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For Anarrima and Yevaud
Twenty-five were the guards out of action now, and of these but one still drew a laboured breath. Three others remained inside the ruined base of the tall keep.
Of the nearly two score strong garrison less than a dozen men were left to watch over the survivors, servants of the Duchess all. Eight searched the rubble, aided by cooks and stableboys and cleaners. With a good idea of what to expect now, each one carried a net and proper weaponry to finish off any unlikely survivors. One was supervising the efforts, shouting instructions and encouragement. The remaining two had remained on guard, though their eyes were turned to the inside rather than at what lay beyond the walls. Not far from the gates, a healer did what he could for the horridly wilted man lain out there.
"Aye, it's a tragedy," one of the lookouts replied without thought.
"We're searching for the creature and her minions, to put them out of their misery proper. Come here and assassinate half the household like there's no better sport. Well, this should teach her!"
Nodding fiercely to his own words, he turned to the other speaker. His eyes widened with concern and a different kind of anger crept into his voice.
"Hey! You shouldn't be here! You're with them, but you won't have your way! Go run off and tell your master he's done enough harm already."
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