"Mounted troops coming. Northeast. Prepare yourselves," Madra said, and her words spawned a flurry of activity. What had been a sluggish and awakening camp turned to a determined rush. "They looked like the Kytes' men, but I'm not certain."
Not long after, fifty mounted men poured onto the field at a leisurely pace. At their head rode the youngest grandson of Arbuckle Kyte, Catrin's betrothed, and she still didn't know his name. Millie was not far away, and Catrin went to her side. "What's his name?" she whispered into the suspense-filled air.
"You don't know his name? Shame on me. Shame on you. His name is Jharmin Olif Kyte, and he doesn't look happy."
Catrin turned back to him, and when he saw her, a nimbus of power appeared around him, outlining his form in undulating waves of light, like flames. Madra came to Catrin. "We must go meet with him."
"Perhaps it would be better if you went alone," Catrin replied. "He's not fond of me."
"Be that as it may, you must come, unarmed. He knows you're here, and he'll undoubtedly demand an audience with you."
Leaving her staff and knife with Benjin, Catrin walked beside Madra, a sour feeling in her stomach. All the mounted men behind Jharmin were intimidating, but it was Jharmin who posed the greatest threat, despite the fact that he, too, was unarmed. The skin on Catrin's throat itched, as if remembering his fiery touch.
"I had reports of an army on my lands, and now I find the Herald Witch leading a travesty that soils our fields. What makes you think you can cross Lankland without my permission?"
Despite his insults, Catrin chose to remain cordial. "I don't lead this army, and they do not follow me. Our paths are merely the same at the moment."
Jharmin made a noise in his throat and rolled his eyes. "So who does lead this mockery of an army?"
"I do. I am Madra of Far Rossing, one of your former subjects," Madra said without a hint of courtesy.
"Former?"
"Quite. At one time, your family protected the land and our people, but then you surrendered to the Zjhon. You've been little more than puppets since."
"How dare you speak to me that way, peasant! I should send you back to the hovel you came from," he said, the nimbus around him expanding.
"Please," Catrin said. "There has been enough bloodshed. Now is not the time for fighting. What this land needs is peace and leadership so that it can be rebuilt. A battle today will do nothing but reduce the number of able-bodied people available to do that rebuilding. Would you send your homeland into ruin?"
"Silence, witch. Your evil tongue cannot poison our minds."
"You call her a witch, yet if it were not for her, you would be dead," Madra said.
"Lies and tricks. The Herald Witch makes people believe she's come to save them when all she's done is kill the good people of the Greatland. I don't know exactly how she caused the other statue to explode, but I was in no more danger within Adderhold than I am right now," Jharmin said, looking smug.
"You're an arrogant fool," Madra said as she turned to walk away.
"I want you off my lands by nightfall, and you're never to return-any of you," Jharmin said, his face growing redder as the conflict wore on.
"You'll have to kill us all, then," Madra said. "You can kill your own subjects. I won't stop you. I can only imagine, though, how all those young people in the Zjhon armies will feel when they find out you killed their parents and children."
"Don't mock me, woman. I'm the protector of my people. It is you that poses a threat, and it's my responsibility to protect Lankland from you."
Madra tilted her head back and laughed a harsh, barking laugh. "Kill us, and there'll be fewer left to protect, m'lord. But have it your way. My army goes where I lead it, and I'll leave your lands when I am good and ready. If you wish to fight, then let us be done with it and fight now. What do you say?"
"I say you travel with the Herald Witch, and that makes you my enemy."
"What did I ever do to you?" Catrin asked, no longer able to contain her anger.
"Beside the fact that your family has been killing my family and people for over a hundred years? How about pretending you would marry me just so you could attack Archmaster Belegra."
"I went to Adderhold willing to marry you if that was what it took to save people's lives. You can believe what you want about me and about the statues; I'll not try to change your mind. But do remember that your family has been killing my family for just as long. I know since you killed my mother and both my aunts in a most cowardly fashion," Catrin said, becoming more incensed with each word.
Jharmin appeared genuinely surprised by the accusations and simply stood with his mouth open for a moment. "I don't know what you are talking about."
"That's just how his grandfather wants it," Madra said.
"Silence!" Jharmin said, glaring.
"Jharmin, please," Catrin said, trying desperately to avoid violence. "If you say you knew nothing of their deaths, then I believe you, but you must also understand that I've had no knowledge or involvement in what my family has done here in the Greatland. I grew up on the Godfist. This is all new to me, and I don't know how to fix it, but I'm certain fighting isn't the answer."
Jharmin stood silent, apparently considering her words, but just when he was about to speak, there was a shout from his men. Catrin turned to look where a man pointed. Above the rolling hills, a waving pennant rose, showing Istra and Vestra in their immortal embrace. Soon the standard bearer then the body of the Zjhon army came into view. Row upon row of mounted riders approached, followed by orderly columns of foot soldiers. In the distance the supply wagons were barely visible.
Catrin and Madra looked at Jharmin. "You two had best go prepare yourselves," he said; then he went back to his men.
"What are we going to do?" Catrin asked as she and Madra walked back to camp and the awaiting sea of worried faces. Only the underlying determination on those faces kept Catrin from despairing. These people would die fighting if they had to. Catrin hoped it didn't come to that.
"This is what we came for," Madra said. "Although having the Kytes here makes things more interesting, we'll do what must be done," she said, and she turned to her soldiers. "Stand at attention. Show no fear. If I say attack, attack, but until then, do nothing."
The next few moments passed slowly, like the mire of dreams, and Catrin watched events unfold with detached indifference, as if it were not real. It was too strange to be real. She and Madra walked together but apart, Jharmin came from another direction, and a swaggering, older man came from yet another. "State your intentions," he said, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Jharmin Kyte, grandson of Arbuckle-"
"I know who you are. State your intentions."
Jharmin looked shaken, and Catrin was amazed no one else could see the flames that leaped higher around him as his fury grew, but it was obvious they could not.
"I came to investigate reports of an army on my lands," Jharmin said, "and a report that two local guards had been killed," he said, glaring at Catrin. She considered responding but decided to keep her mouth shut.
"I have orders to bring in the Herald Witch," the man said. "We have no need for your services. You're dismissed."
Jharmin's flames soared and danced around him, and his face flushed. "I must insist that you not do battle on these lands. I will remain to see that the people of Lankland are not made to suffer."
"So be it, pup. Stay if you want, but stay out of my way or you might accidentally fall on my sword." Not waiting for a response, he turned to Catrin. "You will surrender immediately, otherwise we'll kill you all. You," he said, turning to Madra, "will go away."
Madra wasn't looking at him, though, and she did not react to his statement. Instead, she scanned the Zjhon lines. Suddenly she gave a start. "Medrin, Chelby, attend me!" she shouted across the distance. The Zjhon commander turned slowly, and he flushed as two horses separated from his lines.