The four men stepped into the clearing, spread fan-wise, and headed for the building, moving at a half-trot.
The door was closed. In absolute silence they stepped over the heap of bones that once had been Rydob, mounted the steps and halted there.
Carefully Jotan closed his fingers about the latch. The heavy planks swung inward enough to satisfy him that there was no bar in place.
Suddenly Jotan drew back and drove his shoulder against the wood with all his weight behind it. The door flew open and the four men came piling into the room, knives of stone held in readiness.
That mad rush came to an abrupt halt, and what the men saw brought a chorus of astonished exclamations from their lips.
Flat on his back in the center of the room, partially hidden behind an overturned table, lay Meltor of Sephar. From his left breast stood the hilt of a stone knife, its blade buried deep. He was quite dead.
The girl was gone.