The rain was getting worse. Runoff ran in a rippled sheet over the ledge at the brow of the cave. Jennsen scratched Betty behind her ears to try to stop her bleating. The always nervous goat was suddenly inconsolable. Perhaps she sensed that they were going to be leaving. Maybe she was just unhappy that Jennsen's mother had gone into the house. Betty loved that woman, and would often follow her around the yard like a puppy. Betty would be only too happy to sleep in the house with them both, if they would let her.

Sebastian, having had his fill of fish, rolled himself in his cloak. His eyelids drooped as he tried to watch her bank the fire. He lifted his head and frowned over at the pacing goat.

"Betty will settle down when I go in the house," Jennsen told him.

Sebastian, already half asleep, mumbled something about Betty that Jennsen couldn't even begin to hear over the noise of the rain. She knew it wasn't important enough to ask him to repeat it. He needed sleep. She yawned. Despite her anxiety over everything that had happened that day, and her worry about what the next would bring, the din of the downpour was making her sleepy, too.

As much as she ached to ask him about what was beyond D'Hara, she bid him a good night's sleep, even though she doubted that he heard her over the rain. She would have time enough to ask him all her questions.

Her mother would be waiting for help with selecting what to take and packing it. They didn't have much, but they would have to leave some of what they had.

At least the clumsy dead D'Haran soldier had provided them with money just when they would need it most. It was enough money to buy horses and supplies that would help them get out of D'Hara. The new Lord Rahl, the bastard son of a bastard son in an unbroken long line of bastard sons, had inadvertently provided them with the means to escape his grasp.

Life was so precious. She just wanted her and her mother to be able to live their own lives. Somewhere, over the distant dark horizon, lay their new lives.

Jennsen threw her cloak around her shoulders. She pulled the hood up to protect herself from the rain, but as hard as it was coming down she expected she was likely to get wet on the run to the house. She hoped the morning would dawn clear for their first day of travel so they could put distance between them and their pursuers. She was pleased to see that Sebastian looked dead to the world. He needed a good sleep. She was thankful that amid all the torment and injustice, at least he had come into their lives.

Jennsen picked up the bowl with the few remaining pieces of fish, tucked it under her cloak, held her breath, and, lowering her head against the onslaught, dove into the roaring rain. The cold shock of the downpour made her gasp as she splashed through the dark puddles on her dash to the house.

She made the house, her wet lashes turning the dim light of the oil lamps and firelight coming through the window to a blinking blur. Without looking up, she threw the door open as she ran in.

"It's cold as the Keeper's heart!" she called out to her mother as she raced in.

Jennsen's breath left her lungs in a grunt as she crashed into a solid wall that had never been there before.

Rebounding from the collision, she looked up to see a broad back turning, to see a huge hand snatching for her.

The hand caught only her cloak. The heavy wool cloak stripped away from her as she fell back. The bowl thudded to the floor, spinning like a crazy top. The door bounced back from hitting the wall, banging closed behind her, trapping her, just before her back slammed into it.

Gasping, Jennsen reacted.

It was wild instinct, not deliberate thought.

Jennsen.

Terror, not technique.

Surrender.

Desperation, not design.

The man's blocky face was clearly lit by the fire from the hearth. He plunged toward her. A monster with stringy wet hair. Straining sinew and muscle twisted in rage. The knife in her fist whipped around, powered by stark terror.

Her cry was a growl of panicked effort. Her knife slammed into the side of his head. The blade snapped at midlength as it hit his cheekbone. His head twisted from the impact. Blood splashed across his face.

Swinging madly, his meaty hand walloped her face. Her shoulder hit the wall. A shock of pain lanced her arm. She stumbled on something. Thrown off balance, she tumbled past her footing.

Her face smacked the floor beside another of the huge men. He was like the dead soldier she had buried. Her mind grasped at snatches of what she was seeing, trying to make sense of it. Where did they come from? How were they in her house?

Her leg was draped over the man's still legs. She pushed herself up. He was slumped against the wall. His dead eyes stared at her. The handle with the ornate "R," sideways below his ear, reflected sparkles of firelight. The point of the knife jutted from the other side of his bull neck. He wore a wet red shirt.

Surrender.

With cold fright, she saw a man coming for her.

Gripping her broken knife, she scrambled to her feet, turning toward the threat. She saw her mother on the floor. A man held her by the hair. There was blood everywhere.

Nothing seemed real.

In a nightmare vision, Jennsen saw her mother's severed arm on the floor, fingers slack and open. Red stab wounds.

Jennsen.

Panic ruled her mind. She heard her own short, choppy screams. Wet blood, splashed across the floor, glistened in the firelight. Whirling movement. A man slammed into her, driving her to the wall. She lost her breath. Pain crushed her chest.

Surrender.

"No!" Her own voice seemed unreal.

She slashed with her broken knife, ripping the man's arm. He bellowed a vile oath.

The man holding Jennsen's mother dropped her and made for Jennsen. She stabbed wildly, frantically, at the men around her. Reaching hands shot toward her from all around. A huge hand clamped her thrashing knife arm.

Surrender.

Jennsen gasped a cry. She struggled savagely. She kicked. She bit. Men cursed. The second man seized her throat in iron fingers.

No breath. No breath. She tried-couldn't breathe-tried desperately-but couldn't draw a breath.

He sneered as he squeezed her throat. Pain shot up through her temples. His cheek, slashed by her knife, laid open from ear to mouth, ran with gouts of blood. She could see glistening red teeth through the gaping wound.

Jennsen struggled, but couldn't pull a breath. A fist slammed her stomach. She kicked him. He seized her ankle before she could kick him again. One was dead. Two had her. Her mother down.

Her vision was narrowing to a black tunnel. Her chest burned. It hurt so much. So much.

Sound was muffled.

She heard a bone-jarring thunk.

The man in front of her, squeezing her throat, staggered once as his head jerked.

It made no sense to her. His grip went slack. She gasped an urgent breath. His head tipped forward. A crescent-bladed axe was embedded in the back of the man's neck, severing his spine.

The axe handle swung in an arc as he dropped. Sebastian, measured fury with white hair, stood behind him.

The last man let go of her arm. His other fist brought up a blood-slick sword. Sebastian was quicker than the man.

Jennsen was quicker even than Sebastian.

Surrender.

She cried out, an animal sound, savage, unbridled, terror and fury. Her broken blade slashed across the side of the man's neck.

Her half blade ripped bone-deep, cut the artery, severed muscles. He cried out. Blood seemed to float, suspended in midair, as the man pitched against the far wall on his way down. She'd swung so hard she fell sprawling with him. Sebastian's short sword struck like lightning, slamming through the great barrel chest with bone-cracking power.

Jennsen scrambled over the bodies, slipping on blood. She saw only her mother on the floor, half sitting, leaning against the far wall. Her mother watched her come. Jennsen couldn't stop screaming, couldn't breathe through her hysterical cries.

Her mother, covered in blood, eyelids half closed, looked as if she were falling asleep. But she had that spark of joy at seeing Jennsen. Always that spark in her eyes. Her face had bloody streaks from big fingers down the side. She smiled her beautiful smile at seeing Jennsen.

" Baby. . " she whispered.

Jennsen couldn't make herself stop screaming, shaking. She didn't look down at the awful red wounds.

She saw only her mother's face.

"Mama, Mama, Mama."

One arm embraced her. Her other was gone. Her knife arm gone.

The one around Jennsen was love and comfort and shelter.

Her mother smiled a weary smile. "Baby… you did good. Now, listen to me."

Sebastian was there, working frantically to tie something around what was left of her mother's right arm, trying to stem the tide of blood. Her mother only saw Jennsen.

"I'm here, Mama. Everything will be fine. I'm here. Mama-don't die-Aon't die. Hold on, Mama. Hold on."

"Listen." Her voice was hardly more than a breath.

"I'm listening, Mama," Jennsen cried. "I'm listening."

"I'm gone. I'm crossing to be with the good spirits, now."

"No, Mama, no, please no."

"Can't help it, baby…. It's all right. The good spirits will take good care of me."

Jennsen held her mother's face in both hands, trying to see it through the helpless flood of tears. Jennsen gasped with frantic sobs.

"Mama-don't leave me alone. Don't leave me. Please oh please don't. Oh, Mama, I love you."

"Love you, baby. More than anything. I've taught you all I can. Listen, now.»

Jennsen nodded, fearing to miss a single precious word.

"The good spirits are taking me. You must understand that. When I go, this body won't be me any longer. Understand? I don't need it anymore.

It doesn't hurt at all. Not at all. Isn't that a wonder? I'm with the good spirits. You must be strong now, and leave what is no longer me,"

"Mama," Jennsen could only sob in agony as she held the face she loved more than life itself.

"He's coming for you, Jenn. Run. Don't stay with this body that isn't me after I'm with the good spirits. Understand?"

"No, Mama. I can't leave you. I can't."

"You must. Don't foolishly risk your life just to bury this useless body. It isn't me. I'm in your heart and with the good spirits. This body isn't me. Understand, baby?"

"Yes, Mama. Not you. You'll be with the good spirits. Not here."