After traveling all day, Rory rode into Fairmistle in the dark of night, certain he’d been on the right road. It had been four and a half years since he’d been back home. The oak grove where he used to play as a youth still stood, but he saw no other sign he had reached the village. As if a disc had floated from the heavens and planted itself on the earth where he stood, a sterile landscape surrounded him. No white stone walls of the portico glowed in the moonlight, nor did candles shine through shutters, nor smoke twirl out of chimneys. He listened for dogs barking and heard none. As his horse’s hooves clipped on the cobblestone that used to be a courtyard, his heart beat hard. He had either been transported into a dream, or something tragic had happened.

There were no homes. No shops. No dance hall. Something had leveled Fairmistle to a pile of rubble.

Rory dismounted and walked his horse through what once had been the town square. The entire village gone! Bricks that had once been homes scattered, lumber, thatching, rubble spread in piles around him. Numb, he dropped the reins, his eyes wide, his heart throbbing. Blood had risen to his cheeks. Hurrying from one pile of remnants to another, he tore through broken tables, chairs, and pottery, hoping to find a clue where his people were.

Not until he eyed a faint light flickering in the distance at the home of the innkeeper by the river and walked quicker, leading his horse past the rubble, down a trail bordered with sagebrush and tumbleweed and into the sandy river basin sheltered with cottonwoods and mesquite. When he neared the inn, he heard voices. People mingled outside and more people lingered in the drawing room of the Sheepsgate Inn. Light glinted in through the bone panels upstairs and below. Eager to discover what had happened, he ran.

“Rory!”

Rory spun around, gratified to see his brother. Stormy raced to him and flung his arms around him. “By the goodwill of the king, Rory, I thought I’d never see you again.” “Stormy, what happened?”

Stormy had lost weight. Bruises darkened his flesh, and he had aged with creases around his eyes and his mouth. He wore tattered clothing and there were holes in his shoes. He looked like a scarecrow might if it were picked apart by a flock of ravens. Rory touched his face.

“What happened?”

“Mountain giants attacked Fairmistle.”

“When?”

“A few days ago, maybe a week, I’m not sure. I’ve lost track of time. I just arrived myself. Neal brought some of us home. We’re going to rebuild this place, Rory. We lost a lot.” He wiped his eyes and clung onto Rory’s arm. “I worried about you too.”

“Arrived from where?”

“Casda de Moor.”

“The devil’s mountain? You were a captive?” Rory’s eyes widened.

“You wouldn’t believe it, Rory. This giant carried me in his hand. Like a tomb, it was. I hit my head so hard rollin’ from side to side I passed out. Woke up in a cave with some other neighbors from here and downriver from us. They’d been defendin’ the villages from giants. We lost a lot of folk, Rory. Made me sick. I was one of the lucky ones. Come get some food and we’ll talk. Commander Neal is here recruitin’ more soldiers. We’re ridin’ first light.”

“Where to?”

Noise inside the Inn drowned Rory’s questions. Men, women, and children crowded the rooms. The hearth harbored a roaring fire, and breads, shepherd pies, and sweet cakes were on the table. Friends he grew up with took his hands and welcomed him, slapping him on the back, handing him a flask of wine. The villagers were tearful, but they seemed to have a sense of hope about them. They talked of building what the beasts had torn down. For as many folks who crowded into the inn, the numbers weren’t a fraction of the population that once made up Fairmistle.

“Is this it, Stormy?” Rory took his brother aside. “Are these the only people left? Is mother… Don’t tell me she’s…?”

Stormy turned his head and watched the crowd in the room, biting his lip. His voice broke when he spoke again.

“There’s a list posted on the inn keeper’s board. The mayor wrote the names of the poor souls who perished. The dead’s been buried. Mom died, crushed by a beam when the roof caved in. Least the giants’ vile hands didn’t get at her. We’ve got that to be thankful for.” His eyes had already told the story. He’d already cried his tears. Rory pulled his brother close and embraced him, his own heart breaking. “I’m sorry, Storm. “His voice cracked as he fought to stay strong for his younger brother’s sake.

Stormy squeezed him. “She’s at peace now. Devil can’t hurt her anymore. We fought ‘em, Rory. Best we could. But they’re big and ruthless and we don’t have any weapons that can kill ‘em.”

Rory sighed, despondent. “If we’d only got to you sooner. You do have what it takes to rid them, Stormy. You just didn’t know it.” He took his brother’s shoulders and faced him eye to eye. “Fire will send them away, sure as a log burns it’ll make them turn to vapor again. They shy from it. If you’d only known.”

“Fire?”

“It’ll melt them dead. Swear to the Potamian Throne.” Rory hugged him again. The crowd of people didn’t let him linger in his remorse. They pushed by and interrupted him with bits of conversations that weren’t meant for him or Stormy. Rory looked over their heads at the tall dark-haired commander in his royal uniform talking to a group of soldiers. Commander Neal stood out among the others. Not only because the commander stood taller than most of the people in Fairmistle, but no matter how hard he rode, or fought, he always looked cleaner and more important than anyone else. Maybe because he stood so straight-backed, proud, and calm.

Rory made his way through the crowd with Stormy at his heels, saluting the officer once he stood in front of him. Commander Neal turned from the soldiers and returned the salute. Afterward he looked Rory up and down, a disapproving sneer crept over his face. “You! You’re the soldier whom we imprisoned for deserting.”

“Yes, sir. I served my time though, sir.”

“And now you’re here. That surprises me!” he snickered. “Or perhaps it’s no surprise.”

“They gave me leave, sir.” Rory took to defending himself. He’d gotten used to being reprimanded. Just something about being simple and too apologetic that made him the scapegoat, he assumed.

Neal scowled. “Why would they give you leave at a time like this? Who gave you leave?”

“Officer Lennon.”

“At the palace during a time of siege? Why are you here and not protecting the castle, soldier?” The commander straightened his back.

“Siege?” Perhaps Rory misunderstood what the commander had said. He frowned and shook his head. “Wasn’t much to protect the castle from, sir. The king’s in mourning for the prince, true, but I couldn’t do much for him.”

“Who? King Tobias?” Neal looked confused, which puzzled Rory more. “You came directly from the palace? The palace isn’t under attack?”

“Attack?” Rory shook his head, confused. “By whom? Skura? Or mountain giants? I saw no attack. The king mourns the loss of the prince. He’s not feeling well. Her highness Erika…”

“Princess Erika is alive? The Casdamians didn’t abduct her?”

Rory frowned. “Quite alive, sir. No one took the princess.”

“You saw no signs of soldiers, no foreign militia?”

Rory shook his head, scratching his flaming red hair.

“Sir,” Stormy’s eyes widened. “It’s just as I said. There’s no army. It’s the devil’s lies. His Majesty Prince Barin, has taken the bitters of the dark lord, he went…”

“What?” Rory asked. “The prince lives?”

“We were in the dark lord’s caves. Like animals, they had us. The others ate the food, not I. Prince Barin must have been poisoned with the devil’s bitters along with the others. Our prince believes the castle is under siege, so he’s leading his soldiers to defend his father’s throne.”

“This is true?” Rory asked.

Commander Neal flushed, tongue-tied. “They had me believing Barte son of Moshere came to conquer the Potamian kingdom. My orders were to gather a militia and join Barin. He swears we’re under attack, but now you say you were just there—?”

“This morning. It’s all well in the castle, sir. Fairest is taking charge of the men-at-arms. Once the prince sees our soldiers, he’ll know all is well.”

“I’m afraid not, Rory. He believes Moshere’s troops are putting on our uniforms to disguise themselves. His mind is taken, sure as the fire spits.”

Rory looked at the Commander for instructions.

“It seems this news is correct. I’m not sure what Barin will do when he gets to the palace. I wonder if Kairos could perform some magic to stop him.”

“With your permission, let me ride and warn the princess and King Tobias,” Rory offered.

“You can get there before the prince?”

“I can ride like the wind, if I say so myself.”

“I can trust you?”

Offended by the commander’s question, Rory accepted the rebuff with a graceful bow. “Let this be my test, sir. I give my allegiance to the Crown and to you. Never did I wish to desert, but only to protect Her Highness Princess Erika who was going to be sailin’ on her own with no sense of the sea—with or without a guide.”

The commander paused, studied him for a moment, and then nodded. “Go then. Hurry.”

Rory took Stormy’s arm. “If it is your will, sire, please let my brother stay with you.”

“Very well. He can ride with us. Hurry now. I’ll muster the recruits. We’ll be right behind you,” Commander Neal made his way through the inn, giving orders to his men and his recruits to prepare to leave. Rory raced out the door.

Torches lit the garden beds, and the many assemblies of people outside. In the shadows Rory eyed the soldiers highline where mounts waited. He untied his horse and hurried to them.

“Lend me a fresh horse,” he said.

“These are for Commander Neal’s recruits, lad,” the man said.

“And that I am. Take my horse,” Rory handed him his reins. “He’s just as sturdy, but I’ll be running like the devil in chase tonight. Don’t want to be running my horse to the ground. He carried me all the way from Prasa Potama this morn.”

“Do you have the captain’s permission?”

“I do.”

“Very well. Take that one.” He nodded to a chestnut stallion saddled and readied.

“Is this one of the King’s horses?” Rory asked of the chestnut.

“Yes, it is.”

“Good. Take care of mine if you would. He’s got his own stall in the castle stable.” Rory jumped on his new mount, spun the animal around, and trotted away from the Inn. Once in the open plains, he clicked his tongue and the horse shot into a gallop. How quickly the steed dashed! Smooth like a gazelle, outrunning a cougar—and sure-footed! The cold air on his face and the horse’s swift gait awakened him to the urgency of his mission.

Not a cloud tarnished the sky, and a thousand stars lit the plains.

Barin lived! News of the prince’s survival will be well received—that is, if Neal can keep him from storming his father’s palace. How tragic that Prince Barin is under Lord Skotádi’s spell. What other deviltry is at work in this? Stormy may not have convinced Commander Neal of the phantom, but Rory knew Skotádi’s ways. He and Erika saw the devil. And if the ghost can suck a soul from a dying body, he can kidnap a mind from a living one. If Barin spent time in the devil’s lair, and Skotádi released him unharmed, then there’s something sinister brewing.

Rory nudged his horse faster, and the animal beneath him flew. The mountain tops glowed blue in the night sky. Snow dotted the landscape as he rushed by, but the plains of Kevshire were grassy and green still. The air had the crispness of winter, but a warm breeze beat against his cheeks.

He should have asked more questions. The wizard was with him, but how many other men did Barin have? When did they leave? The princess would need to know those things. But judging by Commander Neal’s reaction toward him, the prince may have a grievance against him as well. The last time he saw Barin, the prince threw him in the dungeon. In Barin’s eyes, Rory had been a traitor and a deserter.

Rory wouldn’t try to find Barin. He’ll ride to the castle and find the princess. She’d know what to do.

He galloped his horse all night over the plains, the nocturnal sky his shield.