Wayra reined in before the shrine to Serigala in the town of Ingolf and swung down from the saddle. Turning to her company, she pointed at the late-afternoon marketplace.

“Spread out. Five minutes.”

The sentinels dispersed through the square. They would glean any information about Antigonus worth having. Wayra pushed through the gate and crossed to the porch of the simple wooden shrine, trailed by her two closest aides.

A woman wearing a wide straw hat and a smock of heavy, unbleached wool met them at the door. Her eyes widened at seeing three sentinels on the step. She flung the door open and bowed low.

“How may I help you?” she asked.

“We’re looking for an elderly man,” Wayra said. “A sentinel. Wounded. He would have passed through in the past week.”

“We have seen many wounded during that time. With the stalwarts gone, it has been difficult. There were no wounded sentinels. Besides, couldn’t a sentinel have healed himself? In fact, while you are here, will you come see to a few of my patients who are very ill?”

“We have no time for that.” Wayra turned to go.

“Wait,” the woman said. “I just remembered something that might help.”

Wayra scowled. She didn’t have time for games. The race south from Diodor had been arduous and frustrating, and they had found no trace of Antigonus. Ingolf was the largest town in the area, so she had hoped for news.

The woman took an involuntary step back from Wayra’s glare, unnerved like most people by the power of her huge eyes. But squaring her shoulders, she said, “Will you at least have one of your companions see what they can do about my patients while we talk?”

Wayra advanced a step. The woman cringed, but did not retreat.

“It will not take them long,” the woman added quickly. “Surely a few minutes spent saving lives is worth what I can tell you?”

Wayra suppressed the urge to cast Truth upon the woman. She might get what she wanted, but unless she was sure, it wouldn’t be worth the risk. The woman was pledged to Serigala and therefore under the protection of the stalwarts. Angering the stalwarts without good cause would only slow her down.

She forced calm on herself and said to the sentinel on her left, “See to them.”

He strode past the woman and disappeared inside the shrine.

“Now, tell me what you know,” Wayra demanded.

“A woman stopped here the day after the bloodset. She was also looking for an injured old man. Only one man fit the description, an old fellow who had passed through earlier that day. He was in a very bad way, although his friends wouldn’t let me treat him. They purchased a carriage and raced north to find a stalwart to heal him.”

“Was the old man a sentinel?” Wayra asked. She grasped the woman’s arm, her gaze so intense that sparks of fire danced in her eyes. “We came from the north and saw no one like that.”

“I don’t know,” the woman croaked, trying to back away. “They had him covered with a blanket.”

“Describe this woman.”

“She dressed like a lady, although her clothes were tattered. Fine features, but something about her made me uncomfortable.”

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Wayra raised a glowing hand and placed it on the woman’s head. “Envision her in your mind, and I will see her.”

“You’re not supposed to do that,” the woman stammered.

“We are healing your precious patients,” Wayra said in a whisper, her face inches from the other woman’s. “This is the price you must pay for our aid.”

The woman swallowed and closed her eyes. As Wayra concentrated, an image came to her mind. Rhea. There could be no mistake. She gasped and tightened her grip until the woman cried out.

“Show me the wounded man and his companions.”

Another image. Antigonus. She memorized every detail of his face, and those of his party.

“It was him,” Wayra exulted and released the woman, who stumbled back, rubbing at both her bruised wrist and her head.

“I am afraid your friend may be dead,” the woman said.

It cannot be. She was so close.

“You didn’t see them on your ride south. They went north, so you should have. The night after they passed, an inn north of town burned to the ground. The dead were so disfigured that we could not identify them, but we did find the remains of a carriage in the barn like the one they purchased.”

Dread curdled Wayra’s stomach. She glanced at Thyra, her second. “We passed that inn earlier. Nothing left but some stones of the chimney and part of the barn.”

They hadn’t stopped, but pressed ahead toward Ingolf. Wayra thought back to the charred rubble and couldn’t shake a chill of dread. If Rhea had caught up with Antigonus and killed him at the inn, she would have Tia Khoa and several days’ head start.

And they hadn’t passed her on the road.

Without a word, Wayra returned to her horse and raised a fist. A thin column of blue fire shot into the air to signal the kestrels to return. Not waiting for them, she wheeled her horse north and drove her heels into its flanks.

As soon as she reached the charred remains of the inn, she leaped from her lathered mount and approached a solitary figure digging through the rubble. It was a man dressed in simple woodsman garb, covered in ash, except where tears had streaked his cheeks.

He turned to Wayra, his eyes dead with grief. Upon seeing her white robes, he mumbled, “M’lady.”

“You lost relatives here?”

He nodded. “All dead.”

“Do you know if anyone got out alive?”

He shrugged. “It were raining that night, so tracks was all wiped out. We saw the one grave, but nothing more.” He nodded toward the tree line, then turned back to his hopeless digging.

Wayra strode toward the trees while the rest of her party straggled into the inn yard. Wayra pointed to the grave.

"Thyra, have someone dig that up. I need to know who’s down there.”

Thyra pushed her brown hair, tangled from the ride, out of her eyes, then gestured at one of the Kestrels in the party. He was a young man with heavy gray eyes, named Keld. He dismounted and raised a hand above the grave.

Wayra noted the skill with which Keld manipulated the light, directing it into the earth, which boiled and cascaded upward. In seconds, a corpse rose through the inverted avalanche before settling gently back to the ground. Without being bidden, Keld leaned over the body and wiped the dirt from its face.

Wayra studied the features and her heart fell. That man had led Antigonus’ party in the memory she’d seen. The certainty of it shattered her hopes of an easy victory.

She sighed but thrust the despair aside. She had to be strong. She couldn’t allow Rhea to escape with Tia Khoa. Everything Wayra had trained for had prepared her for this mission. She would not fail.

“This man was in Antigonus’ party,” Wayra said. “We can assume Rhea caught up with them here.”

“Do you think she killed Antigonus?” Thyra asked.

Wayra considered the question. Rhea would have taken Tia Khoa, but would she have killed Antigonus first, or taken him prisoner? With Antigonus wounded, it was a possibility.

“I don’t know, but we start the search here.” She nodded toward the charred timbers of the inn. “I want that wreckage excavated and every body recovered. Now.”

As the group of Kestrels turned to the grisly task, she held out a hand to Keld. “You have the best touch with animals, correct?”

“Yes,” he said with a happy wag of his head.

“Good. Find a hawk and sweep the area. Search for anything unusual. We need to know where Rhea’s gone.”

“At once.”

He turned to face the forest and his eyes went blank. A soft yellow glow enveloped his face as he sought out a suitable bird to link his mind to. Using its senses, he could guide it far and see through its eyes. If Rhea was anywhere nearby, he would locate her.

Turning to Thyra, who alone remained by her side, Wayra said, “Go. Join them. We need to know if Antigonus lies dead here.”

The ash-covered man who had been poking hopelessly at the rubble moments earlier stared with open-mouthed awe as timbers and ash floated up and away from the rubble, revealing the devastation lying underneath.

It wouldn’t take long to find the bodies.

Wayra watched, impassive, already planning her next move.