“Hurry,” Brannie urged as she shifted to human and helped a slow-moving Uther deep into the trees.

“I’m trying.” He lightly slapped Caswyn’s face again. When that didn’t work, he punched him hard. Like he often did when his friend was drunk.

Caswyn’s eyes opened slightly.

“Can you shift to human, brother?”

Unable to speak, Caswyn closed his eyes and, after a moment, weak flames surrounded him. It took longer than usual but with some effort, Caswyn managed to shift to his human form.

Staying dragon—and praying none of the Zealots caught sight of him as they crossed a nearby hill—Aidan carried his friend to the line of trees and, once there, shifted to human as well.

He hoisted Caswyn onto his shoulders and rushed into the forest after Brannie.

He found her and Uther sitting safely by an enormous boulder and placed Caswyn next to Uther.

“Keep him quiet,” he told Uther, since Caswyn was known for the occasional night terror when he was passed-out drunk. No use believing it would be any different now simply because he was unconscious for other reasons besides drink.

Aidan crept up beside Branwen and crouched near her. Together they peeked around the boulder as the Zealot legions came into sight. They marched toward the clearing, not too far from where Aidan and Brannie were hidden.

As they marched, several of the soldiers, most of them completely blind, began singing songs in praise of their eyeless god. They all seemed happy, but Aidan didn’t understand how anyone could be happy living like that.

Not being blind—as many of them were—because blindness could happen to anyone and several of the Mì-runach had gained their legendary status when they continued to fight for their queen without the gift of eyesight. They merely learned to rely on their other senses. It was, as one of Aidan’s early trainers had told him, “only a tragedy if you make it one.”

So, no. It wasn’t the blindness. It was giving your soul over to a being who merely fed off hatred and bigotry. In Aidan’s estimation, life was entirely too short to be that gods-damn miserable.

But the Zealots happily wallowed in their hatred, singing about the destruction of beings who’d had no say about being placed in this universe. The Abominations.

Rather an Abomination, Aidan thought, than a Zealot puppet for an undeserving god mired in shit, dirt, and rage.

As soon as the first regiment made it to the other side of the clearing, the soldiers began to set up camp.

“We need to get out of here,” Branwen whispered. “I’ll take Caswyn.”

“He’s still unconscious. I should take him.”

“I need you to keep Uther quiet until we get far enough away. If I stay with Uther, I’ll give him the death he’s so eager for.”

She was right, of course. An injured Mì-runach could be dangerous because they were more than willing to sacrifice themselves for others, which was all well and good, but they rarely did that sort of thing quietly. And stealth was the only advantage their small, weaponless group had at the moment.