He kicked his boots free of the stirrups. He clambered up until he was perched on the saddle. At the last moment, as the horse veered of its own accord to avoid colliding with the back of the house, Cryl launched himself across the intervening distance, angling his shoulder down and protecting his face with his arms.

He struck the shutters and wood exploded around him.

Splinters lanced into him as he landed on the floor and skidded across slate tiles. Picking himself up, he drew his sword and rushed towards the front of the house. He could hear hammering against the front door and the sound of splitting wood. The rooms blurred past unseen as he ran.

Enesdia screamed as the front door was battered down.

Cryl plunged into the hallway – saw Enesdia. Ephalla had drawn a dagger and was standing before her mistress. A sword lashed out, the flat of the blade striking the maid’s forearm, breaking bones. Another blade punched into her chest, lifting her from the floor—

Cryl rushed past Enesdia. He did not even register the faces of the figures before him. His sword flickered out, opened the throat of the man who had murdered Ephalla, tore free to bury half its length in the gut of a second attacker.

‘Run to the back!’ he shouted. ‘Get on the horse! Go!’

‘Cryl!’

More attackers were pushing into the hallway.

From somewhere off to his right, in another room, a window was being broken through. ‘Go!’ he screamed, flinging himself at the three attackers.

He was a Durav. The blood was on fire in his veins. He split the face of one man, sliced through the kneecap of another. A blade stabbed deep into his right thigh. He staggered back, pulling himself free of the weapon. Strength poured out of that leg. Cursing, he stumbled. More were coming in, eager to reach him. He blocked a thrust, felt his blade slice up the length of someone’s arm. And then something slammed into the side of his head and the world flashed white. As he fell forward, twin punches met his chest, pushed him back upright. He looked down to see two swords impaling him.

Another blade slashed, cut through half his neck.

He saw himself falling, in the hallway, almost within reach of the entrance threshold and the hacked body of Lord Jaen lying beyond, where boots and legs crowded past and drew close. Someone stepped on his hand, breaking fingers, but he only heard the sound – the feeling was a sense of wrongness, but there was no pain.

There was only a growing emptiness, black as the river. He waited for it to take him. He did not have to wait long.

* * *

They had caught the nobleborn woman in one of the back rooms, trying to climb out through a window, and dragged her into the main hall. And then the raping began.