himself sitting around a fire with fifteen other young men, finishing up dinner.
Letting the boisterous conversation flow around him, Anson felt a slight tickle at the edge of his mental perception. Casually looking around the fire, he realized one of the soldiers on the far side, boys a few years older than the recruits, must be a Demon. It could be any one of a dozen young men lounging a short distance away.
So, the Network wasn’t as easily discouraged as he’d hoped, obviously hoping to finish on campaign what had started in the castle.
But now Anson felt more confident of his ability to elude the Demons. Clearly, his own innate sensitivity for power was far keener than anything possessed by those pursuing him. After all, he’d only been detected in the castle after a Demon had actually brushed against him, while the royals themselves seemed blissfully unaware of his presence.
Still, the veil of worry and fear descended once again as Anson laid out his bedroll that night. Sleeping underneath the stars, he fitfully dreamed of the dark-haired royal princess, smiling warmly at him from within endless fields of corn.
***
Three days later the royal army entered the Outlands.
The Kardens let them get a mile into the heavily forested area before striking. After repulsing the initial surge, Anson found himself part of a flanking force sent to attack the Kardens from the side. But the little trolls had anticipated the maneuver. In the midst of their flanking sweep, about half-a-mile from the main force, Anson’s unit was charged by several hundred Karden warriors.
Along the way he’d wondered if he could actually kill the tiny men, but in the heat of battle there was no choice. Anson skewered one through the neck, bashing another with his sword hilt. But now Kardens were swinging through the air on sturdy vines, shooting arrows down onto human heads. His inner clarion sang out, allowing Anson to mentally deflect a deadly projectile at the last moment. Hopefully, with their own hands full, none of his mates had noticed.
Twice more during the next hour Anson was forced to use his power, once to deflect another arrow, and again to reach out and trip a Karden who was about to dispatch one of his fellow soldiers. The man in question, a sturdy, serious corporal named Senter, quickly stood and drove his own sword through the prostrate Karden. Once more Anson’s inner warning signal sounded, but in the heat of battle there was no way to tell exactly why.
Sometime later Anson’s contingent withdrew, suffering fifteen dead and twice as many wounded. Digging trenches into the soft ground, the men prepared to spend the night in hostile country.
Thoughtfully eying Anson shoveling dirt on the far side of the encampment, Senter gingerly touched his slashed cheek, making plans for the next day.
***
That very same evening Lydia and her mother were having a late dinner in their royal apartment. Word had reached the castle by carrier pigeon only an hour before of the day’s clash in the Outlands. Details were still murky, though, leaving everyone on edge.
But Anson’s safety was only one concern for the young princess. Try as she might, Lydia had been unable to banish Prince Tenen’s outlandish warnings from her mind. Gathering her courage, she finally decided to directly address them with Aprina.
“Mother,” Lydia boldly began. “Prince Tenen has made some bizarre allegations about you.”
Pausing only momentarily, Aprina tried to keep her voice level. “And what might those be, dear?”
Briefly Lydia related Tenen’s vague tale of Aprina’s supposed enemies near the King, and the danger her mother could be in. She decided to leave out the prince’s reference to her mother’s “past,” unsure what that could mean.
“He also asked for my hand in marriage,” Lydia concluded, quickly looking downward. “But Mother, I don’t want to marry him!”
“Of course not, dear.” Aprina gave a tense
Letting the boisterous conversation flow around him, Anson felt a slight tickle at the edge of his mental perception. Casually looking around the fire, he realized one of the soldiers on the far side, boys a few years older than the recruits, must be a Demon. It could be any one of a dozen young men lounging a short distance away.
So, the Network wasn’t as easily discouraged as he’d hoped, obviously hoping to finish on campaign what had started in the castle.
But now Anson felt more confident of his ability to elude the Demons. Clearly, his own innate sensitivity for power was far keener than anything possessed by those pursuing him. After all, he’d only been detected in the castle after a Demon had actually brushed against him, while the royals themselves seemed blissfully unaware of his presence.
Still, the veil of worry and fear descended once again as Anson laid out his bedroll that night. Sleeping underneath the stars, he fitfully dreamed of the dark-haired royal princess, smiling warmly at him from within endless fields of corn.
***
Three days later the royal army entered the Outlands.
The Kardens let them get a mile into the heavily forested area before striking. After repulsing the initial surge, Anson found himself part of a flanking force sent to attack the Kardens from the side. But the little trolls had anticipated the maneuver. In the midst of their flanking sweep, about half-a-mile from the main force, Anson’s unit was charged by several hundred Karden warriors.
Along the way he’d wondered if he could actually kill the tiny men, but in the heat of battle there was no choice. Anson skewered one through the neck, bashing another with his sword hilt. But now Kardens were swinging through the air on sturdy vines, shooting arrows down onto human heads. His inner clarion sang out, allowing Anson to mentally deflect a deadly projectile at the last moment. Hopefully, with their own hands full, none of his mates had noticed.
Twice more during the next hour Anson was forced to use his power, once to deflect another arrow, and again to reach out and trip a Karden who was about to dispatch one of his fellow soldiers. The man in question, a sturdy, serious corporal named Senter, quickly stood and drove his own sword through the prostrate Karden. Once more Anson’s inner warning signal sounded, but in the heat of battle there was no way to tell exactly why.
Sometime later Anson’s contingent withdrew, suffering fifteen dead and twice as many wounded. Digging trenches into the soft ground, the men prepared to spend the night in hostile country.
Thoughtfully eying Anson shoveling dirt on the far side of the encampment, Senter gingerly touched his slashed cheek, making plans for the next day.
***
That very same evening Lydia and her mother were having a late dinner in their royal apartment. Word had reached the castle by carrier pigeon only an hour before of the day’s clash in the Outlands. Details were still murky, though, leaving everyone on edge.
But Anson’s safety was only one concern for the young princess. Try as she might, Lydia had been unable to banish Prince Tenen’s outlandish warnings from her mind. Gathering her courage, she finally decided to directly address them with Aprina.
“Mother,” Lydia boldly began. “Prince Tenen has made some bizarre allegations about you.”
Pausing only momentarily, Aprina tried to keep her voice level. “And what might those be, dear?”
Briefly Lydia related Tenen’s vague tale of Aprina’s supposed enemies near the King, and the danger her mother could be in. She decided to leave out the prince’s reference to her mother’s “past,” unsure what that could mean.
“He also asked for my hand in marriage,” Lydia concluded, quickly looking downward. “But Mother, I don’t want to marry him!”
“Of course not, dear.” Aprina gave a tense
Similar Books
