Appalled, disbelieving, Lord Jaen tugged his sword free. He lunged towards the carriage and drove the pommel of his weapon against the door. ‘Out! Now! Out!’

The maid, Ephalla, crawled from under the carriage, groggy with sleep. Jaen grasped her arm and lifted her to her feet. He shook her. ‘Listen to me – take my daughter – flee to the house. Do you understand? To the house!’ He flung her hard against the side of the carriage and then wheeled.

His Houseblades were retreating, closing in around the carriage on the side facing the forest.

Behind him he heard the door swing open; heard his daughter’s frightened cry as Ephalla dragged her from the carriage.

‘We withdraw!’ Jaen shouted to his Houseblades. ‘Back to the house. Fall back!’

His guards formed a curved line, backing quickly. Jaen glanced over a shoulder and saw the two women running for the house.

The attackers were rushing closer. There were too many of them.

‘Slow them down!’ he commanded.

The first line of the enemy reached his Houseblades. Weapons clashed, blades slashed down. Two of his guards fell, overwhelmed. The others fought on, desperately hacking at the swords slashing and thrusting towards them. Another fell, his skull crushed.

The ones who remained continued to retreat. Lord Jaen backed up with them, helplessly trapped between his Houseblades and the two women striving to reach the house. Another moment’s hesitation and then, with a curse, Jaen spun round and ran after his daughter and the maid. He would hold the door if he could, knowing that the gesture meant nothing.

Andarist had not built a fortress. A grand home and nothing more. Jaen doubted the bar would even hold.

The women reached the door. Ephalla tugged it open and pushed Enesdia through.

Before her husband – not side by side – ill omen, a marriage doomed—

The thought tore through him on a spasm of absurd guilt.

He heard scores of footfalls thudding on the ground behind him, fast closing. My Houseblades are dead. Another dozen would have made no difference. Oh, Cryl—

He reached the gaping doorway, saw the terrified faces of his daughter and the maid in the hallway inside. He met Ephalla’s eyes and nodded.

She slammed the door shut, even as Enesdia shrieked.

Jaen wheeled on the threshold, readying his sword.

* * *

He had lost one of the horses to the river, watched it swept downstream with its head raised and neck straining. Grainy-eyed, feeling leaden, Cryl clung to the remaining beast as it finally reached the far bank and stumbled up the slope. Without a pause he kicked the creature’s flanks and it struggled against its own exhaustion, building into a plodding canter up and on to the road. Still he kicked and somehow the horse found the will to stretch out into a gallop.

He would be coming up to the house from the south. Before him the road was empty, with dawn only now edging the sky.