Anneliese felt the sting of hot tears. She buried her face in Sayer’s robe.

“See to the injured,” she heard the chiliarch say.

Still clinging to him, she gazed over the cavern. Shadows moved about the fallen. A keening wail settled over the room like a black cloak.

“They are gone,” Wathe said. “They knew our byways well, perhaps with assistance.”

“My people,” Sayer whispered.

Anneliese heard the pain behind his words. She glanced up at him.

He said, “Take our prophet to my quarters. Guard her well.”

Book 3 - Mortar's Keep

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