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Three dozen Frowth giants littered the battlefield； strange…looking creatures； with their hair burned off。 Iome had never envisioned them thuseach with pink skin and a long snout like a camel's； the hugeness of their claws。 From atop the Dedicates' Keep； they looked like misshapen； hairless mice； dotting the battlefield。 Some dead giants still held knights and their horses in their paws。
Raj Ahten's horses were dead； cut down with many of the guards who'd been stationed at the edge of the wood。
Yet now his men celebrated a victory； a battle won。
Iome did not know if she should rejoice at Raj Ahten's victory； or weep for Orden。
She was a Dedicate now to Raj Ahten。 Rather than fear Raj Ahten； Iome now had to fear assassination at the hands of other kings； or from the Knights Equitable who battled the Wolf Lord。
Chemoise stood at Iome's side； gazed over the blackened fields； weeping as Raj Ahten's troops rode to the castle。 Smoke still crept over the ash； and stumps burned all the way to the hill and into the woods。
Why does Chemoise cry？ Iome wondered。 Then she realized that she； too； had eyes filled with tears。
Iome understood。 Chemoise cried because the world had gone black。 Black fields。 Black woods。 Black days ahead。 Iome drew her hooded robe more tightly around her； hiding her face。 The heavy wool seemed thin protection。
Some of Raj Ahten's troops waited down in the lower bailey。 Raj Ahten rode from the battlefield toward the city gates； to meet with his flame…weavers and counselors。 Even the Frowth giants ducked under the posterns of the gates and came into the lower bailey； seeking protection。
In the hills to the south； a hunting horn rang out； followed by another farther east； and another。 A few last stragglers from Orden's army perhaps； calling to one another。
Iome waited for Raj Ahten's men to turn around； ride out； and mop up the survivors。 Given the strength of his forces； she did not understand why so many of his men remained here in the castle。
Unless something had happened on the battlefield that she couldn't see。 Perhaps Raj Ahten feared for his own men。 Perhaps they were weaker than she believed。 The Wolf Lord must have feared to chase Orden's men any farther； for he knew full well that he could get drawn into an ambush。
Raj Ahten's wisdom went far beyond Iome's。 If he was frightened； perhaps he had good reason to fear。 Yesterday； Gaborn had told Iome that King Orden could soon reach the castle with reinforcements。
Iome hadn't given it much thought。 Orden often brought a couple hundred men in his retinue。 What could they do？
Yet Gaborn clearly believed the force was powerful enough to strike at Raj Ahten。 Gaborn had never spoken the number of his father's troops； she now realized。 Wisely so。 House Sylvarresta could not divulge information it didn't have。
Iome glanced at her Days； who sat a few paces off； with her mother's Days； both of them watching the dark fields。 They knew how many men Orden had brought； knew every move each king was making。 Yet for good or ill； the Days only watched the armies move like pieces across a chessboard。
How many men had Orden brought to Hostenfest this year？ A thousand？ Five thousand？
Mystarria was a rich country； populous。 King Orden had brought his son with a proposal of marriage。 It was mon with such proposals for a royal family to make some display of wealth； to marshal some soldiers； engage the knights in friendly petitions。
Orden would have many of his best men on hand。 Five hundred of them； perhaps。
Yet Orden was also pompous； given to vain display。 So double that number。
The warriors of Mystarria were fierce。 Their bowmen trained from youth to fire from horseback。 The prowess of their knights with their long…handled horseman's axes and warhammers was legendary。
Perhaps the legend of Mystarria's warriors would keep Raj Ahten at bay； so that he would not dare leave the castle again。 Or perhaps Raj Ahten feared the Earth King that his pyromancers warned of。
Iome watched for a long moment from the Dedicates' Tower。 No one else returned to the castlenot one black…maned noman。
Defiantly now； in the wooded hills to the east and south and west； battle horns blared in a dozen directions； sounding charges； calling new formations。
Orden's knights still fighting nomen in the woods。 It would be a long； grueling day for those warriors。
Down at the city gate； Raj Ahten turned in his saddle to look back over the fields one last time； as if wondering if he should ride once more； then he entered the city； and his men closed the ruined drawbridge。
Life went on。 From the tower； Iome could see much of the city。 Down by the Soldiers' Keep； women and children hunted for eggs left by the hens。 The miller was grinding wheat by the river。 The fragrance of cooking fires mingled with the smoke and ash of war。 Iome's own stomach felt tight。 When Iome judged that she had watched from the wall long enough； she went down to the bailey in the Dedicates' Keep； her Days following。 Her mother's Days stood on the tower； kept watching the fields。
Iome's father sat in a shaft of sunlight； playing with a pup that snarled and chewed at his hand。 Her father had soiled his britches while Iome stood on the wall； so Iome went to work with bucket and rag； to clean her father。 He did not fight her； simply stared at her ruined face； frightened by her ugliness； not knowing who she was。
He was handsome as ever； with his endowments of glamour intact。 Stronger than ever。 A superman with the mind of a child。 While she washed the feces off him； King Sylvarresta lay watching her with wide eyes； and made gawping noises； blowing bubbles。 He smiled innocently at this newfound pleasure。
Iome nearly broke into tears。 Twelve hours。 Her father had given his endowments nearly twelve hours ago。 This was a critical time； this first daythe worst for him。 Those who gave greater endowments went through a time when they were in grave danger。 The facilitators called it 〃endowment shock。〃 One who gave wit would sometimes forget to breathe； or his heart would forget how to beat。 But if he survived through this first day； if he survived the shock of the endowment； he might regain a small bit of his wit。 Somehow； his body would claim a tiny fraction； enough to survive。 At the moment； Iome's father was at his weakest； his most helpless； but later today he could go through a 〃wakening；〃 a moment when the endowment between lord and vassal became firm； when he regained some small part of his mind。
Thankfully； Iome's father had suffered none of the worst effects of endowment shock。 Now that twelve hours had passed； she hoped he might regain some wit。 It was possibleif he had not wished to grant the endowment with all his heart； if the forcible had not been perfectly fashioned； if the facilitator had not chanted his spells with precisionit was possible that he might even remember her name。
So Iome sang to her father softly as she finished cleaning and dressing him。 Though he showed no signs of recognizing her； he smiled at her songs。
Even if he never remembers who I am； Iome told herself； it will be worth it to sing。 In time； he might learn to love my singing