That used to be a person? Nerra asked. She couldnt believe it, wouldnt believe it, because… that would mean that she would end up like that. Isnt there anything you can do to help?

Only one thing now, Kleos said, and stepped forward after the creature. His expression was filled with pity, but even so, it didnt stop him from stepping inside the circle of the dragon-things claws. He thrust sharply with the blade he held, this time up under its jaw, up into its brain. Nerra heard the creature give a gasp that seemed part shock, part relief, then Kleos dragged his blade clear, letting the beast slump back to the floor.

He stood there over it for several seconds. From deeper in the building, Nerra could hear growling that suggested more of these things… these people, were there.

Help me to carry him outside, Kleos said. He has found peace now, and we will treat his body with honor.

Nerra didnt know what to do, so she got a hold of the creatures legs, helping while Kleos lifted.

Will that… she began. Will I...

Will you end up like Matteus here? Kleos asked. He bowed his head. Some do not live so long. The dragon sickness tears them apart. But yes, you might.

And when I do, youll kill me? Nerra said.

Kleos nodded. I will give you peace, when there is nothing left in you that knows it.

Nerra felt sick then. Her dragon had brought her here, had saved her, yet now… now it looked as though the only thing it had saved her for was death.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Lenore hoped for death as she sat on the horse, her hands bound before her and Ethirs grasp around her waist holding her there firmly. Around them, the other Quiet Men rode, horses moving in a near silent line, those riding them doing so with their hands on the strange assortment of weapons they carried.

Before, she had hoped for escape, but the Quiet Men had shown her twice now that there was no way for her to escape them. They had caught her easily, back in the inn, and captured her again just as smoothly when she had tried to flee. She could not escape.

Then, she had hoped for rescue. Lenore had been certain that it would come, with the Knights of the Spur riding over the horizon, or Rodry, even Vars, coming with the men who should have been guarding her. Here, in the open, couldnt they sweep down on these dozen and defeat them? Couldnt they save her?

Yet with every passing league, those hopes were fading. They got closer to the bridges and further from any help with every stride of the horses. Already, Lenore could see the largest of the bridges in the distance, its span stretching out over the Slate in length after length of dark wood.