Free The Heir of Night by Helen Lowe Page A

out that he came from Lannorth, who was with the Earl. Asantir’s brow cleared a little. “How goes it there?”
    “Lannorth reports that the fighting has been fierce,” the runner replied, “but they’ve driven the invaders back and the Earl is safe.”
    “And the Heir?” Nhairin put in sharply. “What news of Malian?”
    Asantir looked around. “None,” she said wearily. “We’re looking, but we have to secure each area as we go through and it all takes time.”
    Nhairin limped over to her. “What of the Old Keep?” she asked.
    Asantir’s mouth set in a grim, hard line. “That,” she said, “is where the enemy came through—and it’s the bolt-hole they’ve retreated into as well. We can’t pursue them in there, not until we have the New Keep secure. And that’s not yet done.”
    Nhairin frowned, biting her lip. “What of Gerenth?” she asked. “Perhaps he could free up more troops from the main garrison?” Her voice faltered as she saw Asantir’s expression. “Dead?” she whispered.
    Asantir nodded. “The invaders rigged an ambush and Gerenth’s troop bore the brunt. I’ve taken command of the keep in his stead, but there are no troops to be spared, Nhairin.”
    “But what if Malian’s been captured?” Nhairin protested. “Even now these invaders may be bearing her away, or worse.”
    The Honor Captain shook her head. “It’s possible, but so far not many intruders have actually lived to escape. Most fought on like cornered rats, rather than fleeing. Even at thelast they were still trying to cut their way forward into the New Keep, as though hunting for someone or something more vital than their own lives. Such behavior,” she pointed out, “doesn’t fit with an enemy who has a hostage like the Heir of Night to bargain with. And they took no other prisoners, quite the opposite in fact.”
    Given these circumstances, Nhairin conceded silently, it was unlikely Malian
had
been captured—although her whereabouts remained as great a mystery as the identity of whoever had sounded the keep’s alarms. Ornorith, the goddess of Luck, had shown both of her two faces to the Derai that night: Many had died in the unexpected attack, but warning had been given before it was too late.
    It did not pay, thought Nhairin, to underestimate the enigmatic, two-faced deity. And was the vanished Heir further evidence of Ornorith’s influence, or had some other power come into play?
    The steward shivered. Too many unanswered questions, she said to herself. But it’s unthinkable that the Heir of Night should simply disappear. She must be found, and quickly.
Quickly
, before it’s too late!
    She must have spoken the last words aloud, because Asantir nodded. “I agree. But we must secure the New Keep before we venture into the Old. We are doing our best, Nhairin.”
    “I know you are.” Nhairin looked around as another guard troop tramped in. “What can I do now to help you here?”
    “Here? Nothing,” said Asantir. “But if you could accompany Kyr to the Temple quarter, see what aid they need there and do something to organize it, I would be grateful.”
    It was not far to the Temple quarter, but the way was strewn with battle debris and Kyr and his fellow guards moved cautiously, checking every side corridor, alcove, and stairwell. When they did finally arrive, Nhairin was dismayed to see that the great iron gates, which had been sealed shut for five hundred years, were wrenched nearlyoff their hinges and slewed sideways at a drunken angle. Beyond them, she could see a wreckage of timber, stone, and bodies spread out across the concourse into the first of the nine temples.
    Nhairin steadied herself against the still intact stone of the gatehouse, reluctant to proceed any further. She could hear activity at a distance, voices and shouted orders and the sounds of debris being cleared, but here all was silent. There was an eerie quality to the air—as though, Nhairin thought, remembering the