Raj Ahten turned, looked on the walls of Castle Longmot. In places, the walls of the castle had cracked. The Duke’s Keep looked as if artillery had struck it, blasting off huge chunks of stone, crumbling a windowsill, toppling gargoyles.

Those men who still could gazed at Raj Ahten in horror.

Defeated. Longmot lay defeated.

Raj Ahten stood, gloating in his power. The King of the Earth may come, he thought, but I am mightier than the earth.

Everyone, even Raj Ahten’s own men, watched him in terror. Among his Invincibles, few had been damaged by the Death Cry. Raj Ahten’s Invincibles each had a minimum of five endowments of stamina—and, apparently, that was enough for them to withstand the destructive power of his Voice.

But many commoners who had defended the walls had punctured eardrums or had lost consciousness.

In the moment that followed, Raj Ahten’s Invincibles finished their swordplay, slaughtering those who resisted, dragging those who surrendered down into the courtyard.

When the defenders of Longmot were disarmed, their armor taken, fewer than four hundred men remained. To Raj Ahten’s pleasure, the others had all died, either in battle or from his shout.

On the castle walls, the salamanders stood a moment, gazing longingly at the prisoners. But with the battle won and no more prey to be had, they began to waver, until their fiery forms became a mere shimmering heat, and were gone back to the netherworld from whence they had been drawn.

For a long moment, Raj Ahten merely stood, surveying the scene, tasting his victory.

He addressed the survivors simply. “I need information. To the man who supplies an answer first, I’ll grant life. The rest of you shall die. Here is my question: Where are my forcibles?”

To their credit, most of the knights refused to answer. Some shouted curses, but half a dozen shouted variations of “Gone! Orden sent them away!”

Six men tried to purchase their lives. Some had blood trickling from ears. Some wept. Some were young men who had never faced danger. Others were family men, perhaps, who worried for the welfare of wives and children. Raj Ahten recognized a captain who had been made a Dedicate just days before, but he did not know the captain’s name. One silver-haired old fellow, Raj Ahten imagined, was just a coward.

Raj Ahten called them forward, led them to the drawbridge while his Invincibles moved in for the slaughter.

“You six men,” Raj Ahten said. “One of you has saved your life, but I do not know yet who among you shall live. Perhaps one shall live, perhaps all. . . .” He knew full well who had spoken first—the old coward. But he dared not admit it. He needed them all to answer, needed to learn if his source spoke truthfully. “So, I must ask you another question. Where did he send my forcibles?”