“Did you see Captain Mani? He was burned alive. I saw the bones in his face while he was still screaming . . . .”

“Captain Mani’s dead? Then who’s in charge?”

“We have to reach Walshow. There’ll be captains there to tell us what to do. . . .”

“We’re not going fast enough. If they catch us, they’ll kill us. They’re demons.”

“Is the lord dead? Can he be dead?”

“Did you see the tent burning? The fire stuck to it. Water wouldn’t put it out. No one could escape such sorcery.”

“They promised us! Said nothing would stand in our way.”

“Neh. This was a test. Those who didn’t truly trust the lords’ power, died. But we survived, didn’t we?”

“Heh, so we did. We spoke the proper prayers and offered the proper sacrifices, not like the others. We’ll be admitted to the real army—”

“Aui! Look! Eagles!”

Three eagles swooped past. Shouting, the men ran. The eagles rose higher into the sky with an eerie glide, wings not beating. These eagles carried reeves slung into harnesses that dangled beneath, leaving their arms free to hold weapons. Trapped in the brush, she lost sight of them, but she heard the hammer of hooves as a company of horsemen approached at speed.

“Run! Run!” the men cried.

It was too late.

Up the path swept a score of horsemen, black wolves on the hunt. They harvested the fleeing soldiers with swift strokes. Half rode on, up the path, while others spread into the woodland on the trail of men who bolted into the trees. She dared not move; she scarcely breathed. Men screamed as they were cut down. The mounted soldiers called to one another with calm shouts. One dismounted to survey the corpses killed by the eagle. He was an older man, somewhat older than her husband, although it was difficult to tell his age. He had an outlander’s look, with a broad face and pronounced cheekbones, a mustache but no beard, and noble eyes that flicked restlessly over the scene. She held her breath as his gaze passed over the pipe brush, but he looked away. He walked to the spot where the eagle had stood guard over Jerad. He knelt, touched the ground as if the ground could speak to him, then rose. Briskly, he walked directly to the stand of pipe-brush, halted, and spoke.

“Come out.” His words were strangely accented and a little difficult to understand.

She didn’t move.

He sighed. “Come out. You are in there. With you is another one.”

Maybe he was only guessing.

He hacked through the pipe-brush above her head, shearing it off. Leaves showered her. Stalks rattled onto her body. He stepped back and waited.

He might still go away.

He tilted his head, rubbed his chin, and took another step back. She heard crashing in the brush, male laughter, and—like a stab in the heart—a woman’s sobs. Two black-clad riders emerged onto the path within her line of sight. Using their spears as prods, they were driving Avisha in front of them. She had Zi clutched to her chest. Her eyes were red from weeping, her hair tangled in disarray. She shivered with terror as the men looked her over.