Yanis tugged at Vannor’s sleeve and shouted something that Zanna could not hear above the screaming and the clash of swords. Then he led Emmie and Dulsina toward the boats with Snowsilver, Emmie’s huge white dog, helping to protect the women from attack. In the meantime, the former High Lord carved a path toward his daughter, his old friend Parric guarding his rear. When the two men reached Zanna, Vannor blanched at the sight of his grandson, lying so limp and still. He scooped up the boy without speaking, and they headed once again toward the water’s edge, Tarnal and Parric defending them. Thinking only of her children’s safety, Zanna hurried toward the boats. She had completely forgotten about Wolf, left somewhere behind her in the midst of all the fighting.
Pendral’s soldiers, who had fallen back in dismay from the redheaded fury and the tall, blond warrior who fought so fiercely at her side, now fled screaming at the sight of the two great cats, all deadly fang and claw and terrifying burning eyes, that accompanied the two human fiends. With no one to hinder them, they burst out of the passage and into the main cavern. Forral paused to take in the scene with a warrior’s experienced eye, and saw that two of the smuggler ships were being manned, with a further flotilla of small boats on their way out across the harbor to join them. He knew there was not much time.—The Nightrunners were badly outnumbered, and more of the enemy seemed to be appearing in a never-ending stream. “Down there—and hurry,” he shouted, pointing with his sword, then plunged down the beach and into the thick of the fray, taking the swiftest route toward the water.
Aurian was about to follow him, when her eye caught sight of a fallen body lying crumpled in the lee of the cavern wall. Something—some vague sense of recognition tugged at her, and without another thought she veered back toward the inert bundle, her heart leaden with dread at what she might find.
“Chiamh,” the Mage whispered. She didn’t dare touch him—not even to stroke the tangled brown hair away from his face. Blood leaked out of a multitude of wounds: the Windeye was hacked and stabbed in many places, with some deep rents and gashes too close to vital organs, and looking very bad indeed. Her Healer’s senses told her that if he was not dead, he must only be clinging by a thread to life, and that thread was fragile and attenuated; already stretched to breaking point. There was no time to waste. Aurian knew she must act instantly—if it was not already too late. She thrust aside her overwhelming anguish to make a cool and competent assessment of the situation.—There seemed no way to save him—to move him would be to kill him, and the risk of losing her own life to the enemy swords was growing greater by the moment—yet Aurian refused to countenance defeat, “Don’t worry, Chiamh—I’m here now,” she told him. “I’ll take care of you.” Concentrating hard to block out the distraction of the battle that was going on around her, she took the Windeye out of time.
Now, an apport spell... The big ships were too far away—Aurian couldn’t shift the Windeye that distance without seriously depleting her own energy, to the extent that she might not make it to safety—and without her to heal him, Chiamh stood no chance at all. There was a smaller boat that had been overlooked, however, moored behind a low, rocky point that jutted out from the shore at the very southern end of the beach. The little craft had gone unnoticed in the shadows, and she had only been able to pick it out because of her Mage’s vision. “Fine,” Aurian muttered. She turned back to Chiamh and—
“Lady! Look out!”
Aurian ducked, and as the blade went whistling over the top of her head, she brought her own sword round in an arc that sheared right into the knees of her opponent, who toppled like a felled tree. Turning the blade with a deft twist of her wrists, the Mage finished her assailant before he could hit the ground.—Only then did she see Grince, who seemed to have popped up out of nowhere, with Frost, his young white dog, at his side. He wore a fierce expression and was brandishing a sword that had clearly been lifted from a corpse, and was far too big for him.
“Thanks,” Aurian told the thief. “Watch my back a minute.” Gathering her powers, she thought of the Windeye as here, visualized him being there, on the boat—and wrapping him in her magic, gave a great mental heave. There was a crack and a gust of wind as the air rushed in to fill an empty space where Chiamh had been.
Aurian heard a gasp and a strangled oath from Grince. “Come on,” she told him, “let’s get out of here.”
“There’s a boat left,” Tarnal shouted. “We’re nearly there. ...” He stopped with a cry of horror. Zanna reached him—and her arms tightened around her son until he cried out in pain. Ignoring his protests, she crushed his face into her shoulder, where he could not see. Half in the shallows, at the water’s edge, lay Emmie and Dulsina. There was no visible mark on Emmie, but clearly she was dead. Dulsina’s skull had been crushed by a heavy blow that had obliterated half her face and left blood and brains leaking out into the sand.—Finally Zanna managed to tear her eyes away from the appalling sight. Her own grief was just too great to consider at present—Dulsina had been a mother to her ever since her own had died. Keeping her mind deliberately numb, refusing to think of Dulsina’s death, Zanna turned to her father. She hadn’t heard a single sound from him—how must he be taking this? Vannor was standing at the edge of the sea, oblivious of the water that was soaking into his boots. He was clutching the body of his grandson as though the ship of his life had foundered and the boy were the only floating spar.
Vannor looked up at Zanna, and there was a terrible emptiness in his eyes, as though his soul had been torn out from behind them. “That’s not my Dulsina,” he said hoarsely. “That’s not her.” And he turned away from the grisly corpse.—There came a hail from behind Zanna, and she turned to see Yanis at the oars of a small boat. Snowsilver, bleeding from a gash in his flank, was tied to a thwart with a piece of rope. Even now the dog was whining piteously and straining to get back to Emmie’s body. Tears streamed down the Nightrunner’s face. “I couldn’t save them,” he said- “I tried, but I couldn’t...”
Only then did Zanna notice that his tunic was soaked in blood. “Yanis—you’re hurt!”
“I couldn’t save them ... Just couldn’t...”
Clearly, he was in deep shock. Someone would have to cope. . . . “Dad, get in the boat,” Zanna said sharply. “Good—now put Valand down and take Martek from me. Go on—that’s it.” She scrambled into the little craft, and Tarnal, with a grateful nod to her, sheathed his sword and took hold of the bows to push the boat off the shingle. Zanna, looking over his shoulder, suddenly shouted.
“Tarnal, wait. Wait just a minute!”
Anvar—Forral, she corrected herself—came rushing down toward the boat with the two great cats. Tarnal hailed him. “If you’re coming, get in.”
“Wait,” said Zanna sharply. “Where’s Aurian?”
“Right behi-” The swordsman uttered a ferocious oath and scanned the beach, trying to pick out the Mage among the knots of fighters.
Shia, with all her attention on the enemy, had fought her way down to the water’s edge before she realized that the Mage was not behind her. She whirled with a roar, “Aurian! Where are you?”
“I’m coming . ..”
“Forral has found a boat.” It was the first time Shia had named him.
“Then go.” The Mage’s replies were terse and distracted—clearly she was fighting for her life up there on the beach. “Chiamh is wounded, in another boat—I must go with him.”