Page 134 of The Exquisite Torment of Loving Your Enemy

“Right,” said Verity. “There are only a handful of us here, and no more coming.” She turned to the ibex. “What is Dinadan’s command?”

“Stay here,” said the ibex.

“She doesn’t want us to go back?” asked the Warden called Solace. “We could do damage to the Dumnonians, arriving behind them by surprise.”

Dinadan’s ibex shook his massive horns. “Protect Swanstone. There were six Haelan on rotation at Tintagel Castle, presently stuck there, along with the Haelan delegation. A fair exchange of strength. Our Orders must help each other.”

A sigh of relief burst from Haven’s helmet. “At least our spear-sisters will have healing available. The three Heads among them.”

“No sign of the Dreor yet?” asked Dinadan’s ibex.

“None,” said Verity.

“Right. Keep in contact. Skewer a Dreor for me if you get the chance.”

The ibex vanished.

“How many Wardens are here now?” asked Cath.

“Eight,” said Verity. “Myself, Haven, Tenet, Ataraxia, Solace, Echo, and our two newest, Hraith and Beorgan.”

“Eight of us against an unknown number of Dreor,” said Ataraxia.

“And us missing our Heads,” said Cath.

Aurienne felt sick to her stomach. “Dumnonia played her cards brilliantly.”

“We’ll fight well,” said Haven. “Besides, with this many Haelan at our side, it’d be quite impossible to die, wouldn’t it?”

Cath put a hand on Haven’s vambrace. “As long as my seith lasts, you are immortal.”

Other Haelan had gathered around the ibex and listened in on the discussion. The lack of additional Wardens was a shock to all. The mood in the courtyard plummeted from determination to fear. Aurienne found Corinne and Nym holding each other in a terrified knot. She squeezed their hands and offered words of reassurance. They were, along with her, the only ones who could carry out seith transfers at Swanstone. If things turned violent, their assistance and sangfroid would be critical. She assigned them and herself to Wardens to replenish their seith if it got low. Cath gave instructions to her team from Trauma, who would be the most adept at healing battle wounds.

Aurienne, with Saophal on her shoulder, stepped in front of the statue of Fria. An expectant stillness fell upon the crowd in Swanstone’s courtyard.

She looked at Lorelei and her team, and Cath and hers, and Breage and the nurses, and the Haelan gathered in anxious clusters upon the battlements, all of whom had worked themselves to exhaustion for sick children, had suffered their Costs, had found fresh courage and reserves of strength and depleted both, week after week—and still it wasn’t enough. The threat was at their doorstep. None of them was trained for this. They walked the Bright Path. They were pacifists.

They were pacifists, but.

The goddess Fria stood behind Aurienne with her arms stretched to the skies. On either side of her, enormous and majestic, winged the Aer in flight. Upon the swans’ breasts, worn away by rain, were engraved runes:Choosers of the fallen.

“Those who try to kill an Aer suffer immediate death,” said Aurienne. Her voice rang through the silent courtyard. “We are under attack by the Dreor.” She held up her right palm. “Let’s remind them why the Haelan Order bears this tacn.”

The Haelan around her unfurled tense fists and looked at the Aer upon their palms.

“Tonight, we make the myth real,” said Aurienne. “Tonight…”

She hesitated. The grave faces of her colleagues surrounded her. What she was about to say was a sort of blasphemy. Haelan should never express such things.

Saophal, still perched on her shoulder, nudged her cheek.

“Tonight, we do notHarm to none,” said Aurienne. “We harm as many Dreor as possible. Keep the Wardens healed. And if, gods forbid, a Dreor comes within range of your tacn, you send it to Hel.”

First there was no sound, no movement. A shiver ran from the Haelan nearest Aurienne, across the flagstones, up the swan-carved walls, and to the top of the ramparts.

“Make them regret,” said someone.

“Make them suffer,” said someone else.