continuously wiped snot from his upper lip. Jayson watched in silence, strangely numbed, as he followed in Corim’s wake. He found Paul, the tavern keeper, and his wife Amy, both with weapons in hand, their bodies charred by the flames as the tavern burned down around them. The stableboy, Ander, had been torn to pieces in the back, his body left close enough to the fire it had been roasted. Huddled near the church, half-buried beneath the rubble of a collapsed wall, he found the healer Reannon, her body lying protectively across her two children, Tara and Ian. But none of the bodies belonged to Corim’s parents. Or Lianne.
When there were no more bodies to check within the village center, Corim turned to him and said, “Home. They must be at home!”
He tore off down the road.
“No, Corim, wait!” Panic seized Jayson’s chest and he charged after the boy. He heard Gregson curse and shout an order, followed by boots running after him, but he ignored it all. His heart thudded in his chest as he ran, and for the first time he felt the grief he’d shoved down hard before this shuddering up from his gut, hot and choking. His eyes burned with it and he scrubbed at them futilely as he ran. Ahead, he saw Corim dodge down a secondary path, the one that led to his parent’s cottage, heard the crack of a door flung open-
And then a young boy’s hoarse cry shattered the unnatural stillness of the air.
Jayson’s heart wrenched in his chest as he stumbled down the last of the path and caught himself on the casement of the cottage’s door. He leaned there, gasping, and then reeled back from what he saw inside.
The room was covered in blood, the stench of it rolling out of the door in waves. Splashes of it streaked the walls, the table, the stone of the chimney and hearth. Corim knelt in the center of it all, a fallen chair to one side, his mother’s body lying across his knees. He hugged her tight to his chest, sobbing over her, even though she was covered in her own dried blood. Jayson gagged when he saw chunks of her flesh had been ripped free, her left foot entirely missing, most of her fingers gone, gnawed down to nubs of bone.
Behind Corim, in the doorway to the back bedroom, he could see a leg clad in a workboot sitting in a wide pool of blood.
“Corim,” he said, but his voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “Corim, come here. You can’t help them now.”
Corim didn’t respond. From behind, he heard two of the Legionnaires-Curtis and Ricks-pounding up the path, halting beside him. They looked in over his shoulder and Curtis sucked in a breath of horror. Ricks stumbled to one side and vomited into the small herb garden beneath the cottage’s window.
Corim’s wail had died down to a hitching moan. Gathering himself, Jayson stepped into the cottage and to Corim’s side. He reached down to grip Corim’s shoulder, the boy rocking back and forth where he knelt. He didn’t react to Jayson’s touch, so Jayson barked, “Corim!”
The boy flinched and looked up at him, his expression lost. “They’re dead,” he whispered.
“I know.” He squeezed Corim’s shoulder. “We can’t do anything for them now. We need to leave.” And he needed to find Lianne, although he wasn’t certain he wanted to find her now. Grief pressed hard against him, nearly swallowed him.
He sucked in a steadying breath and choked on the stench that permeated the house. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Corim didn’t move, so he reached down and hauled him to his feet, the boy’s mother’s body sliding to the floor. Mercifully, she landed facedown. After seeing what had been done to her hands, Jayson could only imagine what had been done to her face.
As soon as he’d regained his feet, Corim latched onto Jayson, arms encircling his chest and drawing him in close. Curtis appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, caught his gaze and shook his head, although Jayson had already known Corim’s father was dead as well.
He half-carried, half-led Corim outside into the fading sunlight.
“We should head back to the village center,” Curtis said. Ricks had recovered, stepping up to them from one side as he wiped his mouth with one hand. He still shook and his face was pale.
“No,” Jayson said. “Not yet. I need to find Lianne.”
Ricks nodded and Jayson realized that the Legionnaire had been offering him a way out. But he couldn’t leave without knowing for certain.
Pushing Corim away gently but forcefully, he handed the youth off to Curtis and then headed down the path to the road.
His own cottage and lands were not far. He walked to them without speaking, the others trailing behind. He saw the cottage through the last of the trees, then passed through the small gate and garden to the front door. There he hesitated, thinking of the blood and stench in Corim’s home.
But he had to know.
He opened the door.
An invisible hand closed around his throat, choked off his breath, his voice. All of the strength drained from his legs and he slid down into a crouch. He held one hand out before him, as if he could ward off what he saw within, as if he could block it out.
Lianne sat slumped over the small table near the hearth, her head on its side, her blank hazel eyes staring toward the door, as if she’d been watching for him. One hand lay on the table beside her head in a pool of spilled stew, the bowl upside down by her fingertips. The other lay in her lap. The rancid smell of broth and potatoes and onion filled the room, the stew pot still hanging over the long-dead fire.
Corim’s hand fell onto his shoulder and Jayson dragged in a wheezing breath, his throat too tight and raw. He brought his hand down, then heaved himself upright and staggered to the table, knocking against it hard enough it scraped across the wooden floor, the bowls and utensils jouncing. Lianne’s hand slid through the congealed stew, the weight of her arm dragging it off the table. It swung, gelled chunks dropping from the fingers.
A noise he’d never heard himself make escaped him and he reached forward to brush Lianne’s hair, to touch her cheek. Her skin felt unnaturally cold and soft, as pale and lifeless as that of the dwarren’s body in the village center. Unlike Corim’s parents, there wasn’t a mark on her. No blood had been splattered through the house. It was as if she’d died while sitting down to eat.
He knelt down beside her, rested his head against her side and reached his arm around her shoulder. The constriction in his throat shifted down to his chest, so tight it felt as if he’d torn something deep inside his lungs, but he held it in, swallowed it down, his eyes squeezed shut with the effort. His body hitched as he sucked in a deep breath, trying to control himself-
“Lianne,” he murmured.
“She’s-” Corim began, but cut himself off.
The constriction that bound his chest tightened, but he found himself getting up, releasing her as he rocked back and stood.
“Let’s go,” he said. His voice was unnaturally hard. “There’s nothing we can do here anymore.”
15
“We’ll reach the confluence today,” Colin said.
Both Eraeth and Siobhaen looked up from where they sat around the fire, Eraeth holding a pan over the flames, the scent of frying eggs drifting up to mingle with the smoke and smells of the hundred fires already burning as the dwarren roused themselves from sleep. With a casual gesture, he flipped the eggs.
“And what will happen once we get there?” Siobhaen asked. Exasperation tinged her voice.
Colin shrugged. “There will be a Gathering.”
“And what does that mean?” Siobhaen snarled. “I’m tired of traveling without knowing what’s going on. We came to the dwarren to find out what they know, but they haven’t told us anything. You’ve dragged us along with this war party without any explanation of why, gone wandering off on your own to visit the sarenavriell, and brought us these weapons that you claim are a gift from the heart of the forest, and yet you haven’t told us anything about what you found out or what they’re to be used for!”
Colin stared at her a long moment, at a loss for words. He glanced toward Eraeth, the Protector meeting his
