“No, Draga,” said Sorrow softly, jiggling him on her back, trying to keep him quiet. “Sorrow will carry you. Isn’t this fun?”

“Draga walk!” said the child willfully. He was the baby, and he was used to having his own way. He pinched Sorrow’s arm and pulled her hair. “Draga walk!”

Ven came running back down the corridor.

“Warriors!” he called softly. “Everyone crouch down! Put your backs against the wall! Hurry!”

He turned angrily to Sorrow. “Keep that kid quiet!”

“I’m trying!” Sorrow gasped. She shifted Draga to her hip and knelt down, rocking him, stroking his head, making soft, clucking sounds.

Draga was having none of it. He squirmed in her arms and kicked his feet, trying to escape her grasp. He was a hefty child, and slippery. Sorrow could hear the warriors moving at a swift pace along the corridor, coming their direction. The other children crouched down, huddled against the wall. Their eyes were wide with fear. One of the smaller ones started to whimper. The boy carrying her clapped his hand over the little girl’s mouth. The warriors were coming nearer. Draga struck at Sorrow with a small fist and sucked in a deep breath, preparatory to letting it out in a howl.

Ven thrust his face next to Draga’s and said in a harsh whisper, “Shut up!”

Draga swallowed his howl in astonishment and shrank away from Ven. His shock was only momentary. Tears shimmered in the child’s eyes and his lower hp began to tremble. His little body quivered. Draga drew in his breath again, and Sorrow knew from experience that he was all set to pitch a head-banging, feet-kicking, lung-bursting tantrum.

“Do something!” Ven hissed.

Sorrow reached into Draga’s mind and seized hold of the colors that were bright and new. She mixed them together to form a brilliant, gaudy pinwheel, and started them spinning. The colors spun, faster and faster. Draga forgot his fear, forgot his anger, forgot wanting to crawl out of Sorrow’s arms. He stared, fascinated, at the whirling, dazzling colors. After a moment, his body went limp. His mouth hung open. His arms slipped from around her neck. His eyes did not blink. Drool slid from the corner of his mouth.

Sorrow pressed against the wall. Intent on their mission, the warriors hastened past the corridor in which the children were hiding. She counted eight of them—four women and four men, including Commander Leopold.

“It’s about time we put an end to this,” the commander was saying. “I’m sorry about Grald’s death, but I think all of us knew he was obsessed with his monstrous offspring. He was losing sight of the true vision.”