Much later that night, after settling in a territory miles away from Twells, the queen and her soldiers were huddled together inside a familiar cave. Usually, after each battle, the conversation always centered on how many kills each soldier had. But no such conversation would be heard tonight, despite the fact that what the Army of the Crown had accomplished over the last eleven nights was something that was unheard of. Forty soldiers and their queen had managed to take down well over twenty-seven hundred Krethans and Day-Walkers. The queen and the remaining seventeen stood their ground against an attack of over three thousand. Maybe they could have stayed and withstood the onslaught of the Krethans longer.
But at what price? Eventually, all would have fallen under the sword of the Krethans and Day-Walkers. With the people of Twells destroyed, nothing would be left to preserve their history and culture.
After eating, they all lay silent under the flickering lights of the torches. But none were more silent than their queen. Slowly, she rose to her feet, making her way to the entrance of the cave. "My queen, what is the matter?" Marlon inquired.
"Nothing," she said. "I just need a drink of water."
"Allow someone to go and fetch it for you."
"No!" she half shouted, drawing the curious looks of the others. "I can go get it myself," she said softly.
She traveled the small distance to the shore of a river and, kneeling on her hands and knees, began to lap at the water like an animal. She caught sight of her reflection in the water by the light of the moon.
She found it difficult to avoid the questions in the eyes of the image that rippled upon the water. Did they leave too soon? Could Twells have been saved? Would her mother have surrendered Twells over to her enemies? However, the answer to the latter was the most obvious. Karlise would have died. She and the army would have fought to the death.
Forcefully, she splashed her hand in the water as her reflection rippled anew upon the surface. With her fists, she began frantically beating at her reflection, sending water splashing everywhere. She buried her face in her hands and wept. As far as she was concerned, she had brought everlasting shame to the Army of the Crown. They deserved better. Their hearts and bravery were deserving of the highest honor, 'the glorious death' in battle, not being stored away in some cave like cowards.
The following night, after feeding upon the blood of some elderly villagers, they came to take up camp along the shores of the Black River. Named so due to the strange, blackened vegetation that grew along the shoreline. She separated herself from the small camp of seventeen, refusing food and wine in their company. The corners of her mouth sagged. She no longer felt worthy to be called their 'queen'.
Sensing how deeply distraught she was, a concerned Marlon made his way to visit the despondent queen. He couldn't recall ever seeing her so overcome by grief. Not even at the death of her mother. Her head was reclined against a huge rock with her knees pulled in towards her chest.
Her tears had dried, leaving a faint trail that glistened under the bright glow of the new moon. The cool air was just as still as her breath as past events continued to hold her hostage. Her face seemed to sag with a heavy somberness.
Her uneven, disheveled hair hung wildly over her soiled face. They may as well been left shipwrecked upon an island, uncertain of home and sure of the possibilities of never returning.
"My queen, the others are concerned. You will not eat and they fear that-" Marlon paused. He couldn't bring himself to say the words.
"I shall be fine," she mumbled hoarsely with a vacant stare.
They were miles from Twells, Marlon was filled with uncertainty at their surroundings. Earlier he had sent scouts to spy upon the small town of Baldric, a mile or so from where they were currently located. They brought back a surprising report. It was now imperative that they continue to move toward their goal of the village of Fairings.
"We must continue to move towards the west, my queen. For us, it will only be half a day's journey. But a journey nevertheless that will require that you are well nourished."
Katrina simply nodded. Silently, he continued to stand at her side, which aroused her curiosity. "What is it?" she asked.
"I just received a report that the town of Baldric could very well be made up of Day-Walkers."
The news seemed to awaken her from her nightmare. "Are you sure?" she asked.
Marlon nods. "They bear all the markings of those who once lived among us in Twells. Cleftus even noticed how their eyes glow softly in the darkness. Like the Day-Walkers we encountered at dawn."
This was more than she could have asked for. Maybe it wouldn't resolve everything, but at least, it would offer them all some peace. "Very well,” she said. "I will join the rest of you shortly."
Somberly, she made her way into the camp, finding a sitting Cleftus, who rose quickly to his feet in the presence of the queen.
"The people living in Baldric, are you sure they are Day-Walkers?" she asked softly.
"Yes! Their dress, demeanor, and customs resemble those who lived among us."
"How many would you say live in the town?"
"I'm not certain. But roughly a few hundred, counting women and children."
Slowly, the queen removed her sword from her side. Carefully sliding the palm of her hand across its sharp blade, she watched as her blood trickled slowly down the blade and along her wrist, much to the confusion and dismay of the members of her army. She then took her bloodied hand and touched Cleftus's forehead, then the foreheads of every soldier, leaving behind her blood-stained palm print. Finally, she stood before a perplexed Marlon, touching his forehead with her hand. They all understood the symbolism but were confused by how it was being applied.
"I have denied all of you the honor of a 'glorious death'. However, tonight, in my own blood, I promise you vengeance upon those who visited terror upon our people. As long as they exist, I shall never have rest."
Later that evening, the queen and Marlon went to scout Baldric from the high hills surrounding the town for themselves.
The people resembled those of Khalid and his people, however, the proof was the tall, angular men moving through the small town with ease. They were Krethans. Cleftus had been right. Returning back to camp, the queen informed them of her plans. They would not be leaving and heading west. Not just yet. "Tomorrow, after sunset, we shall wield the mighty hand of the Army of the Crown, one last time."
