The sight of the Oizenian prince fleeing the field faster than a rat set alight, was a shock to all who witnessed it, friend and foe alike.
None had expected that the memory of his father's death, carved into him four years ago when Crown's Hounds had ridden out of the night and cut the old man down, would come rushing back with such venom now that he wore the crown himself.
Yet here he was, spurring his horse harder than any war cry had ever made him, heart pounding not for victory or honor but for escape.
The truth was, for most generals, the flight of an enemy commander would be cause enough to drink deep and laugh loud. The loss of leadership breaks armies faster than swords. But Alpheo was not most generals. For him, this was not triumph, it was an irritation and a bother.
