Ellowyn broke into a run, sliding over the slippery mud, getting stuck in it at times. It was like a nightmare, the ground as it tried to suck her down and prevent her from getting to her husband. As she drew closer to the knight, she could see who it was.
“Stefan!” she screamed. “Stefan!”
Le Bec had been tasked with assessing the duke’s dead. He was looking down at a group of infantry that had been brutally slaughtered when he heard his name. It was a woman’s voice and he thought that, quite possibly, he was going mad. But his head came up, seeking the sources of the shout. He could see two small peasants struggling towards him through the mud, but one peasant’s hood came free and he recognized Lady de Russe immediately. He went into a panic.
“My lady!” he called, struggling towards her just as she was struggling towards him. “Here, my lady, here!”
“Stefan!” Ellowyn called again.
They came together near a pile of dead French infantry. Stefan reached out to grab her.
“My lady!” he gasped. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“Stefan,” Ellowyn breathed, holding on to him for dear life. “Where is my husband?”
Stefan just looked at her, his pale and worn features tightening. “Oh… my lady,” he sighed. “Why have you come? Who was stupid enough to let you come to this place of death?”
Ellowyn was very aware that he had not answered her question. Struggling to keep her terror at a manageable level, she fixed him in the eye.
“I will ask you one more time,” she said, sounding stronger. “Where is my husband? You will tell me now and you will not delay.”
Stefan stared at her. Then, his eyes filled with tears. Both Ellowyn and Rosalind could see it.
“He is this way,” he said hoarsely. “I will take you.”
Ellowyn clung to him as he led her out of the mud, moving away from the castle and the horrific dead. In fact, both Ellowyn and Rosalind were trying not to look down at the many dead at their feet, but it was difficult considering how bad the footing was. They had to look down to make sure they didn’t step on anything. There were men without heads, without limbs, without faces. Ellowyn thought it was even worse than the dream.
“Tell me what has happened,” she begged softly.
Stefan had a good grip on her as he pulled her carefully with him. “We met the armies of Jean yesterday,” he said quietly. “I will omit most of the tactical details but in spite of being heavily outnumbered by the French, it was a decisive English victory. The Black Angel was once again victorious.”
Ellowyn listened carefully. “Why do I see so many de Russe men among the dead?”
Stefan sighed faintly. “Because we were charged with splitting the French forces in two,” he said. “We accomplished agreat strategic victory that allowed the Prince of Wales to gain the upper hand. It was very, very costly, however. We lost Dylan in the fight and Magnus was badly injured.”
They had come to the end of the sea of mud and stood on more solid ground. Ellowyn gained her footing as she digested Stefan’s words. As they stood on firmer soil, she turned to the exhausted knight.
“Dylan is dead?” she asked.
Stefan nodded, his lower lip trembling. “Aye.”
Ellowyn was deeply and wholly saddened. She closed her eyes at the thought of the brave, efficient knight now counted among the dead.
“Dear God,” she breathed. “Poor Dylan. Poor Annabeth! How badly is Magnus injured?”
“He lost an eye but the physic believes he will recover.”
“Thank God for small mercies,” she whispered. “And my husband?”
Stefan wouldn’t look her in the eye. He began to pull her with him. “I am sorry to say that he was badly injured as well.”
Ellowyn’s knees buckled and it took both Stefan and Rosalind to steady her. Her calm demeanor shattered, Ellowyn began to gasp, struggling not to scream or weep. She had to keep her head.
“Take me to him now,” she gasped. “Now, Stefan.”
He was already on the move, half-carrying her, half-dragging her. Even though Ellowyn had known what the answer would be, still, it was a shock to hear the truth. Her dream had forewarned her of this moment but she found she was wholly unprepared.He has been badly injured. The reality of it was too great.
There was a collection of hastily pitched tents off to the west and Stefan took her in that direction. With the wind blowing and the rain pouring, they moved swiftly through the elements, making way to the large Exeter tent that Ellowyn had become sofamiliar with during her travels with Brandt. She recognized it immediately.
