A screaming shadow of crows swoops low over the village, beaks tearing at flesh and plucking at hair and eyes. Behind them ride hundreds of horsemen, spreading through the village like a plague.
For a moment, I see nothing but the flash of blades, hear nothing but screams and swords meeting flesh, remembering too well the melody of battle, the tune of war.
Mannus rears on his hind legs. Coming to my senses, I cling to the reins with one hand and unsheathe one of my swords with the other. The second my horse’s hooves touch the ground again, an Eastlander rips past, vermilion war paint coating his braided gray hair. The blade of his curved knife catches my right arm and cuts through my traveling cloak. The pain is searing and shocking, but no more than the scene unfolding around me. There’s blood. Death. Fire. So much fire. Racing from rooftop torooftop.
The Eastlander doubles back. His leathery, tanned face is twisted into a sneer, his silver eyes focused. He’s important—one of the four leaders. Modest armor covers his shoulders and chest, and his horse is barded, the red and gold flag of his land hanging from beneath his saddle. I shake off my daze and charge him, cutting down any enemy I can manage along the way.
He exchanges his short blade for a sword and, when we meet, slashes it in my direction. I block his attack, but the hilt of my blade turns in my hand. Still, I land a hard blow with the flat of my sword to the back of his head.
He jerks forward, blood spraying into the air around him, and tumbles from his horse onto the ground. I should dismount and kill him, but there isn’t time, and he’ll be trampled soon enough.
I spin Mannus around, only to come face to face with another Eastlander—a fair-skinned, red-haired beast of a man who stares at me so pointedly that I almost feel a hint of familiarity. His sword is raised, but the blade bears no blood. Yet.
My pulse pumps in my veins. I’m certain we’re about to clash, that I’ll be his first attack, yet the warrior does something most unexpected. He turns and rides away.
I start to drive my heels into Mannus’s sides so I can take the man from behind, but the people’s cries for help swallow my attention. We’re so outnumbered. Villagers of all kinds fight, and Witch Walkers sing, but I fear it’s too late to turn the situation in our favor.
In the chaos, the woman from earlier tries to enter the shelter of a small cottage. She shields her little boy all the while, but two Eastlanders trap them. I point Mannus in that direction.
We race through the crowds, and I slash my sword across the first warrior’s neck. Blood splatters, and his head topples, kicked away by a fleeing elder. The second Eastlander falls just as quickly, only because the elder finds his bravery and runs the enemy through with a blade.
Fearful that she won’t accept, I reach for the woman. She hesitates for a single second, but then, clinging to her child, grabs hold of my forearm. I don’t know what I mean to do with them, but I lift her and the boy onto my horse and nestle them in front of me. I cannot leave them in this disaster.
The elder seizes my wrist and points to the east. “My lord! Youmustwarn the other villages. You must!”
“I’m not leaving you! It would be better to die here than to abandon the innocent!”
“You are abandoning thousands more if you do not go!” the elder cries.
I don’t even know if these Eastlanders intend to travel further east. They could’ve come to Hampstead Loch first because they plan to access Winter Road, the easiest path to Colden—ifthey can break through Frostwater’s protective veil, which I don’t believe they can.
But then three riders take off eastward, riding hard, and my heart sinks. If these warriors slaughter enough of our Witch Walkers, the veilwillfall, and I’m certain they know that.
But what are they looking for here in the valley? Why not ride straight to Winterhold?
The elder grabs a bow and quiver from a nearby villager and hands them to me. “Go, my lord! Stop them!”
I sheathe my sword and accept the offering, shrugging the quiver onto my back. I glance east, wondering if I can hit my targets from this distance.
Before I realize what’s happening, the elder chants magick into Mannus’s ear and smacks the animal’s hindquarters. My horse flees the village at a rapid pace, ignoring my commands to turn back.
The elder controls Mannus now.
I slip the bow over my head as wind rips angry tears from my eyes, devastation crashing through me. Once such a comfort to me, Hampstead Loch is being razed to ash—its people with it—while I head toward Penrith, on the heels of three Eastlanders no less, carrying a weeping mother and child in my arms.
Have I saved them? Or only extended their execution?
As Mannus storms across the vale, I grow cold with knowing. This is the rumored attack. This is why Colden couldn’t look away from the fire.
I’m living his nightmare.
The Eastlandersdidcome, and I fear they will not stop until they reach Winterhold.
And so I bear down and ride hard. If they want a fight, I will deliver.
Starting with these three riders.
An hour later,I kneel beside the last of the three Eastland warriors I’ve been tracking across the valley, my knife pressed to his pale throat, my arrow lodged in his side. The other two riders lie dead in the bloodied field behind me.
