Most men would have said more, would have waited for the applause and the stamping of feet, but when Lehav had finished speaking he turned, passing Adare to Kamger without a glance over his shoulder.

“See that she’s brought to the Geven Cellars. Double guard. I will be along after I have cleaned myself, prayed, and made my offering to the goddess.”

Kamger saluted, but Lehav was already striding through his troops and into Olon as though Adare had ceased to exist. That was when the Aedolians struck.

At first she thought the pilgrims behind her were just voicing their confusion and outrage. There were shouts, cries that could have been accusation or anger, the clatter of hooves. Then she saw the faces of the soldiers gathered around her, the sudden surprise and fear in the eyes of the Sons of Flame, followed by the desperate scramble to draw weapons. A scramble ending in failure.

At first, all Adare knew was that two men, both mounted, both swinging swords as long as her arm, were riding straight into the mass of Intarran soldiers, cutting furiously into the men on foot. She saw a head split open and an arm severed at the elbow, watched one man raise his sword only to see the weapon smashed straight into his face. Kamger seemed as confused as the rest, struggling to pull his blade free while keeping his grip on her arm. Adare turned just in time to see Fulton lean over the pommel of his saddle, swinging his broadblade in a great arc that opened the huge soldier from his neck to his chest. Blood, hotter than monsoon rain, splattered Adare’s face, and then she was free.

“Quickly, my lady,” Fulton said, wheeling his horse to a stop, reaching down with his free hand. “Into the saddle before they regroup.”

Adare’s mind reeled, but her body took over. She seized the Aedolian’s hand, dragging herself up onto the horse even as the Sons of Flame closed around them again. A part of her, the part that wasn’t drenched in blood and terror, noted that Fulton looked thinner, older, his eyes and cheeks sunken and haggard. How long had the two men been following her? Why? The questions were irrelevant in the midst of the chaos, inane, but her mind had retreated from the blood soaking her robes, from the screaming of the injured, from the shapes of the shattered men splayed on the flagstones. For a moment she thought she might start singing, whether from euphoria or madness, she couldn’t be sure.

It looked like they would make it. Birch was holding back the Sons while Fulton spurred his horse to a gallop, charging straight back through the ranks of the pilgrims. We’re going to break free, Adare thought. The realization tasted like clean air, fresh and cold in her lungs. We’re getting out.