Part Ninety-Nine — Word From the Field

　Word of the Ashford army's fate reached Horizoncrest properly on the fourth day, carried by a small scouting party Elaine had sent out to confirm the battle's actual outcome once the dust had settled enough to survey it safely.

　"Two thousand soldiers," the scout reported, still visibly shaken by what she'd seen. "Six hundred mages. Fewer than three hundred survivors, all of them fled well clear of the domain's borders by the time we found the field."

Three hundred. Out of twenty-six hundred.

That's — that's a considerably harder number to sit with than I expected, even knowing they came here intending to conquer us.

　I gathered the full account properly that evening, sitting with Eris, Elaine, Ignivar, and the others as they finally told me, in full, what had actually happened on their own front while I'd been occupied with the Church's forces.

　"They underestimated us completely," Eris said, something grim and satisfied tangled together in her tone. "Assumed a small territory meant a small defense. Didn't account for Elva, Celica, and Luke actually being ready for exactly this kind of fight, or for what dwarven-forged weapons actually do against ordinary steel."

　"The mages fared worse than the soldiers," Elaine added. "Ordinary human spellwork, however numerous, simply doesn't hold up against properly trained anti-mana users, let alone the kind of coordinated defense we'd spent months preparing."

Months of preparation, actually paying off.

Good. That's exactly what all that training was supposed to accomplish.

　"Ignivar truly didn't join at all?" I asked, already half-expecting the answer.

　"Watched the whole thing from a hilltop," Eris confirmed, dry. "Said something about the outcome being obvious within the first ten minutes, and that his attention was better spent elsewhere."

　"Casualties on our side?" I asked, the question I'd been most afraid to ask settling heavy in my chest.

　"Minor," Elaine said, quiet relief evident beneath her usual composure. "A handful of injuries, nothing that Vance and the healers among the dwarves couldn't properly manage. Nobody we lost."

Nobody lost.

After everything — after Doran, after Fenrik, after every loss this world's handed me — nobody lost this time.

　I let that settle a long moment, something in my chest finally unclenching that had been tight since the moment word first reached us that Ashford was actually marching.

　"Good," I said, finally, voice rougher than I meant it to sound. "That's — that's genuinely good."

　"What happens to the survivors?" I asked. "The three hundred who fled?"

　"Already scattering back toward Ashford's own territory, from what our scouts report," Eris said. "Whatever account they carry back is going to arrive well ahead of anything Sophia eventually decides to say herself."

A defeated army's version of events, reaching Ashford before the truth does.

That's not going to help matters, whatever Sophia intends once she gets there herself.

　"We should prepare for that," I said. "Whatever story reaches the capital first is probably going to be the one that sticks hardest, regardless of how much truth eventually catches up to correct it."

　Aeron, quiet through most of the report, finally spoke, measured and thoughtful as ever.

　"Then perhaps it falls to us to ensure the truth travels quickly enough to matter. Sophia's own testimony, once she's ready to give it, may carry more weight than any scattered soldier's panicked account."

Fair point. One more reason to make sure she's actually ready, and actually willing, before she goes.

　I sat with everything the evening had brought — the battle's outcome, the survivors scattering, the truth racing an inevitably distorted version of events back toward a capital that had already shown, once, exactly how easily rumor could outrun fact.

We won. Genuinely won, without losing anyone.

That should feel like more of a relief than it currently does.

"You are concerned about what follows, rather than what already happened," Anti-Subconsciousness observed, accurate as ever.

Yeah. Winning the battle doesn't mean winning whatever comes after it. I think I learned that lesson properly, watching how fast Cassmoor turned an honest report into a war in the first place.

　I looked around the room at everyone who'd fought, who'd survived, who'd built something worth defending in the first place.

We're not done yet. Not even close.

But tonight, at least, everyone I love is still here to keep building it with me.

I'll take tonight. Tomorrow can handle whatever comes with it.