Due had returned before dawn.
Alistair heard him on the path – the familiar footsteps, slightly hurried, the pace of someone whose bind had told him something was wrong and who had been walking faster without deciding to.
The door frame was empty, and the door itself was on the floor.
Due stepped through and stopped. His eyes moved across the wreckage – five bodies dragged to one side, broken furniture, glass, and blood on the stone floor, and Alistair sitting against the far wall with bandages wrapped poorly around his shoulder and ribs.
"Six," Alistair said in a low voice. "One left."
Due didn't ask how. He crossed the room and crouched next to Alistair, his hands moving across the bandages with the practical attention of someone who had done this before.
He checked the shoulder first, then carefully lifted the cloth over the rib wound. His expression tightened.
"This is deep," said Due.
"You really think so?" said Alistair, a bit of sarcasm in his voice.
