" It took one long, desperate week to prove just how wrong was my prophecy.
“The revolution is not over,” Branaric said seriously some ten days later.
But even this--after a long, horrible day of real fighting, a desperate run back into the familiar hills of Tlanth, and the advent of rain beating on the tent over our heads--failed to keep Branaric serious for long. His mouth curved wryly as he added, “And today’s action was not a rout, it was a retreat.”
“So we will say outside this tent.” Khesot paused to tap his pipeweed more deeply into the worn bowl of his pipe, then he looked up, his white eyebrows quirked. “But it was a rout.”
I said indignantly, “Our people fought well!”
Khesot gave a stately, measured nod in my direction, without moving from his cushion. “Valiantly, Lady Meliara, valiantly. But courage is not enough when we are so grossly outnumbered. More so now that they have an equally able commander.”
Bran sighed. “Why haven’t we heard anything from Gharivar of Mnend, or Chamadis from Turlee, on the border? I know they both hate Galdran as much as we do, and they as much as promised to help.”
“Perhaps they have been cut off from joining us, Lord Branaric,” Khesot said, nodding politely this time to Bran.
“Cut off by cowardice,” I muttered. My clothes were clammy, my skin cold; I longed to change into my one other outfit, but we had to finish our own war council before facing the riding leaders. So I perched on the hard camp cushion, arms clasped tightly around my legs.
Bran turned to me, frowning. “You think they lied to me, then?”
“I just think you’re better off not counting on those Court fools. Remember, Papa always said they are experts at lying with a smile, and their treaties don’t last as long as the wine haze after the signing.”
Bran’s eyes went serious again under his straight brows. “I know, Mel,” he said, plainly unhappy as he picked absently at a threadbare patch on his cushion. “But if we don’t get help…Well, we’re just not enough.”
Leaving us staring at the grinning skull of defeat. I shook my head, shivering when my wet clothes shifted on my back and sent a chill down my flesh. Now Bran looked worn, tired--and defeated--and I was angry with myself for having spoken. “Khesot has the right of it,” I said. “Perhaps they really were cut off.”
I looked up, caught a glance of approval in Khesot’s mild brown eyes. Heartened, I said, “Look. We aren’t lying to our people when we say this is a retreat. Because even if we have been routed, we’re still in our own territory, hills we know better than anyone. Meanwhile we’ve evaded Greedy Galdran’s mighty army nearly all winter. A long time! Didn’t Azmus say Galdran promised the Court our heads on poles after two days?”
“So Debegri swore,” Bran said, smiling a little.
“That means we’ve held out all these weeks despite the enormous odds against us, and word of this has to be reaching the rest of the kingdom. Maybe those eastern Counts will decide to join us--and some of the other grass-backed vacillators as well,” I finished stoutly.
Bran grinned. “Maybe so,” he said. "

― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)