“Well, don’t just stand there, you fool!” Lannex cries. “Seize him!”

“Oh, yes. Please try,” Torrent says with a low laugh.

Two guards rush him, but this is mere child’s play. One fluid swing of his massive arm, and they fall backward with a sickening thud.

Torrent grabs Idalia by her waist and pulls her into his chest. She beats her fists against him and moans in anguish.

I’m unsure of how much of this is an act. Perhaps she believed that Lannex could have saved her, not that it matters now.

Torrent bounds onto the narrow trail, arrows whizzing past his ears. My bolt punctures an archer’s shoulder, and he falls with a horrendous yelp. The six unharmed sentries scramble in pursuit, but Lannex remains by his carriage.

His eyes dart between his fallen men, and he hisses, “Stand! Stand you fools!” He kicks one with his boot, then walks over to the man with the pierced shoulder and kicks his ribs.

“Do you know what is at stake? King Ivar will not care about a box of flowers if we let his daughter be kidnapped! Stand and fight!”

The guard Torrent kicked rolls onto all fours and unsteadily braces himself on a knee.

“What if she’s a delusion, my lord? The journal warned us of such things. A devil’s mirage, she called them. Evil’s fantasy.”

“A devil’s mirage is a mirage, you dimwitted fool! I held her face! Felt her skin and looked into her eyes! She is real! That is the Princess of Verdana.”

A Devil’s Mirage, another childhood tale.

“But what if it is the Dreaded? Or a follower? Didn’t the King warn us of that?”

The nobleman lands another kick.

“I know what I saw!” Lannex yowls. “Go and find her! May The Wood kill you before you return without her!”

Wobbling, the wounded men run toward Idalia’s rapidly fading screams.

“Pssst,” Lorna draws my attention back to her. “He isn’t going with them! Now what?”

Any move now is better than no move. I make a fist and release two fingers. Follow me.

She slips between the narrow trunks until she’s at my side.

Lannex paces by the carriage and then frantically knocks on the door. He doesn’t appear anxious; he’s angry. The door opens.

I throw up a hand, and we stop.

“What is the meaning of this!?” Lannex shouts into the carriage. “You told me you could assure us safe passage!”

Someone responds, but I can’t hear them. The nobleman frantically shakes his head, and the veins at his temples protrude from his skin. “You think I care? You swore your premonitions would lead us safely. Tell me, then. How did you not foresee these events unfolding? Are your visions blinded by gruesome crooks?” There’s no answer.

He places his hands on his hips and clicks his tongue sharply. “I want you out. Get out!” Silence.

He thrusts his head inside. I hear a scuffle, and he’s pushed back out in a flash, blood gushing from his head, and lands on the road. He doesn’t move.