And it fell over her, the fear made solid, becoming knowledge. Spoken on the lips of another, it became real and terrible. She had held onto him in her heart, a vision of hope, healthy and whole. Now he was gone, nothing but a memory of the last time she saw him in a night covered forest. A face, a known and loved face, gone forever, nothing now but a skull lying in a pile of indistinguishable bones. Why had she left? She could have gone back, been with him at the last, burned away at his side never having to wonder whether he was alive or dead, never having to imagine searching in vain for some semblance of him in a sooty pile of fleshless, faceless corpses.

“I should have stayed with him. Deglan he was so young.”

The gnome looked at her, eyes trying to pull her sorrow away. “I am sorry.”

She nodded once. “We have to get him out of there.”

“He is dead, Rosheen.”

“No, not Padric. Pocket. Pocket is in the castle.”

Deglan shook his head. “Who is Pocket?”

“He is just a boy. Ten years old. He doesn’t belong in that place.”

“Well,” Deglan said, looking over her shoulder at the others, “if you want to assault Castle Gaunt this is the lot to be with.”

Rosheen turned, her eyes settling on the Forge Born standing silently off to the side.

“You have fallen in with some unlikely allies,” she told the gnome.

Deglan shot a scowl at Muckle and the coburn. “Like you haven’t. That damn goblin looks right touched.”

Better to get it over with. “He’s a Jester, Deglan.”

“Buggery and spit! Well, mine is a damn seer so be mindful of what you think.”

“Do you trust him?” Rosheen asked.

Deglan thought about it for a moment. “Curdle, yes. Haven’t quite gotten used to the Sure Finder.”

Rosheen could not help but laugh. “I about had a fit when he and that dog of his found us.”

But Deglan was not listening. She watched as he took a step forward, concern spreading across his face. A little girl emerged from one of the ruined buildings, wiping sleep from her eyes. Madigan’s other dog was at her side, and the child kept a hand on it as she looked doubtfully at all the new faces. The coburn seemed to scare her the most, but Sir Corc held his hand out to the dog who sniffed it carefully. Seeing this, the girl relaxed. Muckle tried to greet her, but Panic nipped at him sending the fat goblin dancing backwards. Deglan’s relief was palpable, and Rosheen saw on his face an expression she had often worn.

“What is her name?” she asked gently.