All at once, there were more riders crowding them, the thunder of horse hoofs almost deafening. As if from a vast distance, Rint heard Ville shouting.

‘Traj! What has happened?’

‘Lahanis found us – she escaped the slaughter – the villagers, Ville – they’re all dead!’

Someone howled, but even that sound was muffled, quickly swept away. The hammering of horse hoofs upon hard ground was a roar in Rint’s skull. Lahanis. He knew that name. A young woman, fast with her long-bladed Hust knife, but too young still to ride with the adults. A Bordersword in waiting who lived up the street.

‘Who attacked us, Traj? The Legion?’

‘She saw standards, Ville! House Dracons! We ride to it now. We ride to war!’

Blackened, scorched and in ruins, the village surrounding Riven Hill was beneath a shroud of smoke. He looked for his house, but the scene was jarring up and down, wheeling as vertigo took hold of him. He pitched to one side but was quickly brought up by a firm hand. Wild-eyed he looked across to see his sister – her face was wet with tears and the tears were black with dirt.

She’s had her fill of those. But it’s over now. At least she saw her baby, and held it in her arms. A living thing, nestled in her arms. That’s why I led her away – no, the wrong face, the wrong woman. Where is my wife? Why can’t I remember her face?

Then they were riding through the remains of the village, riding past bloated bodies. Feren’s fist, still holding him upright in the saddle – her knee stabbing into his thigh as she forced her horse to remain close – now tightened around a handful of cloak. If not for that grip, he would have fallen. He would have plunged down into the ashes, down among the dead.

Where she waits for me. And the child. And my child. My family, of which I will never again speak.

We ride to war—

Chapter Eighteen

EIGHTEEN

CALAT HUSTAIN PACED through the bars of light that shot through the slats of the window’s shutters, and such was the frown on his angular features that Finarra Stone remained silent, reluctant to speak. From the main hall outside the room and from the compound through the window behind the commander, there was a seemingly endless clamour of shouting and the thump of footsteps, as if chaos had arrived like a fever among the Wardens.

‘You will not be accompanying us,’ Calat said suddenly.

‘Sir?’

‘I will take Spinnock with me, but I want you and Faror Hend to ride to Yannis Monastery.’

Finarra said nothing.