Hours passed. The chill of the night tore at his flimsy rags. His mother's body lay miles behind him, buried beneath his cloak, forest soil, and brush with no grave marker save the cross he had fashioned from twigs and vines.
The woman's rescue and Jac's salvation rode a dark-spirited warhorse.
Once a fugitive, now a warrior trained by the most skilled and feared man on the battlefields of his new home, Jac seeks to gain merit enough in the eyes of Christophe Maides to ask for the hand of the girl Jac has loved from the day his mentor dragged him from the underbrush.
Winning a contest for the command of an army of warriors may bestow that merit.
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