The Wyrmling Horde (51 page)

What a confounded mess, Borenson thought. He dared not let these people stay on his land, yet he couldn't in good conscience send them off.

If he sent them off, they'd have to make their way into the interior of Landesfallen, into the desert. Even if they found a place to homestead, it was too late to plant crops. The Walkin family had come a long way—just to starve.

Outside in the orchard, Erin called, “Father, I need another bucket!”

“Where are you, Father?” Sage called.

That's when he was struck.

Something hit Borenson—harder than he'd ever been hit in his life. The blow seemed to land on the back of his head and then continue on through his whole body, rattling every fiber of his being.

White lights flashed in his eyes and a roaring filled his ears. He tried to turn and glance behind him, but he saw no one as he fell. He hit the ground and struggled to cling to consciousness, but he felt as if he'd been bashed by a reaver's glory hammer.

He heard the squatters all cry out in alarm, and then he was spinning, spinning . . .