Tuorel wheezed, a great bloody exhalation from his shattered ribs, and turned to parry Gaelin’s strike. But Gaelin beat down his guard and shattered Tuorel’s shoulder, smashing the baron to the ground and jarring the enchanted sword from the baron’s grasp. The blade spun away to lie in the mud, its gleam fading. Tuorel screamed in pain and rage.

“No! He promised me! He promised me!”

In his white fire, Gaelin heard the baron’s words. He raised the mace one more time and crushed the fearsome wolf-visage of Tuorel’s helm. The helmet crumpled, as Tuorel’s neck snapped and his corpse slammed into the ground. Gaelin sank to his knees, suddenly exhausted beyond his endurance, uncaring of the battle that still went on around him.

Behind him, the wolf-standard fell as Lord Anduine dragged it down. As his senses darkened toward unconsciousness, Gaelin heard the thunder of Baesil’s cavalrymen returning to the fray.

Gaelin remembered little of the rest of the battle. He suspected he’d relied too long on the brilliant wrath to sustain him, and he had driven himself past his human limits. His limbs were weak, his sight was dim, and sounds seemed distant and far away. It was as if some elemental fury had burned itself to ashes, leaving him as cold and empty as an autumn husk. Somehow, his guards and captains carried him through the rest of the day.

He wondered what it was in his blood, in his heritage, that touched him in battle. As far as he knew, no Mhorieds had ever manifested the divine wrath, as it was sometimes called.

It had enabled him to survive the day, and he had harnessed its power to defeat Tuorel. Like many of the gifts of the blood, it was inexplicable, and Gaelin guessed he would have to leave it as a matter of faith. Within a couple of hours, another of his divine birthrights made itself felt – the mortal exhaustion that had nearly killed him after his fight with Tuorel faded quickly, as his unnatural knack for healing restored him to his normal vigor.

By sunset, Gaelin’s armies commanded the battlefield. The stand of the Knights Guardian, combined with Baesil Ceried’s flanking maneuver, had broken the goblin charge and set the Markazorans to flight. Although they were decimated by the goblin ambush, the surviving archers and cavalry continued on to the southern engagement and attacked the Ghoeran host in the rear. Leaderless and surrounded, the army of Ghoere was hammered to pieces on the anvil of the Dieman and Haelynite knighthood; Seriene’s magic was of immense value in the resolution of the southern battle. Although hundreds of the Ghoeran marauders escaped the field, the bulk of Ghoere’s army surrendered or perished by the shores of Lake Winoene.

That evening, Mhor Gaelin entertained his allies in the great hall of Caer Winoene with the most lavish feast he could arrange. Prince Vandiel, Seriene, and the leaders of the Dieman host attended, although Vandiel’s arm was in a sling.

The knights of Haelyn were there as well, but their mood was subdued; the high prefect had fallen in the fighting. Brother Superior Huire served as the leader of the Haelynite contingent, although he declined the title of high prefect until he could be installed in the Abbey of the Red Oak. Several of the Mhorien lords had perished as well, though Counts Torien and Ceried survived the day without hurt. For Gaelin, it felt as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. Erin sat beside him during the feast, in the place reserved for the Mhor’s consort.

Despite the Mhor’s obvious involvement with his herald, Prince Vandiel still took the time to draw Gaelin aside and invite him to consider courting Seriene. “After all, she is a princess equal to your own station, and I greatly desire a more lasting union between our two ancient bloodlines,” he said.

“Princess Seriene is a woman of great beauty, intelligence, and charm,” Gaelin agreed. “But I am afraid my heart belongs to another. However, I understand your son is not engaged, and I will point out that my sister Ilwyn is a beautiful and charming girl. I’m not above a little matchmaking, if we’re not obvious about it.”

“Nor am I,” Vandiel agreed with a sly grin. “I shall plan a hunting trip up here in the fall, and bring Aeran along. We’ll see what happens.”

After the meal, Gaelin leaned over and kissed Erin. It seemed to him she had never been as radiant as she was at that moment. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“Ready? What are you talking about?”

“I’m going to announce our betrothal,” he said.

Erin covered her mouth with her hand, and her eyes widened. “Gaelin, you can’t! You don’t know…”

He caught her hand in his. “Do you want to be my wife?”

“They’ll never stand for it, Gaelin. You can’t marry a commoner!”

“Erin, I wouldn’t call you common. And you didn’t answer my question. If it didn’t matter, would you marry me?”

She held his eyes for a moment longer, and then her resistance gave out. “Yes. Yes, Gaelin, I would.”

He brushed a tear from her cheek. “Then let’s see what the lords of Mhoried have to say.” He stood up abruptly, and raised his voice to carry over the laughter and music in the hall. “Lords and ladies of Mhoried! Honored guests! I wish to announce that I have decided to take a wife.” The hall broke into wild cheers, as the gathered Mhoriens and Diemans applauded, and it was some time before it was quiet enough to continue. Gaelin paused dramatically. “I present the Lady Erin Graysong, the next queen of Mhoried!”

He didn’t have to be concerned. After a moment of surprise, Baesil Ceried stood and started to clap. Seriene stood a heartbeat later, her face streaked with tears, and joined the gruff old count. Slowly at first, but then with growing enthusiasm, the assembled lords, knights, and captains stood and cheered. As the hall resounded with their approval, Gaelin glanced down at Erin and offered his hand, lifting her to her feet. As she stood, the crowd roared and the applause rekindled.

He smiled at the shy blush on her face. “I told you,” he said.

“What would you have done if no one approved?” she asked.

Gaelin smiled and looked into her eyes. “I would have convinced them.” He turned back to the crowd, just in time to shake Baesil’s hand and accept the first of many congratulations.

Behind him, he noticed Princess Seriene step up to Erin and embrace her, her face shining with tears. He met Seriene’s eyes over Erin’s shoulder, and the princess gave him a nod of approval before slipping away.

“So, Mhor Gaelin. When’s the wedding?” Baesil said.

“I have no idea,” he replied. He thought about it. “There’s a Ghoeran garrison in Shieldhaven that I’ll have to take care of. Maybe I can talk them into leaving without a fight, if I offer them safe passage back to Ghoere. And then there are the Mhorien nobles who went over to Tuorel during the war.

I’ll have to do something about them. And we’re halfway through the summer, with barely any crops in the ground, and half our peasants and freeholders living wherever they can.” He shook his head and groaned. “How in the world am I ever going to get things straightened out again?”

Erin suddenly caught his arm from behind and reached up to kiss him, provoking another round of cheers from the assembled Mhoriens. “All that can wait,” she said. A Brief Timeline of Mhoried

Date Event

– 515 HC The Flight from Shadow. The human tribes of Aduria begin their migration to Cerilia. The Mhora, Third House of the Andu tribe, arrive and settle in the lands that will become Mhoried.

– 508 HC The first recorded Mhor, Maglan, swears before the Red Oak.

– 400 HC Height of the gheallie Sidhe. The Mhora fight against the elves and the goblin-kingdom of Kar-Durgar.

– 166 HC The Mhora raze Kar-Durgar, finally defeating the goblins. The lands between the Stonebyrn and the Maesil become known as Mhoried.