OoOoO

The squeaking of floorboards outside her door woke Lhara. It was still early; sunlight had yet to reach beyond the window sills. For Marden to be up early wasn't unusual. The effort being put into silence in the main room told Lhara that it wasn't Marden up and about though. Yesterday came flooding back to her sleep-clouded mind, and she was out of bed in a heartbeat. Not even bothering to snatch her shawl from the bedpost, Lhara dashed barefoot after her brother.

"Tarun!"

He stopped halfway to door, his back to Lhara. Tarun wore his sturdiest clothing, pack in hand. How he had managed to leave their room without waking Marden, Lhara couldn't guess. The hunch of his shoulders told her straight off that he hadn't meant to be caught.

"So that's it then...you're just going to go off with the Factionists without a word?" Hurt bled into Lhara's voice even as she tried to tamp it down.

Slowly Tarun half-turned to look over his shoulder. "I left a note."

"A note," she gaped at his back. "You think that a note is even close to good enough? You could get yourself killed out there, with them. Tarun, the Factionists are going to make war on the capital!"

"I'm not going off to war! You don't think I'm that thick, do you?"

Now Tarun finally did turn around to face her. He had shaved his chin and cheeks that morning, Lhara noted with surprise. Marden and the other men would give him hell for that for sure.

"Then where are you going?" Lhara asked, her fingernails digging into the freckled creases of her elbows.

"To Amenthere."

"So you are leaving then!"

"Yes, but it's not what you think."

Marden's baritone interrupted them from the brothers' bedroom doorway. "Then just what is it, hmm? Because I've read your note, and it doesn't say any different." Marden waved an open bit of parchment at them, his heavy brows pursed together angrily. "Some farewell, little brother."

Tarun's grip on his pack strap tightened, whitening his knuckles. He made no move away from the door.

"I didn't want to say it...not even in writing, because then it sounds even less honorable than it does in my head."

"Makes what sound less honorable?" Lhara was a few words away from running up to Tarun, seizing him by the jacket and shaking him senseless.

Tarun pursed his lips into a flat, tight line. "I'm leaving with the Factionists, but I'm not going to war with them." When Marden and Lhara just stared at him, he elaborated. "They said they're going past the Teeth, into West Goran. This is my chance to get across the mountains. I figure they can get me to Amenthere. From there I can break off and apply to The Academy."

"So you're going to use them to get you where you want to be, and then you're going to leave them." Marden did not sound impressed.

"Yes, I am."

"You're right," said Marden. "That sounds even less honorable than I reckon you thought it would."

"I know how it sounds!" Tarun retorted. Then his bristling lessened a small measure. "I'll pull my weight and not drag them down, for what it's worth. I'm just not buying what they're selling, and traveling across the mountains alone is dangerous. Trying to find another group to travel to the capital with might take years, now that the tribute caravans have stopped."

"You were trying to leave without saying goodbye though," said Lhara accusingly. "Why?"

"...Because this isn't goodbye." Tarun looked away, frowning. "Goodbye sounds too much like forever."

Marden was crumpling up Tarun's note. He squeezed it tight before lobbing it across the room into the hearth, disturbing a small puff of ash. "You don't know that. Anything could happen once you leave Trosk."

"I know. But even if I can't come back here for some reason, I'll see to it that you can come and see me in Amenthere, or wherever I am. I swe-"

"No!" Lhara shook her head vehemently, still pinching herself pale. "No swearing. I don't want to be mad at you again if you break that oath."

The three siblings stood staring at each other and the walls for a long time. To Lhara it felt like a sort of spell lingered in the room. To speak or move would be to break the spell, and then Tarun would leave.

Eventually though, the silence did end. Marden moved past Lhara and Tarun to the door. For a moment Lhara wondered if he intended to bar Tarun's way. Then he reached for the coat pegs and offered Tarun's cloak to him.

"Wait for us," he said, fastening a bruising stare on Tarun. "There may not be honor in your intentions, but if it's what you must do then we'll see you off. That's what family does, Tarun."

OoOoO

By the time the three of them made it down to Trosk the sun was just about clear of the horizon. Just as Nadathan had promised the Factionists were gathering outside the inn. The griffin mounts were preening and honking softly as the dawn light glinted on their feathers. Unsurprisingly, it seemed most if not all of the villagers had turned out to catch a last glimpse of the Factionists too, whether they intended to leave with them or no.

"Tarun! So you did decide to go after all then? Throwing in with the east rather than the throne, eh?"

They were joined by Gerdiom's family clan with Andris leading the way. The butcher's second son was likewise dressed for travel in sturdy new boots and a laden pack. Gerdiom and Alina hung back a short ways, seemingly unsure whether to be proud or beside themselves. For a second Lhara thought perhaps Hengar hadn't come to see his little brother off at all, until she spotted him and Eima watching at a distance from inside Gerdiom's shop.

"Yes," was all Tarun had to say.

Lhara noticed the flash of uneasiness behind Tarun's words. She thought any and all guilt he felt between Trosk and Amenthere to be fitting punishment for what he intended. Still she held her tongue and said nothing.

"You must be missing Andris already, Alina," she spoke to the butcher's wife instead. Alina, a heavyset, motherly woman tried to laugh and ended up batting away a tear instead.

"Oh, he'll be just fine I'm sure. Besides, we can't expect to keep Andris here in Trosk forever, not unless he could have found an eldest daughter to wed."

Lhara heard the chastisement loud and clear, and had to work very hard not to roll her eyes in front of Andris's mother. For Anders' sake, it had been one little kiss when they were both much younger and full-flushed with youth. Apparently she would never live it down though.

"I'm sure Andris will come home a well traveled and worldlier man for having gone," she said.

"And the same for Tarun," Alina replied. "Things won't be the same around town without them though. Or Halna for that matter."

"Halna's going too?" That really caught Lhara's interest. A glance toward the smithy confirmed it though when she saw the 'Closed until Further Notice' sign.

"Oh yes. Said that the Factionists could probably make use of a good blacksmith, and apparently they agreed with her."

Sure enough, Halna stood talking to the Factionist named Sula a short ways off from the barn. The two women had similar intent, intense expressions on their faces as they spoke. The griffin behind Sula's shoulder seemed curious about Halna, and let out a huff of breath that sent several strands of Halna's graying hair fluttering. Then Magda approached and tapped Halna on her shoulder from behind with her staff. Sula fell back a respectful step as the Wise Woman of Trosk spoke to her daughter for what might be the last time in a long time. Or ever, given the lines in Magda's face and the bow in her back.

Lhara wanted to go to Magda, but felt that perhaps now was not a time for her presence. Instead she brushed her fingertips up under her loosely pinned hair to feel the inked there.

"Halna leaving comes as a surprise to all of us, but Magda especially I think."

Lhara hadn't even noticed Yelaina sidling up to her, so intent she had been in watching the Wise Woman. When Yelaina slipped a hand around her hip in a half-hug, Lhara sighed.

"Seeing so many leave, I almost wish that the Factionists hadn't come."

"You know what Orwell is always saying; 'the bird which is loved the best is the one that flies free'."

"I know. That's why Marden and I are letting Tarun go too." She tossed her head to where Tarun stood hugging their Uncle Torl and Aunt Rhena.

Yelaina laughed softly. "You could have locked him up you know. I have several cellars in the inn basement without windows."

"Tempting..."

"Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything?"

Yelaina's cat wound around their ankles, it's plumy tail capturing the young women's attention for a moment. The tabby's belly still hung heavy and taut with milk for her new litter. She purred cheerfully when Lhara bent to scratch behind her ears.

"Oh that reminds me..." Yelaina exclaimed. "...Do you want a kitten? Or two, or even three? With Tarun leaving and Marden soon to be mine, I was thinking you might want some company up there on the mountains?"

Lhara considered sharing the idea she had discussed with Marden about selling the family cottage. She was just about to speak in fact when a hand on her arm distracted her. It was Tarun, looking at her in a strange, almost wistful way. So the time had come for him to go.

"Lhara, I-"

The sound of a horn ringing against the eastern slopes of the mountains turned all heads at once. It blew long and crisp, like the echo of an eagle's cry. Lhara had never heard such a horn before; it was nothing like the hollow sound of an argali ram horn, used ceremonially by the High Elder. This sounded less like a ritual and more like an announcement.

One of the Factionists approached Nadathan and Sula where they stood talking to Magda and Halna. They grabbed Nadathan's arm in a manner that wordlessly conveyed total urgency. The Factionist leaders' darkly lined eyes widened.

"The royal army is here, the army has come!"

Someone cried out the warning from the edge of the square. The horn blew again, this time much, much closer than before. Lhara could feel the ground trembling beneath her shoes. A plume of dust from the twisting mountainside road below Trosk stretched up into the sky, white against blue.

The Factionists were scuttling uncertainly. There was no place for them to hide, even if that were to be their desire. By now the army most certainly would see if fifty-odd griffins were to take flight. A spike of something cold and fearful lanced through Lhara's heart. Trosk was about to be caught red-handed with Factionists.

Immediately Marden was at their side. Grimly he placed himself in front of Lhara, Tarun and Yelaina. By some unspoken agreement the villagers all pressed themselves as far against the edge of the square as they could go without actually leaving. Whether out of pragmatism or simple morbid curiosity nobody actually fled though. The Factionists for their part gathered together into a tight cluster between the villagers and the approaching soldiers. Some mounted their griffins, while others drew closer to Nadathan and Sula.

As the soldiers crested the last turn of the road into town Lhara got her first real look at the Gorian army. Their armor was a heavy, dull iron, worn from travel and the dust of the plains. Banners bearing the royal standard of a golden crown on a field of red and black fluttered over the closed visors of their helmets. Not being able to see any faces frightened Lhara. All told there looked to be two hundred soldiers, perhaps more, more than enough to outnumber the Factionists three-to-one.

Only one person stood out from the rest. A man probably Marden's age if not a little older sat astride a tall chestnut horse, clad not in armor but rust red robes. His hair was a similar shade of red, stark against the sun burnt paleness of his skin. The man might have been handsome, with a deeply cleft kin and proportionate features, if not for the paleness of his brows which made them almost invisible and the disdainful scowl entrenched across his face.

So distinctive was the man in red that Lhara was surprised when he did not ride forward to address the Factionists himself. Instead one of the armored soldiers positioned himself as the leader at the front of the company. His armor was no different from the others', nor did he seem in any way taller or broader. In fact, when he tipped up the visor on his helmet, it was to reveal a face completely nondescript in its ordinariness.

Bold as brass, Nadathan strolled forward with incredible casualness to stand directly before the men on horseback. He didn't even have a hand on the hilt of his curved saber-sword, Lhara noticed.

"Jerriod. Always showing up where no one really wants you. I'm surprised the eimirs let you cross the clan lands, or even disembark at Derbesh for that matter."

The lead soldier whom Nadathan had addressed as 'Jerriod' answered in a carefully controlled, poised voice. "There are some yet in the east who still respect the authority of the crown, Nadathan. You should know that it was Lord Kirben G'Hesh who told us to look for you along the Old Mountain Road."

Lhara saw Sula twitch violently enough to be noticeable from across the square. Nadathan for his part seemed to take whatever implications that news might have for them without flinching.

"So, what will it be then, Captain?" Nadathan was saying. "Come to arrest us and pack us all quietly away to Amenthere without an honest fight? Or perhaps you'd prefer to just do the beheading here and save on travel time?"

Jerriod didn't rise to Nadathan's baiting. If anything he was only more clipped and professional when he answered. "Unlike you, I honor the laws of Goran. Although I would prefer to settle this without bloodshed, as you can see I have come prepared for your worst."

"Hmm yes, the whole Fourth Company I see. You do know that horse meat is a favorite delicacy for griffins? We haven't tried their palate on humans yet, but today might have to be a first if you don't back off."

"Save your glib tongue for the Capital Courts, N'Shar. You and your G'Hesh woman stand charged with High Treason against king and country. Surrender to me peaceably, and I will do what I can to see that the rest of your...erstwhile recruits are dealt with gently."

"As gently as you've been dealing with the protestors in Moaan, Utunma and Danitesk?" Sula snarled, abandoning her slouch against the inn porch to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Nadathan. "Spare us the platitudes and draw your sword already. You know as well as we do that nobody will be surrendering today, tomorrow, or any day afterward."

The red man in robes raised a downy eyebrow at Sula's harsh words, his dry lips quirking in what might have been an amused grin. Jerriod however was far less entertained. With a curt nod he shifted his attention to the silent villagers.

"You have likely been subjected to the Factionist seller's pitch already, people of Trosk, and some of you might very well have been swayed until this moment. Know this; to take up arms against Goran, its royal house or its servants is to commit treason. The same if you stand by and refuse to denounce traitors such as these Factionists. We, the Fourth Company, will see such criminals, and criminals they are, punished by the rightful law of the land. Any fit and able man, I command you now to take up arms in the name of King Mahir Amenthis and drive these Factionists from Trosk. They will bring you nothing but wrath and ruin, as they have done for many already across Goran."

"Just a moment here!" Borse bellowed, brawny arms crossed over his tanner's apron. Standing behind their da, both Berin and Cassel were dressed in what could have passed for travel clothes, upon a closer look. "That sounds an awful lot like a draft to me. Surely that's all just rumors, isn't it?"

Jerriod paused before slamming his visor shut. "The village of Trosk is subject to the royal draft proclamation, just like any other settlement across this land. Take up arms as your king commands, citizen." With that, the captain spurred his horse to turn, leading the way out into the one level space of ground on the mountainside around Trosk; the empty paddocks behind the inn.

"Well then, what do you think?" Sula called out, already halfway up onto the saddle of her white-speckled griffin. "You heard Jerriod; sounds like he'll 'deal with you gently' if we turn ourselves in. Deal or no deal?"

A ripple of dark laughter spread through the Factionist ranks. No one even paused in mounting up. The sound of ringing steel was already echoing as many of the rebels pulled swords from their sheaths. Others were notching arrows onto the strings of smooth black shortbows.

"I'll take that as a 'no' then." Nadathan chuckled. "Alright then everyone, take to the air!" As griffin after griffin spread its mighty wings and leapt into the sky, sending a scattered fall of dark feathers falling over the rooftops, he turned to the villagers. "You all must choose now, as I said you would. I leave you to your consciences." Then his griffin lifted off with a loud thumping sound as its wings pumped the hot summer air, leaving swirling dust in the drying brown grass.

As the Factionists and the Fourth Company assembled on the field behind the inn Lhara rounded on her brothers.

"What are we going to do?" she cried out, half in disbelief and half in fear. "We can't fight any of them...they have armor, weapons, horses...griffins, for Anders' sake!"

"Doesn't look like either has left us much choice," said Marden, scrubbing at his short beard in frustration. His dark eyes flickered across the crowd. Then he called out "Halna, do you have any big hammers in the forge?"

"Big enough for me. Think you can handle them?"

"Funny. Start passing out them and anything else pointy or heavy you got."

"I've got some of the really long pitchforks in the barn."

"Everyone run and fetch your hunting bows!"

As offers and ideas for makeshift weapons began to fly thick and fast the true danger of the situation began to sink in. Lhara felt completely numb with fear, her stomach roiling and her palms sweating. When Marden and Tarun emerged from the throng with a smithy hammer and long handled axe respectively her heart dropped. Still she held out her hand toward them.

"Here, give me your bow Tarun."

"You sure?"

"Give it here. It'll do you no good up close anyways."

"Lhara..." Marden began, and Lhara knew that tone.

"Don't even think about it!" she shouted at him. "I'm not going to stand meekly by and let you two get killed."

"It's not that." Marden reached out and closed her hand firmly around the limb of Tarun's bow. "You have to stay back in Trosk though. If something happens to both Tarun and I..." he swallowed, his throat bobbing. "One of the three of us has to survive, for Ma and Da. Otherwise our will break, and we can't let that happen."

"But-"

"Lhara." Marden wrapped an arm around her neck, pulling her close and burying his face in her tangled hair. "I know you're stronger, faster and braver than half the men in Trosk. That's why I need you to stand by Yelaina, and Halna will need you to stand by Magda. They'll both be alone if the worst should happen. Please, will you do this, for us all?"

It was just the sort of thing that Thrymm would have said, and Lhara immediately felt herself tearing up. She buried her hands in Marden's thick curls tight enough to hurt him, but she didn't care. Then she nodded and let him go.

Rubbing her eyes ferociously with the back of her hand, she turned to Tarun as Marden crushed Yelaina to his chest.

"If anything happens to either of you, I'll never forgive you both. You hear me?" she choked out. "Never."

"I hear you. I'd never forgive me either."

Tarun drew Lhara into one of his characteristic bony hugs. Lhara remembered him digging his knees into her back when they wrestled as children. Strange, that she would remember something like that at a time like this. When she released Tarun and stepped back though she couldn't help but noticed that he looked almost disappointed. When he and Marden turned and loped away toward the brewing conflict in the field he kept glancing toward where the royal army was gathered at the far end by the mountain face.

Yelaina's voice nearby finally tore Lhara's searching gaze away from the disappearing backs of her brothers.

"Come inside, to the inn!" she was calling, gathering all the women, children and elders of Trosk to her. "We shouldn't be out here; the fighting could spread into town."

Lhara spotted Magda sitting alone beside The Ram and hurried to her side. The old Wise Woman looked up with a weary, distant look in her glazed eyes.

"Halna will stand and fight with the Factionists," Magda said.

Nodding, Lhara knelt next to her teacher. "I know; so will Tarun and Marden." It occurred to her then that she didn't know which side Uncle Torl her cousin Garrit had declared for, and she felt guilty. She resolved to find Aunt Rhena straight away. "We should get inside with the others."

For a moment Lhara worried that Magda either had not heard her or would ignore her. Only when Lhara put a hand out to touch the arm of Magda's robe did the old woman rouse herself.

"I fear there is no shelter to be found for any of us anymore," Magda said in a strange voice as they made their way inside the inn.

"What do you mean?"

Magda only shook her head.

OoOoO

Standing beneath the circling Factionist griffins on the pasture's edge, Tarun craned his neck to watch their dark wings flickering past the sun overhead.

Nice of them to let us fight their battle on foot, he thought sourly.

Most if not all of the villagers stood on the Factionists' side of the field though. Nobody wanted to fight against their kin, friends and neighbors, regardless of their own political opinions. When the general opinion seemed to sway toward the Factionists, everyone else had followed suit. Tarun personally was beginning to reconsider this whole business entirely. Especially now that he had a whole line of armed and armored cavalry staring him down from fifty yards.

"This is going to be a massacre," he said aloud to no one in particular.

"Thanks for that, Sunshine. We all needed your optimism right about now," Garrit muttered nearby.

"Yeah Tarun, try not to make me piss myself already, huh?" Cassel chimed in.

Turning on the spot, all Tarun could see were nervous faces, pointy farm tools and uncertainty. When he once again looked to the Fourth Company, their horses standing in a pole-straight line with swords drawn, he knew they didn't stand a chance. Not like this. He looked to Marden.

Marden met his younger brother's eye and tried to smile reassuringly. Tarun was not reassured. This was just like the Battle of Hollowtop Pass from his da's books. The giants of old had dealt King Amenthis's fledgling army a crushing blow when they strode right through their lines, crushing them underfoot. Captain Jerriod and his men would do the same to the people of Trosk, of that Tarun was sure. Tarun didn't imagine the Factionists had much in the way of a plan for both fighting and protecting their new, untrained, vulnerable allies.

What's our advantage? What can we do or use that the soldiers can't? Tarun cudgeled his brain even as Jerriod drew his own sword. Come on Tarun, think! They're going to kill us all!

A loud whistle from overhead came as a sort of signal to the swooping Factionists. The griffins abruptly stopped circling and let out piercing shrieks. The horses of the Fourth Company flattened their eyes against the skulls and nickered unhappily. The army sounded their charge all the same.

"The horses..."

Tarun didn't realize he'd said that aloud, even as he and the other villagers bunched in closer together in a protective huddle. Nobody paid him any mind. All eyes were turned toward the charging cavalry huddling toward them even as the Factionists came swooping down from the skies. Soon the two forces would be upon each other with Tarun and the others caught in between. His hands were suddenly sweaty on the handle of his axe, and his ears buzzed.

With high, keening shrieks and throaty yells, the Factionists tore into the Fourth Company before they were even halfway across the field. The griffins flared up in front of the charging horses, spooking the animals and causing them to throw their riders. Others were unhorsed by flashing talons and cracking whips. The straight line of the army's charge suddenly faltered and wobbled. Behind, Tarun could see dozens of groggy men trying to stagger to their feet from where they had fallen, and he understood.

"Scatter!" he screamed.

"What, why?!" Borse yelled from behind him.

"The men on the ground!" Tarun pointed wildly with his axe. "If we can get past the charge, we can pick them off!"

When Borse didn't react immediately, Tarun looked to Marden. They only had seconds before the Fourth was upon them. The thunder of hooves was deafening, or was it the thunder of his heart? Marden didn't need any convincing.

"Scatter! Get around the horses and cut down the fallen!" Marden took up Tarun's cry, shoving those closest around him further apart.

They were still far too bunched together when the first line of mounted soldiers hit them. The horses struck many like a wall of stone, and cries of shock and pain sprang up all around. Some, quicker on their feet and luckier than others managed to dodge around the broken charge though. Tarun could smell the horsehair and saddle leather as a soldier practically brushed past him. Everything moved in slow motion and too fast at once.

Then he was on the other side of the Fourth, where the men the Factionists had successfully dismounted were still trying to find their feet. Talking about cutting down the fallen and actually doing it were two very different things. The axe in Tarun's hand felt unnatural as it swung back above his shoulder. He had helped Gerdiom butcher the spring pigs before, he told himself. Still he continued to run forward toward the nearest half-risen soldier without actually swinging.

The ground erupted in a line of fire right in front of Tarun's feet, springing up from what had one minute been only trampled earth. Startled, Tarun had to practically trip himself not to run headlong into the flames. Ignoring skinned knees, he cast about in search of the sudden fire. When he found it, his mouth fell open.

The man in red robes had dismounted. Standing against the mountainside, he gestured his hand and arms like a High Elder in mid-ceremony. Ribbons of fire streamed outward from each of his fingertips on his right hand. Not only did it seem impossible to begin with, but the flames did not even seem to bother the red man. If anything he looked exultant, delighted even as he lashed this way and that across the battlefield with his whips of fire. His red eyes glowed like a pair of hot coals beneath his pale brows. The dry mountainside grass caught a spark easily, and already the field was becoming a hell of fire and smoke. The griffins appeared unsettled by the dark plumes, and the Factionists seemed to lose their aerial edge.

A yell from behind him startled Tarun. Whirling on the spot, he clumsily smacked the attacking soldier in the side of the shoulder with his axe. Metal met metal with a dull ring before glancing away harmlessly. Unable to see a face past the lowered visor, Tarun knew nothing of his attacker other than their intent to kill him. Now nothing held him back when he swung the axe again.

OoOoO

"Can you see anything? What's going on?"

Lhara, unable to see much more than dark smoke and a jumble of screaming, shouting figures on the hillside, had turned to her aunt in desperation. There was precious little room at the inn's upper windows, with every woman, child and elder in Trosk gathered around trying to watch the battle unfold at a distance.

"The Factionists are coming to ground...I don't think they can see to fly anymore." Rhena's words were terse, distracted. "Argh, it's impossible to see anyone on the field anymore! They all look the same from here."

"Well then, who's winning at least?" Quella hung back with her baby girl on her hip, ceding a place at the window to those with the best eyes.

"I don't know! It's a bleeding mess out there!"

The panic in everyone's voices was getting to Lhara, and she couldn't help but feel her own fear rising. She wrung her hands in the folds of her tunic, worrying at the seams under her fingers. Beneath her, her feet seemed to have begun pacing of their own accord.

"Lhara."

Magda called Lhara to her side, and Lhara came reluctantly, not wanting to look away from the window where her family's fate was being decided. The Wise Woman sat on the end of a bed, the colorful patchwork quilt in stark contrast to her black cloak.

"Little daughter, in times of trial people will look to their Wise Woman for calm. We must be the warm hearth at the heart of a storm for them, no matter how we ourselves may feel."

"But-"

Magda caught hold of Lhara's wrist, pulling it away from her rumpled shirt. "Calm yourself, and then call the others away from the window. The only thing anyone is accomplishing right now is working themselves up into a frenzy and seeing things that they will wish they could forget."

"...Yes Magda."

Magda's firm grip on her wrist gave Lhara something to ground herself with. It took many long, deep breaths, but finally she was able to call herself something almost calm. When she opened her eyes again, Magda was smiling sadly up at her.

"Good. Now go and call the others back."

Trying to gather herself and her words, Lhara approached everyone clustered around the windows. Their shoulders were hunched tightly around their ears, and some of the children were crying. Everyone looked so fearful, so worried, just as she had been too a moment ago. Lhara was still afraid, but the ghost of Magda's hand on her skin felt like a warm, fortifying armor.

"We should close the windows."

She spoke as firmly as she could, loud enough that everyone could hear her. Rhena turned to look incredulously at her niece.

"No! We must keep watch so that we-"

"So that what, Rhena?" Magda interrupted. "So that you can see the exact moment when Torl falls? Or Garrit?"

Rhena's face crumpled as though the Wise Woman had spoken aloud her worst fears, which in all likelihood she had. Trying not to tremble, Lhara wrapped her aunt in a half-hug.

"Magda's right; there's nothing out there that we should see. Yelaina?"

Yelaina nodded. Moving briskly, she shooed all of the other women away from the windows before drawing and fastening the shutters tightly. A few others tried to protest, but Yelaina would not yield. The room felt into a strange weir-light; a red-orange glow that seemed shadowed as though cast in a sunset even though it was not yet midday.

Lhara was not satisfied though. "What can we do rather than watch?" she asked Magda. "There must be something we can do."

Magda nodded. Leaning on her petrified staff, she slowly rose to her feet.

"There is much that we must be doing instead. When the fighting ends, there will be many wounded in need of care. Or rather..." the old woman gazed sadly at the women, children and elders around her "...pray to the stars that there will be many wounded for us to save, rather than dead to bury." Then an abrupt change came over Magda, and it seemed she stood a little straighter and spoke with renewed authority. "We will need water brought to a rolling boil, as much of it as can be found. We will also need needles, good clean thread, and linen."

"I have plenty of linen in the closets," said Yelaina.

"Good. Have the younger girls and boys start tearing it into long strips."

"We'll get all the pots in the kitchen full and boiling." Eima volunteered. Standing, she handed off her infant son to Quella. "You older boys and girls, I'll need you to help me carry the water."

While Yelaina, Rhena and Alina started organizing the other women, Magda beckoned Lhara closer.

"Lhara, I need you to run to my cottage and gather all the healing herbs you can find; yarrow for bleeding, aloe vera for burns, and cloves for pain. You remember what all of those look like, yes?"

"I do," Lhara nodded.

"Good, then go!"

Without waiting to be told twice, Lhara took off running down the stairs and out of the inn. The main room was already bustling with women arranging tables and pushing chairs out of the way. She spared a second to be grateful that she had worn leggings today instead of a kirtle. The clamor of battle was far, far louder outside, and the smell of smoke was everywhere. Lhara feared that the barn might catch fire at the edge of the field. The barn was not on fire at the moment though, and she had a task she could not wander from.

Leaving the door open and swinging on its hinges in her wake, Lhara seized a handful of each plant from Magda's collection. The aloe vera pricked her when she broke its waxy leaves off. Ignoring that, she turned and ran as fast as she could back toward the inn. The Ram watched her pass with flat, impassive eyes.

She was less than twelve paces from the inn door when something whistled across the sky. There was a flash of something bright and hot. Then, the ground shook. Instinctively Lhara threw up an arm in front of her eyes. Something jabbed at her face and hand like tiny needles. Lowering her arm, she realized that they were wooden splinters. Her reflexes had probably saved her eyes. That was when she realized that the inn was on fire.

Like a shooting star on earth, a ball of fire had come hurtling from the field of battle to strike the upper floor of The Giant's Shoe. Already half of the roof was alight. Screaming pierced the air over the roaring of the flames. Like some ravenous beast, the blaze set about devouring the inn and everyone within it.

"No!"

Lhara didn't stop to think. Dropping her bundle of herbs, she sprinted the remaining distance to the inn door and threw it open. She was almost trampled by Alina and a gaggle of crying children clutching her skirts, followed by Rhena with her arm around Eima's waist.

"Lhara, get back!" Rhena shouted at her.

Eima was screaming, trying to fight her mother to go back into The Giant's Shoe. "Where is Ristan?! Ma, Quella has my son!"

"I'll get him!" Lhara reassured her cousin before dashing past Rhena's grasping hand.

The main room's ceiling was half caved-in, and through the hole Lhara could see flames upstairs. The din of snapping wood and crackling flames was incredible. It was what Lhara imagined a roaring weyr of dragons must have sounded like.

Feet appeared on the stairs through the smoke. With relief Lhara ran to meet Magda, leaning on both her staff and Alina's daughter Taena on the way down.

"Magda! Are you alright?"

Magda waved Lhara off. "I'm fine, help Quella with the others."

Behind Magda, Lhara found Quella struggling to not only carry her daughter and Eima's son, but also to assist the other elders down and out. Lhara held out her arms for little Ristan, and Quella gladly handed him over. Tucking the squalling baby down the front of her tunic for safe-keeping, she joined Quella in half-guiding, half-carrying the oldest and most infirm of Trosk's people out of the burning inn. Overhead a beam groaned threateningly.

"The inn's coming down!" Lhara shouted.

"I know, hurry!"

They rushed everyone out of the chaos of the burning building to the chaos of the battle just beyond town. Terrible screams and shouts could be heard over the roar of the fire. Somewhere a griffin cried out, and it was one of the worst sounds Lhara had ever heard. It sounded like a child shrieking at the top of its lungs. She shuddered.

"Ristan!"

Eima practically pounced on Lhara the moment she was clear of The Giant's Shoe. Hefting her struggling little bundle, Lhara couldn't help but forgive her cousin a little when she saw the tears of relief rolling down her sooty face. Eima apparently felt the same; she hugged first Lhara and then Quella once she had her son safely back in her arms.

Meanwhile Alina was barking orders for women and children to run and fetch as much water as they could carry. The inn by now was a blazing torch. Rafter after rafter fell from its place to be engulfed by the fiery orange tongues below. The walls quivered, as if the inn were a living creature suffering its final throes. Calder and Yelaina would be devastated, Lhara thought.

That was when she realized what was amiss.

"Where is Yelaina?!" she cried.

"She said she'd be right behind us," said young Taena, suddenly tearful.

"She said something about 'saving the little ones'," added Quella.

Something small and moving fast caught Lhara's eye at the edge of the square. It was Yelaina's cat, with a single kitten held by the scruff of its neck. Lhara's breath hitched in terror.

"Yelaina!"

Ignoring the calls of the other women, she once again turned and ran toward the blazing inn. A maw of flame greeted her on the threshold. The heat brought her up short. Her eyes stung, and her body refused to obey her orders to push past the fire.

Someone was shouting anew behind her. Lhara half-turned in time to see a tall, dark form barreling toward her. Someone pushed her to one side hard enough to make her stumble. Then they were gone, swallowed up by the curtain of fire across the doorway. She tripped and fell heavily on her elbow, skinning that too. That was when she finally made sense of what everyone in the square was shouting.

"Marden, no! Come back!"

Lhara's only thought was to go after her brother. She barely was able to prop herself up before Rhena and Eima were at her side, dragging her away from The Giant's Shoe. They were both screaming for Marden, but he did not appear.

"Let me go, I can help them!" Lhara fought her aunt and cousin as they held her back.

"You can't help! The roof-"

"I can!"

Lhara writhed and fought her way free of restraining hands. She mounted the steps of the inn, determined not to hesitate this time. Holding up a hand to her eyes, she squinted through the flames into the smoky darkness beyond. Something moved on the stairs inside. Tears of relief burst from Lhara's eyes. Thank the stars above, Marden and Yelaina were coming down! She could see them!

That was when roof fell in.

OoOoO