Excerpt:

He circled over the edge of the plateau. There should have been something there, he knew. He had followed the directions that she had given him months before. This was wrong.

Ashes. Embers and ashes and a few walls left standing filled his vision, and the smell of burning wood mixed with the smell of burning flesh. Jaecar ran his hand along Rionnag's mane, whispering quietly in Irish to her to try and keep her from rearing and throwing him, and continued circling, shoulders dropped in frustration.

He should have already been there. He should have ridden faster than he did, not stopped as much as he did.

He circled one more time and urged Rionnag into a trot away and into the shadow and cover of the trees that were there, his vision sharpened to look closely at the scene of the town that was in the valley beneath him. It reeked of wartime. More so, it reeked of mercenaries. And Jaecar should have known.