“As you wish, Klaarg,” mumbled another voice. “We didn’t know what the wife looked like. You can’t blame my men for her death. She was decimating my men and we thought she was just another magic instructor. You never said the wife was a mage too. As least we have the painting of the daughter. She will not get far. I will find an artist to duplicate the painting and all of Omunga will know what she looks like. We will capture her alive. You can depend on it.”

“I am depending on it,” berated Klaarg, “and so are you. If she dies, you will die also. I will not tolerate any more mistakes. See that you make none.”

The pounding of Klaarg’s horse drowned the response out as he rode across the drawbridge, but another voice soon joined the conversation.

“I have checked every hiding hole in the entire castle,” reported the new voice. “She is not here.”

“Well, she has to be somewhere,” stormed the leader’s voice. “You stay here in case she returns. I am taking the men to the village to find out if she decided to take a day off. I will turn that village inside out and return by nightfall. See that you have captured her by then and make sure that she remains alive. If Klaarg is going to kill me for her death, you can be assured that I will kill you if she dies.”

The leader didn’t wait for a response, but rode quickly across the drawbridge. When the noise of his passing subsided, Lyra was not sure whether the other man was still near the drawbridge or if he had retreated inside. Lyra pulled herself up toward the old wooden planks and tried to peer through the slits, but she could not see any sign of the raider. Syman understood what was on her mind and he rolled in the muck until he could see around the edge of the drawbridge. He signaled that there was no one visible and all three of the youngsters quickly scrambled out of the moat. They ran to the castle and pressed their backs firmly against the stone walls.