The boy's words struck Eragos as a cold shock. Hania had been killed. By Talon? Who else could it have been? Knowing what he knew, as determined as he'd been, his limbs still felt weak. The image of Talon seeping into his mind was not a man with a hideous wound on his face, leaking blood onto his tunic as he screamed out a need for more combat. It was a boy huddled away from the wrath and the fire, much as they were now, asking Eragos not to leave his side. If he'd stayed... would they have died? Escaped into the hills? Talon learned the wrong lesson. It was never wrong to fight, as long as you were fighting for the right reasons. And in the right ways.
Now...
"I'm sorry," was all he could muster.
Bahn's hand touched his shoulder, but only briefly. It was the sole comfort that the water mage could muster. In that moment, it was more than Eragos thought he could bear. Tears for a brother who was dead did not come. Nor did the hot anger. Not even the determination. For the first time - and only after seeing one last, horrific crime - did he feel the sadness of a brother lost. The lines had been drawn long ago. Long before Eragos was even aware of the need. Now all that remained was playing out the string and seeing who of them would perish. Bahn's hand on his shoulder was unwelcome. Only because of what it meant, and not because of the feeling behind it.
Those stone hands were testing the debris as quickly as they could, pushing against splintered wood and stone to see what would give. It only took a moment to find it. Another moment to push it free. The dragon's magic did not give him strength of ages. Merely a leg-up in leverage. And it was this leverage he applied. In a moment - perhaps less - he'd forged a path of uneven stairs, only recently afire, that led out of the pit into which they'd fled. His uniform - for once - was not destroyed. It was merely drenched in ash. A small comfort. He led the way out of there devoid of words.
What he saw only soldified his frozen tongue. Instead of trees there were skeletons. Husks that still stood tall, but burned away entirely, devoid of leaves or branches showing any signs of life. Black heralds announcing the flames. Aside from small and somehow lucky patches of earth, the entire area was nothing but a burned and ruined mess.
His teeth clicked, hard, while his jaw clenched.
"Eithne!" he shouted into the silence. "Sleeping Tiger!"
The ruins of the chateau were everywhere. He could not, for the life of him, see a single sign of anything that had survived.