[This post is from Thordin’s point of view.]
His heart hammered against his breastbone, as heavy as a ball of lead trapped in the cage of his ribs. I killed that bastard long ago. She’s right. He should be dead.
I should also know better than to underestimate anyone from Aegyptus, too, but apparently I’m an idiot who thinks people from that particular Otherworld are going to stay dead just because I want them to. Nothing stays dead anymore—and they’ve got less reason than most.
Thordin swore under his breath.
He spotted Davon halfway between the wall and the well.
“Thordin, what—”
“Something’s coming,” Thordin blurted, barely pausing. “Get the others up on the wall and do it fast.”
“What’s coming?” Davon asked, spinning to track Thordin as he kept running. “Thordin!”
“Trouble,” Thordin shouted back, then he was at the edge of the tent and still moving fast. He could hear Davon’s quiet curse behind him, but he also heard the other man start moving, too.
His heart had climbed into his throat by the time he got close to the fire, but he could also hear the whistles of alarm being raised. Marin was already standing by the time he got there, her arms empty but the sling she carried her son in hanging loose around her chest.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice steady.
“Something’s coming. It’s not a normal storm.”
The figure sitting on the ground at Marin’s feet stiffened, sucking in a soft breath. “I knew it,” Hecate breathed. “I knew something didn’t feel right.” She looked back over her shoulder toward Thordin, her eyes wide and afraid—more afraid than he could rightfully say he’d ever seen them, though he’d seen little of her in the days of old and remembered even less. She held baby Lin in her arms, the newborn gently cradled against her chest. “Who’s coming?”
“Anhur,” Thordin said, his voice choked. “And where he goes, Menhit can’t be far behind.”
