Trystan furrowed his brow. “Then why—”
Emrys silenced him with a kiss.
Stunned, Trystan didn’t know what to do. His heart raced. Emrys’ hands slid alongside his face, framing it. His kiss was gentle. Full of love. Full of promise. And clarity. Emrys didn’t give him that same feeling that Marc did. He understood now why he did it. It didn’t mean he didn’t love him. It just meant he wasn’t the one.
Emrys pulled back and looked down at him, doing everything in his power to mask the heartache just below the surface. He needed Trystan to believe that Marc was the right choice, even if Emrys’ heart kept trying to convince him otherwise. “I’m sorry. You needed to know. I didn’t know how else to show you.”
Trystan gave a short nod, backing away from Emrys as he casually rubbed his fingertips over his lips. Nearby, the sounds of impending war grew louder.
“We’d better get out there,” Trystan said.
“Agreed.”
They rejoined Marc back outside.
“Is that her army?” Trystan asked.
“Yes,” Emrys answered.
Methodically, they marched on, thousands upon thousands of them. A seemingly endless mass of foul creatures. As the light of the dawn cast over the horizon, they drew closer, and Trystan could finally make out their ghastly appearance.
They were human, but not living. Rather they were human corpses in various states of decay, carrying crude swords, axes, and war hammers. Rotting flesh clung to bone. Tattered, soiled clothes loosely covered their decomposing bodies. They advanced from every direction, encircling them, trapping them. There would be no retreat. No mercy from the soulless beings they now faced.
“They are the undead,” Emrys said, his ominous tone carrying over the sudden and deafening silence surrounding them. “Morgaine’s Army of Death is what the men and women called them many years ago. They will devour and destroy everything in their path. Morgaine is the only one who can control them.”
“Where is Queen Mysel? Have the elves arrived yet?” Marc asked.
“They will be here,” Emrys said, his tone confident.
As he spoke, Queen Mysel and several other elves suddenly appeared among them. A few of them rode shadow wolves. Their unexpected appearance startled the soldiers around them, including Regent King Locryn, and they drew their swords.
“Stand down,” Emrys commanded. “They are here to help us.”
Locryn nodded to the soldiers upon Emrys’ command, who then eased back.
“We are all here,” Mysel stated. “My people and the wolves are already spread out among your soldiers and ready to serve. They will keep to the shadows, nearly undetectable.”
Locryn walked up next to his son and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Marc, I must be out among our people. Before I go, however, there is something I must tell you.”
King Locryn paused for a moment, trying to find the words and hide the grief in his face. “I received word this morning that your mother died a couple days ago. I’m sorry to bring you this news at a time such as this, but you needed to know.” He paused again, forcing a painful smile. “Perchance we will have a guardian angel with us today. I leave you these soldiers to help protect Trystan. Good luck, my son.”
Marc stood speechless as he watched his father mount and ride off down the hill with a few of his guards following close behind. He could not let the sorrow that filled his heart and clouded his mind be seen by those around him, but he now felt weak and unfit for battle. His mind swarmed with thoughts not only of his mother but also of Trystan. He imagined, for a moment, what he would do if he ever had to endure his mate’s death the way his father had only recently done.
Trystan saw the pain in Marc’s eyes like no one else could. He stepped closer to him. “Marc,” he whispered. “Look at me.”
When he did, Trystan continued, looking into his eyes. Trystan squeezed Marc’s upper arms through the chain mail.
“I’m sorry about your mother, but now is not the time to mourn and she will understand that. Right now, we have a battle to fight. I need you with me. I need to know you will be there for me when I need you most.”
Trystan’s soft voice and inspirational words cleared his mind. “I’m here,” Marc said. “I will always be here for you.”
***
The undead army, now within range of the archers’ longbows, increased their speed. The King’s soldiers stood ready. With spears, swords, and daggers, the men at the front line prepared for the attack. Behind them stood the archers and a few men and women with matchlock muskets. Elves and wolves hid in the shadows.
Trystan watched as the first wave of arrows was released. The arrows penetrated their attackers, but did little to slow them down. The soldiers fired their guns as another wave of arrows was released, and again, they did not slow. By the time the third volley of arrows was let loose, the undead creatures had reached the warriors at the base of the hill. The immediate carnage that followed echoed all around them.
“Trystan, stay close to me,” Marc commanded, removing Excalibur from its sheath and picking up his shield.
