Chapter 43 Dahvid Tin’vori

Cath was covered with a black cloth someone had found.

He set guards to watch her body and then started across the estate. He felt as if he'd lived and died a hundred times. Like a ghost who could not leave the world, even after the ones he'd loved had vanished from it. Ware was gone. Cath too. All he had left were his sisters, and right now he had no idea what fate had befallen either of them.

Fires had broken out. His mercenaries were getting out of hand. Some of them were picking their way across the battlefield. Only a few were helping the wounded. Most were gathering valuable weapons and armor and piling them on a crop wagon that had been commandeered. For the survivors, it was as perfect a mercenary run as they could have imagined. They'd won but with enough losses that their cut of the reward would be far more substantial. Dahvid had nearly reached the back entrance to one of the castles when he heard it.

Screams. The screams of children.

He rushed inside without hesitation. He was no longer afraid of dying. The sound led him past four different rooms and up a flight of stairs. There was a pair of his soldiers in the hallway. Laughing together. They'd barred a set of double doors with an ancient-looking sword. Something they'd plucked from one of the displays. Smoke whispered out from the crack at the bottom of the door. The screams were coming from inside.

"Who is in there?"

Both guards reached for weapons, then realized who'd asked the question. Their temporary commander. "Just some Brood runts," one answered. "Don't worry. They won't scream for much longer."

Dahvid swiped the tattoo at his wrist. His sword hummed quietly into the air. His fingers closed around the grip. He saw the look the two men exchanged, a silent agreement reached. Their pact did not last for long. Three quick moves, and both slumped to the floor. Death always felt nearby now. Maybe it would feel that way for the rest of his life. Maybe it was the only thing he was good at in this world. He set his sword down and slid away the makeshift lock. A shove had the doors opening. Smoke flooded out.

A man stumbled free with three children in tow. Dahvid did not know who they were, and he did not care. They could have been Thugar Brood's children. It did not matter. They would not die here today. He picked up the smallest one and walked them back through the halls. Outside, where the smoke could not keep blacking their lungs. The man thanked him but fell quiet when he saw the bodies piled in the distance. The strangers picking through pockets. His eyes cut back to Dahvid.

"No one will harm you. Or them. You have my word."

He knew he needed to go back inside. Find out if there were other survivors who needed help, but he worried what might happen to the man and the children. He paced instead. His eyes kept flitting back to the little ones. The oldest couldn't have been a day over ten. There were two brothers and a sister—or maybe cousins. It was like looking into a distant mirror. Being shown his own past, played out all over again. He realized that he had patiently and methodically done exactly what he'd promised to do. He had crossed the world. Summoned an army. Defeated the looming villain of his story. All so that he could shove the same chain of events back into motion. Would these children grow up as he had? Hating a name they whispered into their pillows each night? Dreaming of the day when they might find him and revenge all that they'd lost today?

This is what he'd done. And for what?

Cath was dead. His sisters' fates unknown. Ware's ghost had not thanked him. His brother had not come back to life as Thugar Brood fell to the ground. Dahvid had dreamed and dreamed and dreamed, and never once considered that he might be walking into a nightmare of his own creation. Yes, Thugar was dead. That much he knew was right, but the rest of it? How could he ever live with the rest of it?

He sank down to the ground. The children were watching him. Concern lined their small, round faces. The man approached. He had Ware's face. Long hair, bright eyes. He looked like he would live forever.

"Are you all right?" he asked in the wrong voice.

Dahvid nodded.

"I just… I just need to sleep."

And he did.