“We don’t know. His guards rode off without telling,” the men answered in unison.

Two men had been slow to answer. Raj Ahten lunged forward with his saber, cut them down, perhaps with too much enthusiasm. He’d feared that the forcibles would be gone, that this attack had been a waste of his time.

“The odds narrow,” he whispered viciously. The four remaining men watched in terror. Beads of sweat formed on their brows. “Tell me, when did the forcibles leave?”

Two more men hesitated. The captain said, “Just after Orden’s men arrived.”

A fourth man nodded silent agreement, eyes blazing, becoming suddenly disheartened. The older fellow, the coward. He’d been too late to speak, he knew.

Raj Ahten slaughtered two more men, left only the last two soldiers. The captain still wore the colors of Longmot. Perhaps the man would make a valuable spy. The older coward was dressed in pigskins, a gamy fellow of the woods. Raj Ahten suspected that he did not really know his answers firsthand, and so was forced to merely concur.

“Where is Gaborn Orden?” Raj Ahten asked. The man in pigskins had no answer. Raj Ahten could see it in his face.

“He rode into the castle at dawn, then rode out again just after,” the captain of Longmot answered.

From the castle, the last agonized cries of dying prisoners sounded, the grunting and screams. The old man in pigskins cringed, knowing he would be next, while the captain sweated heavily, panting.

The captain had that inward gaze that men of conscience get when doing evil. Raj Ahten did not trust him to answer another question honestly. You could only push a man so far.

Raj Ahten stepped forward, slashed the old fellow who wore pigskins in half.

He considered killing the captain of Longmot. He had not wanted to leave any witness to tell the secret of his magic powders, or to reveal his battle tactics. It would be a small matter to gut the fellow.

Yet the captain might serve a greater purpose. By telling how Raj Ahten had destroyed the walls of Longmot with a mere battle cry, this lone survivor would spread fear across the kingdoms of the North.

All the Northern castles, all the proud fortresses that had stood for thousands of years as men battled the Toth and the nomen and each other—all were useless now. Death traps.

The men of the North should know. They should be prepared to surrender.

“I’m most grateful,” Raj Ahten told the captain. “You’ve won your life. You served as my Dedicate once. Now you shall serve me again. I want you to tell others what happened here. When men ask how you survived the battle, tell them: Raj Ahten left me to testify of his power.”