were being used to attack Ryal's defenders. Each of the monsters eventually fell to violet flames, at least from what Wildas could briefly see.

By the second hour of the bloody, exhausting battle, Wildas and Deandre found themselves completely cut off from their own army and surrounded by a tight knot of soldiers. Wildas fought off as many as he could while Silverblade kicked and reared. Then one of the soldiers cut the stallion's throat. Wildas was roughly dragged away by far too many hands as the stallion collapsed.

"Hold them! Don't kill them!"

Someone pulled off Wildas's helmet and he was forced to stand. Barely ten feet away from him his father was being held in the same way, his own horse dead beside Silverblade. Seeing his horse dead and his father disrespected filled Wildas with a rage that replaced his fear. He struggled to break the hold on him, but could hardly move no matter how much strength he used.

Varin strolled into view and smiled a wicked smile. "Good, now I can do away with both of you at once." He looked from Wildas to Deandre and back again. Then, grinning at Wildas, he pulled a dagger. "I think I should let you see your father die. How does that sound?"

Wildas hoped his glare was answer enough.

Varin shrugged and turned to Deandre. "Any final words for your son? 'Avenge me' perhaps? Too bad that won't be possible. I gave you a chance to avoid this earlier."

Deandre held his head up and locked eyes with Wildas. He said nothing, but the look in his eyes said more than enough for Wildas. There were so many emotions warring in those familiar, usually stern eyes, and somehow Wildas understood all of them.

Varin gazed at Deandre thoughtfully. "Anything?"

Wildas felt a knot forming in his throat as he continued to hold his father's gaze. This couldn't be happening. Deandre was supposed to die as an old man in a sickbed, not on a bloody battlefield at the hands of someone like Varin.

"All right then."

Deandre's eyes never left Wildas, even as Varin drew his dagger deeply across his throat and the life vanished from those familiar eyes.

Wildas screamed with rage and fought the hold of the soldiers even harder, but they only held him tighter. He watched his father's body fall in a heap as the soldiers released him. Varin was laughing like a child with a new toy.

Varin abruptly stopped laughing and turned to Wildas. "I suppose that makes you king for the moment," he sneered, slowly twirling the bloody knife in his hand. "What do you say? I was merciful to your father, I'll be even more so to you. Abdicate."

"You bastard," Wildas snarled, struggling again.

Suddenly, from over Varin's shoulder his gaze was caught by the image that would forever be burned into his memory of that day, side-by-side with the look in his father's eyes. But this was an image that gave him hope and froze him in awe.

Quiver was galloping faster than Wildas could have imagined, trampling anyone in his path without hesitation. Thankfully, most of Ryal's defenders reacted fast enough to jump away from the stallion, but not Varin's spelled soldiers.

And there was Coulta, leaning over the stallion's neck, one hand on the reins, the other holding his bloodied sword. There was a strange aura around him, and it wasn't the usual black and silver that Wildas had learned to associate with his magic. This was silvery-white, and grew brighter the closer he came to where Wildas and Varin stood.

Varin's brows drew together when he noticed Wildas's expression, and he took a step back. He'd barely turned around when Quiver and Coulta reached him, and several things happened in a single instant.

Coulta's sword swung down to meet Varin's neck as Coulta bellowed, "Kusb sa iae ozk texavsut su zogu al Caolan ozk haak!"

But the voice wasn't Coulta's - it was a hundred different voices screaming out their rage.

Varin and the closest soldiers exploded in a wave of heat and ash.

The sword dropped to the ground.

Quiver shied away with a snort.

And Wildas fell over backwards with the force of Coulta's body slamming into him.

Shelton had lost his horse to one of the monstrous unicorns, but the moment he saw Coulta and Quiver pass him at an unbelievable gallop, he started running.

Even more unbelievable than the horse's speed was what he witnessed Coulta do. He knew Coulta's mother was an Asir, someone whose powers could include the ability to be temporarily possessed by the spirits of the dead, but he hadn't thought Coulta had any of her magic until that moment. And to have been a vessel for so many...

There was no way a mortal body could survive that.

Wildas had just gotten to Coulta when Shelton reached them. The marks on Coulta's skin were visible, which Shelton didn't think was a positive sign. He knelt down next to Wildas, trying to catch his breath enough to comfort Wildas, who was feeling for a pulse on Coulta's neck.

Wildas glanced at Shelton, but he didn't look as upset as Shelton had expected. "Is this like the last time he used so much power? Will it kill him if you don't help him?"

"He's alive?" Shelton asked, stunned. He reached for Coulta's throat and Wildas moved his hand. There was a pulse there so strong it made Shelton gasp, "How?"

"What do you mean?" Wildas demanded.

Shelton took off his helmet and rubbed his face. "He shouldn't have survived that. What he did... He channeled the spirits of your ancestors. They were inside him. All of them. Well, all since Caolan."

"You mean, he was possessed?"

"Essentially. But he's not now or he wouldn't be unconscious."

"What did he – they – say? He doesn't use spells."

Shelton shook his head. "He used an ancient language, from before this country even existed. Not many people even know it now, only sorcerers who have had training in the ancient words of power, and those who can communicate with the spirits of the dead. What he said was 'Kusb sa iae ozk texavsut su zogu al Caolan ozk haak' or, 'Death be to you and all your supporters, in the name of Caolan and his blood'. He must have used Caolan as a summons because he's the founder of our traditions that older ancestors likely would have objected to and not wished to see continued."

"How did it not kill him, if you think it should have?" Wildas asked quietly.

"I don't..." A sudden thought came to him and he picked up Coulta's hand, searching deep within the younger sorcerer with his magic. When he found what he was looking for he actually laughed. "By the gods."

"What?"

"They broke the curse. The extra magic is sustaining him."

Wildas's hazel eyes were wide. "What does that mean?"

"That he's not controlled by the curse," Shelton explained. "There will be time to learn the details later. What matters is that he's alive and that the curse being broken doesn't change anything about who he is."

Wildas nodded. "We should get him to the healers, if we can."

Shelton glanced up, surprised that no one had attacked them while they knelt there, completely exposed to enemy weapons. The battle was still going on, but Varin must have given commands to leave this spot on the field, commands that couldn't be broken by whatever control was still on his soldiers.

"Where's your father?" Shelton asked, looking back at Wildas. The look on the prince's face was enough to tell him. "Where?"

Wildas looked past him and Shelton realized just how focused he'd been on Wildas and Coulta; he'd run right past Deandre. But he ran to him now and knelt beside his crumpled form. He could barely look at that familiar face now slack in death. This was not how he wanted to remember that face.

He closed his eyes as the grief hit him with the memory of their last kiss, but he drew a deep breath and forced himself to his feet. Mourn later, he told himself. There was too much that needed to be done.

Wildas was standing now, watching him. Shelton had promised Deandre that he would help Wildas, and that was what he needed to do. He moved closer to where Deandre's heir stood, but as he started to kneel, Wildas grabbed his arm.

"Don't," Wildas commanded. "I'm deferring to you."

Shelton raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Wildas gestured to the field around them with his free hand. "Who would people rather see in charge right now, with all of this?"

Shelton had to admit that he had a point. "All right," he agreed with a nod.

Rohan suddenly appeared from the battle. He had a bloody cut on his left cheek and his Guard uniform was splattered with mud and blood. He'd obviously seen them talking instead of fighting and had come to find out what was happening. But his eyes found his father's body and he stopped in his tracks.

Wildas finally released Shelton and stepped closer to his brother, holding up a hand. "I'm deferring to Shelton."

"What happened?" was all Rohan said.

"Varin," Wildas answered. "Coulta barely managed to keep him from killing me."

"Then where is the bastard's body?"

That was a question Shelton hadn't had time to ask himself. He looked around and realized there were several piles of ash around them. "I think the powers Coulta used turned Varin and his closest supporters to dust."

"What's holding this twisted magic over his soldiers, if he's dead?" Wildas asked. "And what is this magic, anyway?"

"Something stronger than a curse," Shelton said thoughtfully as he started looking around the trampled grass, blood, and ash. "Evil blood magic."

"I thought all blood magic was evil?" Rohan asked, watching him.

"Only when it's used for evil," Shelton answered. "There are plenty of good uses for it."

Something reflected the sunlight from the ash, and Shelton knelt to uncover a large golden lozenge on a plain string. Varin must have worn it around his neck, but how anyone could wear something as long as a man's hand and as wide as two fingers, made of heavy metal, was beyond him. The gold had a red tint to it and was inscribed with what he knew were necromantic runes.

"I need one of Coulta's blades," he said, holding up a hand. He didn't take his eyes off the necklace, letting his mind and magic work together in search of the right words of power to counter the evil in front of him.

He had a terrible idea of where the thing had come from, just like the poor unicorns. If he could completely destroy the necklace, he might be able to damage the source enough to buy them a few months to rebuild and prepare.

One of the princes put the hilt of a dagger in his hand and he took a deep breath. He hadn't needed to use any of the magic he'd stored in the stones on his armor yet, but he knew he was close to that point. He didn't think the power he planned to use would drain him to the point of no return, but it was always possible for him to miscalculate when he'd never done something like this before. He thought about warning Wildas, but decided against it.

He knelt over the necklace, grasping the dagger's hilt with both hands, and pressed the tip lightly to the golden surface. "Stay back," he told Wildas and Rohan. "I've never tried to destroy something like this before."

So much for not warning Wildas. The prince was smart enough to realize something could go wrong. Shelton didn't look at him, though. Instead, he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath.

He needed to counter the magic in the necklace by using words of power and magic that were complete opposites to what made and held the controlling magic in place – and by using more power than what had been used to create the lozenge. He hoped he had more magic at his disposal than the necromancer he was indirectly dealing with.

The words he needed became clear in his mind and he started to draw on his power, preparing it to channel down the Altmyr blade.

"Lyms!" he said clearly. Light.

Magic flowed through him and he felt the blade cut slightly into the gold. That was a good sign.

"Esovu!" Life.

The blade went slightly deeper and hit a different material. Shelton suspected it was bone, considering the magic.

"Mazut!" Goodness.

The blade passed through the bone and into gold again.

"Kush s' kush!" Death in death.

The blade pierced the ground and the necklace broke completely apart with a horrible stench of decay and a rumbling of tainted magic. Shelton threw himself backwards as the gold melted into a pool of blood and the bone turned to ash. He dropped the dagger and shook the cramps from his hands, noticing that he had drained the magic from all but three of the stones on each gauntlet.

The sounds of battle became the sounds of hundreds of weapons being thrown down and voices begging to be spared.

Shelton looked up at Rohan, who was staring at the pool of blood. "Take them prisoner until we can question them. They are our people and shouldn't be murdered if they were forced into this, which I'm sure they were. Find some help to take Coulta to the healers, and family members to stand guard over your father until he can be moved."

"And make sure everyone knows Shelton is the one in charge for now," Wildas added.

Rohan nodded and gave them a salute before sprinting away, yelling, "Take prisoners!"

Shelton sat for a moment, overcome with the exhaustion of using so much magic. He looked over at Wildas, who was now sitting beside Coulta's unconscious form. Shelton picked up the dagger and handed it over. Wildas took it and slid it back into the sheath on Coulta's belt.

"His sword should be over there somewhere," Wildas said, sounding almost as tired as Shelton felt.

Shelton found the sword almost directly in front of him, and passed it over. "You should speak to the prisoners with me."

Wildas nodded as he returned the sword to his husband's belt. "I will."

Yvona walked up to them, gazing sadly at Deandre's body. She had a cut on one arm, but it didn't appear to be bleeding badly, and she was limping slightly. "Rohan told me," she stated. "I'll stand watch." Then she spotted Coulta. "Is he –"

"He'll be fine, I'm sure," Shelton said, cutting her off and briefly explaining what Coulta had done.

"I didn't know he could do that," she commented, in obvious awe.

"I doubt he did, either."

More family members began to arrive to stand watch over Deandre for the time being, and Shelton forced himself to get slowly to his feet. Deandre's attendant, his brother Tacus, stood beside Yvona, both of them taking their duty more seriously then anyone else possibly could have.

It took several more minutes before anyone could bring a litter to carry Coulta to the castle, and it was Star who finally did so. Shelton could see the rest of the wounded being tended to. Some would surely need care before they could be moved. The castle wasn't close to the battlefield, but it was the best place for the wounded to recover without being moved constantly, and the Hall was the biggest space available for such things.

Wildas watched Coulta being carried away by Star and a few members of the Guard. Shelton allowed him that moment, then looked to where all of Varin's soldiers were sitting under guard.

"There's more work to do," he said quietly.

Wildas nodded. "Let's go."