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a fallen tree looking up toward the rain. It beaded off his brow, face, and open eyes. Lifeless eyes.
    The torrents of emotion that ran through the young wood-dweller were varied, ranging from rage to regret to guilt. Oddly, sorrow was not present. No, it was too early for that. He knew from experience that sorrow would come later. Memories of his own father’s end briefly manifested in his mind; the surprise on his father’s face as Aiden slipped the short blade between the wretched man’s ribs. The man didn’t think his son had it in him, drunk on wine again, just as always. It was the first time Aiden had killed anybody, but most twelve-year-old boys were completely devoid of such an experience. Yet, the youth from Helving, a remote part of the Western Province, discovered that killing could be as easy as breathing. Now, however, looking upon Lord Kerr’s lifeless body, guilt was foremost among his emotions. Raw and quintessential guilt.
    I should have been here
.
    Rushing to Kerr’s side, he hoped against hope to be wrong in what he saw, to change the reality so plainly before him. But it did not change and his rage started to rise to the surface.
    He moved to place his hand on Thannuel’s chest, to cover his wound, but his hand began to quiver and he retracted it.
    “You can’t leave,” he pleaded softly. “Not yet, not now.” His head pulsed with pain. “Where are they?” he asked aloud, knowing there was no answer. “Who did this?” He was so distracted that he did not feel the arrival of other hold guards, and then of Lady Kerr herself.
    “No!” Moira Kerr’s shrill cry sounded in the night. “No, no,
oh no
!” She was hysterical. “Thannuel, please! Thannuel,
no
!”
    Aiden’s training took over as he regained himself and drew his steel.
    “Get her out of here!” he commanded the other guards. Aiden was not being cruel, but protective. His duties were to House Kerr. Lord Kerr was dead and Reign still missing, maybe worse. This could be a prelude to a larger plot. His focus turned to protecting those who still lived, and there was no telling if danger was still present.
    He hoped it was.
    Where was the enemy? Where had they fled? He was tense and looking for a fight, for some target upon which to release his anger.
    Calm yourself, Blasted Night!
    The pulsing in his ears from his blood pumping hot and fast had masked the heavy footfall he had been feeling but too distracted to separate in his mind. He caught it now. A horse at full gallop running south and another’s stride, a human, heading east. The second was moving heavier and faster than the horse, faster than a wood-dweller.
    Aiden surmised the horse had no rider by the animal’s stride, its footfall lighter than it would normally be otherwise. He ignored it and returned his focus east. Noticing a Triarch leafling in Lord Kerr’s hand, under his sword’s hilt, he reached down and retrieved it. It would increase his sensitivity. He started to stand back up, but hesitated, fixing his sight on Thannuel’s sword. He dared not touch such a valuable possession. A small fortune, more krenshell than Aiden had seen in his entire life, was the cost to construct such a blade. The mastery of skill to mold the ore from the Jarwyn mines into such a refined state was held by very few. Thannuel would have paid dearly for its creation. No, he dared not touch it.
    The guards were struggling with Moira, trying to get her back to the hold and secure her. The entire hold would be locked down and placed on high alert.
    She screamed at the guards. “Let me go! Release me!”
    Aiden looked up and saw that she was not crazed but determined. She had seen him hesitating and obviously could tell what he was thinking.
    She inhaled deeply and more calmly said, “Release me. Now.” The guards looked at Master Aiden for direction. He nodded. Lady Kerr came to Thannuel’s right side, opposite Aiden, and took the sword from her dead husband’s limp hand. Rigor