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howl. Within the trees where they crept, it was a giant s breath that warned of its owner s approach.
Kinson was sweating freely, his nerves on edge, his breathing harsh in his lungs.
They arrived at the main gates and stopped once more. The gates stood open, the portcullis raised, the
entry left black and gaping and vaguely reminiscent of a mouth frozen in a death scream.
There were bodies by the shattered doors, twisted and lifeless.
Bremen hunched forward in concentration, staring at the Keep, but not really seeing it, looking
somewhere beyond. His gray hair whipped about his head, as wispy as corn silk. His mouth moved.
Kinson reached beneath his cloak and pulled forth his short sword. Mareth s eyes were wide and dark,
and her small body rigid, poised to bolt.
Then Bremen took them forward. They crossed the open space separating the forest from the Keep,
walking slowly, steadily, not bothering to hurry or conceal their approach. Kinson s eyes flicked left and
right apprehensively, but Bremen did not seem concerned. They reached the gates and the dead men,
and stooped to identify them. Druid Guards, most of them looking as if they had been torn apart by
animals. Blood stained the ground beneath them, soaked from their bodies. Their weapons were drawn;
many were shattered. They looked to have fought hard.
Bremen moved into the shadow of the wall, past the sagging gates and raised portcullis, and there he
found Caerid Lock. The Captain of the Druid Guard was slumped against the watchtower door, blood
dried and crusted on his face, his body pierced and slashed in a dozen places. He was still alive. His eyes
flickered open, and his mouth moved. Hurriedly, Bremen bent to listen.
Kinson could hear nothing, the wind obscuring the words.
The old man looked up.  Mareth, he called softly.
She came at once, bending over Caerid Lock. She did not need to be told what was required. Her
hands ran quickly over the wounded man s body, searching for ways to help. But she was too late. Not
even an empath could save Caerid now.
Bremen pulled Kinson down so that the two were huddled close, their faces almost touching. About
them, the wind continued to howl softly as it twisted and turned about the walls.
 Caerid said Paranor was betrayed from within, at night, while most slept. Three Druids were
responsible. Everyone was killed but them. The Warlock Lord left them to deal with us. They are inside,
somewhere. Caerid dragged himself here, but could go no further.
 You are not going in there? Kinson asked hurriedly.
 I must. I must secure the Eilt Druin. The old man s seamed face was set and his eyes were hard and
angry.  You and Mareth will wait for me here.
Kinson shook his head stubbornly. Dust and grit blew into his eyes as the wind whipped through the
dark opening.  This is foolish, Bremen! You will need our help!
 If something happens to me, I will need you to get word to the others! Bremen refused to yield.  Do
as I say, Kinson!
Then he was on his feet and moving away, a ragged bundle of stick limbs and blowing robes, hastening
from the gates and across the courtyard to the inner wall. In seconds, he had passed through a doorway
and was lost from view.
Kinson stared after him in frustration.  Shades! he muttered, furious at his own indecision.
He glanced over at Mareth. The young woman was closing Caerid Lock s eyes. The Captain of the
Druid Guard was dead.
It was a miracle, Kinson thought, that he had lasted this long. Any of his wounds would have finished a
normal man on the spot. That he had lived until now was a testament to his toughness and determination.
Mareth was on her feet, looking down at him.  Come on, she said.  We re going after him.
Kinson stood up quickly.  But he said...
 I know what he said. But if anything happens to Bremen, what difference do you think it will make
whether we get word to the others or not?
His lips compressed in a tight line.  What difference, indeed?
Together they hurried across the empty, windswept courtyard toward the Keep.
Within Paranor, Bremen moved swiftly down the empty halls, as silent as a cloud crossing the sky. He
explored as he went, attuned to the tastes and smells and sounds of the Keep. He reached out with his
senses and instincts to uncover the danger of which Caerid Lock had warned, wary of its presence and
intent.
But he could not find it. Either it was very well concealed or it had departed.
Be cautious, he urged himself. Be alert.
Everyone within the Keep was dead  of that much he was certain. All of the Druids, all of their
guards, all who had lived and worked and studied here for so many years, all those he had left behind
just four days ago. The shock of it was like a blow to the stomach; it took the wind and the strength from
him and left him numb with disbelief. All dead. He had known it could happen, had believed it possible,
had even seen the vision of it. But the reality was much worse. Bodies lay strewn everywhere, twisted in
death.
Some had died by the sword. Some had been torn apart. Some, he sensed, had been taken to the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]