Farrell’s company commander had ordered the retreat, but before the company could clear the battlefield and follow the remnants of the main body under Colonel Johanson, several companies of imperial light cavalry slammed into their rear.

The shock was too much for the company’s morale to bear, and its formation shattered into chaos. The company commander went down under slashes from several sabers. Order in most squads broke down as troopers rode in whatever direction they thought safety might be hiding.

“Follow me,” Farrell yelled to his troop, and then he led them on a mad gallop along a dirt trail into the western forest. Remnants of other troops merged into their column. Imperial cavalry followed them, but inside the forest, their pursuers inevitably slowed because they did not know what they were riding into.

Farrell knew, though, because of his many trip along these roads. At that point in his life, he had not yet seen much of the world. But the trade road linking Ravenwood to West Crossing to the mountain border fort, he knew that road as if it were his private playground, which, in some ways, it had been for the past five years.

Several miles into the forest, after their pursuers appeared to give up their pursuit, Farrell halted his small group at a stream. He had a few sergeants, some corporals, and several dozen troopers left with him. He was, he supposed, the acting captain of the company. While the men rubbed down the horses and gave them some water, Farrell scrubbed some dried blood from his hands.

The ranking sergeant approached and asked about what they were going to do now.

Farrell pointed south. “Over the stream and a bit further, we will hit a woodcutter’s passageway. They pull a lot of ship masts from this forest, and they need the access to be able to get teams of horses in here. We can pass through the forest until we get to a river. From there, I plan to ride south to Barden’s Fortress and join Colonel Johanson.” He hesitated, but then decided to speak about reality. “I can’t make you and the others come with me, sergeant, but your best option is to do so.”

The sergeant splashed some water on his face before answering. “I thought that we were dead meat on that battlefield, sir, but you got us out. You got all of us out. So no worries, I’ll follow you. I think the others will, too.”

Outside the forest, they rode south, hugging the tree line and ready to retreat back into the trees, if necessary. Apart from a few small parties of woodcutters, they saw nobody for several days. But then a trooper serving as an advance scout rode back to the group with a report.

On the road ahead, a side branch of the interior north-to-south trade road, a small group of five men were confronting several wagons attended by, presumably, two brothers and a sister from a nearby farm or hamlet. According to the scout, the bandits or deserters were amusing themselves by toying with their prey, verbally at first.

“Do we help?” asked the sergeant.

“Yes,” said Farrell. At the dubious look on his sergeant’s face, he continued, “We need food, too. And you know what they will do to the girl if we pass this by.”

The sergeant sighed and nodded, loosing the tie that held his sword in the scabbard. “True,” he said. “Let’s get it done.”

“We charge,” Farrell said. “If they run, fine. If anyone raises a bow or sword in our direction, drop them with your bows. Hit hard and fast. No pursuit.” He scanned the faces of his troopers. “Watch your backs. None of us die on this shitty day. That’s an order.”

His final words drew a few grim chuckles. Then, the soldiers of Ravenwood went to work.

After the brief fight, in which three of the bandits died, they escorted the brothers and their sister back to a nearby hamlet. About thirty-five people in six families, including several retired veterans and some strong men and women, lived in the compound. A low wall, high enough to constrain livestock but too low to prevent attackers from accessing the houses and storage buildings, encircled people who lived there.

“Do you think we will be safe here?” an older man asked Farrell.

“Probably,” Farrell said. “There are enough of you that small bands of deserters or bandits likely would steer clear. And Baron Monroe and his ilk will want to collect their taxes. But there are no guarantees. The barons who betrayed Duke Cedric are a greedy lot, and they’ll want lands for their cronies. If Ravenwood becomes a province under the Empire,” he shrugged, “the Emperor’s yoke will not be a light one. But the emperor wants a united empire, not a wasteland. I would not choose to live under that yoke, but then I do not have a wife or children.”

“If I were making the decision, I would leave,” Farrell continued. “A lot of the decent nobles were slaughtered with Cedric. The ones who fill the power void will be the traitors, the greedy, and the ambitious. The next few years are going to be tough ones, I would reckon.”

After a long meeting, the families reached their decisions. One family, including the two brothers and the sister, along with two of the veterans, decided to ride with them. They had some spare horses from the bandits. Two other horses Farrell exchanged for food and some ale. Apples and pears were good travel foods.

Back on the trade road, they made good time toward the south. When they finally encountered friendly forces, to their surprise, the patrol was a scouting party of Three Rivers Rangers, accompanied by one of Gillian Whiterose’s Bladedancers, rather than a troop of Colonel Johanson’s cavalry. The good news was that the colonel was still alive and holding a position to the south.

Farrell was not sure why the Rangers seemed amused by the words “a position,” but he was relieved that the rangers agreed that joining the remnants of the army was the best available choice right now.

The Three River scouts sent two of their number along with them toward what they called “Barden’s Fortress,” while the rest continued their reconnaissance patrol.

Farrell relaxed slightly at that point. They were safe enough to feel some confidence that they would survive the day. During a war, he was learning, staying focused on the present was a wise choice.

The past often was horrible, and the future would come soon enough.