A sharp pang of guilt passed over me as I drew out the last bag of stones. Our victory had been won, but I needed to be sure. We would be in no shape to fight again if those that were left somehow rallied against us on the morrow. Gritting my teeth I pushed my sympathies aside, there was little place left in me for mercy. A word and a sharp focusing of my will crushed the bag in my hand.
The ground jumped beneath us, throwing men to their knees. I would learn later that the shock was felt even in the capital, Albamarl. A great plume of fire and superheated steam rose up from the end of the valley where my father had built his dam. Rocks and great chunks of ice were thrown for miles. One even landed in the castle yard in Lancaster, crushing a cart that had been left out. Seconds later the sound reached us, a subdued roar at that distance.
It was minutes before the water arrived, a sweeping torrent of roaring water that washed the enemy and their wounded from their makeshift camp. Men cried out in fear as the water struck and many perished as it threw them against rocks and trees. The rest drowned before the waters began to recede. An hour later all that was left was a mess of flotsam and jetsam. The dead bodies of men and horses were scattered from the center of the valley to its western end.
It was the greatest single day of slaughter that history had ever known, and I was its chief architect.
Epilogue
A month had passed since the day of our victory and bodies were still being found. There were so many that most were left where they lay. We didn’t have the man power necessary to gather, much less bury or burn so many. In the end we settled for disposing of those nearest to Washbrook, piling them together to be burned. The smoke left a smell that lingered for days afterwards and I’m sure no one who experienced it would ever forget the noxious odor.
Despite the large number of bodies that we burned, and those that were found scattered throughout the valley I was fairly sure that a fair amount were never found. Worse, although we had nothing close to an accurate count it appeared that a large number of bodies were missing. I hoped they had been washed all the way to the Formby Marsh, but I had a bad feeling about it. Plus some of my late patrols had reported seeing men moving at night. Because of that we continued brining everyone inside the walls at night… the war might be over but we still had plenty of things to fear. Repairing the palisade and preparing a larger more permanent wall around Washbrook were among my top priorities.
Dorian was found, alive and uninjured in the castle yard. The blast from the explosion around Cameron Castle had sent him flying against a rock and rendered him unconscious. He was most displeased to have missed the final charge.
Marcus was discovered among the dead defenders of the wall, badly wounded but conscious still. A sword had pierced his leg and an arrow was protruding from his shoulder. I healed his wounds later but he complained of pain in his leg from that day forward. I was sure I had done a thorough job so I began to suspect he only complained to annoy me. His demeanor had changed after his goddess had betrayed us. He was darker now, less prone to laughter and given to quiet moods. I worried he might never recover completely.
Over three hundred of our men had died defending the breach in the wall. Men from Lancaster and Washbrook, and men who had only recently come to call my lands home, but their families survived. In time we would grow and flourish again.
Cyhan was locked away in a cell at Lancaster, since I still had nothing to keep prisoners within Cameron Castle. His condition was a dark reminder to those of us who had come to respect and rely upon him. I still had hopes he could be released, but there had been no time to devote to him yet. Eventually I planned to offer him a place among us, or a return to Albamarl, depending upon his decision.
No messages had come from the king but his scouts had been spotted near Lancaster so I suspected he had some knowledge of the outcome of our battle. I wasn’t certain what the future held with regard to him, but I was sure it wouldn’t be pleasant.
***
It was a warm day in mid-spring when Penny and I visited Lancaster again. James and Genevieve met us in the front hall. Dispensing with formality I hugged them both. “I’m sure you both remember Penelope,” I said with a formal tone. “Please let me introduce her again, now as my wife, and the Countess di’Cameron. Penelope Illeniel I present to you their graces, the Duke and Duchess of Lancaster.” I gave a formal bow and held up her hand for James to take.
James laughed, for they both had long known of our marriage the month before. “Mordecai, I hope you know how to treat a lady,” he said as he bent to kiss Penny’s proffered hand.
“Don’t tease him James,” Genevieve told him. “Some things should be done properly.” She took Penelope’s hand as well and stared long upon her before drawing her into a gentle embrace. “I have heard that you will soon have a child,” she said once they separated again.
Penny smiled shyly, “That’s what I’ve been told and my body seems to agree.” She placed her hand unconsciously on
