lungs. The Elorian was racing across the field, heading toward the cottages. Five roofs now blazed, maybe more, and black smoke curled skyward. Screams rose from the village. Torin ran as fast as he could, but the Elorian and Bailey were faster, and soon he was trailing behind.
When he finally crossed the fields and burst into the village, he entered a world of smoke, blood, and fire.
Villagers ran screaming. Old Wela, the brewer's doughy and dark-haired wife, clutched a gash on her belly, blood leaking between her fingers. Finian the tinsmith, a kindly man who had often played dice with Torin, ran in flames, a living torch. Torin's head spun. He could barely see a dozen feet in any direction; the smoke was too thick, swirling everywhere. He stumbled between the cottages. He could no longer see Bailey.
"Bailey!" he shouted. "Where are you?"
Two red-haired women emerged from the smoke ahead, wearing aprons—Mae and Yara Hearthstone, twin cooks at the village tavern. Mae held a rolling pin, while her sister still held a half-plucked chicken. Welts rose across their arms, and they coughed in the smoke. Torin headed toward them when a black figure leaped. A robed Elorian swept across the street, and a blade lashed. Yara Hearthstone fell, green eyes wide, her chest gushing blood. The Elorian swung his blade again, tearing into Mae, driving his sword into her belly. She too fell and her rolling pin rolled down a bloodied street.
Torin felt like gagging, trembling, fainting, or all three together, but he forced himself to run. He swung his sword, racing toward the Elorian. The cloaked figure retreated into the smoke.
"Come face me, coward!" he shouted. He ran into the smoke and coughed madly. He waved his hand, trying to clear it. His eyes and throat burned.
Cursing, he dropped to his hands and knees. He crawled along the ground—the smoke was thinner here—and emerged from the inferno by the village temple.
He straightened and looked around, still coughing. Sparks covered his clothes. Cam and Hem stood ahead, looking around, bewildered. Blood dripped down Cam's arm, while Hem trembled wildly.
"Boys!" Torin said. "We have to find the Elorians. Three are still alive. Have you seen Bailey?"
They shook their heads, faces sooty and eyes wide.
A shadow moved at the corner of Torin's eye.
He spun to see black robes flutter behind a house.
He ran in pursuit.
"Boys, with me!" he shouted.
He raced around the house, only to see the Elorian disappear behind bales of hay. An instant later, the bales burst into flame.
Cursing and wheezing, belly twisting with worry for his friends, Torin ran around the blaze. He skirted the fire to see the Elorian aiming a flaming arrow at him.
Torin leaped aside.
The arrow flew.
Pain slammed into Torin's chest. A bolt drove into his breastplate, denting the steel.
He fell to his knees.
A second arrow whistled. It felt like a giant punching his chest. Torin gasped and fell to his side. Burning hay rained onto him, and smoke blinded his eyes. He couldn't breathe.
A shadow fell. Torin looked up, seeing only smudges. Two figures leaped above him, one slim and small, the other large as an ox. The shadows roared and swung blades.
"Cam and Hem," Torin whispered, voice hoarse. Smoke invaded his mouth and burned down his lungs.
His eyes rolled back.
Torin found himself floating through smoke, darkness, and memory.
Night glided around him.
The moon and stars shone.
Again he saw her, the Elorian girl with silvery hair, her eyes as large as chicken eggs, her skin white as milk.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't want your father to die. I'm sorry."
Somehow in his dream, he knew the fallen Elorian was her father; he could see a mourning daughter's pain in her eyes.
But she only fled from him, disappearing into the shadows of the night, leaving him alone with the bones, alone with his shame, alone with the agony driving through his chest.
He coughed.
Hands touched his forehead and he
When he finally crossed the fields and burst into the village, he entered a world of smoke, blood, and fire.
Villagers ran screaming. Old Wela, the brewer's doughy and dark-haired wife, clutched a gash on her belly, blood leaking between her fingers. Finian the tinsmith, a kindly man who had often played dice with Torin, ran in flames, a living torch. Torin's head spun. He could barely see a dozen feet in any direction; the smoke was too thick, swirling everywhere. He stumbled between the cottages. He could no longer see Bailey.
"Bailey!" he shouted. "Where are you?"
Two red-haired women emerged from the smoke ahead, wearing aprons—Mae and Yara Hearthstone, twin cooks at the village tavern. Mae held a rolling pin, while her sister still held a half-plucked chicken. Welts rose across their arms, and they coughed in the smoke. Torin headed toward them when a black figure leaped. A robed Elorian swept across the street, and a blade lashed. Yara Hearthstone fell, green eyes wide, her chest gushing blood. The Elorian swung his blade again, tearing into Mae, driving his sword into her belly. She too fell and her rolling pin rolled down a bloodied street.
Torin felt like gagging, trembling, fainting, or all three together, but he forced himself to run. He swung his sword, racing toward the Elorian. The cloaked figure retreated into the smoke.
"Come face me, coward!" he shouted. He ran into the smoke and coughed madly. He waved his hand, trying to clear it. His eyes and throat burned.
Cursing, he dropped to his hands and knees. He crawled along the ground—the smoke was thinner here—and emerged from the inferno by the village temple.
He straightened and looked around, still coughing. Sparks covered his clothes. Cam and Hem stood ahead, looking around, bewildered. Blood dripped down Cam's arm, while Hem trembled wildly.
"Boys!" Torin said. "We have to find the Elorians. Three are still alive. Have you seen Bailey?"
They shook their heads, faces sooty and eyes wide.
A shadow moved at the corner of Torin's eye.
He spun to see black robes flutter behind a house.
He ran in pursuit.
"Boys, with me!" he shouted.
He raced around the house, only to see the Elorian disappear behind bales of hay. An instant later, the bales burst into flame.
Cursing and wheezing, belly twisting with worry for his friends, Torin ran around the blaze. He skirted the fire to see the Elorian aiming a flaming arrow at him.
Torin leaped aside.
The arrow flew.
Pain slammed into Torin's chest. A bolt drove into his breastplate, denting the steel.
He fell to his knees.
A second arrow whistled. It felt like a giant punching his chest. Torin gasped and fell to his side. Burning hay rained onto him, and smoke blinded his eyes. He couldn't breathe.
A shadow fell. Torin looked up, seeing only smudges. Two figures leaped above him, one slim and small, the other large as an ox. The shadows roared and swung blades.
"Cam and Hem," Torin whispered, voice hoarse. Smoke invaded his mouth and burned down his lungs.
His eyes rolled back.
Torin found himself floating through smoke, darkness, and memory.
Night glided around him.
The moon and stars shone.
Again he saw her, the Elorian girl with silvery hair, her eyes as large as chicken eggs, her skin white as milk.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't want your father to die. I'm sorry."
Somehow in his dream, he knew the fallen Elorian was her father; he could see a mourning daughter's pain in her eyes.
But she only fled from him, disappearing into the shadows of the night, leaving him alone with the bones, alone with his shame, alone with the agony driving through his chest.
He coughed.
Hands touched his forehead and he
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