The platform had been constructed just outside the walls and was filled with flags and maps, stairs at either end to allow the scouts to keep from shouting when they arrived. There would be enough noise. Socair came to it, surprised to find Deifir atop the thing, with what would be the front lines only a few hundred yards away. She climbed the stairs, her mind a mess but a question on her tongue.
“Deifir, this place is not safe. Why are you here?”
Deifir turned to her and took Socair’s hands in her own. “I am sorry for what has happened.” She placed a soft kiss on Socair’s cheek and looked at her, eyes wet and face solemn. “I know your suffering is great now, but you have still come. I thank you.”
The words pained Socair to hear but there was little she could do about it. The fire in her blood had begun to rise, seeing the field before her full of elves prepared to fight. The sight of it had shifted her thoughts, as though two minds lay inside her and the one which moved at the sight of war did not allow the pain to come to the fore.
“I thank you, Deifir. But I must ask again. Why are you at this place?”
She turned, gracefully, and looked out over the field before her. Many faces watched her as she did. “There is no other place I could be. So many have come through no oath to duty. If I were to hear only words about their sacrifice, I do not believe I could bear it.”
“But—”
She turned back to Socair briskly. “I do apologize, Socair. I do. But I cannot be anywhere else. This is the place I belong.”
What could she say? Nothing would move the Treorai from the place on that platform, she could feel it.
Only one of the Binse had come. The Binse of Lands. It had been suggested that she inform him of troop movements in the absence of Práta, but she’d scoffed at that and then been rather rude to the soldier sent to suggest it. She was not herself then, but at least she had been sent another. A man of the First Company. He was decorated, not yet promoted to life in a chair. His name was Cró. She had spoken to him a time or two in camps, but he was younger than her, inexperienced, and more interested in engineering than battle. The place suited him and he would act well as her second, even without the full of her planning explained to him. She spent the few hours before scout horns began to sound explaining what she could but soon enough they did. The hippocamps would be upon them within the half hour. A breathless girl, Socair’s age, she thought, came running up the stairs. She was dressed in shabby armor armed with something in the shape of a sword that would do half the job.
“Please… please…” She struggled for breath. “There is none to lead the Van.”
“The militia?” She looked to Cró.
He shook his head, confused. “Dian was meant to lead it. I’ve known him years. Are you saying he’s not come?”
She shook her head. “No. Not a soul has seen him.”
“Deserted.” A look of pure disgust came over Socair’s face. She pulled her sword. “Go, girl. Tell them that I will lead them.”
Cró stepped forward as the girl nodded and left. “Bearer…” His eyes looked to Deifir for only a second. “Binseman, this… you cannot. I do not…”
She put a hand on his shoulder. “You must believe, Cró. Believe in us. In what you know. Remember, shift the archers. We have only a few. They must take the platforms to the flanks when we advance the front.” She looked at Deifir. “Keep her safe, Cró. With your life if you must.”
Socair turned to leave and made the steps when Deifir called to her.
“Socair.” She did not turn to see Deifir speak. “Protect us.”
The stairs went in a blur and Socair walked with purpose as the masses of poorly armored, poorly armed militia parted to allow her to pass. The hush followed her forward to the front lines. She came to the front of them, sword still at the ready and looked. She could just see the edge of the horde’s advance. A cloud of dust, unmistakable. She turned to a sea of faces, terrified and curious. They would not stand the front. Not like this.
“Grand speeches are pretty lies for foolish ears.” Heads snapped to her, almost in disbelief at her shouted words. “You are scared. You are unsure you will live. Those will not serve you here! If you wish to live, do as I say. Fill yourself with hate. Picture all that you love. All that you have that you hold dear. Now picture it dead. Torn apart by that.” She pointed to the dust cloud. “That is the cost. There is no time to teach you bravery or clever tactics. Only hate will see you through. Your swords are dull, but they will cut. The horsefolk will bleed and they will die by them. Use them.”
She turned then and watched the cloud. She heard a roar behind her and felt the energy as it passed through the masses, spreading to the sides. Swords came against shields and helmets and battle cries came in waves. The din only grew as the dust came closer. The rhythm of war was pounding all around her. She saw the first of them. Satyr at the front. Good. They fared poorly in such a clash. The energy at
