“I did it, Father.”
Drystan’s eyes closed.
Ash spun to face the assailants. The first he speared through the belly, and as he withdrew it, he pulled a dagger from his belt and sent it sailing into the neck of another. He bore down and howled through the windmill he made with his sword as he brought it through four more, bearing down at the resistance of flesh and bone; and then, when they had all fallen, clutching their wounds, he finished them.
The last one backed toward the door. He dropped his sword. Fear burned in his eyes.
“Please don’t,” he begged. “I have a family.”
Ash pulled his sword free and drew the end across the guard’s neck. “Then you should not have killed mine.”
The man who had slashed through seven guards on his own leaned in and quickly cut the straps binding Brand
