The sentinel stood up, staring at the end of his sword, and began to laugh. It was a strange and eerie sound, like the song of a madman. “At last. At long last, I have found the Heir of Novron. The quest of my ancestors will be achieved through me.”

“Miranda,” Arcadius whispered, “you can do nothing more by yourself.” The old man’s eyes glanced toward the refugee camp.

As the morning light rose, Miranda could see several columns of smoke. Possible help was tantalizingly close. Only a few hundred yards at most.

“I’ve devoted my life to correcting my mistake. But now it is up to you to do what must be done,” Arcadius said.

Luis Guy took the girl and hoisted her onto his horse. “We’ll take her to the Patriarch.”

“What about these two, sir?” one of the hooded men asked.

“Take the old man. Kill the woman.”

Miranda’s heart skipped as the soldier reached for his sword.

“Wait!” Arcadius said. “What about the horn?” The old professor was backing away, clutching his satchel. “The Patriarch will want the horn too, won’t he?”

Guy’s eyes flashed at the bag Arcadius held.

“You have it?” the sentinel asked.

Arcadius shot a desperate look toward Miranda, then turned and fled back down the road.

“Watch the child,” Guy ordered one of his men. Turning to the other, he waved, and together they chased after Arcadius, who ran faster than Miranda would have ever imagined possible.

She watched him-her closest friend-racing back the way they had come, his cloak flying behind him. She might have thought the sight comical except she knew what Arcadius actually had in his satchel. She knew why he was running away, what that meant, and what he wanted her to do.

Miranda reached for the dagger under her cloak. She had never killed anyone before, but what choice did she have? The man standing between her and Mercy was a soldier, and likely a Seret Knight. He turned his back on her to get a better grip on Guy’s horse, focusing his attention on Mercy and the hissing raccoon that snapped at him.