"My apologies, gentlemen." Nolyn tried to sound as gallant as possible. "It appears you are to be sacrificed along with me, and for that, I'm sincerely sorry." "What do you mean, Your Highness?" Jerel DeMardefeld asked. Nolyn remembered his name because it sounded as absurdly dignified as the man looked. DeMardefeld stood out from the rest by virtue of his exceptional plate armor and polished weapons, making even Nolyn appear a pauper. At that moment, the impeccably bedecked soldier stared incredulously, as if Nolyn had just declared the sun was but a lie. Nolyn took a breath.

"I'm about to be assassinated, and because someone wants my death to be seen as a casualty of war, all of you will have the misfortune of joining me." He frowned, felt the need to say more, and added, "You deserve better." They didn't break, which surprised Nolyn. Legions were held together by discipline and faith in the infallibility of their leaders, even unfamiliar ones. By admitting defeat, he had cut those invisible bonds. They were free to run, to panic, or if nothing else, to at least complain. Instead, they remained silent, though their eyes shifted to the ground. They're all thinking the same thing: dirt.

This day has forced everyone to become a philosopher. "I don't understand," the First Spear said. "If that's true, why didn't you take the horse? Why send the scout? It'll take days for any help to arrive, and we only have hours. You've thrown away your only hope of escape." "Did I? What a fool I am." Nolyn moved to a fallen tree and began breaking off dead branches. "What's your name, First Spear?" "Amicus, sir." "Well, Amicus, you're a bright fellow.

" Nolyn snapped another stick. "Which is why I'm turning command of this squadron over to you." "Me? But you're the prymus, sir." "Not anymore. You're going to do your best to lead these men to safety. I'm going to stay here and build a nice fire." "Oh, no, sir!" one of the others said. Nolyn didn't know his name, either, but the spike on his helmet declared he was the squadron's Second Spear.

"You can't do that, sir. You'll bring the ghazel for sure. Building a fire is like hanging a lantern in a swamp. You'll draw in a cloud of them, but these pests have four-inch claws and fangs." "That's what he wants," Jerel said with absolute conviction. "He plans to distract the ghazel to help us escape.".