The medicinal garden at the healing house flourished these last weeks under careful tending, beds of herbs arranged in concentric circles around the central courtyard. Volunteers moved through the rows, harvesting mature plants while checking younger growth for signs of blight or nutrient deficiency.

  Elaine knelt beside a patch of feverfew, examining the delicate white blossoms that would soon provide relief for headache sufferers throughout the district. The day's final light cast long shadows across the courtyard as evening approached, most patients already departed with their ailments addressed. Only those requiring overnight observation remained, resting in the upper chambers under volunteer supervision.

  The garden's tranquility shattered as the healing house gates burst open. Riona strode through, still wearing the formal robes of her council position. Her expression carried an urgency Elaine recognized immediately.

  "We need to speak," Riona said without preamble, her eyes scanning the courtyard for potential listeners. "Privately."

  Elaine rose in a single fluid motion, brushing soil from her hands. "My chambers," she replied simply, already moving toward the private quarters at the healing house's rear.

  Marta approached from the main hall, her practiced efficiency momentarily disrupted by the councilor's unusually abrupt arrival. "Shall I bring refreshments?" she offered, recognizing the signs of significant developments.

  "No," Riona answered before Elaine could respond. "Thank you, Marta, but this requires immediate attention."

  They proceeded in silence through corridors now familiar to both women after years of association. Unlike the healing house's public spaces, which had expanded and transformed with its growing role, Elaine's private chambers remained unchanged—simple furnishings arranged for function rather than comfort, minimal personal possessions, nothing unnecessary.

  Once the heavy door closed behind them, Riona's composure fractured slightly. Her normally disciplined demeanor gave way to a tension Elaine had rarely witnessed.

  "The northern border has been breached," she stated, her voice controlled but tight. "Twenty thousand Vestrian troops crossed into Aldorian territory two days ago. They've already taken two border settlements."

  Elaine absorbed this information with outward calm, though her mind immediately calculated implications. "This confirms the warnings Ambassador Thaelen shared about Vestrian military movements."

  "Yes. The increased patrols, the fortifications—all of it was preparation for this." Riona's hand tightened around the edge of a chair. "We should have acted sooner."

  "The kingdom's response?"

  "Limited," Riona admitted, frustration evident in her tone. "Our primary military force is still engaged in the southern provinces addressing the coastal raiders. What remained has been scattered by these northern invaders."

  "I assume diplomatic channels have been attempted."

  "Failed completely." Riona resumed pacing, her usual stillness abandoned. "The Council has been in emergency session since midnight. Messengers have been dispatched to recall southern forces, but they're at least eight days' march from the capital."

  Understanding crystallized in Elaine's mind—not just the strategic situation, but Riona's personal urgency. "The invaders' projected path would bring them to the capital within a week."

  "Five days, based on their current progression." Riona stopped pacing, turning to face Elaine directly. "The capital has only its city guard for protection—perhaps eight hundred trained fighters at most. Nowhere near sufficient against these numbers."

  Elaine considered this information with the strategic assessment developed over centuries of challenge and adaptation. "Has the King requested my involvement?"

  "No." Riona's answer came with surprising directness. "I'm not here on the King's behalf, Elaine." Her voice softened slightly, revealing a vulnerability Elaine had never before witnessed in the councilor. "Davian's merchant caravan supposed to returning from the northern provinces. They'll be directly in the invaders' path."

  Something in Riona's voice—a subtle shift in tone when she spoke Davian's name—caught Elaine's attention. "What is Davian to you, Riona?" she asked softly.

  The question seemed to catch Riona by surprise. For a moment, the composed royal councilor disappeared, replaced by a woman confronting feelings she'd kept carefully contained.

  "I think..." she began, then stopped, gathering herself. "I think I love him," she admitted, the words carrying the weight of something never before spoken aloud. "I've spent every day these past five weeks measuring time until his planned return. And now..."

  "What exactly do you want me to do, Riona?" Elaine asked, her tone measured. "Do you want me to get Davian or do you want me to deal with the invading army?"

  Riona's shoulders tensed. Her gaze dropped momentarily to her hands.

  "The army stands between Davian and home," she said, her voice steadying as she looked up. "I could ask you to extract him alone—a single merchant caravan slipped past twenty thousand soldiers."

  Her eyes hardened with something beyond personal concern. "But that would leave those same soldiers free to continue their march on the capital. Free to kill thousands who don't have someone like you to call upon."

  She straightened. "I'm asking you to deal with the invading force, Elaine. All twenty thousand of them. Not just for Davian, but for everyone else whose loved ones lie in their path."

  "And what about the loved ones of those twenty thousand soldiers?" Elaine asked, her tone not accusatory but genuinely curious—as if exploring an interesting philosophical question rather than raising a moral objection.

  Riona flinched as if struck, the question cutting through her carefully constructed resolve. For a brief moment, raw pain crossed her face before she mastered it.

  "Of course I've thought of them," she said quietly. "Mothers, fathers, children who will never see their soldiers again." She met Elaine's gaze steadily despite the tremor in her voice.

  Elaine studied her friend's face, seeing the weight of the decision.

  A moment of silence hung between them.

  "I'm not choosing between equal grief," Riona finally continued. "I'm choosing to inflict certainty of loss on them to prevent possible loss for us." A bitter smile touched her lips. "The calculus of war is always the same, isn't it? Deciding whose families will weep."

  Her voice steadied, finding strength not in dismissal of the cost but in its acknowledgment. "I choose our safety over their lives. Our kingdom over their soldiers. Davian over twenty thousand men I'll never know." The admission held no triumph, only the weight of terrible certainty. "I make this choice with open eyes, Elaine. And I'll answer for it when my time comes."

  Elaine rose in a single fluid movement, already mentally cataloging what she would need. "You should prepare cleanup teams for the aftermath. That many bodies will taint the land and water for months, possibly years if left unattended." There was no hesitation in her movements, no moral wrestling with the task ahead.

  "I'll leave at dawn," Elaine said finally.

  Relief crossed Riona's features, quickly replaced by practical focus. "I've brought maps marking their last known positions and projected route." She retrieved rolled parchments from within her council robes. "Their formation suggests Vestrian origin, though they carry no identifying standards."

  "The maps won't be necessary," Elaine replied. "But I'll take them to understand their movements."

  Riona hesitated briefly. "I can arrange an escort—trusted guards who—"

  "No." Elaine's refusal came gently but firmly. "I travel alone. Anyone accompanying me would be at risk."

  Understanding darkened Riona's expression. "Of course." She placed the maps on Elaine's simple desk. "The Council believes the invaders will follow the main trade road."

  "I'll find them," Elaine assured her.

  Their practical discussion continued briefly—details of terrain, estimated troop strengths, compositions of forces. Throughout, the weight of the unspoken understanding remained between them. This was not a healing mission, not a diplomatic intervention. It was something else entirely.

  As their conversation concluded, Elaine moved toward the door. "I should inform Marta and the others of my absence. They'll need to arrange coverage for treatments."

  Riona nodded, following her from the private chambers back toward the healing house's main hall. The contrast between the peaceful evening routine and the gravity of their discussion created a dissonance that neither acknowledged openly.

  Marta and Livia were organizing supplies when they approached, both women immediately noting the serious expressions of Elaine and Riona.

  "I'll be leaving the capital for several days," Elaine informed them without unnecessary explanation. "Continue operations as established. Refer critical cases to the College if necessary."

  The volunteers exchanged glances, accustomed to Elaine's occasional absences but sensitive to the unusual tension accompanying this announcement.

  "Of course," Marta replied with the practical acceptance that had made her invaluable to the healing house's operations. "We have sufficient supplies and practitioners for routine needs. How long should we anticipate your absence?"

  "No more than a week," Elaine replied. "Possibly less."

  Further questions clearly formed in Marta's mind, but years of working with Elaine had taught her when additional information would be forthcoming and when it would not. She nodded, already mentally adjusting schedules and responsibilities.

  As final arrangements were discussed, Elaine noticed Riona watching her with an expression that combined gratitude, concern, and something else—a recognition of the burden her request had placed on their friendship. When their eyes met, silent understanding passed between them. Some actions carried costs beyond their immediate consequences, ripples that would continue long after the initial necessity had passed.

  Dawn had not yet broken when Elaine departed the capital the following morning. Unlike her journey to address the eastern plague years earlier, which had begun with the first light of morning, this departure occurred in darkness—a fitting distinction for missions of such different purposes.

  She traveled north along the main trade road, maintaining a pace that would have exhausted an ordinary traveler. Her satchel contained minimal provisions, Sarah's pendant hung around her neck, and her expression remained composed despite the gravity of her purpose.

  By midday, she had passed beyond the immediate surroundings of the capital into regions already feeling the approaching threat. Farmers worked their fields with unusual urgency, harvesting crops not yet fully matured rather than risking their complete loss. Travelers moved southward in increasing numbers, belongings piled on carts or carried on bent backs.

  At a crossroads inn bustling with displaced families, fragments of conversation reached her as she paused briefly to assess the situation.

  "—said they leave nothing standing—"

  "—cousin saw them from the ridgeline, moving like a dark flood across—"

  "—no mercy for those who resist, and little enough for those who don't—"

  The innkeeper, a heavyset woman with practical efficiency evident in her movements, approached as Elaine prepared to continue northward.

  "You're heading the wrong direction," she observed bluntly. "Nothing north but trouble now."

  "I'm aware," Elaine replied.

  The woman studied her more carefully, noting Elaine's calm demeanor and purposeful stance. "You don't look like a soldier or scout."

  "I'm a healer," Elaine said, the familiar words carrying a different weight in this context.

  "Not much healing to be done where you're heading," the innkeeper warned. "Those who could flee already have. Those who couldn't..." She left the implication unspoken.

  Elaine met the woman's concerned gaze steadily. "Nevertheless, that's where I'm needed."

  Something in her tone caused the innkeeper to step back slightly, reassessing the unassuming figure before her. "Well then," she said finally, "may whatever powers exist watch over you."

  The journey continued as afternoon stretched toward evening, the road emptying of southbound refugees as Elaine pressed further into threatened territory. Villages stood abandoned, livestock released to fend for themselves rather than be taken as spoils of war. Occasionally, local militia groups passed her position, moving southward with the grim expressions of men who had assessed their chances and found them insufficient.

  None questioned her solitary progress northward. Perhaps they assumed her a messenger or scout; perhaps something in her determined advance discouraged interaction. Either way, she continued unimpeded as the landscape grew increasingly desolate—not from the invaders' destruction, which had not yet reached this far, but from the anticipatory abandonment of those unwilling to face what approached.

  Evening found her at the crest of a rolling hill overlooking the broad northern plains. In the distance, campfires flickered into existence as twilight deepened—not the scattered lights of farming communities, but the organized patterns of military encampment. Three thousand soldiers preparing for the next day's advance, unaware that their campaign had already reached its conclusion.

  Elaine stood motionless, watching the distant fires as darkness settled completely. Her expression remained composed, her posture relaxed despite the task ahead. After a moment's contemplation, she began her descent toward the valley floor, her path aimed directly at the heart of the encampment.

  Her advance continued through the night, steady and unhurried. The invaders' perimeter guards would not detect her approach until she chose to be detected. The outcome was already determined—had been from the moment she accepted Riona's unspoken request. All that remained was execution. Their execution.

  * * *

  The perimeter guards never saw her coming.

  First came nightfall, then silence, then death. Five men stationed along the northern approach died within moments of each other, their bodies carefully lowered to the ground to prevent any sound that might alert others. Elaine moved through their outer defenses like a shadow, her steps deliberate, her purpose unwavering.

  This was not vengeance as it had been with Lord Varren. This was calculation. Three thousand soldiers in this forward camp. Another seventeen thousand in the main army two days' march south. Twenty thousand lives to end before they could threaten what she now protected.

  The command tent stood at the center of the encampment, its size and the guard detail betraying its importance. Elaine approached directly, no longer concerned with stealth now that she had reached her objective. A guard noticed her, opened his mouth to shout warning.

  His voice never emerged. Her hand flashed forward, crushing his throat before sound could form. Another guard turned, saw his comrade falling, managed half a shout before joining him in death.

  Alarm spread through the camp—disorganized at first, then with increasing urgency as soldiers scrambled from tents, reaching for weapons, forming into defensive units with practiced efficiency. Torches flared to life, illuminating the blood-stained figure that advanced toward their command center.

  "Form ranks!" an officer bellowed. "Spears front! Archers ready!"

  Fifty men assembled into a defensive line between Elaine and the command tent. Spears extended in a bristling wall while archers nocked arrows behind them. The ordered response of professional soldiers facing an unknown threat.

  Elaine didn't break stride. The first spear thrust toward her chest; she caught the shaft and yanked the wielder forward, snapping his neck with her other hand. The second spearman met the same fate. The third. The fourth.

  "Loose!" came the command, and arrows filled the air, aimed at the blood-covered figure now moving through their spear line with terrible purpose.

  Most missed in the confusion. Those that found their target did nothing—bouncing off her body or simply breaking against her skin. She continued forward, each step bringing death to another defender.

  Inside the command tent, voices rose in urgent conference.

  "What is happening out there?" demanded a commander's voice.

  "Unknown assailant, sir," reported a lieutenant, his face pale in the lamplight. "Single attacker, but the forward guard is... it's falling."

  "Single attacker?" the commander repeated incredulously. "How many casualties?"

  The response died as the tent flap tore open. Elaine stood framed in the opening, blood already covering her clothes, her expression calm as she surveyed the gathered officers.

  "Demon!" one officer gasped, reaching for his sword.

  The command group died in seconds—the strategic brain of the forward force eliminated with surgical precision. Elaine turned, exiting the tent to face the chaos beyond. Soldiers raced toward her position, alerted by the screams of their commanders. Others, witnessing the slaughter at the perimeter, attempted to organize defensive formations.

  She moved through their ranks methodically. No wasted motion. No unnecessary force. Each strike ending a life as efficiently as possible. Blood painted her clothes, her skin, her hair—transformed her into a crimson apparition advancing through their midst.

  "What is she?" a soldier cried as his comrades fell around him.

  "Not she," another corrected, his voice breaking with terror. "What."

  Dawn broke as the last of the forward camp fell. Three thousand bodies lay scattered across ground now soaked with blood. Elaine stood motionless at the camp's center, assessing her progress and the path ahead.

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  Messengers had escaped during the night—three riders breaking away toward the main army while she had been occupied with larger groups. They would carry warning of what approached. The main force would prepare.

  Good. Preparation meant concentration. Concentration meant efficiency.

  She began walking south, following the messengers' path. Her pace was unhurried yet relentless, covering ground with the steady rhythm of someone who had no need to rest, no physical limitations to respect.

  * * *

  The messengers reached the main army before midday, their horses lathered and near collapse from the punishing pace. Their incoherent warnings created initial confusion, soon replaced by grim preparation as the highest commanders absorbed the implications of the forward camp's destruction.

  "A single attacker?" General Korvin repeated, his weathered face skeptical as he studied the trembling messenger. "You expect me to believe one person eliminated three thousand of our finest soldiers?"

  "N-not a person, sir," the messenger stammered. "Something else. She moved too fast, couldn't be injured, killed with her bare hands..."

  The general's expression hardened. "Gather the command staff," he ordered his aide. "Full defensive positions. Whatever this threat is, twenty thousand soldiers will stop it."

  By afternoon, the main army had transformed its encampment into a fortress. Trenches dug in concentric rings around the central command. Archers positioned on elevated platforms for maximum coverage. Cavalry units prepared for rapid response to any approach vector. Special units stationed with pitch and oil—fire being the traditional answer to supernatural threats.

  "Nothing can stand against an organized army of this size," Colonel Thale assured his senior officers, gesturing to the battle preparations spreading before them. "Whatever destroyed our forward position, it will break against our full might."

  General Korvin studied the northward road with narrowed eyes. "Station scouts at two-league intervals," he ordered. "I want continuous updates on this threat's approach."

  The first scout raced back before dusk, his horse nearly collapsing beneath him.

  "She comes," he gasped. "Alone. Covered in blood. Walking, not running, but… fast."

  "Position?" the general demanded.

  "Less than an hour from our outer perimeter," the scout reported. "She... she saw me watching. Looked directly at me. But made no move to pursue when I fled."

  The general's expression darkened. "She wants us to know she's coming. Confidence or arrogance—either way, it ends here." He turned to his officers. "Full battle positions. Every archer ready. Let's introduce this threat to the reality of facing an actual army."

  * * *

  Elaine crested the final hill overlooking the main encampment as sunset painted the sky in bloodied hues. From her elevated position, she observed their preparations with detached interest. Twenty thousand soldiers arranged in defensive formations. Trenches dug for protection. Archers positioned for maximum coverage. Cavalry units stationed for rapid response.

  They had prepared well, given their limited understanding of what approached.

  She began her descent toward their position, her pace unhurried. Their preparations presented not obstacles but opportunities—channels to direct movement, concentrations of targets, predictable response patterns she could exploit.

  Alarm spread visibly through their ranks as spotters identified her approach. Torches flared to life across the encampment, officers bellowed commands, and the massive army shifted like a single organism preparing to defend itself.

  A horn blasted three times—their signal to commence ranged attacks. A thousand archers loosed simultaneously, arrows blackening the sky as they arced toward the solitary figure advancing across open ground.

  Elaine didn't attempt to dodge. The arrow storm descended around her, hundreds finding their target yet causing no damage. She continued forward, her pace steady, shafts breaking against her skin or bouncing away as if striking stone rather than flesh.

  "Again!" came the command, and another volley darkened the sky. Then another. Then another.

  She reached their outermost defensive ring—a trench lined with sharpened stakes. Soldiers stood behind it, spears ready, faces displaying the first hints of unease as they witnessed their arrows' ineffectiveness.

  Without breaking stride, she leaped the trench, landing among the defenders. The systematic elimination began once more—each strike immediately fatal. Bodies fell in her wake as she carved a path directly toward the command position at the encampment's center.

  Cavalry units charged from both flanks, an organized response to the breach in their perimeter. Two hundred mounted soldiers converged on her position, lances lowered, horses at full gallop. Elaine paused, curious to see how this many horses want to get even close enough to be effective.

  She waited until the last moment, then moved—not retreating but advancing directly into the western cavalry unit. Her hands grabbed the lead horse's bridle, stopping its charge instantly. The rider flew forward, impaling himself on her outstretched arm. She flung the body aside and moved to the next horse, then the next.

  The cavalry charge transformed into chaos. Horses reared and fell. Riders died before they could swing their weapons. The eastern unit, witnessing their comrades' fate, attempted to wheel away—too late. Elaine reached them moments later, leaving broken bodies in her wake.

  Night had fully descended by the time she reached their second defensive ring. Blood covered her completely now, dripping from her fingers, soaking her clothes, plastering her hair to her skull. Yet her movements remained controlled, her advance steady, her expression unchanged as she continued the systematic execution of her purpose.

  "Fall back to the inner defenses!" General Korvin ordered, watching from his command platform as his outer forces disintegrated before this impossible adversary. "Prepare the fire barriers! All remaining archers to the elevated positions!"

  Across the massive encampment, soldiers scrambled to obey, their disciplined response increasingly tainted by growing fear. Those stationed between the approaching figure and the inner defenses fought with desperate courage—and died just as quickly as those who fled.

  By midnight, one-third of the army had fallen. Five thousand bodies littered the outer rings of the encampment, creating grotesque barriers of broken flesh and splintered weapons. Elaine continued her advance, now moving toward the inner defensive positions where the remaining forces had concentrated.

  General Korvin studied the nightmare unfolding before him, his mind racing for solutions where increasingly it seemed none existed. "The trenches," he said suddenly. "We funnel her approach through the eastern trench system. Concentrate all remaining forces at the exit points."

  Colonel Thale nodded grimly. "And then, sir?"

  "Then we throw everything at her in one concentrated assault," the general replied. "No creature, however powerful, can withstand the focused might of fifteen thousand soldiers."

  The trap was set. Units positioned themselves to drive the attacker toward the trenches. Others prepared at the exit points, thousands of soldiers concentrated in killing zones where their overwhelming numbers might finally overcome this unstoppable force.

  As the eastern sky lightened with the first hint of dawn, Elaine approached their inner defenses. She noted their repositioning, the obvious attempt to channel her movement. After a moment's assessment, she deliberately turned toward the trap, allowing herself to be "driven" toward the trench system.

  The trenches had been dug seven feet deep, with narrow passages and right-angle turns designed to slow enemy advances. Now they would serve a different purpose.

  Elaine entered the trench system, moving purposefully through its confines. Behind her, soldiers rushed to block the entrance, preventing retreat. Ahead, thousands waited at the exit points, weapons ready, believing their trap had worked.

  But within the trenches, something unexpected occurred. Elaine didn't continue toward the exit points where forces had concentrated. Instead, she struck upward, her strength allowing her to punch through the earthen walls at unexpected locations. She emerged behind groups of soldiers, slaughtered them, then dropped back into the trenches to move to another position.

  The trenches transformed from a trap into a transportation system—allowing her to appear at unpredictable locations, strike, and disappear again. Panic spread as soldiers realized the killer was moving beneath them, emerging without warning to eliminate dozens before vanishing again.

  "She's using our own defenses against us!" Colonel Thale reported in horror. "The trenches—she's moving through them!"

  General Korvin's face hardened. "Collapse the trenches. Full retreat to the command center."

  The ordered retreat became chaos as soldiers scrambled away from the trench system. Some tried to collapse the trenches as commanded, only to be killed as Elaine burst from the ground beneath them. Others fled toward the command center, creating bottlenecks where hundreds became trapped, unable to move forward or back.

  Elaine emerged from the trench system a final time, standing atop a mound of loose earth, surveying the disarray. The disciplined army had transformed into a panicked mass. Soldiers crowded together, trying to reach the presumed safety of the command center, creating dense concentrations of humanity.

  She studied their movement patterns, noting how fear drove them in predictable directions. The image came to her unbidden—a shepherd dog herding sheep into a pen. Except this pen was death, and she was something far more terrible than any dog.

  She began circling the remaining forces. She didn't attack directly at first, merely appeared at strategic locations, driving the soldiers away from escape routes, funneling them toward the center of the camp. Thousands of men gradually compressed into an ever-tightening mass, trampling each other in their desperation to escape the blood-covered figure that kept appearing at the edges of their formation.

  By midday, the remaining twelve thousand soldiers had been compressed into a space designed to hold perhaps three thousand. They could barely move, pressed together so tightly that many couldn't even raise their weapons. Those at the edges could see Elaine circling their position, unhurried, patient, waiting for the perfect moment to begin the final slaughter.

  "What is she doing?" a soldier gasped, crushed between his comrades as they struggled to maintain formation.

  "Herding us," another replied, his voice hollow with realization. "Like cattle to slaughter."

  General Korvin, watching from his elevated command platform, understood too late the full scope of what they faced. "Break out!" he ordered, his voice nearly lost in the sounds of thousands of panicked men. "Scatter in all directions! Better some survive than none!"

  But the order came too late. Elaine had completed her circuit, positioning herself at the only remaining exit point from the compressed mass. As the foremost soldiers turned to flee in that direction, they found her waiting—a blood-covered harbinger of their inevitable end.

  The slaughter began anew.

  She moved through the densely packed soldiers with terrible efficiency. Each strike ended a life. Each step brought her deeper into their formation. Those in front couldn't retreat because of the press behind them. Those behind couldn't see what caused the screams ahead, only felt the ripples of terror passing through the crowd.

  Hours passed. The sun reached its zenith, then began its descent. Still Elaine continued, moving methodically through the trapped mass of humanity. Blood flowed between the tightly packed bodies, creating slick footing that caused even more soldiers to fall, becoming easy targets as they struggled to rise.

  Sunset painted the sky crimson as the last organized resistance collapsed. General Korvin and his command staff made a final stand on their elevated platform, surrounded by elite guards who fought with desperate courage. It made no difference. Elaine reached them, eliminated the guards, and ended the leadership with the same efficient movements she had employed throughout.

  Night fell over a transformed landscape. Where an army of twenty thousand had encamped, now lay only corpses. Blood had soaked into the earth so thoroughly that the ground had become a swamp of red mud. Bodies lay in grotesque piles, particularly dense near the center where the final compression had occurred.

  Elaine stood motionless at the center of the carnage, gore-covered and statue-still as she surveyed what she had wrought. Two days of continuous killing. Twenty thousand lives ended by her hands alone. The moon rose, casting silver light across the field of death, reflecting in the pools of blood not yet absorbed by the saturated earth.

  As dawn came, movement caught her attention—a soldier, somehow overlooked in the slaughter, trying to crawl away from the epicenter of destruction. She watched his progress for a moment, then moved to intercept. He froze as her shadow fell across him, turning his face upward with the last courage of the utterly doomed.

  "Why?" he asked, blood bubbling from his lips as he spoke. "What are we to you?"

  Elaine studied him with detached curiosity. "Nothing," she replied, her voice calm despite the carnage surrounding them.

  Her hand descended one final time. The soldier's question remained unanswered in any way he might have understood. How could he comprehend that twenty thousand lives meant no more to her than twenty thousand ants to a gardener protecting their plot?

  * * *

  Dawn broke over the eastern horizon, painting the sky in delicate hues of pink and gold that belied the horror waiting below. Riona rode at the head of a small contingent of scouts—six experienced soldiers chosen for their steady nerves and discretion.

  The scouts crested a low rise, and the first carrion birds scattered at their approach, reluctantly abandoning their feast to circle overhead in patient anticipation.

  "Gods preserve us," whispered the youngest of the scouts, as they reined in their horses.

  Before them stretched a landscape transformed by death. What had once been rolling grassland had become a vast field of corpses extending to the horizon. Bodies lay in concentric rings, marking the defensive positions that had failed to halt the advance of a single attacker. Blood had saturated the ground so thoroughly that their horses' hooves sank slightly into the sodden earth with each step.

  The smell hit them like a physical force—the copper tang of blood mixed with voided bowels and the first sickly-sweet hints of decay beginning in the summer heat. The young scout turned aside, emptying his stomach over his saddle.

  "Hold," Riona commanded, her voice steady despite the tightness in her chest. "Fan out around the perimeter. Survey only. Count structural formations, identify command positions if possible."

  The scouts hesitated only briefly before moving to obey, their faces grim beneath their helmets. Professional soldiers all, they had witnessed battle aftermath before—but nothing that approached this scale, this absolute thoroughness of destruction.

  Riona dismounted, tying her horse to a stunted tree that had somehow remained standing at the edge of the carnage. The animal whickered nervously, eyes rolling at the scent of so much death. She patted its neck absently, her gaze fixed on the devastation before her.

  Twenty thousand soldiers. An entire invasion force eliminated in what appeared to be a methodical, systematic fashion. She had known what she was asking when she approached Elaine at the healing house. Had understood on some level what would happen. But seeing the result—the absolute finality of it—sent a chill through her that had nothing to do with the morning air.

  Something moved near the center of the battlefield.

  Riona narrowed her eyes, hand instinctively going to her sword hilt. Not a survivor—not after three days. Perhaps scavengers, drawn to the feast despite the scouts' arrival.

  "Continue the perimeter assessment," she called to her scattered men. "I'll reconnoiter the central position."

  She began picking her way through the field of bodies, stepping carefully on ground slick with blood and worse. The dead lay as they had fallen—some in fighting stances, weapons still clutched in rigor-stiffened hands, others contorted in final agony or sprawled in the ungainly postures of those struck down while fleeing.

  As she moved deeper into the killing field, patterns emerged. Bodies lay in methodical groupings that suggested not chaos but careful execution. Soldiers who had died in formation. Officers whose corpses formed perfect circles around what must have been command posts. The precision was almost more disturbing than the scale.

  Movement flashed again at the center of the carnage. Riona crouched instinctively, sheltering behind a pile of bodies as she assessed what she had glimpsed.

  A soldier—impossibly, somehow still alive after three days on this field of death—was attempting to crawl away from the center. His progress was painfully slow, leaving a smeared trail of blood behind his dragging legs. And behind him, watching his desperate flight with detached interest, stood a figure completely covered in blood.

  Elaine.

  Even at this distance, even with her form rendered almost unrecognizable by the gore that coated her from head to foot, Riona knew her immediately. The particular stillness, the careful economy of movement that Riona had come to recognize. She stood perfectly still, observing the wounded soldier's progress with the calm assessment of a researcher studying an insect.

  Riona remained motionless, watching as Elaine finally moved to intercept the crawling man.

  A short while later, Elaine's hand descended in a single fluid motion.

  Riona stood, no longer attempting concealment. "Elaine."

  The blood-covered figure turned toward her voice, movement smooth and unhurried. For a moment, they regarded each other across a sea of corpses—the royal councilor in her travel-stained but immaculate uniform, and the healer so thoroughly covered in blood that only her eyes remained recognizable, two points of clear humanity in a mask of crimson.

  "You arrived just in time," Elaine observed.

  "Yes," Riona replied, resuming her careful path forward until she stood an arm's length from her friend. "The invasion force?"

  "Eliminated." Elaine confirmed.

  The statement hung in the air between them, factual and devoid of either pride or remorse. Riona felt the weight of those words settle into her bones as she truly comprehended what stood before her. Not just a friend who possessed extraordinary abilities, but a force of nature who had, at her request, erased twenty thousand lives from existence.

  Riona's eyes traveled over Elaine's blood-saturated form, taking in the full extent of what three days of continuous killing had wrought. "I asked this of you," she said softly. "I knew what would happen, but I asked anyway."

  "You had reason," Elaine replied. "Davian's caravan, the capital's safety."

  "Was that why you agreed?" Riona asked.

  Elaine met Riona's gaze directly. "I agreed because you asked," she said simply.

  The words struck Riona with unexpected force. Not for duty, not for kingdom, not for abstract notions of security or protection. Because she, Riona, had asked. The enormity of that trust—that willingness to undertake such terrible work simply at her request—left her momentarily speechless.

  She looked around at the sea of bodies stretching to the horizon, then back to Elaine's blood-covered face. What kind of power did she wield now, to have this being respond to her requests with such devastating loyalty? What responsibility came with knowing that a word from her could bring this level of destruction?

  "I never thought—" Riona began, then stopped, reconsidering. "No, that's not true. I knew exactly what would happen. And found the answer acceptable." Her voice carried the shadow of self-recrimination. "I used you as a weapon."

  "No," Elaine contradicted her, with gentle firmness. "You asked for help. I chose to give it." She glanced down at her blood-covered form. "I did this. Not you."

  But Riona shook her head, she looked out over the field of death again. "I would make the same choice again. That's what troubles me most. Twenty thousand lives against the capital, against Davian..." She met Elaine's eyes. "I would ask again."

  "I would answer again," Elaine replied. Something in her expression softened fractionally. "We protect what matters to us, Riona. In whatever way we can."

  The simple statement carried unexpected warmth, a recognition of the bond between them that since Elaine had first demonstrated her capabilities. They had long moved beyond the formal relationship of royal representative and extraordinary asset.

  "Elaine," Riona said, her voice gentle but direct. "Are you alright?"

  "Yes. I'm fine," Elaine replied, attempting a small smile that looked horrifying with her face covered in dried and cracking blood, teeth startlingly white against the crimson mask.

  Riona sighed,. "You know, we really need to stop meeting like this."

  Elaine glanced down at her blood-encrusted form. "There's a river about half a mile east of here. I can hear it."

  "Let's go there," Riona agreed, relieved at the suggestion. She gestured to her scouts who had completed their perimeter assessment and were now gathered at a distance, deliberately averting their eyes from whatever interaction was occurring between their commander and the blood-covered woman. "Continue documenting the formation. I'll return shortly."

  They walked in silence through the field of bodies.

  The sound of running water grew louder as they approached the river—a clear, swift current that cut through the grassland like a silver ribbon. Life continued here, undisturbed by the devastation less than a mile away. Water bugs skittered across the surface, fish darted in the shallows, and reeds swayed gently in the morning breeze.

  Without hesitation, Elaine waded in fully clothed, the current immediately turning crimson around her as three days' worth of blood began to dissolve. The water downstream flowed red, then pink, then gradually cleared as the river's volume diluted the evidence of what she had done.

  "What about the cleanup requirements I mentioned at the healing house," Elaine said, scrubbing at her arms with methodical efficiency. "As I said then, this scale of death will corrupt the land if left unattended."

  The practical observation, so at odds with the almost ritual cleansing Elaine was performing, nearly startled a laugh from Riona.

  "Always thinking ahead," she said, kneeling by the riverside, offering the clean clothes she'd brought. "I've brought scouts to assess and report. Full recovery teams will follow once we understand the scale." She hesitated, watching as Elaine dunked her head beneath the surface. "There's also the matter of the official record..."

  Elaine emerged from the water, pushing back hair now freed from its crust of dried blood. "I take no joy in this, Riona. But precisely because of that, I believe my involvement should be made explicit." She looked up, meeting Riona's eyes. "A clear deterrent might prevent the need for... repetition."

  "You would allow yourself to become the kingdom's protection then?" Riona asked, surprise evident in her voice. "A warning to all potential enemies?"

  Elaine shook her head, sending droplets of pinkish water flying. "Let's settle for deterrence for now. I do not wish to back any aggression, but I also would like to avoid a repeat of..." her gaze drifted toward the field of bodies, "...this."

  She waded closer to the shore, water streaming from her now-clean skin and sodden clothing. "Fear can be useful when it prevents unnecessary death. And there is no point in hiding what I am."

  The statement carried echoes of their first, when Elaine had demonstrated her capabilities with such devastating efficiency.

  Riona nodded slowly. "As you wish. The report will reflect exactly what occurred."

  She pulled out a bundle of clean clothes. "By the way, this is becoming something of a habit—you covered in blood, me arriving with spare clothing."

  The observation drew a genuine, if slight, smile from Elaine.

  "The circumstances do seem to repeat." She accepted the clothes.

  "Though the scale increases dramatically each time," Riona noted, her tone deliberately light despite the gravity of their situation.

  "From fifty men at Riverside to thousands at Varren's fortress to twenty thousand here... I hesitate to imagine what might come next."

  "Let us hope nothing does," Elaine replied quietly.

  They stood in silence for a moment, the rushing river providing counterpoint to the distant calls of Riona's scouts as they continued their grim documentation. Elaine's gaze drifted across the water, her expression unreadable.

  "The healing house," Riona said finally, voicing a concern that had been growing in her mind. "After word of this spreads... how will people see you?"

  Elaine considered this, her gaze traveling in the direction of the capital far to the south. "Those who need healing will still come," she replied with quiet certainty. "That's what matters."

  The simplicity of her answer carried a truth Riona couldn't dispute. Need often overcame fear. Pain drove people to seek relief regardless of who offered it. And Elaine's abilities as a healer remained extraordinary, a gift undiminished by her capacity for destruction.

  "We should return to the scouts," Riona suggested after another moment. "They'll have completed the initial survey by now."

  As they walked back toward the battlefield, Riona found herself matching Elaine's measured pace. The day stretched ahead of them—reports to complete, details to document, arrangements to make for the massive cleanup operation that would follow. But beneath these practical considerations lay something more profound—a deepened understanding between them that transcended conventional bonds.

  Ahead, Riona's scouts waited with barely concealed apprehension, their eyes moving between their commander and the woman beside her—a woman who had single-handedly accomplished what armies might have failed to do, who had saved the kingdom through methods that defied comprehension.

  "Your orders, Councilor?" called the senior scout as they approached.

  Riona straightened, royal authority settling around her like a familiar cloak. "Document everything exactly as it appears," she commanded. "No details omitted or obscured."

  The scout's eyes flickered briefly to Elaine, understanding dawning in his expression. "Yes, Councilor. And the... cause?"

  "Record that the invasion force was eliminated by Elaine." Riona's voice carried absolute certainty. "Let the record show exactly what happened here."

  As the scouts dispersed to continue their grim documentation, Riona stood beside Elaine at the edge of the carnage, both women contemplating what lay before them and what would come after. Twenty thousand bodies would soon return to the earth from which they came. The threat to the kingdom had been eliminated. Life would continue.