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face was scarred, his mouth bloody, and his scalp burnt. He spoke again, staring at Torin with soft eyes.
    "Friend."
    Torin's eyes dampened. This creature had perhaps slain several villagers, maybe even Yana too, but now he pleaded for peace. How could Torin let him die?
    Torin turned back toward the villagers and spoke for them all to hear. "The Elorian wants peace! Let us end this conflict. Let us stop the bloodshed now and release him. Let us—"
    Before he could complete his sentence, Ferius shrieked. "I sentence the Elorian to death by fire!"
    Torin tried to stop him. He grabbed Ferius's cloak and tugged him back. But he was too slow. Laughing maniacally, Ferius tossed his lantern down against the pyre's kindling.
    The lantern's oil spilled. The flames raced across the tinder. Torin gasped, doffed his cloak, and tossed it onto the flames. But the fire spread too quickly. Within a few heartbeats, the entire pyre crackled with fire.
    The Elorian screamed, struggling against the pole he was tied to.
    Torin thrust his sword into the flames, trying to reach the Elorian's ropes and cut him loose. Hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back.
    Torin spun to see Ferius clutching him. The man sucked in air between his teeth, grinning wildly. He held Torin firmly and whispered into his ear.
    "Watch the flames, boy. Watch the glory burn. Feel the heat and see the light of Sailith."
    By the time Torin yanked himself free, it was too late. Flames had engulfed the Elorian. The man writhed, burning in the pyre. The heat blasted out and flames cascaded. Torin had to step back from the fire and pat sparks off his clothes.
    "Eloria!" the burning man cried out. "Eloria tay. Koyee Mai! Talandi, Koyee. Yetana alan."
    The heat and smoke brought tears to Torin's eyes. He found himself kneeling in the square, watching the flames, hearing the man's dying words, words in a language he did not understand. He turned away, lowered his head, and clutched fistfuls of pebbles. Arms engulfed him, and Torin jerked, sure that Ferius was grabbing him again, but instead he found Bailey embracing him.
    "Come farther back, Tor," she said softly, guiding him away from the fire. "Your clothes are singed."
    He let Bailey guide him back through the crowd. They left the square, climbed Watchtower Hill, and sat in the grass. The Elorian's screams lasted for a long time . . . and finally the man fell silent.
    Torin closed his eyes, and he could still hear that single word echoing through his mind, spoken in Ardish, his own tongue.
    Friend.
    "He wanted our friendship," Torin said, lying in the grass. "He wanted peace. Now his people will want war."
    Bailey leaned against him, held him close, and stroked his hair. They sat silently for a long time.
    The flames burned for hours, a pillar rising from Fairwool-by-Night, a beacon Torin was sure could be seen from the Nighttower across the border. When finally the fire died to embers, the Sailith monks reached into the ash with pokers and fished out charred bones. Torin watched from the hill, sickness roiling in his belly.
    "What are they doing?" Bailey asked, grimacing.
    Torin sighed. "Returning the bones with a message."
    He watched as Ferius loaded the remains into a wheelbarrow. A second monk stepped forth, holding a raven on a leash.
    "Let the heathens see the raven of Arden!" Ferius announced, tethering the bird to the wheelbarrow of bones. "Let them know that we've had our revenge."
    Torin swallowed down an urge to gag. Eight kingdoms comprised Timandra, the sunlit half of the world. Fairwool-by-Night lay within Arden, an ancient realm with a raven banner. Torin himself displayed the raven upon his breastplate. Would Elorians know this symbol? Would they see the raven and would they launch an attack against Fairwool-by-Night . . . or against other settlements in Arden?
    "The snake wants to ignite a war," Torin said. "He's not just sending a message from Fairwool-by-Night. He wants the Elorians to hate our