The knight turned and ran across the wall, making for the rising flames. Flyn headed for the nearby stairs, descending quickly into the yard. Rosheen watched him slip the harness over his head and pull the greatsword free as he ran, heading directly into the whirlwind. Through the choking cloud, she could just make out the heir, weaving his way between the sleeping Forge Born. She watched him, wondering if he possessed any of the dread powers of his forebears. Even against the wind, his stride was strong, purposeful. There was a forward bend to his shoulders that seemed to challenge everything in front of him. His walk was determined.

Familiar.

Rosheen went cold.

“By the Hallowed! No!”

She flew straight for him, but the swirling winds were too strong, tossing her about, forcing her to retreat. She tried again, screaming in fury as she was denied by the gale. Helpless anger boiled inside her, and she screamed for Flyn, begging for him to stop. She could not see the squire, but she knew he was down there somewhere, sword in hand, stalking. She screamed and screamed, knowing it useless. Her voice was swallowed by the wind.

The wind surrounding the Flame Binder almost swept Padric off his feet. Grit and cinders stung the flesh of his face, his eyes flowing with hot, painful tears. The air buffeted him in terrible gusts, first one way, and then another. Each step was a fight for balance. He worked his way through, dimly aware that the fiery hearts were manifesting in the Forge Born all around him. They were near twice his height, and Padric tried not to imagine one of them springing to life next to him. The whirlwind of smoke grew thick and Torcan was nowhere to be seen, but Padric continued to head in what he hoped was the direction of the stables.

“Spread out!” he yelled back at his guards, waving his arm. “Find the lord Swinehelm!”

The goblins looked at each other, wordlessly trying to decide whether to follow his orders or Torcan’s.

They died before the decision was made.

The thing that attacked the goblins was fast, darting out of the smoke and striking down three of them before the others could respond. Padric saw a long blade strike and the guards’ desperate attempts to interpose their own weapons. They were too slow. Their killer was armored, feathers covering its body where steel did not. The last goblin fell in an attempt to flee and was finished off by the dagger-long spurs sprouting from the thing’s feet. It looked at him then, eyes piercing. When it spoke, Padric heard laughter in its voice.

“I would have your name before I slay you, Goblin King.”