It was the opposite of En Kelsar, a vicious fight for a small Chirrum fort, the back half of which was impossible to attack due to the Hal Draketh Mountains it rested in. As before, spells flew thicker than arrows as the ground buckled and twisted beneath the attackers, the defenders, if the mages spoke truly, finding their water had turned to blood or arrows were burnt in half. Queen Aidana was absent from the spell casting, for she and her Mage siblings were involved in a vicious feud to the south with the mages of the Chirrum, and the Guards took heart from this. There could have been more magic going on.

During a lull in the fighting, they hurried to collect their salvageable wounded and to deliver mercy killings to those gut-wounded and, in some cases, to collect a new pair of boots, although that usually waited until after the fight had been decided. Dorell was helping Ejnar limp back to the physicians' tents as the two men compared the wound in the now Sergeant Major's leg to others they had seen, speculating on the likelihood of it gong putrid or even being amputated. A man hurried past them in the opposite direction, an odd black cloth wrapped about his forearm.

"Bond-slaves." Dorell spat in the man's direction. "Cowards don't even have the courage to run back to the Ayinha. What do they think would happen to them? If you're ever captured, Ejnar, promise me you'll escape. No person, not even one as useless as you, deserves to be bound like that."

"Of course I will." He pretended to consider. "Although you might be useless enough to be left with them, Captain."

"I should leave you here." But he wouldn't, of course, just as he wouldn't keep the title of brevetted captain any longer than Ejnar would.

The next day, a series of spells on behalf of both sides made it impossible to tell who was who. The soldiers, in the mutual sort of decision-making that fueled the Seventh Guard one Major Leris had provided them with their options, stopped fighting and helped one another out of the cloud of spells. Staring wide-eyed at the destruction that their mages had wrought, Ayinha and Chirrum stood side by side, feeling very small.

Somewhere within it all, Dorell disappeared.

Five years ago. Twice a year, as they marched up and down the border, the Seventh Guard passed by Kir Teldras, but none wanted to go into the city. They all knew something about Dorell, be it his face or the fact that he always had new boots, or even if they'd simply helped him back to the main body of the army once. It didn't matter. None of them were prepared to tell his wife that he was dead.

Ejnar made it to Kaven's Seat and, after some questions and some glowering and repeating that he was a Sergeant Major, thank you very much, found out where he could find Selene. But when he finally left the bar, well fortified with brandy that would find welcome back with the Guard, it was to leave the town. He couldn't do it.