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.

In the distance he heard shouts and then the clash of blades.

Above a line of trees, he saw the freshly tiled roof of Andarist’s house. Cutting down from the road, he drove his horse hard across an open sward, and then through brush and into the shadow of the trees. Before him, as he rode towards the back of the house, he saw figures spilling to the sides at the run. He understood that Jaen had retreated into the house – his only choice, for there were scores of attackers.

Cryl’s eyes fixed on a shuttered window on the main floor, to the left of the back door. He pushed his mount to even greater speed, riding straight for it.

Someone shouted – they had seen him, but that did not matter. He was almost there.