Kevlin awoke slowly under Terach’s insistent shaking. Fighting down the urge to punch the captain and go back to sleep, he mumbled, “What time is it?”

“Around midnight.”

As soon as Kevlin sat up, Terach dropped onto his own bed and instantly fell asleep.

Kevlin dressed and buckled on his armor. He slipped into the parlor of Ceren's suite. She was curled up in a fat, cushioned chair beside Antigonus' bed, cheek resting on one palm, wearing a robe over her night dress.

Kevlin would have taken the huge bed in the next room. Ten paces away wouldn't have hurt Antigonus, and she would have slept better. Still, her dedication was impressive.

Antigonus lay quiet as a corpse, and looked almost as bad. His shallow, rasping breaths made Kevlin want to cough to clear his own lungs. The wounded man's skin was hot and cracked in places as if all the moisture in his body had burned away.

“Hold on,” Kevlin whispered to the old man. They’d find a stalwart tomorrow to heal him. They had to.

Ceren shifted in the chair, so Kevlin slipped out and returned to his own room. Outside, rain still pounded the inn, although the wind had died down. Lightning flashed occasionally, but the thunder seemed weaker. With any luck the storm would blow itself out before sunrise so they could get an early start.

As he stood staring out the window into the darkness, a flash of lightning lit up the yard behind the inn for just a second.

It was enough.

In that second, several shapes were clearly illuminated as they moved toward the rear of the inn.

“Can’t they let us get one night’s sleep?” Kevlin muttered. He had no doubt who the approaching forms were.

Time to run.

“Terach,” he called sharply. The man muttered and rolled over. Kevlin called again and kicked him in the leg. Terach rolled onto his back and groaned before finally opening his eyes.

“What’s going on?”

“We’ve got enemy forces closing on the inn,” Kevlin said with a nod toward the window.

Terach cursed, jumped up and began buckling on his armor. Kevlin stepped over to the next room, pushed open the door, and called loudly, “Ceren.”

She started and nearly fell out of the chair.

“Get up. We have to leave. Now.”

She rose, brushing strands of hair from her face. "Rhea?"

"Most likely. Hurry."

She rushed into the bedroom and Kevlin returned to the other room to grab his things. Terach was already fully armored and packed.

Kevlin blinked in surprise. By the Lady’s temper, that was fast. If they survived the day, tomorrow he'd kick Terach awake and order an omelet. That kind of speed needed to be put to good use.

They transferred Antigonus to the stretcher in the parlor and tied him down. He didn’t move. Kevlin was tempted to wake him.

Terach noted his gaze and shook his head. “Wait until it’s absolutely necessary. He lacks the strength to stay awake for long.”

“I hope we have time later.”

They slung packs over their shoulders, hoisted the stretcher, and headed out into the hall. Ceren emerged, still stuffing items into her bag. She had not found time to secure her hair, and it hung around her face like a halo, accentuating her olive complexion and emerald eyes. She appeared calm as she held her naked sword ready.

Kevlin took the lead, heart pounding and hands clammy on the handles of the stretcher. They had reacted quickly, but even the two minutes they’d already consumed might have been too long.

He wished for another set of stairs at the far end of the inn, but hadn't bothered to search that area earlier and couldn’t risk the time to look. He paused at the top of the main stairs and glanced down to the closed door at the bottom. It opened into a corner of the common room, near the bar. They would be exposed as they crossed toward the exit. No choice.

Taking a deep breath, he started down, treading close to the wall to reduce the chances of a loose board squeaking. Terach and Ceren followed suit, and they made it to the bottom with hardly a sound.

Maybe they had a chance after all.

At first he thought the common room was empty. The fire burned low, a handful of dying candles guttered along the walls, and the chairs all rested upside down on the tables. As he headed across the room toward the door to the barn, the fire popped and a woman started upright from behind a table where she had been sleeping.

“Haisyl?” Kevlin asked.

“Oh, I’m so glad I caught up with you,” she cried, rushing across the room toward them. On the way, she bumped a table and knocked four chairs to the floor with a crash.

“I’ll kill her,” Ceren growled.

Kevlin didn't usually like to hit women, but he was tempted to race Ceren for the chance to beat Haisyl.

Before either of them could move to strangle the annoying woman, the door to the barn was flung open, and several leather-armored mercenaries rushed inside with swords drawn.

“The front door,” Kevlin yelled.

Too late.

More mercenaries flooded in from that direction, shouting triumphantly.

“Back!” Kevlin shouted. “To the study.”

The group turned and raced for the hall leading to the study where they had eaten the night before, with mercenaries closing in behind. In the rear, Kevlin felt particularly exposed. A well-thrown dagger could drop him in his tracks.

He pushed Terach faster.

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Haisyl outran them all. One thing she did well was run away. Another mercenary appeared in the doorway, blocking the way. She screamed and tried to skid to a halt, but she was too close and moving too fast.

The grinning mercenary aimed his sword at her stomach. She slid onto it with a scream that became a gurgling wail of agony, cut short by a fountain of blood spewing from her mouth. Haisyl slid off the sword and onto the ground, clutching at her bloody stomach.

“Mistress,” she moaned as blood pooled around her. Her entire body shuddered.

Ceren stopped, staring in horror at the gore, her face white and her sword arm shaking. Two more mercenaries appeared behind the one who had impaled Haisyl.

Terach and Kevlin lowered the stretcher and drew their swords. Ten mercenaries closed in around them, weapons ready and eyes cold with the promise of violent death.

“Wait.”

At the gentle command, the mercenaries halted. Dhanjal entered the room through the door leading from the barn. His scale armor ignited like a thousand torches, reflecting the dying fire and guttering candles. He approached with the same unhurried, confident stride that had carried him into the clearing early the previous morning.

Dark circles ringed his eyes, and his tired face looked haggard. His armor seemed to hang a little loose, and the bones of his hands stood out against his skin.

Healing Rhea had drained him, if he’d managed to save her at all. Stalwarts were endowed with marvelous gifts of healing, but not with unlimited energy for exercising those gifts. It looked like Dhanjal had exceeded those limits and sacrificed some of his own strength to feed his gift.

The ring of mercenaries parted and Dhanjal passed through, stopping four paces from Kevlin. The Blade Stalwart nodded as he crossed his arms. Kevlin had no trouble ignoring the impulse to do the same.

“Well met, brothers,” Dhanjal declared. “The Song of Savas sings loud this night. We will compete for His favor again.”

“Well met, brother,” Terach said. He stepped up next to Kevlin and slid the pala home in its sheath.

“What are you doing?” Kevlin hissed, not taking his eyes off Dhanjal. “Don’t encourage him.”

Terach ignored him. “Son of Savas, I challenge you to fight for the favor of your god.”

Dhanjal smiled. “Very well, son of Salawin. I accept your challenge.” The scales of his armor glowed brighter, then shifted slowly through the colors of the rainbow, signaling his growing rapture.

“We can beat him,” Kevlin whispered fiercely, “but not this way.”

Dhanjal reached for his twin scimitars, but Terach held up one hand. “Allow me a moment to make peace with my god.”

“Very well.”

Dhanjal crossed his arms and tilted his head back. He stared at the ceiling in some sort of ritual prayer, leaving his neck exposed. Kevlin reached for his dagger, but Terach grabbed his hand.

“No,” Terach whispered. “If we kill him, the others will slaughter us. We can’t win that way.”

“What other choice do we have?”

“I can keep him busy for a while. You figure out how to get us out of here.”

Ceren stepped over to them, her eyes darting from Haisyl’s still-twitching, bloody form to the mercenaries, then to Dhanjal.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice tight with fear.

“I will fight him,” Terach said.

“He’ll kill you.”

Terach placed a hand on her shoulder and replied in a whisper, “We’re surrounded. Dhanjal wants to fight, so I'll fight.”

“But--”

“No,” he cut her off. “I must do this or we all die. It’s the only hope I can give you.”

She embraced him and kissed him hard on the mouth.

Breaking away, Terach drew his pala and stepped toward Dhanjal. The mercenaries retreated and dragged tables out of the way to give the fighters space.

“What’s going on down there?” a woman’s voice called from upstairs. It sounded like the innkeeper. Dhanjal snapped his fingers and two of the mercenaries slipped past Kevlin’s group and through the door that led to the second floor.

“Run,” Kevlin yelled in warning.

The innkeeper shrieked and her footsteps retreated down the hall. The mercenaries climbed the stairs but remained stationed at the top. Silence reigned once more. If any of the other guests heard the commotion, they wisely remained in their own rooms.

“Come,” Dhanjal beckoned, drawing his scimitars with a flourish. “Let us dance the Song of Savas.”

The two closed, their swords flickering through the soft light, slashing the air like flashes of muted lightning. They moved around each other like twin cyclones of deadly steel.

Ceren took an involuntary step forward, but Kevlin caught her arm. “We need to figure out how to get out of here. It’s the only way to help him.” He didn’t bother to mention that the chances of any of them escaping were slim, but for Terach they were almost nonexistent.

Kevlin forced himself to tear his eyes off the two fighters and study the rest of the room. His heart sank. Too many men blocked both doors. They might have a chance against the three clustered in the hallway leading to the study, but the others would cut them down from behind before they could get through.

“Ceren.” He caught her eye and flicked his gaze toward Antigonus. She nodded and slowly stepped back to the sleeping sentinel. None of the mercenaries seemed to notice. They were all focused on the battle raging in the center of the room.

Ceren nudged Antigonus with her foot. He didn’t move. She tried again, harder. He rolled his head and muttered something unintelligible that was lost amid the sharp ringing of swords.

She looked like she wanted to kick him hard, and Kevlin silently urged her on. They needed Antigonus awake.

Instead of booting the sleeping man, she glanced at her pack where her healer’s case rested. It was unlikely she'd be allowed to open the case and revive Antigonus with her medicines, but she was clearly considering taking the chance.

Kevlin ran his gaze around the room again, but found nothing useful. The only possibility he kept coming back to was finding a way past those three mercenaries in the hallway and retreating to the study.

The front door opened, and Kevlin stared at the figures entering, hoping crazily that the mighty Sentinel Harafin had somehow covered the hundreds of leagues between them and come to help.

It was not Harafin.

The first person through the door was a man of medium height and build, who was heavily cloaked against the rain. He pushed the hood back to reveal dark brown hair and a face that would have been unremarkable if not for his eyes.

Shifting darkness filled the eye sockets, and pure evil emanated from them, so strong it rippled across Kevlin's skin like clinging tendrils of a frozen web. Those were the eyes of a creature whose soul belonged to EnKur, Lord of Darkness, whose flaming chains consumed forever the dead who fell into His snares.

Those terrifying eyes swept across the room and paused to focus on Kevlin. Fear immobilized him and his breath caught in his throat. All sound faded in the moment he stared into the roiling blackness of those eyes.

With an effort, Kevlin broke away from that gaze and shuddered with terror. No one needed to identify the creature of darkness for him.

A shadeleech.

Tales of the shadeleeches, recounted to him all his life, suddenly seemed laughable. They utterly failed to convey the abject terror this servant of evil projected.

Kevlin’s mind reeled as he tried to process the staggering turn of events. A shadeleech in Hallvarr? How was it possible? No shadeleeches had been seen in the empire for half a century, and Hallvarr lay on the far side of the empire from the Grakonian border.

Beside him, Ceren gasped, her hands trembling. The sound pulled Kevlin back from the brink of panic. He glanced down at Antigonus, but the sentinel hadn’t moved, nor did it look like he planned to. The terrible, brutal truth slammed into Kevlin so hard he wanted to throw up.

They were going to die.

There might have been a chance, however slim, to escape Dhanjal and the mercenaries, but with a shadeleech, death was a surety. It would be ugly, too. Panic flitted at the edges of his mind, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to resist it any more.

Behind the shadeleech, other figures entered the inn. The first through the door was Rhea. The sight of her was a welcome relief after seeing the shadeleech.

She limped and seemed more dead than alive. What was left of her hair hung in limp, ragged clumps around her head. Her eyes lurked deep in their sockets, and the dark circles around them seemed impossibly wide. Her skin looked rough and scabrous, like the bark of an old sycamore tree.

She and Dhanjal might have preserved her life, but only barely.

Kevlin stared at her and tried to reconcile reality with the nightmare they were living. How could she stand with a shadeleech? She had said she needed to kill Antigonus to obey her master, and she’d seemed genuinely tormented by it. Now she stood in open rebellion against every oath she’d ever taken.

Maybe the shadeleech was her master? Did her treachery run so deep? His mind whirled as he grappled with the horrible thought.

Behind Rhea came a dozen heavily cloaked men who were probably the shadeleech’s bodyguards. They towered over everyone else in the room, easily among the biggest men Kevlin had ever seen. They threw back the hoods of their cloaks, and Kevlin could not suppress a cry of fear. Ceren cried out and pressed against him, her entire body trembling with terror.

They were not men.

They were Makrasha.