Leo quickly explained as we dashed out of the dress shop that a group of fugitives from Emberfell had recently arrived from the northern province. There were several families seeking to escape from the violence on their border with Drakorum, hoping to find a better life waiting for them in Veridia City.
But they quickly learned there were monsters in every corner of our empire.
Enraged Veridians had ambushed the families in their little shack in Ridgemore, a community in the east sector. A neighboring Strider who happened to know of the Sentinels had magicked to Rissa as quickly as possible with the news, but it had taken him some time to find us, even with his powers. Dread gripped me at what those precious minutes could have cost the victims.
We slowed as we reached a more populated area. When Chaz turned right at the end of the busy street, the change inatmosphere was almost immediate. The tidy, shining brick structures gave way to rotted wooden buildings. Moss and overgrown vines hung between windows and across entry ways. Rodents and people alike scurried over the gravel, the latter not pausing for casual conversation or to exchange pleasantries.
We traveled until signs of life and civilization became background noise to the rustle of wind through trees and birds crying in the distance. I spotted an occasional dingy house or field of crops, but it was mostly an isolated part of the east sector.
Chaz halted just short of a broken fencepost, and that’s when I saw it.
A small cottage, no larger than two or three rooms, with boarded windows and patched holes in the roof. Two small children—a toddler and one perhaps five years older—huddled in the dirt, little eyes tired and frightened.
And blood smeared on the front door.
A warning.
Rissa and Leo dismounted and handed their reins to Chaz, who secured them to the fencepost. Lark swiftly but calmly made her way to the children while the twins and Horace drew their weapons, being careful not to alarm the young ones. The four of them worked seamlessly together, each knowing their role and carrying it out without question.
My chest tightened at the thought that they’d had to do this many times before.
Commotion and distressed voices reached my ears as we approached the blood splattered door. It banged open and a middle-aged woman came flying outside, her face streaked with tears, her hands the color of dried blood.
Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of our weapons.
“We’re not here to hurt you,” Rissa said smoothly. “We’ve heard there’s been an attack and came to help.”
The hesitancy on the woman’s face was evident, but based on the cries coming from the cottage, we were the least of her worries.
“They struck so fast,” she whispered hoarsely, turning to theside to allow us entry into the house. “We didn’t know what to do.”
The sight that greeted us made a chill creep down my spine.
Broken glass littered the wooden floorboards. Sections of the walls were splintered with holes, like someone had thrown heavy objects at them. Clothes and fabric and curtains were ripped to shreds and red dripped across the floor, glistening in spots of sunlight shining from torn pockets in the roof.
There were so manypeople. At least a dozen, if not more, crammed into this small, dilapidated space. Feet shuffled frantically across the room, cries and moans filled the air, and there were devastated faces and voices and tears everywhere my eyes landed. Several bodies lay on the ground with pools of blood drying where they rested.
“Who are you?” a burly man in a torn white shirt barked at us. A blunt knife was clutched in his outstretched, bloody hand and swirls of light were poised in the other. Magic bloomed in the air as two others joined him, Emberfell Lightbenders preparing to strike.
“My name is Clarissa,” Rissa said, unfazed by their defensive stances. “We mean you no harm. We’re part of a group here in the capital dedicated to helping people like you find safety. I know we’re strangers to you, but please, let us help.” She brandished an arm to Leo and me. “We have Alchemists who can heal your wounded and others who can provide protection while you get back on your feet. Just tell us what you need.”
The three leaders of the families exchanged wary looks, but seemed to realize how dire their situation was.
“Him,” the man said gruffly, nodding to a body lying feet from him. “And three others in the back.” His voice lost its edge, turning into a strangled plea. “Please, save them. I—I couldn’t protect them.”
Beneath the copper, salty tang of blood and musty scent of dirt and old wood was the sweet hint of herbs. Cedarwood. Lavender. Ginger. My eyes found a cloaked woman kneeling on the ground next to the body of the young man their leader had pointed to, herhands stretched over him with herbal rings lining her fingers. An Alchemist healer, surely. She mumbled under her breath, but I knew by the pale blue tinge of the man’s face, the deep lacerations in his side, and the almost imperceptible movement of his chest that it was no use. He was almost gone.
“There’s nothing more I can do,” the healer said to the man in charge, whose face immediately fell.
A wail ripped through the air.
Staggering across the room and flinging herself at the boy’s body, a woman cried out in anguish, burying her face in his neck. The house went silent save for the sound of her ragged sobs.
The hush of death stretched and settled over us like a blanket.
A moan from the back of the room broke the spell and time sped up, everyone rushing to their duties.
“Back here,” said one of the men, ushering the healer to her feet and toward the remaining injured people. Leo followed, already reaching into his pouch of herbs, but something kept my feet planted. I stared down at the young man. He was no older than sixteen or seventeen. Beau’s age.
