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The rain fell in a steady beat, muted into a dull rumble on the cottage rooftop. Rivulets of clean, clear water trickled along the wooden eves into barrels waiting below. The moss on the mountainside grew fat and green with moisture; a slick wet blanket for the rocks beneath. If a person were to stand on the plains to the east, The Teeth would appear veiled in thick, swirling rainclouds that shifted from apprehensive grey to near black. It wasn't often that the mountains saw rain this far past midsummer, but it wasn't unwelcome either.

Not even mountain-born shepherds dared chance the upper reaches of The Teeth when the rain slicked them down. When Lhara, Tarun and Marden woke that morning to the cadence of raindrops overheard they knew without rising that they would not be taking the flock out today. By unspoken agreement breakfast was an unhurried affair. The three siblings cooked a pot of porridge while still in their sleeping clothes, lounging around and talking about nothing in particular while the water boiled. Tarun even pulled out one of his books while they waited; normally an activity reserved for evenings. Lhara's hands kept wandering toward the nape of her neck where Magda had inked the the night before during her Dedication ceremony. A pointed look from Marden kept her fingers from actually finding the tender skin though.

All was calm until Marden saw fit to open his big mouth, in Tarun's long-suffering opinion. Still, admittedly he was curious about the events of last night too.

"How long will they be staying for?" Lhara was already asking questions the moment Marden finished retelling of the Factionists' arrival.

Marden shrugged. "They only paid for the one night that I saw. Rooming fifty people much longer than that will probably run a higher tab than even they can pay."

"And you say they were dressed like clansfolk?"

"Bucklers, belts and everything," Tarun said as he helped to clear the table. He brought the bowls to Lhara where she stood over the wash basin, already at work on the pot from the hearth. The rain had given her thick hair extra life; it floated around her head and down her back like fluffy brown spinning wool. "I thought I saw riders from the N'Shars and S'Dirs at least, and I'm guessing a few from the A'Khet clan as well."

Lhara frowned thoughtfully, that familiar spark of excitement shining bright in her eye despite the dim, stormy daylight filtering through the shuttered cottage windows.

"Town must be in an uproar with so many strangers about," she commented.

"Must be," Marden agreed.

They tidied up the breakfast in silence, each listening to the rain outside and their own curious thoughts. Lhara retreated to her room to dress and tame her hair, and emerged still with that hungry look to her face. She noticed smugly that both Tarun and Marden had also dressed in warm, layered clothes better suited for a trek outdoors than a quiet day in.

"I should probably see about fixing that split corner on the loom." Marden made a move toward the corner where the loom sat, but his shuffling steps lacked any serious conviction.

Lhara likewise drifted toward the rocking chair and the bulging whicker basket set next to it. "All of our stockings and hose could use mending too..."

Tarun rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't dance around it. Lhara, you'll be out the door by mid-morning. Marden, you'll be hard on her heels and I'll be dragged along between the two of you. Come on; let's get our cloaks and go ogle the Factionists."

"What, and you don't have any work to do around the house today?" Marden laughed even as he turned on his foot and made for the coat hooks.

"Of course he does." With a wink Lhara swung her dark green cloak around her shoulders, wincing slightly when the rough fabric chafed her new mark. "He's just being lazy."

"At least I'm honest about my laziness," Tarun smirked.

"And thank the stars for that!"

Lhara's excitement was obvious even when she bounded out into the rain. The sheep could be heard bleating their displeasure at the gloomy weather in the paddock. Even when the damp trickled beneath the hem of her long grey tunic and turned it dark and sodden her enthusiasm remained undimmed. Marden and Tarun followed a few strides behind as they made their way down the trail toward Trosk. One taller and the other leaner, the brothers made a soggy if unbothered pair trailing after their younger sister.

OoOoO

The trio arrived in Trosk to find a crowd gathering in the main square. Children sat astride The Ram even in the rain, straining for a better look over the heads of their parents. Lhara exchanged a glance with Marden. The elder shook his head, reassuring her that he too had no idea what was going on. Tarun spotted Gerdiom standing outside the butcher's shop and caught his eye.

"Oi, what's happening Gerdiom?"

His favorite knitted cap haloed with tiny rain droplets, Gerdiom widened his eyes and held up his hands.

"Ander's ears if I know. One of them Factionists came out of the inn about half an hour ago and started calling for everyone to gather. He even tasked the boys and girls with running out to the farms to fetch people."

"They're lucky it's such a day," Lhara commented, listening in on Tarun and Gerdiom's conversation. "If it were sunny out, everyone would be too busy to spare the time."

"Well, you know what they say about fools and luck," Gerdiom smiled at Lhara, wiping his hands on his work-stained apron. Hengar could be seen lurking a short ways behind his father inside the shop, a half-plucked chicken in hand. Eima came out from behind the doorway, her baby son wrapped against her chest. Lhara and Eima exchanged awkward half-smiles.

"Magda!"

Lhara saw the Wise Woman on the edge of the crowd, leaning against her cottage gate. The rain stuck her shawl to her hunched, bony shoulders, making the old woman seem even smaller than usual. Glad of the excuse to leave her cousin, Lhara quickly threaded around the square to her teacher, once again acutely aware of the fresh 's presence in her skin. Her hair tickled it and her cloak rubbed against it; between the two she was unlikely to forget the Wise Woman's mark anytime soon.

Magda greeted Lhara quietly. Together the two women watched the crowd of their neighbors milling about in the drizzle.

"Do you know what the Factionists want, Magda?" Lhara asked.

"No, but I fear," Magda answered.

"Fear what?"

The old woman did not speak for a moment. Instead she held the young people of the village in her cloudy eyes. "These strangers are the thunder before a storm, Lhara. Who can say whether it is their fault or no, but I fear they bring cold iron and hot blood to Trosk."

Now, following Magda's gaze, Lhara did catch her first glimpse of the Factionists. Three of them stood beneath the eves of The Giant's Shoe, watching the villagers as they slowly gathered. Just as Marden had described, they dressed like clansfolk in dark, loose fabrics and broad leathers. Two, a man and a woman with dark-rimmed eyes and noble features presented themselves openly for all to see. The third sat an arm's length apart, their arms covered where their companions' were bare and their face swathed in black cloth.

Then the sound of low, avian whistling caught Lhara's attention, drawing her gaze beyond the inn. She had seen griffins at a distance before with the spring caravans, but still they never ceased to enthrall her. Dozens of dark figures moved this way and that on the hillside, either riding or watching the griffins around them swoop and dive. They moved like falcons, or hunting hounds, or both. They were a fearsome sight, moving with such confidence even in the heavy rain.

"Well Ma, was I right or was I right?"

Lhara was interrupted from her admiration of the griffins and their riders by the arrival of Halna. The blacksmith stood with her gloved hands on her hips, grey-black hair sticking to her cheeks and an oddly triumphant grin stretching her lips.

"You were, although I wish you hadn't been," Magda sounded suddenly tired.

"Still, I'll take the business. I've never been so busy with blade repairs." Halna suddenly seemed to realize who was standing beside her ma and smiled at Lhara. "Well, seems Trosk will have another Wise Woman after all. Congratulations Lhara, the line could use a breath of fresh air like you."

It felt odd to be congratulated by the woman who ought to have been Magda's apprentice in the first place. Lhara felt happy pride bubbling up inside her even so. Squinting against the rain, she met Halna's appreciative eye.

"Thanks Halna, I'll do my best to live up to the honor."

"You already do, little daughter." Magda patted Lhara's hand. Then the softness of her lined face abruptly hardened. "It is time."

The square seemed to fall silent of its own accord; the curiosity which had brought them all down into Trosk that morning harnessed everyone's attention the moment the Factionists stepped away from the inn. Standing out in the rain with their rapt audience, the two clansfolk waited a moment to ensure they would be heard. The third, Lhara noticed, remained seated on the inn's front porch. The tilt of their swathed head indicated they were watching their companions closely though. Out on the hillside, the other Factionists seemed to have drawn closer to the edges of town. Lhara could hear the beating of the griffins' wings through the drumming of the rain.

The man spoke, loud and clear enough that Lhara heard him easily even from Magda's gate. His voice rolled with the lilt of the plains, reminding her instantly of her long-fallen da. For a moment it felt like Thrymm was speaking to her again. Then Lhara shook herself and actually heard the Factionist's words.

"People of Trosk...war is coming."

Immediately mutters and gasps broke out from nearly every person in the square. Some like Gerdiom and his wife Alina looked appalled, while Halna and Andris almost strained where they stood to hear more. The Factionist woman stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled, demanding attention once again.

"We don't say such a thing to be dramatic," the man continued. "At this point, it is just plain, brutal truth. You may have noticed that no tribute caravans passed through your town this year from the N'Shar and S'Dir clans?" When he paused, this time he was not interrupted. "Relations with the throne in Amenthere have worn thin over the years, and now they hang ready to snap. Although there are some in Derbesh who are not yet prepared to make war openly with the capital, mark my words, the day will come, and soon."

"But why?" Devina, the cobbler's wife called out. Her two young children hung close to her skirts. Others echoed her question.

"Yes! Tell us man, why would the clans make war when we've had peace for so long?"

Once again the woman whistled, high and harsh enough to bring all chatter to an abrupt silence. She and the man exchanged a look that spoke volumes before he continued.

"Because they will be forced to. You may have heard, but my clan, the N'Shars, expelled their royal magistrate this past winter. The S'Dirs followed our example because they agree with our desire to be free of royal rule."

Now talk really did break out throughout the square. Some started to protest such an incredible pronouncement, others having to shout to get their questions heard over the first. The Factionists let this go on for only a minute or two before the woman really did bellow.

"WE'RE NOT FINISHED!"

Once again silence fell, slowly and resentfully. When at last the woman was satisfied that they would not be interrupted again, she looked to her companion. He nodded slightly at her, then drew back his shoulders and spoke. His words took on a commanding, impassioned tenor, defying anyone to stop him again.

"My name is Nadathan N'Shar. I have come from Moaan, where I know a woman known as the Black Pearl. We met on a public scaffold, where by the king's law I was to be whipped bloody for smoking sativa by the docks. The Black Pearl and her friends saved my skin, and then they told me a story. I heard of a young man and his family being put to death for harboring magic close to home. I heard of a bereaved lover, imprisoned for ten years just for having married the condemned man. Since then, I have heard more than just stories. I have seen demonstrators in Moaan trampled beneath army horses. I have heard hungry families crying when tax season demands more than they can pay. I have joined those who dare to dream of new beginnings, hunted like prey in the night for it.

The south of Goran moves to break from the capital and forge itself anew. They would have a country of their own, with their own flag to fly and their own way to seek. The southerners want this, and they are both brave and bold enough to demand it, even if the king answers their demonstrations with violence. Can we, the east, who were once led by a Wal of our own choosing and commanded the plains with pride, sit back and let the south forge forward alone?"

No one spoke. The rain continued to fall, plastering everyone's hair to their heads and their clothes to their limbs. Nobody moved to leave despite the cool and damp. Even the children astride The Ram sat unmoving, their round eyes wide. Who knew how much of Nadathan N'Shar's speech they understood? Even a child could hear the fervor in his words though.

"The south cannot do this alone. Mark my words; if their bid for a new way fails, the southerners will bear the brunt of King Mahir's anger for generations to come. The clans have heard my words, and the story of the Black Pearl, and one by one they will rise. The east will have its own flag, its own name and its own future, or at very least we will stand beside the south in the name of freedom. You, the mountain folk of Trosk, will have a choice to make very soon. The king has re-instated the draft."

A ripple of surprise traveled through the crowd, but no one dared interrupt and earn another shout from the woman at Nadathan's side.

"Very soon, the army will come here, and your young men will be pressed into service whether they want to fight for Goran or not." Nadathan was sweeping the faces in the crowd with his gleaming eyes now. "We're here to give you a chance to choose otherwise. Although you may not be able to avoid the war in the days to come, you can decide what to fight for. Second sons and daughters alike, you especially I am here to speak to. While your elders may have obligations they cannot leave here in Trosk, I would ask that you consider joining us when we leave tomorrow. The Factionists do not live in comfort, nor in safety, but we do live free to dream of a new world."

Even as the elders in the crowd grew more and more ill-at-ease looking with Nadathan's words, Lhara noticed that some were taking notice. Particularly, Berin and Cassel were craning their necks like a pair of eager hunting hounds. Lhara looked for Tarun and Marden, but couldn't quite see them at a distance. Perhaps they had taken shelter from the rain inside Gerdiom's shop?

"Fight for the crown, or fight for the east, I leave the choice in your hands." Nadathan was saying. "We will not press anyone into leaving with us, but I doubt the royal army will be as generous. All I have left to tell you is what I believe; the line of Amenthis has had its time, and the king no longer knows his own people. I'm going to stand with our cousins in the south, so they need not fight alone. If you believe in the east as I do, then you know where to find us."

The crowd parted suddenly, making way for a small, stooped pair. Lhara realized then that Magda had slipped away from her side. Lhara shook her head, both at Magda's stealth and her own inattention. The Wise Woman and the High Elder approached Nadathan N'Shar where he stood, bowed with the years and the weight of wisdom. Silence fell, a silence that unlike previously would not be broken by anyone present. The rain continued to fall, only slightly lesser than before. Overhead the sky had begun to lighten though, hinting at a break in the deluge soon to come.

"Your words are passionate and well-chosen, N'Shar." Orwell, the High Elder said. Long gone blind and toothless, Orwell could still recount with perfect accuracy the name and livelihood of every passerby to have ever come through Trosk over the past fifty years. He knew people like Magda knew herbs and stars, and could read them just as well as Tarun read his books. "No doubt you were hard pressed to sell your cause to the clan eimirs as well. Have all seven clans rallied to the Factionists then?"

Nadathan's shoulders barely fell an inch before he promptly squared them again. "Clans N'Shar and S'Dir have openly rebelled against Amenthere. Clan A'Khet has recently been promised a royal bride for their eimir, and so makes no commitments. However, many of Lord Rhadu's people have joined us as individuals."

"And what of clans D'Van, G'Hesh, R'Tor, and U'Krell?" Orwell pressed further. "Have they not heard your plea yet then?"

"They have," the woman who had previously controlled the crowd for Nadathan interjected. "I am Sula G'Hesh. Many in my clan are of the same mind as the A'Khets. Our eimir however is similarly paid off by the capital, but in coin rather than royal blood.

"Ah."

Orwell's quivery voice was sympathetic, but not particularly impressed.

Magda thumped the petrified base of her staff on the muddy ground, sending little droplets of earth scattering around her.

"You claimed to come here speaking truths. Let me speak another truth to you then. You have two of the seven clans backing your cause, a third only partially committed, and four in refusal. It does not sound so much to me like the east is as interested in independence as the Factionists are. If what you say about the royal army is true, however, then we must ask you to leave at once. You surely understand that Trosk cannot be found harboring your folk here if the army does come."

"Wise Woman." Nadathan bowed his head respectfully, tendrils of dark hair hanging before his brow. "If you ask us to leave, we of course will. Will you seek to stop any of your people who want to leave with us though?"

"No. We do not command our neighbors' hearts and minds. All must do as they will."

Lhara could hear the tart frown on Magda's lips as she uttered those final words. Suddenly nervous, finding Tarun and Marden in the crowd became all the more urgent to her.

Nadathan spoke loudly enough for all now. "We will leave at sunup tomorrow then. All who would join us in seeking a new future, be at the barn before first light."

OoOoO

Once the throng of villagers started to disperse finding people in it became easier, much like unraveling a single thread from a tangled skein. Lhara found her brothers in beside the inn, surrounded by their usual crew. Shouldering past Andris, Lhara went straight to Marden's side.

"Tell me you're not thinking of-"

Marden gave her a half-annoyed, half-amused look. "Do I look daft? Besides, Yelaina struck that iron long before you got here, little sister."

Standing with a sodden red shawl held above her head, Yelaina wrinkled her nose. She looked tired, although that did little to dim the rosiness of her cheeks or flatten the curls of her lashes. Lhara remembered becoming friends with Yelaina after getting in a fist-fight with the other girl out of sheer jealousy as a child. Lhara was glad Yelaina had bitten and scratched her right back instead of running away crying like she expected the pretty innkeeper's daughter to. It was one of Lhara's favorite memories.

"You'd be lucky to be killed in action if you went running off with a bunch of revolutionaries on me, Thrymmson," Yelaina said.

"Between you and Lhara, I doubt I'd get off this mountain alive to begin with. Besides, I have a flock to tend to."

Andris rolled his eyes with a smile. "Alright, that's another one bound to hearth and home. What about you, Garrit?"

Thoughts of threatening to fetch her Aunt Rhena immediately stampeded through Lhara's mind. Although the talk of a new country was exciting, Lhara didn't want to see her cousin go off into danger any more than she did her brothers. Garrit was already laughing when she spun around to face him, merry eyes crinkling as if they were choosing volunteers for a game.

"I'm an eldest son, remember? Da needs me to help him with the flock. Still, if I were free...maybe I would go. Maybe in another life."

"Aw, shame that," Berin grinned mischievously at Cassel, throwing out an elbow. "Well, guess that leaves you to stay with the tannery. I'll be sure to write you when I'm-"

"HALF A BLOODY MINUTE, BERIN!"

"Which means I'm still the second son!"

"My leaky left jam-bag you are!"

"It won't matter which one of you is elder or younger." Tarun spoke up from where he leaned against the side of the inn, arms crossed. Lhara gulped to see how dour her brother's face had become.

"What do you mean by that Tarun?" Andris asked.

"Are you all dense, or just willfully forgetful?" Tarun pushed himself upright, shaking water out of his sandy hair. He didn't seem to notice that his cloak had fallen open, leaving his tunic and breeches out to be soaked by the rain. When no one answered he spelled it out like one would to a child. "Didn't you hear what the N'Shar said? The king has re-instated the draft. It doesn't matter if you're an eldest son, a second son, or man of the whole bloody house. If the army comes here, anyone with two legs and a strong back will be up for the taking. That means all of us."

A sober mood instantly descended on the circle of young mountain-folk. Yelaina slid closer to Marden, one hand dropping her shawl to wrap around his waist instead. Andris glanced at Lhara quickly, and she made it a point to ignore him. Even Berin, Cassel and Garrit seemed more or less subdued by the dawning realization.

"So...you think it's true then?" Garrit asked Tarun. The two cousins looked remarkably alike when sporting serious faces, Lhara realized.

Tarun shrugged. "The Factionists stand to gain more volunteers by lying to frighten us. Still, you heard the talk last night at The Giant's Shoe. If I were King Mahir and dealing with uprising in the south, I'd be mobilizing the army too."

"Can he do that?" Yelaina squeezed Marden's hip through his cloak. "That seems so-"

Tarun cut her off. "Wrong? Unfair? He's the king of Goran, Mahir can do whatever he likes and who's to say otherwise?"

"You're talking a bit like a Factionist yourself there, Tarun," said Cassel. "Thinking of taking up the offer before the army comes?"

"Maybe."

A chill ran up Lhara's spine that had nothing to do with the weather. Planting her hands on her hips, she stared Tarun down.

"You can't be serious. You don't even know how to fight!"

"I'm sure most of them didn't either before they joined up. Besides, if they're heading west..."

For some reason, Tarun left whatever he had been about to say hanging. Lhara was about to press him on it when a familiar voice called from the end of the alley.

"There you are apprentice. I've been looking for you."

"Magda?" Lhara turned round toward the main square.

Sure enough, the Wise Woman stood leaning on her petrified staff in the drizzle. Concern distracted Lhara from Tarun for the moment. All this time out in the chill couldn't be healthy for a woman as old as Magda.

Something of that must have shown in Lhara's face though; Magda chuckled low in the back of her throat before gesturing Lhara after her.

"Come, this is no day to be standing about outside. You and I have a great deal of work to do for your training. I have a lesson in both runes and herb lore planned for us. Come."

Not wanting to keep Magda out in the rain any longer, and admittedly very game for a warm hearth in her own right, Lhara excused herself from the others. There was still half a day and a night before the Factionists left. She resolved to question Tarun further about this sudden interest in the Factionists later that evening. For now, the conversation would keep. Still, Lhara very much hoped that Marden was getting a head start on Tarun even as she walked away.

As Lhara and Magda made their way slowly past the inn, Lhara didn't feel a pair of eyes tracking her every step. No one else could read their owner's face, swathed in the thick head wrap of a clansman as it was. That gave the white-eyed Factionist all the freedom he liked to watch the Wise Woman and her apprentice cross the square. Between them a sheet of silvery rain fell, separating two very different worlds.

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