Shadowstorm

CHAPTER NINE

26 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms

Abelar, Regg, and their company-less the four score dead or incapacitated from the battle-raced toward Saerb. Mounts and men fought fatigue with every league they covered, but fear for their friends and families pulled them ever north and west. They had slept little. Roen and the priests kept them all fed on magical fare and they ate in the saddle. They stopped during the day only for Dawnmeet and as the stout Saerbian mounts required. Leagues of whipgrass-covered plains lay behind them. Leagues more still lay before them.

Only the sound of thundering hooves marked their passage. The men did not jest or chat with one another as they rode, as was their habit. Their usual camaraderie had surrendered to quiet purposefulness. The battle with Ordulin's forces had driven home the hard realization that civil war had started. Matters would soon get much worse, Abelar knew, and much bloodier.

The unoccupied road stretched before them like a ribbon. They passed villages from time to time but slowed only to warn the villagers that war was coming and that they should flee south.

Fear for Elden consumed Abelar's thoughts. He occupied the hours by reciting in his mind passages from Lathander's Book of Light. He reminded himself that dawn always chased even the darkest night, that the sun set but always rose anew. The proverbs brought him scant comfort.

The setting sun turned the cloudless western sky into a pool of orange and red. Abelar took it as a good sign. A line of tall ash trees to their left cast long shadows over the plains.

"What do you make of that?" Regg asked, pulling Abelar back to himself. Regg nodded ahead to the top of a rise, perhaps a crossbow shot distant.

Abelar squinted in the fading light. A patch of darkness blotted the rise under a stand of trees, as if a storm cloud had fallen from the sky. The darkness flowed down the rise like fog, filling the low spots with shadows.

Abelar knew it to be magical. He whistled for the attention of his men and called a halt. The men pulled up, all eyes on the hillock. Hands went to hilts. Horses whinnied.

"Roen, put some light on it," Abelar called.

Roen chanted a prayer to Lathander and pointed his hand at the rise. A globe of light flared into being over the hill but only partially countered the darkness.

Abelar saw forms within the shadows, half a dozen men or more. Darkness concealed all but one and that one stood a head taller than the rest. Something about the man's stance and stature looked familiar. The man raised a hand in greeting.

"Morning light," Regg oathed. "Can it be?"

Abelar stared, his mind racing, his heart swelling. "Can it? Can it?"

The men and women pointed at the rise and an excited murmur ran through them.

Regg put a hand on Abelar's shoulder, though he kept his eyes on the rise. "The Morninglord reunites the sundered before night falls. It is a good sign, Abelar."

Abelar nodded, overwhelmed by the blessing. He put his boots into Swiftdawn's flanks and sped forward. Regg and the company followed hard after.

Abelar's father, smiling, stepped out of the shadows, which dimmed Roen's globe of light with each passing moment.

Abelar pulled up on Swiftdawn, leaped from the saddle, and swallowed his father in his arms. Regg and the rest of the company swarmed around them.

"Father," Abelar said, and did not try to hold back the tears.

Endren returned the embrace, his voice choked. "My son. You are well."

They drew strength from one another for a time, standing in the light of the setting sun. The men and women of the company looked on and spoke softly of standing in Lathander's favor.

Abelar held his father at arm's length and looked at the six shadow-shrouded men who stood several paces behind Endren. Shadows coiled around them, leaked from their flesh. Abelar thought of Erevis Cale. The darkness had embraced him in the same manner. Hard eyes looked out of shadow-cloaked forms. All of them wore impassive expressions on olive-skinned faces. They bore no weapons that Abelar could see, and their loose-fitting trousers and tunics befitted peasants more than warriors.

"Who are these men?" he asked Endren. Without waiting for an answer, he shouted to them, "House Corrinthal owes you a debt. I owe you a debt."

The tallest of the men inclined his head but said nothing.

Endren half-turned to face the shadowmen. "They are my rescuers. Or some of them. They pulled me from the Hole, nursed me back to health in their temple, then brought me to you. I still do not know how they found you. They speak little. But I do know that they serve Mask and travel the shadows as if they were roads."

Abelar and Regg shared a look.

"Mask?" Abelar asked his father. "You are certain?"

Endren nodded. "Strange, not so? That servants of Mask should save the father of a servant of Lathander."

"Stranger than you know," Abelar answered. He looked past his father to the men. "You are not the first servants of Mask I have met in recent days. Are you Shadovar?"

Shadows swirled and the tallest of the men suddenly stood beside him. He had covered ten paces without taking a step. Swiftdawn neighed nervously and backed away a step. Regg cursed in surprise.

Endren said, "This is Nayan. Nayan, this is Abelar, my son."

Nayan gave a half-bow, his gray eyes unreadable. He gestured at his six companions and spoke in accented common.

"We are not Shadovar, but hail from Telflammar. These are Shadem, Vyrhas, Erynd, Dynd, and Dahtem."

"Such names," Regg said. "And no weapons or armor."

Nayan's gaze never left Abelar's face. "Mask speaks to few servants in these days. Name him whom you saw."

Abelar did not care for Nayan's tone but bore it. The man had saved his father.

"Erevis Cale. He named himself a priest of Mask."

Nayan's eyes widened. The shadows around his five companions deepened, roiled. "Where and when did you see him?"

Regg said, "And who are you to demand-"

Abelar held up a hand and Regg fell silent. "Who is Erevis Cale to you?" Abelar asked.

Nayan studied Abelar's face. "He is the Right Hand of the Shadowlord, and we are his instruments."

Abelar heard no lie in Nayan's words. He told of his meeting with Erevis Cale and Selgaunt's Hulorn.

Nayan's face showed nothing, but his tone suggested disappointment. "That was too long ago, Abelar Corrinthal. We have seen him in the interim. He and the Left Hand led us in the rescue of Endren Corrinthal."

"The Left Hand?"

Nayan nodded. "Drasek Riven."

Abelar put a hand on Nayan's shoulder. The man's muscles felt carved from stone. "Then I have him to thank as well as you."

Nayan accepted Abelar's gratitude with a nod of his head. He said, "The Left and Right departed Yhaunn for Selgaunt after rescuing your father. We have not seen either of them since and cannot locate them."

That did not bode well for Selgaunt, Abelar thought, but did not say. Instead, he said, "I hope they are safe and stay in the light."

Nayan smiled slightly. "If they are safe, they do not owe it to the light."

Regg laughed aloud. Even Abelar smiled.

Regg said, "We have heard a rumor that the Shadovar serve the Hulorn of Selgaunt. Perhaps the rumors have mistaken your lord for a Shadovar?"

"None would make that mistake," Nayan answered.

"We will solve this mystery together, Nayan," Abelar said. "Come. You and your men are welcome in our company. We ride northwest for Saerb."

"And there's battle upon our arrival," Regg added.

Endren gave a start and looked pointedly at Abelar, a question in his eyes.

Nayan bowed his head. "Gratitude, Abelar Corrinthal, but we serve only the hands of Mask and they are not among your number. We will await their return or summons at our temple."

Abelar said, "Erevis Cale is an… ally of mine. He would have you with us, I think."

"Perhaps," Nayan answered. "If so, he surely will tell us upon his return."

"Nayan…" Endren began, but Abelar held up a hand to halt his father's words.

"He is his own master," Abelar said to Endren, then to Nayan, "I am disappointed. I need every fighting man I can get. But so be it. You may take horses, if you wish."

"And weapons," Regg added.

Nayan smiled. "We have no need for either." He bowed to Endren, to Abelar, to Regg, and walked back to his men. The man moved with clockwork precision. Abelar began to understand how the shadowmen must fight. He had heard of men who killed as efficiently with their hands and knees as with steel.

"Farewell, Nayan," Abelar said.

"Safe travels, men of shadow," Endren called.

Nayan inclined his head, the shadows around them deepened, and they were gone in a breath.

The men and women of the Company burst out in discussion.

"The Right Hand of Mask," Abelar said, mostly to himself. "What else is this Erevis Cale?"

Regg clapped him on the shoulder. "I do not know, but he saved your father. I find myself liking him more and more."

Endren studied Abelar's battle-torn clothing. "We have tales to share, it seems. Events have moved quickly, yes? You spoke of battle in Saerb?"

Abelar nodded. "Forrin leads an army there."

Endren's eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed so much his gray brows touched.

"Malkur Forrin the Butcher?"

"Aye. The overmistress has named him to head her armies."

Endren cursed and shook his head. "She is ever more a fool. How far away from Saerb are we?"

"Two days."

"How far from Saerb is Forrin?"

"We do not know. I have no men to spare as spies, Father."

Endren cursed again, then looked up sharply, bushy eyebrows raised in a question. "Where is Elden, Abelar?"

Abelar held his father's gaze though he wanted to bow his head in shame. "Fairhaven. I left him there. I did not think-" He shook his head and looked away. He could say no more.

Endren closed his eyes, inhaled, squeezed his son's shoulder. "You left him to serve me. I am sorry. But you were right to leave him behind, Abelar. He is a child. If you had brought him to Ordulin, you would not have escaped after my arrest, and neither would he."

Abelar nodded, bolstered by his father's words. He knew he had done the only thing he could, but it helped to hear another say it.

Endren looked past them and called, "A mount and steel. Now."

Regg smiled at Abelar and repeated the call. "Trewe, a horse, a blade, and mail for Lord Corrinthal!"

While they waited for the mount and gear, Abelar hurriedly briefed his father on their situation-the battle of two days earlier, the number of cavalry they expected in Forrin's force. After he'd finished, Endren looked Abelar in the face. "You have carried our name well." He nodded at Abelar's holy symbol. "And his name, as well."

Abelar inclined his head, surprised at the praise. His father seldom offered it. "Thank you, my lord."

Trewe brought forth a white mare and Endren took the reins. For the first time, Abelar noticed that his father's shield hand was severed at the wrist. "Your hand!"

Regg, too, looked surprised. "Morning light," he oathed.

Endren eyed the stump and nodded. "I said we had tales to share. This was the price of slipping my chains." He held up his sword hand. "But this one still holds a hilt well. And I can outride either of you, even with no hands."

Abelar smiled.

"We know it to be so," Regg said.

Roen approached with a suit of mail and a blade.

"Help me with the armor," Endren said.

Regg helped Endren into the armor and the elder Corrinthal belted on scabbard and sword.

"I thought we'd not meet again, Endren," Regg said. "I am pleased to have been wrong."

Endren adjusted the mail and put a hand on Regg's shoulder. "I thought similarly. You have watched over my son in my absence. I am grateful."

Regg shook his head. "It is he who watches over me. Over all of us. And it is no mere man that watches over him, my lord."

"So you say," Endren said.

"Enough," Abelar said, embarrassed.

Endren's eyes went to Regg's holy symbol, to Abelar's. Abelar knew his father worshiped many gods, and did not credit Lathander above the others.

Endren asked Regg, "Your father is still in Saerb?"

Regg nodded.

"I have not seen Torar in many years," Endren said.

"He is in ill health," Regg said, and Abelar heard the concern in his friend's voice. Torar would not be able to flee easily when war came to him.

Endren said, "Then for Elden and Torar's sakes, let us hope the Morninglord continues to watch over my son. If he does, I will build him a new temple myself. Hear you that, Abelar?"

Abelar smiled, nodded. "I hear it."

"Let us ride," Endren said, and swung into the saddle.

For two nights and a day of hard riding, Reht avoided the roads and traveled only between sunset and dawn. He did not want word to reach Saerb that his force was moving through the countryside. He presumed Lorgan would take the same precautions, though his course took him farther south of Saerb.

During the daylight hours, Mennick cast an illusion that stayed until after sunset, and made any available copse of trees appear as a large and overgrown woods. Reht and his force of seventy hid within the illusion-unaffected by it, since they knew its origin and presence-and waited for night. From time to time, a horseman or donkey-drawn wagon would move past in the distance, but nothing to indicate that Saerb or its nobility expected an attack.

Shortly after each sunset, Mennick touched each of the men with a wooden wand tipped with a fleck of chrysoberyl that granted them the ability to see like cats in the darkness. They traveled quietly but quickly and covered much ground.

The breath of horses and men formed clouds in the chill night air. The moon hung low in the sky, lighting the tips of the distant Thunder Peaks. Stars lit the clear sky.

Stands of pine and larch dotted the increasingly hilly, rocky terrain. Reht moved the force back onto the road for fear that traveling the rough land at night would lame a horse. He had only a handful of spare mounts.

The sparsely inhabited Sembian northlands featured only an occasional hamlet built around this or that noble's country estate. Reht and his men skirted them easily. The area seemed almost sleepy. An army would soon wake it up. "The hunting must be good here, eh?" he said to Mennick and Vors, who rode beside him.

Mennick agreed. "Boar, I'd guess, given the scrub in these lowlands."

Vors said absently, "What does a dying man see in his last moments? When my axe splits his head, is his focus sharpened in that instant before death? Or does he perceive only dully what has happened?"

"What?" Mennick asked, his tone puzzled. "We were discussing hunting."

Vors grinned. "So was I."

Reht stared contempt at the war priest for a moment before looking to Mennick. "Stags aplenty to go with your boars, I'd wager. There. Look."

He pointed to a small woods not far from the road. With his catlike vision, he saw a trio of deer-two does and a fawn-that had ventured out of the trees to forage in the grass.

"No stag, though," Mennick said.

"He's around," Reht answered.

Late in the second night, still half a league east of Saerb, with dawn a few hours away, they reached what Reht thought to be the Corrinthal estate, ranch, and pasture. He halted the men about a bowshot away, dismounted, and crept forward through the scrub and trees with Mennick. The smell of fires filled the air.

A wall of stacked timber enclosed the expansive grounds of the large estate. Grain fields surrounded it on two sides and extended into the darkness. A rill ran alongside and under the western wall. A wooden gate and gatehouse in the north-facing wall provided the only obvious ingress. Two glowballs hanging from the corners of the gatehouse provided light.

"Can you see the heraldry over the gate?" Mennick asked him.

Reht had an archer's eye, and with Mennick's spell allowing him to see in dim light, he made out the insignia set into the gate-a white horse running under a blazing sun, the Corrinthal symbol.

"I see it. This is it. I need a tactical look, Mennick."

"Aye."

The wizard quietly intoned the words to a spell and touched himself, then Reht. Reht knew to expect the flying spell to make his body feel lighter. When it did, he willed himself to rise, and his feet left the earth.

"Hold a moment," Mennick said, and put a hand on Reht's arm. The wizard incanted a second spell and vanished from Reht's sight.

"That's for both of us," Mennick said, though Reht needed no explanation. He had experienced the invisibility spell often enough. They could see themselves, but not each other.

"Let us have a look," Mennick said, his voice coming from above.

Reht willed himself into the air, rose to a height of a spear cast, and looked down on the Corrinthal estate.

Within the walls, Reht noted a large stable and four large barns, a horse run and training area, several livestock pens, a score or so small buildings clustered along the western walls-probably the village where farmhands and other laborers lived-and a large wooden building that he assumed to be a barracks for the house guard. In the center of the compound stood the two-story, sprawling rustic Corrinthal manse.

Mud-packed timber made up the bulk of the manse, and a wooden porch wrapped around three sides of it. A low stone wall with a wrought iron gate separated the manse from the rest of the grounds.

Glowballs beamed at the entrance to the stables, and on the porch of the manse. A few torches burned in the cluster of buildings at the western end of the compound. Light trickled out of three shuttered windows of the manse.

"That barracks can house thirty men," Reht said.

"Easily," said Mennick. "I would put it at forty."

Reht pointed at the cluster of buildings along the southern wall, though Mennick could not see him.

"There will be some men in the village who will fight."

"Aye."

"I see eight guards at the gate."

"No others, though," Mennick said. "They'll have dogs. If we use stealth, we will have to move quickly."

Reht considered the compound and made his decision. Stealth was not his best approach. He had a sleeping compound. Except for the guards, the fighting men within would not be armed or armored. He needed to hit hard and fast.

"We go at it hard. I will lead the men through the gates. Stay here and burn the barracks as we approach, then support as you can. If the boy is in the manse, I will find him. When I've got him out, burn the manse, too."

Mennick sounded unhappy. "The smoke will be seen."

Reht knew. "Forrin is a day and a half behind us. By the time anyone investigates and learns what has occurred, it will be too late to anticipate an attack."

Meanwhile, he would send Abelar Corrinthal a message.

Mennick nodded at the explanation. "As you say."

"Dispel this invisibility when I land."

Reht descended, called out to Mennick to indicate that he was earthbound, and Mennick uttered a single word of power. A tingle in Reht's flesh signaled the end of the invisibility spell. He heard Mennick hurriedly recast the spell on himself as Reht crept back to his men.

When he reached them, he said, "Gear up. We go as soon as all are ready. Most of them are asleep. We hit hard."

The men snapped to it, checked straps, buckles, and weapons. They had been eager for a fight since leaving Ordulin. Reht said to Vors, "We need to get through the gate quickly. What can you do?"

"Blast it from its hinges," Vors answered with a grin. "Leave it to me."

Battle always excited the war priest. He thumped axe to shield, whirled, and paced through the men, growling at them to move quickly.

To the rest of the men, Reht said, "Vors will get the gate down. Dist and his men-take the eight gate guards. Zerton, Ethril, and Dant-take squads to the barracks."

"Where on the grounds is the barracks, Reht?" Zerton asked. The heavyset warrior was one of Reht's most reliable sergeants.

"Mennick will light it up," Reht answered. "There will be no missing it. Thirty men inside, maybe more."

Zerton and Dant nodded.

Ethril said, "Thirty men who will be leaping from windows while their beds burn."

"And getting not much farther," Zerton said, tightening a buckle on his breastplate.

"Aye, that," many said, and others chuckled.

"House guards," a few said with contempt.

Reht said, "Vors, me, and Norsim's men have the house." He fixed a hard look on Vors and Norsim, a tall, thin sergeant whose luck with dice was legendary among the men. "The Corrinthal boy is four winters in age and was born an idiot. He looks it. He comes out alive. But no one else does. Understood?"

Vors growled acquiescence. Norsim nodded.

"Mount up, men."

Leather creaked and mail chinked as men climbed into the saddle. The horses snorted, sensing the tension of their riders. Reht donned his helm, drew his blade. His men did likewise.

"Under cover of silence," Reht said to Vors. "Until we get close."

"I must be able to speak aloud for the Destroyer's power to break the gate."

"Silence until we get close," Reht reiterated. "Then cast your spell."

Vors glared but did as he was ordered. The war priest held aloft his shield, adorned with the lightning bolt of Talos, and asked for the Destroyer's blessing in the coming battle. The image of the lightning bolt flared for a moment and even Reht felt a warm surge in his gut. Vors intoned another spell and put a calloused hand roughly on Reht's shoulder. Reht's curse at the priest died in the magical silence, so he instead shoved Vors's arm away. The priest grinned.

Sound could not be made within the sphere of magic that radiated from Reht for eight or nine paces. Vors fell in toward the rear of the men, outside the area of the silence, and intoned a second such spell, though Reht could not hear it. The war priest put his hand on Dist, and returned to Reht's side.

All eyes were on Reht. He turned his mount, the silence ponderous. He put his heels into her and led his force toward the Corrinthal estate.

Signaling with his hands, he ordered the men into a five-wide column, organized by squads. He increased speed to a hard gallop. The wind stirred his cloak. The ground shook under the horses' hooves but the spells of silence killed the noise. The lighted gate of the Corrinthal estate lay just ahead. He and his men charged across the grass, bearing down on it.

A tiny ball of flame traced a thin orange line from a point over their heads toward the barracks, invisible behind the Corrinthal walls. It exploded into a towering plume of flame and smoke, and lit up the night.

Reht could only imagine the shouts of alarm. The light from the fire framed the gates. He saw the silhouettes of the guards leaping to their feet and looking back on the flames, pointing. They did not yet see Reht's men approaching.

Vors made a cutting motion with his hand and the silence spells ended. The thunder of hooves and the rush of the wind overwhelmed all sounds coming from the estate, save the bleat of an alarm horn. Vors ducked low in the saddle as they neared the gate, which was still closed.

The guards saw them, shouted, pointed. One leveled a crossbow.

"Do whatever you intend to do, priest! Now!"

Vors shouted out the words to a spell and held his shield before him. A visible wave of destructive force went forth from it. It hit the crossbowman, shattered his weapon, and rolled toward the gate, splintering wood, twisting metal, and opening the way. The men charged onward.

Vors split the head of the crossbow-armed guardsman with his axe, and Reht rode down another as he lunged from the gatehouse and slashed with his blade. The men of the company shouted battle cries and rode over the downed gates. The clang of metal and shout of combat sounded in their wake as Dist and his men, rearmost in the formation, engaged the surviving gate guards.

Reht, Vors, Norsim, and the rest of Norsim's squad rode hard for the Corrinthal house. Shutters flew open and sleepy faces showed in the windows, shouting with surprise and alarm.

The rising flames from the burning barracks cast the estate in livid orange light. Mennick had aimed his spell well-the front of the building was ablaze, blocking the doors. Men crawled out of windows, unarmored and unarmed, coughing. A few ducked out a back door and gathered at the rear.

"Move," shouted Reht, and pointed at the building. "They're assembling in the rear of the barracks."

He need not have uttered the order. Thirty of his men were already thundering for the barracks.

"And 'ware crossbowmen in the village," he shouted after them, but did not know if anyone heard.

Reht, Vors, and Norsim's squad leaped the low stone wall before the Corrinthal manse and charged toward the doors. They swung out of their saddles and bounded up the porch for the large double doors. A wooden symbol hung above the doorway-a rising sun over a rose. Vors split it with his axe.

"You, you, and you," Reht said, indicating Norsim and two others. "Get around back and watch the doors, windows, and cellars. No one escapes." He looked back at the gates to see Dist cut down the last of the gate guards. "Half of Dist's men are to assist. The rest to the village."

Shouting and the noise of scattered combats sounded from all around the grounds. Norsim called for Dist while the other two men started to sprint around the porch toward the back of the house.

Without warning, a column of flame engulfed Reht, Vors, Norsim, and the men around them. The flash of searing heat and blast of explosive force blew Reht onto his back. He found himself staring up at the sky, dazed, his face charred, his armor smoking. He heard moans around him, the smell of burning flesh. The porch posts had caught fire. It would soon spread to the roof.

"This house is favored of the Morninglord," said a hard voice. "And those are his flames."

Reht looked up to see a towering bearded man in a hastily donned breastplate enameled with the rose of Lathander. Other than the armor, he wore only a nightshirt and boots. He held a large flanged mace in a two-handed grip.

In stride, the man crushed the skull of one of Reht's downed men. Blood spattered mace and man. The violence returned Reht to his wits. He rolled over, grabbed his sword, and pulled himself to his knees.

The man raised his mace to kill another, but lightning from the sky slammed into his chest and drove him against the wall of the manse.

Mennick.

The priest of Lathander, the rose enameled on his breastplate blackened, sagged to the porch, unmoving.

Vors climbed to his feet, his long hair and beard singed, his face blistered. He roared and drove his axe into the priest's chest.

"Up," Reht said to his men, and stood. "Give them no time to organize a defense."

All but two of his men got to their feet. All showed burns, but were hale enough to fight. The two downed men were dead, their exposed flesh as black as seared meat. Reht put them from his mind. He felt the burned flesh on his face and hands. He would have scars, but the pain was tolerable.

Trusting in Norsim and Dist to secure the exterior of the manse, Reht and Vors and a handful of others kicked in the double doors and entered the foyer.

Two guards in the Corrinthal horse-and-sun, each armed with a short spear, charged from the hall beyond and lunged at them. "Die, dog!" yelled the nearer guard.

Reht's shield turned the taller guard's spear point and knocked him off balance. Reht drove his blade into the guard's abdomen and up under his ribcage. The man dropped his spear and fell to his knees, eyes wide, trying to plug the hole in his abdomen with his hands. Reht kicked him to the floor to die.

Vors dodged the stab of the second guard and chopped downward with his axe, cutting the point from the spear and leaving the man with only a wooden haft.

Howling with battle madness, the war priest rushed the guard, drove him backward, pinned him against the wall, and head-butted him in the face. The guard's nose exploded blood and he sagged to the ground. Vors took his spear haft.

Boot stomps and shouts sounded from further within the manse. "More coming," said one of Reht's men.

Another explosion from outside rocked the house.

Vors grabbed the stunned guard by his long brown hair and shook him until the pain focused the man's eyes.

"The Corrinthal scion," Reht said to him.

Vors shook him by the hair. "Lie and you die."

The man's eyes flicked toward the wide, curving stairway visible in the room immediately beyond.

"You get nothing from me," the man said.

Vors circled around him and strangled the man with his own spear haft.

"Upstairs," Reht said, bounding forward. "I lead."

Shouts and screams pulled Kaesa from sleep. A boom sounded and the entire house seemed to shake. Clad only in a nightdress, she jumped from her bed, heart racing, and threw open the shutters of her small, second floor bedroom. She gasped at what she saw.

Flames from the burning barracks painted the sky orange. She could feel the heat even across the distance. Mounted men attacked the house guards as they escaped the flames through the barracks windows. Lots of mounted men.

"Lathander preserve us," she whispered.

Where was Mriistin? Lemdin the house mage? What was happening?

Her heart beat so hard against her ribs that she could not easily breathe. Shouts sounded from within the house and pulled her around. She heard the stomp of boots and shouted orders outside her door. Terror held her immobile. She fought for breath.

Her door flew open and she screamed.

Erthim stood in the door. Her Erthim. He held a bare blade and shield. He wore a shirt of mail but not his breastplate. Kaesa saw figures behind him but could not make out their faces. His men, she assumed.

She ran to him. "Erthim!"

"Kaesa," he said, his tone relieved.

He embraced her tightly but steered her away from the door. Wrapped in his strong arms, she allowed herself to think that all would be well.

"What is happening, Erthim?" she asked.

Shouts sounded from downstairs. Hostile shouts. She heard the ring of blades.

"Is that from the foyer?"

He held her at arm's length and spoke urgently. "Don a cloak and boots. Gather Elden and go out the back of the manor. Do not stop no matter what you see or hear. Do not try to get a mount. The stables are too far. Go on foot and try to get to the stag woods. Hide there until this is past."

She shook her head. She could not leave him, the manse. She started to speak but he cut her off. "Do as I say, Kaesa. Now. Do it for Master Corrinthal. We owe that to him."

Someone in the foyer screamed with pain. A wild shout followed it, more animal than man. Erthim did not turn around. His hands were tight on her shoulders. Tears formed in her eyes but she nodded.

"Take your dagger. Do not let them take you or Elden."

That brought her up short. "What?"

More combat from downstairs.

"They will… do things to him, Kaesa. He is Lord Corrinthal's son. Nod if you understand."

She stared into his eyes, nodded.

"I will come when I can." He embraced her again, hard. "I love you, Kaesa."

He released her, turned, and shut her door behind him without looking back. She heard him barking orders to his men.

She and Erthim had been courting for two months. He would have been her husband. She had not kissed him goodbye. She had not told him she loved him. She started for the door, stopped. He knew she loved him. He had to know.

Crying, she gathered her cloak, her shoes, the dagger she kept in a small sheath near her bedside. Her tears dotted the wooden floor as she moved about. Light from the burning barracks lit the room in flickering orange. The sounds of combat grew louder outside her room. It sounded as if the attackers were on the stairs. More shouts sounded from the grounds outside.

She kept as calm as she could. She had everything she needed. She ran through a side door, down the hall, and into the small room near hers where Elden slept when his father was away.

She opened the door to find his shutters open and the room bathed in the light of the barracks fire. She scanned the room, saw his bed, the side table, the wooden toys carved like horses, but she did not see him.

"Elden?" she hissed from the doorway.

She heard a soft moan and saw the pile of furs on his bed stir. She hurried across the room and gently lifted the covers.

He was curled up in the bed, eyes squeezed shut, arms around the tiny brown puppy he fancied from Dors's litter. He was humming to himself, as he often did when frightened.

"Elden," she said softly, and touched his leg. "It's Kaesa."

She felt his body release some of its tension but he did not open his eyes.

"Fore," he said, and Kaesa understood him to mean "fire."

Elden had been born dimwitted, with a body that answered his commands only awkwardly. Only those who knew him well-Kaesa, Regg, Lord Corrinthal, and Master Corrinthal-could understand all he said.

Kaesa had long considered him a gift from Lathander. What he lacked in wits he made up for in love. He was a lesson to all of them. The thought of something happening to him…

She sat on the bed and stroked his face with her fingertips. She had to calm him. He stopped humming, opened his eyes, and smiled. "K'sa."

"Shh," she said, and touched his lips. His tongue stuck slightly out of his mouth, as it always did, and she playfully poked it with her finger. He giggled. Sleep had mussed his hair.

"It will all be fine, Elden. The men have the fire under control. No horses are hurt. And you and I are going on a trip. We will see your papa."

He perked up at that, brown eyes hopeful. "Papa?"

She nodded, hating herself for lying. "Yes. But we must leave right now. We are going to play hide and find in the stag woods." She took his hand. "Come now."

She tried to pull him from the bed but he resisted.

"Bowny come," he said, and held up the puppy for her to see.

It looked at her in the longsuffering way of all puppies.

She knew better than to dispute with him over the dog. He would have a tantrum.

"Yes, Brownie can come. Let's get you some clothes and shoes."

Sounds of battle carried through the walls. Elden's eyes widened with fear and he clutched at her. She embraced him, careful of the puppy, and stroked his back.

"It is all right, Elden."

She could not wait for him to calm down. Carrying him on her hip, she found his clothes, set him down, and hurriedly dressed him.

"Elden Corrinthal!" shouted a voice from somewhere down the hall. "Show yourself, boy!"

Elden squealed with fear. Terror gripped Kaesa. She was sweating, breathing too heavily.

"Forget the shoes," she said, and picked him up. She was able to carry him with ease. He was not a large boy, and fear lent her strength. The puppy nestled between them. She held her dagger in the other hand.

"Here we go, now. You must stay very quiet."

"Elden Corrinthal!"

She heard the thumps of doors being kicked open, the screams of those caught by the attackers.

She went in the opposite direction of the sounds, picking her way through quiet halls, parlors, and finally down the rear stairs to the dining hall.

"It will all be fine," she whispered to Elden.

Sobs shook him. She was crying, too. She had not noticed. "It will all be fine."

She hurried through the kitchen. Screams, shouts, and the light from the fire carried through the windows. Elden buried his head in her neck and whimpered. The puppy squirmed.

She looked out a window. She saw fighting near the barracks, men moving around the stables, and a few small combats here and there on the grounds. The wind blew embers and sparks from the fire, making the sky look aflame. Battle cries sounded from everywhere. The dead littered the grounds. Men on horses moved among the carnage, shouting, killing.

To Kaesa, it looked like an image of the Hells. She maneuvered Elden so he could not see it.

She looked out the window to her left and saw a clear path between the village and the stables. The fire cast little light there and patches of shrubs and trees would provide cover. If she could make it to the stag woods, she knew a place she could hide. They would never find her.

Her legs felt weak and she feared they would fail her. She was breathing but did not seem able to gulp enough air. Elden's fingernails gouged her skin. She asked Lathander for protection and said, "Here we go. Be silent, now."

She cut across the kitchen and down the rough stairway that led to the large root cellar. The smell of spices and loam filled the air. She felt her way through the large, dark cellar until she reached the stairs that led outside. She climbed them, listened for a moment with her ear to the door. She heard only her heart, only her breathing. She shouldered open the door and ran. Panic lent her speed. She stumbled but did not fall.

A surprised shout greeted her exit. Someone had spotted her. A soft scream slipped between her lips. Tears flowed down her face. Elden held her so tightly around her neck she could hardly breathe.

"Stop, woman!" said a man's voice.

She did not stop, but she heard footsteps, heavy breathing, and the clink of mail behind her. Elden was crying on her shoulder. The men behind her-more than one-were closing.

She made up her mind. She swung Elden around in mid-stride, threw them both to the ground, and brandished her blade, intending to do what Erthim had commanded. She held her blade above her head.

"I am sorry, Elden."

Elden's innocent eyes went wide and he mouthed her name.

She hesitated.

A hand closed on her wrist and jerked her arm almost out of its socket. She screamed.

"I said stop, wench," growled a man's voice in her ear.

She felt a pinch in her back and lost her breath. Her vision went blurry for a moment. She looked at Elden, smiled, but he stared at her with terror in his eyes. She looked down, surprised to see the bloody end of a sword's blade sticking out of her stomach. Warm liquid filled her mouth. She tried to speak, to tell Elden that everything would be fine, but her voice failed her.

Elden screamed and Kaesa fell.

Reht exited the manse, bloody, tired, and pained with a few sword cuts. He would be damned to the Abyss, however, before he would stoop to asking Vors to heal him. The estate was secure. Corpses dotted the grounds. A few pigs, freed from their sties, rooted at the bodies. Reht's men moved about in groups of two and three, searching for survivors, collecting loot. A line of men, women, and children from the village sat in the grass, hemmed in by several of Reht's men.

The relative quiet, after the din of combat, was marked.

Reht had not found the boy. He did not relish explaining his failure to Forrin.

Smoke from the burning barracks had reached the stables and panicked neighs and stomps sounded from within. He could hear several horses beating against their stalls. He turned to the man nearest him.

"Get someone to calm those horses and get them out of the stables. All of them come with us."

Reht knew Saerbian horseflesh to be among the finest in Sembia. He would have at least something to show for tonight's slaughter. To another man, he said, "Get a headcount and report back.

Reht guessed he had lost fewer than a dozen men, but the combat had been so dispersed that he could have lost more.

Norsim and Rolk came around the corner of the house. Norsim roughly pulled a small boy along behind him. Spotting Reht, he waved his other hand.

"We have him, commander!"

Reht grinned like a fool.

"Norsim's luck has held," Vors said with a chuckle.

Blood and dirt covered Norsim's tabard. The boy stumbled along beside him, lunging from time to time for the small brown bundle that Norsim's companion, Rolk, held in his hands. Norsim shook the boy by the arm as he approached Reht.

"Be still!"

The boy cowered and was still.

"We caught him in the arms of a woman," Norsim said. "She called him 'Elden' before we finished her. And he's the face of an idiot."

Reht grabbed the boy by the chin and pulled his head up. Tears streaked his face. Fear filled his eyes. His eyes were too close together and his tongue stuck out slightly between his lips. His brown hair stuck out in all directions.

"Are you an idiot, boy?"

"Bowny back," the boy said through his tears, and pointed at the puppy Rolk held.

"What is your name?" Reht asked the boy. "Tell me and I will give you the dog."

The boy swallowed, looked from Reht to the puppy, back to Reht. "E'don."

That was good enough for Reht.

"Give him the dog," he said to Rolk.

Rolk held it out and Eldon reached for it. Vors snatched the puppy from Rolk's hands, grinned, and twisted off its head. He threw head and body at Eldon's feet.

"There he is, boy," the war priest said, and laughed.

Elden screamed in horror and threw himself against Norsim. He buried his face in Norsim's trousers and sobbed. "Papa," he wailed. "Papa, Papa, Papa."

"Your papa is never coming," Vors said, still laughing. "Never."

Reht lunged at Vors and punched him squarely in the face. The priest fell on his ass, blood pouring from his nose. He growled, spit blood, started to stand, but Reht put a blade at his throat.

Behind him, the boy's words deteriorated into incoherence, into an awful animal wail of despair.

"Get the boy out of here!" Reht said over his shoulder. He put his foot on Vors's chest and pressed him flat to the ground.

"One time is all you get, priest. Do something contrary to my orders again and you'll bleed from more than your nose."

Vors snarled, daubed at his nose, and grinned. He said, "This is the only time you point a blade at me and live."

Reht backed off a step.

"Raise that axe when you stand. Do it. I'll add you to the corpses."

Vors climbed to his feet, his hand on his axe. His eyes burned with hate but he did not raise his weapon.

Reht had figured as much. No one who tortured a small boy could be anything more than a coward when faced with a determined man.

"Bind the boy," Reht said to Rolk and Norsim. "Execute anyone still alive. Take the horses and whatever foodstuffs we can carry. We ride within the hour."

He still had a few hours of darkness left before sunrise. He wanted the dawn to find him and his men as far from the Corrinthal estate as possible.