A/N: Happy January everyone! And a belated Happy New year to everyone who follows the Gregorian Calendar. I do apologize for the delay in this chapter. I was having some health and family troubles and it made it difficult to write, but I'm back now and hope to stay that way. A big shout out and thanks to all my readers: you guys are amazing and truly make writing worthwhile.

*Important Note*: I posted a chapter in November but, at the time, Fanfiction was having technical difficulties. Unless a person had the app, they were unable to read or access the chapter for about a week before the issue was fixed. That said, if you didn't read Chapter 26, it might be worthwhile to check it out before reading this one: otherwise, things might not make much sense.

Dragonslover98: I like long chapters too—so long as they're not too long, that is XD I adore the HaltCorwley bromance. It's always been one of my favorite parts of the book: WillHorace too! The answers to those are going to be in this chapter. I certainly hope the battles/action end up being cool/good. Thanks so much for the review, I really appreciate it.

Ziviah10: Thank you! I love Halt and Crowley too! So, I'm glad you think I'm doing alright portraying them. Things will start to come about this chapter and next. Thanks again for the review!

BellatrixTheStar: Thanks so much! To be honest, I'm usually a bit reserved about AUs as well, so I was hoping to avoid some of the pitfalls that I don't like to encounter in them XD. It's actually been pretty great finally getting to the part where everything all comes together in regard to the plot. Thanks again for the kind words/encouragement and the review! It made my day to read!

CoffeeAndOakLeaves: Thanks! Truthfully, I have really enjoyed finally getting to the part where all the plot threads converge, so I'm glad to hear that it has been fun to read as well. I actually wrote a lot of the flashbacks first, before starting the story in earnest, and enjoyed trying to find the best places to put them in regards to chapter content. I love Halt and Crowley and love their banter in the books too. I realized, as I was writing, that logically Will and Horace would have a different skill set this time around if they both had been trained by Gilan instead of just Rodney and Halt respectively. I also was a little disappointed when reading the Inkwell and the Dagger that, although we got the 'how' of Douglass's betrayal, we didn't really get the 'why': especially in regard as to why he found Morgarath and his camp appealing in the first place. Thanks so much for the review! I really appreciate it!

potato-ranger: The answer to those questions will be answered in this chapter and the next, I promise XD. Thanks so much for pointing out that spelling error, I really appreciate the constructive criticism. I went through and fixed those spots; I hope it reads better now. Thanks so much for the compliment. You write really well too; I think and I enjoy reading your works as well! Thanks again!

Chapter 27: Ploy Part II

~x~X~x~

Around a Few Years After the Battle of Hackham Heath

~x~X~x~

Breathe in, breathe out; the phrase had become a mantra, ringing around the back of his mind.

Baron Arald stood upon a high ledge overlooking the sea. The white cliffs glowed an eerie, dull, faint grey in the moonlight—all color bled away with the darkness, with the night, with the terror. The crashing of the waves below couldn't drown out the pounding of his heart as the chill wind stirred his surcoat. It ruffled through the sweaty hair on the nape of his neck—hair that was still raised in primal warning, in terror—as he removed the helm that had suddenly grown to feel so constricting. It was as if he could still feel the way the beast had frozen him with its gaze, rendered him helpless, unable to even breathe as its claws descended. If it hadn't been for Rodney and David… He shuddered.

Breathe in, breathe out.

He clutched his helm tightly, panting as his lungs gasped for air. He stared hard at the dark frothing water below, but could see no sign of the nightmare he had sent into its depths in that last desperate charge. He kept his eyes locked on the spot where the monster had disappeared beneath the waves for several moments to make absolutely certain. But there was nothing save the crash of the waves and the chill hiss of wind.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Finally, his breathing seemed to steady, to even out, now that he was certain that his foe was gone. He turned to his left, glancing at Rodney. The other knight met his wide-eyed gaze. As if of silent mutual accord, they both finally lowered their guards. The threat was gone.

Gone...

As one, the two hurried back to where their friend was lying on the ground, armor rent, back and side slick with dark blood that soaked slowly into the ground beneath him to mingle with that of the three lifeless men beside him…

Good men… Good knights… Arald tore his eyes away to focus on the one he still had a chance to save.

"David. David, stay with me," he said, kneeling by the Battlemaster's side. Quick hands forced to steadiness undid the straps on armor to pull it free. He accepted the water and bandages passed to him by a grim-faced Rodney. Arald quickly field-dressed those long claw-rend gashes. He pulled the bandages tight to the sound of a pained groan from the man beneath him. The white fabric stained dark with blood but then stopped—the pressure enough to stem the flow… for now.

Arald relaxed a little. Though he couldn't be certain, when the dim moonlight didn't reveal details to his eyes, he was fairly confident that the injuries wouldn't be life-threatening; so long as he got his friend professional help quickly enough.

As if reading his thoughts, Rodney knelt to help lift the badly injured knight between them. Together they supported the near limp form, Arald murmuring quiet assurances despite not knowing whether or not his friend was coherent enough to take comfort from them.

They made their slow way back towards the town, the flickering light of a burning home illuminating the carnage spread out around them. The bodies of villagers, soldiers, and Wargals lay still, bloodied, and intermingled where they had fallen. The nightmare of it all hadn't ended with the battle itself. There was just so much loss, so much death… He closed his eyes. They had won, but it didn't feel like a victory.

Arald turned his head towards the black veil of night that hid the view of the land to the south, across the border, and shuddered. What other horrors did Morgarath have tucked away in the mountains to harm them with?

~x~X~x~

Present Day

~x~X~x~

The angry press of villagers moved forwards in an inexorable mass. Gilan took in the makeshift weapons and furious faces before him and decided it had gone far enough.

"No further!" he raised his voice to be heard over the mob, "Or I'll end it!" He moved the arm that held Tennyson by the blade to his neck so they could see the implicit threat in his words.

Tennyson hadn't been wrong about having the people's love and respect because they stopped, the situation turning effectively into a standoff as both parties faced each other. Which was exactly what Gilan had wanted—for the moment, anyway.

"Who are you and what business have you in threatening our people, our village?"

Gilan's gaze flicked towards the sound of the voice, watching as the crowd parted to allow an elderly woman through to the front. His eyes narrowed briefly, taking in the deference that the rest of the village had for her, and decided that she must be the village elder. Although not a common position for a woman, it did happen. Likely, she had been the previous Ealdorman's wife and had taken his place after he'd passed on by the favor of the people. Regardless, Gilan knew that she would be the one he'd need to convince for his plan to work. So thinking, he inclined his head to her respectfully.

"I'm called Gilan. I'm working for the knights, Baron Douglass, and the King. My business is to stop this man," he indicated Tennyson, "before he does you and your village harm."

"If you aren't meaning our village harm, as you say, then why not let Tennyson go," the elder shot back.

Gilan smiled grimly. "If that's your wish," he said reasonably. "But, I need you to hear what I have to say before I do. If, by the end, you still want Tennyson returned to you, then I will. But, if not, I'd ask you to allow me to turn him over to the custody of the knights for his crimes." He tipped his head towards the ridge.

Several villagers turned to see Sir David standing on the rise with his knights at his back, the banner of Highcliff Fief clearly visible. The village elder looked over the knights, surprise evident on her face. She turned back to Gilan, studying him closely, deep frown lines crossing her wizened features. Gilan held her gaze calmly. By showing proof of his earlier claims and in making himself appear reasonable by offering an easy compromise, he had increased the chances of the elder listening to him, he knew.

Finally, she nodded. "I'll hear what it is you say."

"But, Branna—" one of the men nearby her protested.

But she raised a firm hand to cut him short.

"I'll let him speak. He says he acts for the King and Baron Douglass and has the knights there to prove it. Besides, none of us saw him enter the village. He could easily have killed our priest and left us all none the wiser if murder were his aim. But he didn't; I am willing to take his bargain."

The crowd of villagers murmured quietly among themselves at that but no one made a move to countermand her decision.

"Speak then," she invited with a gesture. "I accept your terms."

Gilan opened his mouth to do just that but was interrupted by one of the Outsider priests that had joined with the ranks of the villagers.

"Nothing you say will save you, servant of Balsennis. So, why even try?" he snarled.

"Because I want these people to know exactly what your cult is and what you and Tennyson have done to them. I want them to know how you used them, robbed from them, took their valuables and heirlooms for yourselves—"

"They didn't steal things," one of the villagers protested. "We gave our gold up willingly, we did: to make that idol to protect our village. All the attacks have stopped and the bandits have mostly gone since we did."

"If that's true, and they took and used your valuables as they said, then that idol should be solid, shouldn't it? But, if I'm right, I'm betting it's nothing more than a thin veneer over something like wood or stone."

Tennyson tensed involuntarily at that remark.

"If you break it, you'll lose Alseiass's protection," Tennyson managed to shout out in warning before Gilan again silenced him with a warning press of his saxe.

"You'll put the whole village at risk!" the Outsider who had spoken earlier agreed with Tennyson, his fellow priests nodding their support.

Some of the villagers looked wary at that, but the elder had been watching Tennyson carefully. She hesitated only a moment before turning to the man beside her.

"Break it," she ordered.

"But—" the man began.

"Break it. If it was made once it can be made again."

"Besides that, you don't need to fear the bandits anymore," Gilan put in, trying to mitigate the situation further before it spiraled out of control. "The knights led an attack on their encampment and rounded them all up this morning. They won't be harming you or your people anymore, with or without the idol."

He raised his hand in a signal he and his father had pre-arranged earlier. Seeing it, David signaled his men and the villagers saw a group of bound bandits brought forward to the front of their group. Gasps and surprised exclamations took hold of those assembled and Gilan felt Tennyson tense as he recognized the forms of his fellows. A few of the Outsiders among the villagers exchanged startled glances.

At this, the small idol was quickly taken off the pedestal. One of the village men took his axe to it and Gilan could feel Tennyson wince. Murmurs of confusion and anger overtook the crowd as it was revealed to be as Gilan had suggested: nothing more than a thin veneer over wood.

"And I found these in the house you gave him," Gilan said, once the murmurs and angry conversation had died down enough for him to be heard clearly. He reached with his free hand to pull out various trinkets, precious stones, and coins from the leather pouch at his side to toss them before the crowd. He hoped that some of the villagers might recognize some of the pieces before anyone got the idea to blame him for swapping the idol with a fake to frame Tennyson. Sure enough…

"That's my mother's broach!" One woman cried as she knelt to claim the piece. "I gave it to Farrell, the old priest, almost a year ago for the idol!"

The murmuring amongst the villagers had by then, grown drastically in intensity and anger and Gilan quickly spoke again, keeping the momentum with him now that it had been built.

"But that isn't all Tennyson did. He's been lying to you from the start and is planning to give you over to the Skandians as slaves. He made a deal with Morgarath and you and your people are the promised price."

"Have you proof of this," the elder asked, voice pitching higher in fear and anger.

As residents of a coastal town, they were more than familiar with the threat of Skandian raids. Many of their people in the past had lost friends and family to them—killed in battle or carried off as slaves. Since Gilan had already built some rapport in being proven right on one count, the elder was more than willing to hear him out again despite the outlandish sounding nature of the claim. He had been expecting this question and was ready for it.

"Can you read?" Gilan asked.

The elder nodded and moved forward to take some papers Gilan had retracted from the breast of his jerkin. The villagers watched her closely in wary anticipation as she looked over the letters and documents Gilan and David had taken from the Outsider command tent during their raid on the bandits earlier in the day. Just as the last time Gilan had encountered him, Tennyson had been confident enough with the security his bandits had provided to leave his important documents there. The village elder's eyes widened and then darkened with anger the further she read and leafed through the papers.

"This letter has Morgarath's seal on it," she said slowly, deliberately, in response to her people's anticipatory and impatient looks. "And it mentions Skandians invading our village. And this other letter confirms it and is written in Tennyson's hand and has his signature: I recognize it from his sermons," she finished haltingly. "This man has spoken true."

For one fragile moment, there was total silence. Then the angry murmuring took up again at that crushing announcement. Men shifted their hands, griping makeshift weapons more tightly, some already moving menacingly towards the place where Gilan and Tennyson stood for the second time that day. This time, however, it wasn't Gilan who was the intended target. Others moved to surround the other white-robed priests: those few that hadn't already suspiciously disappeared.

Gilan knew well that this coast had been raided by Skandians for generations, enough for a bitter enmity to exist between the two peoples. The very idea that someone they had trusted, invited into their village, was about to hand them over to their age-old enemy was as keen a betrayal as a knife to the back. The reveal that all of this was at the behest of Morgarath, a man whose name and reputation had grown into the levels of a dark, almost mythological, evil in its infamy since the start of the war only heightened that betrayal, the anger, the fear. Generations of ingrained hatred and fear overpowered the hopes and new beliefs of a few years. Cries of fury were torn from many throats as the mob moved inexorably forward. They were halted at the last second like a thread holding back a flood by the elder.

"You may turn that man over to the knights to face justice as you requested," she said, voice tight with fury. "And the others who were working with him as well," she added gesturing to the villagers who had cornered the remaining Outsiders.

"But what about the Skandians? They are still coming! What will we do?" one of the men asked desperately before looking murderously at the false priest.

"You know they're coming now and the knights are willing to defend your village. There is still time and chance to best them," Gilan said, loud enough to be heard over the angry fearful villagers.

The people subsided a little at that and, at the elder's urging, they parted to allow Gilan passage through to the knights who were making their way down the rise to join them. Gilan let out a pent up breath, allowing himself an inward smile of success, relief, as he made his way through, followed by the villagers who had cornered the other cult members. He was keenly aware of how badly this could have ended if the plan hadn't worked. He glanced down at Tennyson and tightened his grip as the man struggled angrily in his grasp when they reached the line of knights.

"Why couldn't you just leave well enough alone?" Tennyson snarled viciously, body trembling with a barely controlled rage.

Gilan smiled humorlessly. "You're the one who decided to play a game; sometimes you lose."

~x~X~x~

Will stood near the small wicket gate that led to the secret footpath which ran parallel to, and beneath, the land bridge to the castle. Gilan had told both he and Horace about it before he'd left and Will had scouted it out a couple of days ago to make certain it was still viable. As of now, however, he knew that this was probably the best way to get out of the castle unseen.

As soon as he and Horace had left the Baron's study, they had gone straight to Alyss's room to tell her and Evanlyn all they had learned. Together, they had quickly identified the two key problems that now needed to be solved. The first was finding a way to warn the army about Baron Douglass's treachery and Morgarath's plan to use the Kalkara before it was too late. The second was to find a way to bring Douglass to account for his treason. Both would be hard to accomplish—especially since they had no documented proof of Douglass's treachery and no idea how many others around the castle were in league with him.

All of which led them to where they were now, standing in the shadows near the small gate. The sun would rise in a few hours and they didn't have much time.

"I still think you might make it faster if you took a horse, Will," Horace said quietly.

"Of course he would," Alyss replied, frowning. "But if any of us tried to leave the castle on horseback it would draw too much attention and could alert the Baron and his allies."

"I realized that," Horace said then, "I was just thinking that Will should maybe try to find a horse to borrow once he's out of the castle. We don't know when Morgarath plans to unleash the Kalkara—every second could count."

Will nodded thoughtfully. "The path I plan to take will take me by the village; I'll try to find a horse there." Already his heart was pounding in nervous anticipation of what was to come.

"What about you and Evanlyn?" Will asked anxiously. "Can you both take on someone like this Foldar on your own?"

"I don't know," Horace answered honestly. "But, if we don't capture him, we'll have nothing at all to prove the Baron's treachery. We have to try."

Will nodded. He knew the stakes well enough. It was something they had discussed at length already. Since they found no documents to prove the Baron's guilt, they would need something else, something tangible—some other form of evidence. For all Will knew, Foldar could be well out of his or Horace's skill level. But it wasn't as if they could risk asking for help from anyone at the castle for fear they had been compromised like their Baron.

"In the morning I will try to get a message out to the other Couriers to inform them of the situation and to ask for help," Alyss said, going over her part in all this. "The Couriers got word that part of Baron Arald and Sir David's army went to a small village near the coast to combat a suspected attack. I will try to send messages out to them and to the King. Also, Jenny and I will cover for your absences as best we can. The longer we can avoid or delay suspicion, the better."

Once again they nodded silently in agreement. Alyss took a moment then to hand them both some supplies and food she had gathered before stepping back, expression worried.

But they didn't have time to voice any more concerns or offer lengthy goodbyes. Every moment they wasted here, the Kalkara drew closer.

"Godspeed," Alyss said, finally.

Silently, Will, Horace and Evanlyn opened the wicket gate and stepped outside. They could hear it click as Alyss shut and locked it behind them. Will took the lead as they made their way along the narrow footpath, the sea churning below them. The splash of the waves against the cliffs masked any sound their passage made. The narrow footpath let them out several meters from the guard tower on the landward side of the bridge. The three of them made their stealthy way up and over the ridge near the tree-line.

Once inside the cover of the trees, Horace and Evanlyn stopped. They would wait there, Will knew, watching for Foldar's early morning departure so they could follow and attempt to waylay him. If Foldar had any intentions to travel more quickly and safely by taking the road, he would have to travel to this point as that was where the road diverged in all directions from the castle. Will turned his eyes towards the forks in the road and set his focus to the one headed southwest. It wound into the woods, its path obscured by the night and dark tree shadows. His path. He took a breath before glancing back at his friends.

"Good luck, Will," Horace said. "If anyone can get the message there in time, it's you."

"And if anyone can stop this Foldar, it's you… and Evanlyn too," he added, looking at the slightly built girl behind Horace.

They weren't idle compliments. Out of the five of their little group, Will had been chosen to deliver the message because he was the fastest. Horace and Evanlyn had been chosen to waylay Foldar because, apart from Will, they were the most accomplished fighters of their group.

For a brief moment, they all stood tensely, likely feeling just as uncertain, yet determined as Will did. They were keenly aware that they couldn't afford to lose, couldn't afford to fail. Too much depended on it. With one final look at Horace, Will took a breath and then tore off at a jog down the path the army had taken several days ago. He thought of the men, of the knights, of Halt and Gilan. He had to get there in time, he just had to.

~x~X~x~

Baron Arald stood with his men on the hill they had fortified in preparation for the Wargal advance. Already, he could hear the measured guttural chant of the beasts as they made their way towards them. The sun hadn't risen before one of his scouts had reported their approach; they had made ready shortly thereafter.

He watched the enemy form up just beyond the unstable footing of the fens a point in the distance. Then they began their steady march towards the fortified hill, their unsettling marching chant growing in volume the nearer they drew. Arald called to the portion of archers that had been left with him, making them ready to shoot as soon as the enemy was in range.

His expression grew grim as he took in their numbers; comparing them to the men he had beside him, behind the barricade. Even with Halt's cavalry charge, it would be a very near thing. The garrison from one fief and its yeoman archers, in combination with Arald's own, smaller, traveling retinue, weren't enough on their own to turn aside an army: especially not when they had already had to split their numbers to combat the suspected Skandian landing further north up the coast.

The Wargals' eerie tuneless chant grew to a fever pitch as the beasts and their human commanders took ground until they stopped just out of range to form ranks properly before their inevitable charge. Somehow, after they had properly formed up, their number seemed even more insurmountable than before. But Arald, a veteran commander, didn't show any of the unease he was beginning to feel. If he seemed certain and confident despite the odds, then his men would too. Besides that, if Halt was right about the Wargals' fear of horses then…

Arald's heart sank, the uneasy feeling growing as he saw a ripple among the ranks of Wargals. The beasts on the right flank, and about three rows in, began raising what looked to be some form of long cavalry spears. Those spears, Arald knew, were among the best defenses against a cavalry charge. Held fast by the beasts or placed into the ground at an acute angle, they would create a near-impenetrable barrier that a horse and rider wouldn't be able to storm without risking impaling themselves in the process.

The uneasy feeling only grew further as he realized that it was only those three rows on the outermost right flank that were armed with those sharpened pikes. He could see now that almost none of the weapons had warheads and seemed to be of a hasty make. This alerted Arald to the fact that, more than likely, the beasts had not been equipped with them from the start. That supposition, when combined with the realization that those weapons were only given to those on the right flanks only, served to indicate that, somehow, the enemy had gotten wind of their plan and knew exactly which direction the attack would come from. Arald's heart sank at the realization, an icy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. He exchanged a brief glance with Rodney who stood at his side, the look in his Battlemaster's eye telling him that Rodney had pieced it all together as well. The enemy knew their plan and had developed an effective counter.

Halt and the cavalrymen who had left with him were about to find themselves in serious trouble and there was nothing Arald's could do to warn them. Unprepared, Halt's men could fall to disaster. And without the support of the cavalry charge, Arald knew that he and his men didn't stand a chance against such overwhelming numbers. Arald set his jaw, gripping his sword more tightly as the Wargals began their steady advance.

"Archers!" he called to his men. "First rank, at arms!"

~x~X~x~

Will tore down the path, towards the village as quickly as he could. He'd grown stronger, healthier, and more fit, during the time he had spent with Gilan and Horace. Having reliable meals, stability, and support when coupled with all the training he'd undergone, made it so that he was barely breathing heavily by the time he made it within sight of the hamlet. Only a few windows were illuminated as some very early risers, like the town bakers, got ready to start the day. Will ignored them other than noting their position as landmarks as he tore towards the inn where he, Halt, Horace, and Gilan had been staying. His first priority was to find a horse he could… borrow.

Having stayed at Maeve's tavern and inn for several days previously, he'd become familiar with the stables and its occupants when he'd taken his turn to care for Gilan's shaggy little horse. Though a few horses had come and gone as their owners stayed and moved on from the tavern, he'd noticed that one horse was always there: a brown, sturdy-looking palfrey. He had that one in mind… that was, if it was still there.

He skidded to a stop outside the inn's stable and slipped inside. Sure enough, the brown palfrey was still there. Will searched around for the animal's tack and found it. He got it saddled and bridled quickly, long practice steadying and speeding his fingers. He led the animal out of the stable and then mounted, setting it to a trot and then to a gallop as he guided it towards the direction of the fens, towards where the Kalkara would be.

He thought of Halt, Gilan, and the knights. In his mind, he could picture all of them being caught off guard by the monsters' inevitable arrival. If even half of what Jenny had described about them were true… He closed his eyes briefly against the ugly mental image those thoughts conjured. He had to get there in time, he just had to.

Having already memorized the route, he knew exactly where to go and guided his borrowed horse confidently in that direction as the sun began its ascent. Tendrils of light lit the forest in a subtle glow of gold and orange. Sunrise. He didn't know how much time he had left.

With it being the beginning of winter, he estimated he had only eight hours of daylight. He hoped it would be enough; it would be difficult to navigate the thick woods at night, especially when it came time to leave the main road. All that aside, he had no idea when the Kalkara would be due to attack. Feeling his heart begin to pound, he pushed all those thoughts from his mind, knowing that it wasn't helping. He brought his focus back to the moment when his mount shied a little at a shadowed corner they were navigating, attention thoroughly diverted to calming and bringing the small horse back under control.

The sun rose steadily into the sky and Will began cordoning off his time: riding for a certain period and then dismounting to run beside the horse in order to give the animal a rest from carrying his weight. It was a strategy that he'd been taught to travel greater distances without wearing out the horse.

The sun had just made it past his midday point when Will again dismounted, gathering the palfrey's reins in his hands as he set off at a jog. Hours of keeping up the killer pace had him near the point of exhaustion. His muscles had started to ache and burn. He took a deep breath, stretching his limbs to ease it before starting off again. He set his focus solely on setting one foot in front of the other, on keeping his pace and breathing steadily. He was so focused on that, that he didn't hear the clatter in the forest beside the road until it grew loud enough to startle him from his concentration.

Surprised, his head whipped towards his left where the sound had originated, his grip on the lead reins loosening in shock. Out of the forest burst a herd of deer about six strong, running at full speed and jumping across the road mere feet in front of him. The deer, having been upwind and not noticing the human and horse until that moment, startled violently. They peeled away in a burst of hooves and a flurry of movement.

Will stumbled back in shock, mouth slightly agape, but the brown palfrey spooked. The little horse froze for a split second and then jumped to the side, jerking his head up with a shrill whinny, pulling the reins from Will's startled grasp. The horse then whirled and sped away at a full run. It paused near the bend to look back briefly before breaking again into a full gallop.

Cursing, Will attempted to chase after the animal, but it was no use. He was rapidly outdistanced. Soon Will found himself utterly alone on the wooded path, deer and horse gone: vanished as suddenly and decisively as all the hope Will ever had of making it to the army with time enough to deliver the warning. He felt his heart sink, a bitter frustrated despair bubbling up in his chest. If he couldn't make it in time, his friends would die. And it would be all his fault for not minding his surroundings better, for letting go of the reins. He was already well past the point where there would be any other settlements to get another horse. Nor could he double back, he was well over halfway already.

He sank slowly to his knees at the realization, teeth gritted, the desperation building steadily as he tried to think of what to do and the hopelessness settled more deeply in his thoughts. He closed his eyes. Too much was riding on him, too many lives depended on him: not just all the people he cared about, but this whole fief and everyone it—even the kingdom itself if Douglass had his way.

He slowly breathed out. There was only one thing left that he could do, one thing left that he could try. He had to. He rose to his feet and turned back to face the direction of the fens and gathered himself.

He ran.

Never mind the fact that his chances lessened drastically on foot. Never mind the fact that he was already exhausted. Never mind the distance that he had left. He had to try.

He ran.

~x~X~x~

Halt had made it to the point where the cavalry had been camped in goid time, and had led them easily enough down his former student's path. The way had been dense with foliage and trees. It wound considerably, overlapping with game trails periodically, but it was passable. The knights on their large Battlehorses had made it through. There had been a few times where they'd had to cut the dense brush and overgrowth enough to gain passage, but they had managed.

Now, as he made it out of the last stretch of woodland, Halt couldn't help but allow himself the barest ghost of an inward smile. It was ironic, in an odd sort of way, how history seemed to be repeating itself: how he once again was using a path and that his student had discovered to flank an army of Wargals in the hopes of stopping Morgarath.

As soon as Halt emerged into the clearing, he could see that Arald had already engaged the enemy in an attempt to draw all the attention away from Halt's planned surprise attack. But, just as quickly he could also see that something was amiss. Although the majority of the Wargals, especially those toward the front, were engaged and occupied with Arald's men, there was a rank of the beasts that stretched the length of the right flank and about three rows deep that were not engaged. Instead, they faced outward, a bristling hedge of crude-looking cavalry spears pointing in their direction: ready for their attack. Not only had they prepared an effective counter but they clearly knew exactly the direction the cavalry would come from.

"Damn," Halt said under his breath as he realized their plan had somehow been uncovered or that they had been betrayed somehow. They were sentiments that were echoed more loudly by the cavalry commander who sat beside him.

"What do we do now?" the knight asked, tension raising the pitch of his words.

They both knew that they could continue with the charge anyway. They had enough horsemen to break through a regiment that was only three rows strong, but a charge like that would come at the cost of many lives.

But, even as Halt watched, it seemed as if the decision would be made for them. Arald's vastly smaller force was struggling against the more numerous Wargals assailing their position. No matter how many the defenders cut down there were more left to take their place, surging past and over the fallen bodies of their fellows. Arald had already lost several men to the onslaught and even now his men were buckling.

Halt could see Arald and Rodney fighting skillfully side by side, hard-pressed and desperately holding the line of a breach in their fortifications. They were still struggling against the press when a group of Wargals, using the bodies of their fallen for purchase, managed to get over the pitfall and rows of sharpened stakes to breach the defenses on the left. Arald responded immediately by taking the brunt of the breach on his side and ordered Rodney and a small party of knights to take the other. And now Arald was in serious trouble, attempting to defend a breach alone that both he and Rodney had been struggling to hold together. Halt saw Arald reel as a strike from one of the numerous Wargals got through his defenses, wounding him. He staggered off balance trying to hold his ground, more of his knights pressing forward to support him. But it was a losing battle.

Halt glanced from Arald to the line of spear-wielding Wargals, eyes narrowing as he made a decision. They would lose this battle and the lives of many men if Halt and the cavalry force did nothing.

"Continue the charge as planned!" Halt ordered the cavalry captain sharply. "I'll make sure you and your men can make it through!"

The captain saluted and formed up his men, ready to do what Halt had ordered. Whether or not it was because he trusted Halt's claim, he couldn't tell. Likely as not, he'd seen what was happening to Arald and his men and had weighed the risks and losses in the same manner Halt had and simply knew what needed to be done.

The captain spurred his mount forward signaling and organizing his men. Having been under the command of Sir David, the cavalrymen were familiar with his tactics. They employed one of them now, one that Halt remembered from the Battle of Hackham Heath. A small detachment of men formed a wedge with the purpose of striking the enemy lines hard and fast before wheeling away, only to be immediately replaced by the crushing impact of the next.

This time though, Halt was keenly aware that all the men in that first charge would most likely meet their end on the points of those spears unless he did something. Halt dismounted the spirited horse he had been given, knowing it wasn't trained like Abelard had been to hold steady while he shot—not a good thing for what he had in mind. Halt sprinted closer to the line of spears as the captain began his charge.

Halt knocked, drew, sighted, and fired arrow after arrow, the first few not even hitting home before the others were on their way. His aim held true and six Wargals went down or staggered back, breaking the formation moments before the cavalrymen arrived at a thundering gallop, aiming for the gap that Halt had created. They powered through, two horsemen falling to the spears but the rest crashing viciously into the ranks of the Wargals beyond before wheeling around.

Some of the Wargals attempted to fill the gap left in the spearmen line before the second wedge hit, but Halt shot again to stop them and the second wave broke through—and then the third. As soon as the fourth group had made it through, Halt switched targets, setting his sights on the few human commanders that were within range. The two nearest Halt's position fell: one struck through the neck and the other in the side.

Chaos exposed amongst the Wargal ranks, unprepared as they were for the vicious attack. The shock and hesitation allowed Arald's men the chance they needed to rally enough to hold the line. The first cavalry rank had already wheeled back after losing the momentum of the charge and had broken the spear-wielding Wargal ranks further from behind. A few of these Wargals turned inwards in an attempt to halt the second and third cavalry wedge on their return ride in desperation. The confusion allowed the fourth and fifth waves an easier time to breach.

And that was when it happened. The unease, confusion, and fear that had been growing in the Wargals at the devastating cavalry charge turned into terror as they lost all composure. Their ancient fear of horses was too ingrained to overcome in the wake of such overwhelming force. From Halt's position, it looked almost like a ripple of a pond by cast stone as the Wargal ranks broke and fled. The terror spread and, with several of the human commanders out of action, there was no one to stop them or help them gain back the control and cohesion they had lost. The fact that the cavalry charge had not ceased only added to the terror and confusion. Wargals fell, cut down by the horsemen. Sir Rodney took that moment to rally his men and send them forward in a frontal assault, breaking the demoralized enemy troops further.

The Wargal army was in retreat, some heading into the marshes, others running for what they thought to be the safety of the woods. Some fought desperately against knights like cornered rats in a last-ditch effort to escape. One small group of Wargal spearmen, which had been cut off from the others by the cavalry, turned their sights towards Halt as they desperately sought escape.

The party was about eight strong. Seeing the lone small figure and small horse as the only thing blocking the path to the relative safety of the south they began their charge after only the briefest of hesitations. Halt saw the movement and turned to face them, fingers selecting another arrow from his quiver. He knew he had only five arrows left in his quiver, and he backed up, picking his targets carefully. He shot arrow after arrow as the beasts ran at him.

Five arrows left his bow and five Wargals fell before the final three closed the distance. Halt, knowing that his bow was as good as useless now he was without arrows, threw the weapon viciously at the face of one of the beasts. The Wargal staggered back and Halt leaped back, avoiding the strikes of the second and third. As he dodged, he drew his saxe and throwing knife in time to dodge another thrust. As Halt rolled away from the attack, he held the picture of the nearest Wargal in his mind, mentally judging its position and where it would be as it was cast off balance from the force of the missed strike. As he rose to his feet, he drew back his knife hand and cast even before he had fully faced the beast, using that mental picture to guide his hand. His aim was true and his throwing knife sunk deeply into the Wargals unprotected throat. The beast fell to the ground. But Halt didn't watch it fall, instead, he had moved forwards quickly and then rolled forward underneath the thrust of the second Wargal's spear.

Having closed the distance between himself and the Wargal, he destroyed the advantage of the Wargal's longer reach. As he rose to his feet again, he quickly grabbed the beast's spear shaft, preventing it from striking out again just long enough for him to sink his saxe into the beast. It crumpled to the ground and Halt whirled, dodging low to avoid the first Wargal who had by then regained his balance from Halt's first gambit of throwing his bow. Whilst he was down low, he grabbed up the spear of the fallen Wargal with his left hand and then gave ground.

The first two Wargals he had been able to take relatively off guard, but this last would be different. Halt brandished the spear in his left hand, right still holding his saxe. Halt knew he was still at a severe disadvantage. Even though he now possessed a weapon with the same reach as a Wargals, he was no good hand with the spear.

"A weapon that you don't know how to use can sometimes be more dangerous to you than your opponent," Halt recalled Pritchard telling him as an apprentice in that other time.

Halt's best defense had always been his ability to attack at range. And the throwing knife that all Rangers carried wasn't the only weapon Rangers were trained to throw. Halt's eyes narrowed briefly as he faced the Wargal. He stopped giving ground abruptly and hefted the crude spear, casting it awkwardly at the perusing enemy. The throw wasn't very good, but it was accurate enough to be a threat to the beast who raised his own spear, overextending his reach to knock the other weapon aside before it struck—which was the last thing the Wargal ever did. Halt had thrown his saxe seconds after the spear. The Wargal fell with a shriek and a gurgle and Halt found himself alone on the battlefield.

The sounds of fighting near the fortified hill, the hoofbeats of the heavy cavalry, and the inhuman cries of Wargals coming from the forest distantly reached his ears as the cavalry drove the beasts into the forest and fens and Rodney's force took care of the stragglers.

Halt let out a breath.

~x~X~x~

Will's breath came in ragged pants, every muscle burning as he continued his steady jog. At first, he couldn't hear the sounds of fighting and combat over the slap of his feet on the forest ground, the pounding of the blood in his ears, and his heavy breaths. But then he did. The clash of arms and cries of beasts and men grew more audible the nearer he drew. He altered his course a point to the right as soon as his exhausted mind recognized the sound for what it was. He had found the army. He had made it.

The elation and hope he felt at that knowledge gave him a burst of energy he didn't even know he still possessed as he wove through the trees. He came upon a more open clearing upon a rise. He stopped there, bent over with his hands on his knees, taking in great gulps of air as he took in the surroundings. Fens were to the west and the thick woods to either side. He saw cavalrymen engaging Wargals near the fens and, more north of his position, some fortifications and soldiers: Baron Arald and Douglass's men. He saw that most of the army were away from the fortifications driving the Wargals towards the fens or the woods.

Will let out a breath at the sight. Despite the numerous times he'd seen the Wargals before, they still made shivers run up and down his spine. Living as a mercenary had made him no stranger to battles and bloodshed, but the magnitude of seeing it on such a large scale was something else entirely. He felt a little ill at the sight—a sensation that was not helped by his exhaustion and overexertion. The only thing that gave him a modicum of relief was the fact he could see no sign of any beast that would fit the Kalkara's terrifying description, and the fact that it was clear Arald's men seemed to be the victors of this engagement. Baron Douglass and Morgarath's first trap had failed.

But Will still had to help stop the second one.

Muscles trembling from overexertion, and still breathing heavily, he melted back into the trees, heading north at an exhausted stagger until he was parallel with the back of the fortifications. There were only a few sentries stationed to guard the rear and Will made it past them unseen without issue. Once inside, he moved as if he belonged and, aside from a few curious glances, no one seemed to pay him any heed. The fortifications only held a skeleton force—the majority of the troops having left the barricade to help drive off the Wargals.

Will scanned the faces of the soldiers and the wounded frantically, looking for Gilan, Halt, Sir David, Arald, Arald's Battlemaster, or anyone who looked to be in command and coming up short. Then he saw Baron Arald leaning against the earthen wall.

"Baron Arald! Sir… um my lord," Will said roughly in between harsh breaths, stumbling towards where the Baron was just finishing having his arm bandaged by an orderly.

Arald looked up at the call, confusion crossing his features. Once Will made it before him, he stopped and tried to offer a shallow bow that nearly had him tumbling over he was so worn out. He opened his mouth to try and deliver the message but was still panting and out of breath. While he tried to catch it again, he was dimly aware of the confusion on Arald's face clearing.

"You're one of Gilan's apprentices," the Baron said, clearly having placed his face from their one brief meeting before he had left with the army. "Will, is it?" he asked and Will nodded breathlessly. "You were left at the castle, how came you to be here?"

"Ran… well, ran partway... urgent message," he managed to gasp out before Arald held up a hand to stop him.

"Take a moment to catch your breath," he said and then passed Will his waterskin.

Will took a few grateful sips and then several steadying breaths before he tried again.

"Sir, I had an urgent message—a warning. Baron Douglass has betrayed us all. He gave your battle plans to Morgarath and is planning to hand Highcliff Fief over to him. But that's not the worst of it, Sir. Morgarath plans to send the Kalkara here to kill you and your commanders! Horace and I overheard Douglass meeting with one of Morgarath's men: a man named Foldar. He said there are three Kalkara and they're all being sent here!"

Arald stood straighter as Will spoke, eyes widening before he bent down so he was closer to Will's level. Arald gripped Will's shoulder. "Are you certain of this, Will?" he asked earnestly.

"Positive, Sir… um, my lord," Will said, meeting his gaze. "Please, we have to do something before it's too late."

Arald rubbed briefly at his beard before straightening. "If it's true, it explains how the Wargal army knew about, and was ready for, our cavalry charge. And I'm not willing to take the chance if it is." He turned towards one of his captains. "Send for Orlic to signal our men of an incoming attack, we need to warn Sir Rodney, Crowley, and the cavalry."

Arald replaced his helm and grabbed his sword. Will stood there surprised that the former Baron had just taken his word so easily, he'd expected it to be harder. Not sure what else to do, Will followed behind Arald as he tried to rally a group of knights. The clear notes of a horn sounded in a specific pattern as Olric blew the warning. The notes carried across the field.

No sooner had the sounds of the horn died out then another sound rose to take its place. But this was no horn. It was an eerie bestial sound and it made the hair on the back of Will's neck stand on end. As soon as it ended, it was echoed again and then once more. Arald had frozen at the sound, face paling, expression turning stony. Will looked up at him, eyes wide.

"It's the Kalkara," Arald said in answer to Will's unasked question, "it's their hunting call."

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! As always, feedback means a lot if you have the time or inclination to leave any: thanks so much in advance to anyone who does. Constructive criticism is always welcome too: to be honest, I'm not feeling as confident in this chapter, so I hope it's okay.

*side note* We have finally reached 200K words: seems crazy to think about XD. The next chapter will feature more battles, the Kalkara, and some of our favorite Skandians will make an appearance. I will try my best to get it out sooner than this last one. *sheepish grin* We have about 4 chapters left by my estimation, so things are nearly finished!

I wish you all the very best until next time!