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There seemed to be a lot more soldiers in the Rising Wave than had left with Luc from Fernwell, but some were wearing more homespun clothing and she guessed Luc had picked up extra fighters in Cervantes, keen to protect their country from the Jatan.

Even though the Rising Wave numbers had swelled significantly, they were still outnumbered two to one by the army on the other side of the field.

The Jatan were thinner, though, more ragged.

That might make them more dangerous, though, not less.

They looked desperate.

At last she rounded the front of the line, hunting for any sign of Luc. She saw Revek and Rafe, their horses a few paces in front of everyone else’s, both watchful and tense.

Luc was nowhere in sight. Which, knowing him and his lead-from-the-front attitude, seemed impossible.

That is when she finally caught sight of what held the attention of both sides.

A small group of people were huddled together around a fire in the middle of the field. The fire was going strong, and only when she got closer did she see the reason.

Two round wooden stumps, the kind often used as seats around a fire pit, had rolled or been kicked into the fire and had caught alight.

They were burning in the sullen, smoky way of over-large pieces of dry wood.

People lay on the ground, some curled over, others spread-eagled.

One of the people curled over in a foetal position was Luc.

She was running before she even registered the fact.

Massi was there, she noticed peripherally, standing close to Luc, arrow pointing down, but everything about the way she stood projected a readiness to fire at a moment’s notice.

Four other warriors that she guessed were Rising Wave stood with her, and one held a long knife to the throat of a young soldier kneeling in front of him.

Some of the people in the small group were wearing robes, and a few looked like senior officers. She guessed from the situation they were Jatan, but she didn’t try to make sense of it, yet.

Everyone looked tired, and she sensed this had not just happened.

It was a stand-off that had dragged on for hours, and the breaking point was fast approaching.

She slowed her pace as she reached the small group, catching her breath so no one would hear her, and then slid silently through the bodies and the guards to kneel behind Luc, crouching at his back. Massi might step back and stand on her if she went to his front.

He was breathing, but his breath was labored.

She reached a hand around to place it against his chest, and she could feel the raspy rattle in his lungs.

She gave herself a moment to feel the hot, fiery rush of rage against Sirna and his rope.

She was much better, stronger, but she was still not what she was.

And she wanted all the power she could have to help her heart’s choice.

If Sirna hadn’t been dead already, she would have found a way to kill him again, and it would not have bothered her conscience at all.

But that type of thinking would not help Luc, so she drew in a quiet, deep breath and took out her needle and thread. As she did, she looked around at the other victims and saw a few were just hanging on to life, others were dead.

From the mugs of ale lying beside them, she guessed poison, and she wondered who wanted to poison both the Jatan and the Rising Wave.

Unless this was some kind of internal Jatan conflict.

She knew the Jatan had only come together to fight the Kassians. Perhaps one of the groups had decided that now was a good time to stage a takeover.