"I will meet these men," Kelton said with a growing smile. Striker and the King seemed surprised at the request. Kelton rose from his chair and moved toward the door as if it were decided.

"I have not given their reports, my Prince," Striker said, moving to keep up and looking back at the King.

"They have earned my gratitude and my attention," Kelton said as he held open the tent flap for Striker to lead. "If all in this army are as bold, none can stop us." They needed heroes, and three had shown they were of that ilk. Kelton would make sure others knew them as well.

"Go," the King said, waving the two away. "There are things I must do to settle this merged army. We will speak of the reports later." The logistics had become a chore and needed to be settled if they were to be successful. Juno was out with Floren, organizing those who had vacated the nighthouses into units of care. If there were to be blood, the ex-cursed would see it stopped. In a way, Kelton had begun to feel useless as everything churned around him. The returned spies gave him a purpose, if only for a moment.

Kelton followed Striker to a small fire, one of many amidst the growing camp. Ten or so men were gathered listening to a young soldier sitting upon a crate explaining about being chased. His hair was pulled back, bound into a short tail, and his eyes bright with excitement.

"Nay, nay, it was not the plan I tell you," the man said. "I was not watching my feet and tripped in a hole. I thought the end was upon me. It was then those dark warriors rose from the ground as if sent by the Goddess herself." His hand made an arching streak in front of him. "Those tiny spears flew faster than any bird, right over my head. I could hear their wind and the thuds as they found their marks." He took a deep breath. "To hear their captain's shout, well, it was that of an angel to be sure, though I did not know its meaning." He nodded his head. "A woman she was, and she smiled at me when I rose from the grass."

"It was the bravery that pleased her," Kelton said, announcing his presence. Men straightened as if he were their captain, most rising. He used his hands to try and settle them back into their comfort. "Stay as you were. I have only come to meet those who risk all for this land."

"My Prince," the man who was speaking said. Ignoring Kelton's words and gestures, he stood.

"In this, you are my Prince," Kelton said, moving forward and clasping wrists with the man. "Your name, sir?"

"Hollan," the man replied.

"A great name for a glorious tale," Kelton said, then chuckled and tapped his fist on Hollan's chest. "Tripped, you say. I say the Goddess put that hole there to lower your head, Hollan." That brought out laughter in those gathered, joined by calls about Hollan not needing more holes in his skull.

"It was a daring risk you took," Kelton continued. "I am forever thankful you still breathe. Striker said you and ... who are the other two?"

"Peam and Val," Striker said, pointing out the two other spies in the group. They were both slim and looked built for speed; Peam, a bit older with a strip of hair under his nose, and Val with skin tan as a deer's hide. Kelton took each in turn, grasping wrists as if they were well known to each other.

"Sit with me," Kelton told the three and gestured for Striker to join them. Striker looked concerned about the number who surrounded them. Kelton winked. "If there are spies among this lot, I am blind to them. They all look like brothers to me." That caused more laughter, which brought a sigh out of Striker, whose eye roll looked as if Yanda had taught it. They all claimed the ground.

"Striker said you were among the best, and I see it now," Kelton said. "I know of your intrigue and swiftness. Now, I will know of what you saw."

"My Prince...," Striker began.

"I desire to hear it from those who saw it," Kelton interrupted with a raised palm. It was a considerable risk these men took. Be it good or bad news, attention was the one reward Kelton could offer now for such bravery, given that some may not survive the coming battle.

"Planks of iron are what we saw," Peam said. He spread his arms out, a bit wider than his shoulders, then raised a hand above his head - about the height of a standing man's chest.

"Aye," Val agreed, nodding. "Never seen so much iron. They were practicing in a line, plank against plank, as if it were a wall. They thrust their swords out between them."

"Shields," Kelton said with some surprise. It made sense, though he did not think the Brethren had such things. Perhaps he was not the first who had attempted such an insurrection. Arrows will be of little effect if they hide behind shields. "In a line, you say?"

"Aye," Hollan concurred. "Great lines stepping together." He stood and demonstrated, taking a half-step forward, then the other foot to catch up. He repeated the process. "It is slow movement, yet the wall moved as one. I think it is meant to push men."

"It is," Kelton agreed. He had read much about the shields in battle, though he had only seen them mounted on walls as decoration. Jutney's tactic required the Brethren to be surrounded, something a wall of shields would greatly hinder. The Nagada knew how to deal with them, but they were across the sea. Rolic's journal, the one he wrote as first king, referenced the uselessness of shields against the Nagada. Kelton wondered if it could be taught in short order or required winters of learning like most Nagada tactics.

"There were some like the dark warriors as well," Hollan said. "Small spears hitting trees from far away." He pointed to the lone latrine tent at least fifty paces away. "Farther away than that."

Bows Kelton had expected. It was the line of shields that concerned him most. He had envisioned using speed to weaken the bows. From his time in the library, he learned that a fast charge would limit the number of volleys, and moving targets were difficult to hit. If it were quick enough, the Brethren would be shooting their own in the back if they continued. Now there were shields that would stall any frontal advance, and Knowing blades thrusting from behind them. There must be a way to break that formation. Perhaps overloading from the flanks as the main force threatened the center, disallowing the wall to shift. A risk since the Knowing would announce the tactic well before it arrived. If the numbers were right and the men fast enough, it could work - or was he fooling himself.

"It is good to know such things," Kelton said with forced optimism in his tone. "There are ways to thwart such tactics, and we will use them." Hollan smiled, as did the others. Confidence was as important as training, and since half his army lacked one, he needed to flood the other.

"And what of numbers?" Kelton asked.

"They did not line up for us, my Prince," Peam replied. "A guess between us is all we have."

"Your eyes were there, so your guess is better than mine."

"Same as our count, afore those who left for the Brethren," Peam said. He received nods from Hollan and Val. "It is the number of tents and such. They take the same space as our army," His eyes widened as he realized his words. "Well, our army has grown now. It is the count afore the ones you brought." Again, Hollan and Val acknowledged the assessment.

Kelton forced a smile. "Then we are more than twice their number. A sweet thing to learn." He wondered if they could see the lie in his eyes. Their estimate meant that about two thousand Brethren had gathered. Though the count had not been completed, he possessed perhaps four and a half thousand and many of those weakly trained. He had been hoping for five-to-one odds against the Knowing. Two-to-one is far below what was needed.

"We have heard tell that you have devised a way to kill the Brethren," A soldier said. He was standing behind Peam with nervous eyes. Perhaps Striker was correct in his attempt to have the discussion in private.

"Aye," Kelton said. "Though it was not I who devised it. The man who did so is the devious sort who thinks sideways. Jutney is his name, and I am grateful his sword is with ours." He stood and walked over to the man who had spoken. "You, all of you, will be taught how it is done." He looked around the small crowd, then resorted to another half-lie. "The Goddess has brought you to this field, as she did Jutney. You will see her light shining on me when the battle begins, though it will be from my backside, for I will be in the front."

"I would gamble my next meal that I can run faster than you, my Prince," the man said boldly. He was tall and fit enough for the boast.

Kelton laughed and patted the man's back. "Then it is your backside I will be following, or mayhap, you will go hungry." That brought out other boasts and enough guffawing to quelch the worry that had grown. Kelton smiled while he fought the uneasiness that was filling him. Perhaps he was looking at men who would soon be slaughtered. His stomach churned and knotted at the responsibility he foolishly assumed. Two thousand Brethren, trepidation surpassing any night terror he ever dreamt trembled in his bones.

"I must share your words with my father," Kelton said. Exiting the group was his fondest wish at the moment. "Peam, Hollan, and Val, I shall pass your names onto the King. May we all be so brave."

Kelton left the men in a state of shared bravado, some calling for a repeat of Hollan's tale of escape. Kelton wondered how long it would take before the number of Brethren began to eat at their courage as it had his.

"It is worse than they saw, my Prince," Striker said, his voice low as they walked. Kelton purposely avoided other fires and the greetings that would ensue. He needed time to think.

"Worse?"

"Aye," Striker replied. "That is if you trust the word of Fingers. I know little of the man, yet trusted him in the past. He has yet to disappoint."

"I would trust him with my life and have done so," Kelton said.

"By his word, there are two camps of Brethren," Striker continued. "Though not entered like this one, both claim supply wagons of equal measure. The second is far deeper in the woods." He pointed in the same direction as the known Brethren camp.

"Two?" Kelton said, hiding his surprise. He began to think his stomach would reject its contents.

"I did not think it wise to mention it in front of others," Striker said while nodding.

"Four thousand," Kelton whispered. They were barely above one-to-one.

"More than I would have guessed, my Prince," Striker added.

Kelton sighed, his mind running through the possible strategies, all seeming to fail. A defeat would brand the coming deaths useless. It is the victor who defines heroes and results, not the vanquished. Striker had spoken quietly yet did not falter or grow desponded.

"You do not seem discouraged," Kelton said.

"You are the Answer, my Prince," Striker responded. "Though I know it not, there is a way, and you will find it. What is cannot remain."

"It has become an awful burden," Kelton admitted.

Striker lept in front of Kelton, stopping their movement. He bowed slightly. "Move what you will to my shoulders. My life is yours, my Prince."

Kelton stared at the man, the smell of him reminding Kelton of the damp forest from his youth. Striker's words were honest, and he seemed to understand what was being asked of Kelton. That alone shifted the burden and made room for clear thought. Striker believed there was a solution, so there must be one. The man's hope was foolish and smelled of wet wood, yet Kelton allowed it to draw him in.

"Rolic," Kelton said aloud.

"Who?"

"Rolic," Kelton repeated. "He has fought wars of this kind. Well, not of the Knowing but with shields and bows. His words were among those I learned strategies from, the importance of feeding an army and such."

"He is here?" Striker asked.

"Aye, for a thousand years," Kelton felt the burden lighten. He looked at Striker and smiled. "A Brother who has turned on the Brethren. Mayhap he will have some insight." He started walking, using a large gait to cover the ground quickly. "That is if he still breathes."

"A Brother?" Striker asked as he rushed to keep up.

Rolic did not want to wake. He was pleased his body agreed, weakness fighting hard to convince his mind that reality had no purpose. Another tremor traveled through his shoulders and his ears awoke, losing the battle and listening to a voice he knew well. Existence, something he dreaded, began to trickle back under his skin. Kelton was waking him and would not be denied.

"Leave me be," Rolic said, or perhaps he only thought it.

"I need your mind," Kelton demanded. There was another with him that awoke the Knowing. There was a wonderful intent in the other, a confident desire to strike deep into Rolic's heart. A moment of reality was worth a quicker end.

Rolic's eyes flickered, letting light stab into his eyes. It was morning, or perhaps evening. Thankfully the sun was not overhead and thrusting blindness into his skull. A hand not his own moved to clear the crud from Rolic's eyes. He would have left it there, for it felt more like a blanket than a bother.

Something dripped into his mouth. Precious water, craved and cool, wet his tongue. Nothing of this world mattered, yet his body denied it and parted the lips to claim more of the liquid. He had forgotten he was thirsty.

"You did not tell me there were so many Brethren," Kelton said.

Rolic smiled. He doubted it went to his lips. "You did not ask." It came out as more wind than words. He coughed to empty his thick throat and repeated it.

"Death is at his door," the other said. "And no better place for it to be." There was hatred in the words. It pleased Rolic - honest payment for stolen winters.

"Aye," Rolic grumbled. "Let him have me." He meant the other man, though he was sure Kelton would think he meant death.

"Sheath your blade, Striker," Kelton said.

"Mayhap he is the one who ended my niece, and thus my sister," Striker said. He hissed like a snake with venom on his breath.

"Aye," Rolic mumbled. "It may have been me." An arm reached out, fueled by the Knowing, and caught Striker's wrist mid-thrust. "Let him be," Rolic pleaded.

"You claim I am the Answer," Kelton said, speaking to Striker. "Then know it is my will that this man dies as the Goddess deems, not by yours or anyone else's hand."

Rolic heard a grunt of resignation, then the movement of fabric indicating the return of a blade to its holder. He forced his eyes to open fully and took in the two who stood at the side of the wagon. Striker looked at home in the woods, gruff and clothed for it. He also looked as if he knew how to end breath quickly. Rolic felt as if Striker and he understood each other - friends, in a way.

"He deserves his vengeance," Rolic said to Kelton. His throat felt hard and filled with gravel.

"By my guess, he has four thousand other chances to extract it," Kelton said.

"Near so," Rolic said. "The need of daughters grows with each winter."

"You are vile," Striker hissed.

"Aye," Rolic agreed. "You see me as I see myself." He coughed, dragging knives against his throat.

"They have large shields and bows as well," Kelton said, his voice hurried. Perhaps he thought death would beat him to his information. "I have not the numbers to engage against the wall they will form. You were a master of war long ago. Surely you faced such things."

"A time or two," Rolic said. He moved to wipe his mouth, his arm complaining about bending. Kelton leaned over the edge of the wagon and dripped water from a mug into Rolic's mouth. It was crisp and full of life, something that should be avoided.

"Horses," Rolic said. He took a deep breath. "Many in a line armed with long lance. But you have only beasts of burden here. They are as likely to break as run into war."

"Long lance?" Striker asked.

"A lengthy spear, much heavier and metal-tipped," Kelton said. He had seen some in the library mounted on a wall. Each at least two men long.

"Aye," Rolic agreed. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. The water pleased the tongue, but the throat preferred to remain still. "Each horse must run side by side with the others, none in front of the other. It will offer the shield line no room to move, and if a horse falls, it will take none of the others with it. You will find that horses fear less with a companion at their side. " A heavy breath later. "The Knowing cannot sense animals, a slight help." He waved his hand in from the side. "Drive at the flanks, and follow with many on foot." He closed his eyes again. "They will know you are coming, but if the line of horses holds, fear will come with you."

"I sensed an animal once," Kelton said. "I had almost forgotten it, though not the damage done. It was the beast who marked me."

Rolic's eyes opened fully, sharp as if they were no longer seeking the dark. "You were not in this land?"

"Aye," Kelton replied. "I sensed the thing's hunger and its desire to seek easier prey. Foggy at first, yet clear after a moment. It is what bonded me with the Nagada."

"And you still believe you are not guided?" Rolic said.

"I have felt pushed and pulled throughout," Kelton replied. "That you still breathe to tell me of the horses is another such sign."

"And yet, you deny the last-of-the-line," Rolic said. He was dying, so keeping his promise not to mention the tale again no longer felt sacrosanct. Impending death made promises moot. "Even your dreams tell you otherwise."

"Dreams?" Striker asked.

"It is nothing," Kelton said with a sigh. "The man is dying and sees truth where none exists." His eyes found Rolic, sharper than they were before. "This line of horses, it worked in the past."

"Against shields, aye," Rolic replied. He wondered if his view of the last-of-the-line had sunk deeper into Kelton. Mentioning it again now would only solidify anger, so he moved on. " Many more were trampled than speared, sending their line into disarray. Though, those men did not have the Knowing."

"The Knowing has a weakness," Kelton said. "I need five-to-one in men to kill them. The shield wall has to break."

"Shields slow men down," Rolic said. "The Brethren's shields are large and heavy; they will be slow to move and fearful of dropping them with bows about."

"Small, fast sorties," Kelton said. "One flank, then the other. Over and over again."

Rolic smiled, though he was sure his chapped lips gave it a ghastly look. "It is a start, a good one. Know that they will adapt. Your horses will tire. Unarmoured, they will become targets for arrows." Kelton thought as Rolic did, adjusting the simple tactic and adapting it for the enemy. "You will need many soldiers."

"We have more swords than men," Kelton admitted. "The King has emptied the armories, and with the blades the Sorinnians brought, each man has his choice, two each if they desired. Alas, they are not Nagada, and I fear for the untrained wielding one. Half my force is lacking skill."

"Who moves your wagons?" Rolic asked.

"They are not soldiers," Kelton replied.