Daigo chuffed and rose. He peered out at the field. Then he snorted, his yellow eyes narrowing. Moria turned to look and--
"Tyrus?" She scrambled up. "Tyrus."
He was gone. She started forward. Daigo caught her trouser leg and growled, telling her to pause and consider. Tyrus had not vanished from the field but simply from her sight. The battlefield was an amorphous thing, always contracting and expanding, and it had constricted again. Where Tyrus had stood, there was a knot of flashing swords, so dense Moria could not tell who was fighting whom, let alone pick out one warrior in the seething mass. She looked for his helmet. Surely she'd see that red dragon helmet. Yet she could not.
Tyrus was there. He had to be.
She crept through the long grass and around the sparse trees. She had her cloak on, hood pulled tight to cover her light hair. It did not, however, ma
sk her face, and she'd gone about half the distance when one of the warlord's men--a young warrior--looked her way. As he did, his opponent lifted his sword, taking advantage of the momentary distraction. Without thinking, Moria flung her dagger square at the man's chest, as she'd been taught, and it was only as the dagger left her hand that she realized what she'd done.
The dagger hit its target. It pierced the simple leather tunic the bandit wore and drove squarely into his heart. His eyes widened. She saw the realization in those eyes. The horror and the fear. And she saw him fall.
She stumbled to a halt, staring at the downed bandit. He lay ten paces away, his mouth working, his fingers fumbling blindly for the dagger. He pulled it free, and the blood gushed, soaking his tunic, running off him in torrents. His life blood. Spilling on the ground, unstoppered by that dagger.
No, by her dagger.
I've killed a man.
She had fought her father's corpse and banished the shadow stalker within. She'd helped bring down the thunder hawk. With the slavers they'd fought on the road, while she'd injured two, the only man who'd died had not been by her hand. The scene flashed in her mind, Gavril's blade cleaving through a man, his look of shock as he realized he'd killed him. Shock and, yes, horror, and now that's what she felt, watching this bandit die.
I've killed a man.
Moria looked out over the battlefield. At the men on the ground. Dead and dying. Some bandits. Some the warlord's men. A couple of their own--warriors she'd traveled with for days now. There lay Kinuye, who'd recently married and carried a lock of his new wife's hair. There lay Reynard, whose young son just won his first riding tournament.
"My lady."
It was the young man she'd saved. He was rushing to her side, awkwardly bowing as he hurried over.
"Thank you, my lady."
She looked at him, her gaze struggling to focus. Then she glanced at the bandit, lying still on the ground, her dagger at his side.
I regret that I had to do it. But I do not regret what I've done. I cannot.
Her gaze swept the battlefield. Her ears rang with the clang of swords, but they did not miss the softer sounds--the gasps and the grunts and the cries of pain.
I regret that all of this had to happen. But it did. They die and a town is saved. That is the warrior's duty. To die so that others may live.
She took a deep breath and clutched her remaining dagger. Daigo sprinted off to retrieve her other blade.
Moria turned to the warlord's man. "I apologize for distracting you in battle. I'm watching over Prince Tyrus, and I lost sight of him, so I was getting closer." She peered into the melee. "I still do not see him."
"He was beset, my lady."
"What?"
"Three men went after him at once. On a signal, I think. I was going to his aid--"
She lunged toward the battlefield. The young warrior caught her arm.
"They did not cut him down, my lady. They surrounded him, and they were driving him off in that direction--" He pointed. "They mean to take him hostage. I'm certain of it."
"Then we'll make sure they do not succeed."
The young warrior led Moria around the battlefield. Some of the men noticed her, but only a few and thankfully none of them was distracted.
As they hurried around the camp, Moria searched the fighters for Tyrus, in case the young warrior was mistaken. But there was no sign of him.