Torin’s sword swayed. His arm trembled. In an instant, he grew more aware of who was there. Braya, his brothers, Braya’s family.
Torin gritted his teeth then exhaled. “I am the one who ran away.”
“Torin,” Cainnech called out. “I remember this bastard. Kill him or I will.”
“The three of us will,” Torin called back, keeping his searing gaze on the warden.
“Ye called her little pigeon,” Torin continued. “She was our MOTHER!” he screamed in Bennett’s face.
He turned to Braya and her family. “Meet us by the river. Go! The army is comin’!”
He turned back to Bennett when no one remained but his brothers. “Who else among you that day still lives?”
“Adams,” Bennett told him. “Rob Adams.”
Torin’s head spun and his hands closed into tight fists. Adams. His friend. He thought he might be ill and turned away as his brother stepped forward.
“I am the one you sold,” Nicholas said, holding a long knife in his hand.
“I am the one ye kept with ye on the battlefield,” Cainnech told him and ran him through in the guts with his claymore.
Nicholas plunged his knife into Bennett’s eye.
Torin felt a long, guttural groan coming up from his depths. He let it out, releasing so much, and then cut Bennett from his groin to his neck.
Adams. He lifted his bloody face from Bennett to the doors.
