In the south wood of Luthania, King Alfred reined Oskar in and wiped a grimy sleeve across his sweaty brow. “Move the catapults to the left,” he ordered as cannons fired to his right. For the past several days, they had managed to keep the swell of Lord DuPraye’s army at bay, but he knew they could not hold out much longer.

“Sire,” one of the soldiers said. “There’s a message from Lord Bolden.”

Looking behind him, the king saw Marxin approaching, a folded parchment in his thin hands. Lord Bolden and his men at Hazelwood Village were also under heavy attack, but so far, had been keeping their position and the village. From the expression on the Braitte’s face, the king knew the message contained bad news.

Marxin reached the king and the bay stallio...

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