He spurred his horse in a desparate charge, yelling and galloped across the field, trampling friends and foes alike, digging his heels into the animal’s stomach. Vlad Bozmaroff, Ozren’s older brother, was surrounded. A handful of men protected him in a shield wall around him, but the imperial soldiers already had the scent of blood and had no plans of letting him retreat.

In the chaos, Veran lost sight of the boy just as he clashed with two imperials soldiers. The horse trampled the first one, and Veran cut half the head of the second one off. Just a few more strides. A spear hurled at his horse’s legs tripped it, sending them both tumbling. It squealed, fell to the ground, trapping Veran underneath it. His leg burned with pain under the beast’s weight, but the general didn’t care if his muscles were torn or his bones broken.

He screamed in pain, pushing the squealing horse’s body away, crawling out from under it. He tried to stand up but his leg buckled immediately. It was no use. He crawled in the mud, pulling himself over dead bodies, desparate to get to Vlad Bozmaroff.

The boy disappeared under a wave of swords and shields and only after the battle was over and the horns were blowing did Veran manage to crawl to his soulless body, hidden on the bottom of a pile under his protectors who had given away their lives in the hope that their lord could live.

They won, but it was a hollow triumph for Veran. The sweet sound of cheering soldiers couldn’t drown out the thoughts. he shouldn’t have exposed Vlad. He should’ve planned better. He should’ve reached him. Death was an expected companion in war, but he was like a father to the Bozmaroff boys and his soul hurt in a way it never did for any of his soldiers.