In the back, next to the stables that Xander also ran, they saw Clyde. The scrawny teen with big teeth and a crooked nose was the apprentice to Xander's son. He worked in the stables most of the time and was relatively reclusive, but still generally polite.

Clyde, busy shoveling away horse manure from the edge of the stables, looked up as they approached. He gave them a friendly nod. "Ya' here for hay?"

"Yes, child," Bickum nodded. "And we did not bring the wagon today, so we are going to need you to help us bring it back. We are sorry to interrupt your work."

"Curses, Bickum," Nite said. "Why didn't you remind me about the wagon? I completely forgot."

"We would have had to hitch up the horses and gotten everything ready. It would have wasted time."

"This is what happens when I sleep in. Everything gets forgotten."

"It isn't no problem, Nite, really." Clyde set down his shovel and disappeared into the stables. He emerged a few seconds later with a horse in tow. The young man then started hitching the creature up to a nearby wagon.

Many years ago, when Nite was still a young child, Xander had come up with a brilliant way to increase his store profits. He began renting and selling horses out to other people. When weary travelers came to the village, he would take their tired, worn down horses and sell them young mares to complete their journey. Whenever any of the villagers needed to move something heavy but didn't have a horse or a wagon, he would lend them some. Village kids would give him a few flintas to take out the horses for a day to ride them in the fields. It was a wonderfully ingenious and lucrative business.

When Clyde was done hitching up the horse, he stepped back and clapped the dirt and grime off of his hands. "How much y'all need?"

Bickum wiped a few beads of sweat off his forehead and said, "We are taking the river boat up to Cantan, which will take three days at most. We are bringing along three Geckens to turn the oar. We have enough hay so far for about half of the trip."

"That'll be..." Clyde's lips moved silently as he did the math in his head. "Ya' need bout seventy pounds. It ain't too much, but it might take me a while to load it all up."

Nite stepped forward, gently pulling her arm away from Bickum. "Let me help. I don't want you to have to spend all day dealing with our hay."

Nite had been acquainted with Clyde long enough for him to know how stubborn she was. This was not the first time that she had insisted that she would help load the hay up and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Arguing would not serve him well, just like insisting to her that it was 'man's work' would get him nothing more than a black eye. All that he could do was nod.

Nite, leaving Bickum behind to rest in the shade, followed him as he led the horse to the back of the barn. They were greeted by a massive stack of square hale bays. Anticipating the labor that was to come, she took off her cloak and tossed it into the passenger seat in the front of the wagon.

They began hefting the bales by the twine that held them together. By her third bale, Nite was beginning to feel a burn in her arms. The sweat trickling down her back multiplied exponentially the longer she stood out in the blazing sun. She could feel her hair sticking to the back of her neck.

They packed the bales tightly into the back of the wagon so they could fit as much as possible. The more hay that was loaded, the more Nite began to wonder just how it was possible for three horses to eat so much. Had she not grown up around the creatures, she surely would have thought that a wagon load of hay was too much.

It took ten minutes of back breaking work until Clyde finally said the words that Nite had been dying to hear: "I think that's 'nuff. Ya' can stop now."

The teen collapsed to the ground with a sigh of relief and let her arms go limp like jelly. She looked over at Clyde, expecting him to be just as exhausted as she was. She was at first surprised to find that he had hardly even broken a sweat, but then remembered that he did this kind of work every day. Embarrassed at her apparent over-exaggeration, she ignored her protesting muscles and stood back up.

Although it obviously displeased him to say it, Clyde grumbled, "Thank ya' 'gain for tha help. You made it go by quicker." He grabbed the reins of the horses and began leading them back to the front of the stables. He refused to look at Nite, instead letting his dark hair fall over his eyes, and she knew it was because she had hurt his pride.

Bickum was waiting right where they had left him. Despite not having done any labor, he seemed to be in rougher shape than Nite. She could see the thick layer of sweat that covered his face from thirty feet away and he was shaking slightly. Regardless, he still smiled when he saw her.

"It took you long enough, Stump," he teased. "I was worried that you had finally decided to run away and never return." He grinned playfully.

Nite was in no laughing mood. "You don't look like you feel very well, Bickum." She could see the way he wobbled uneasily as he walked towards her. She wanted to kick herself for carelessly leaving him in the sun for so long.

"I am fine," he tried to insist, waving his hand to shoo her away. "You worry too much about me!"

She belligerently took him by the arm. "Don't give me that. We need to get you home." To Clyde, she barked, "Help me get him onto the wagon."

Nite held Bickum by one arm and Clyde took the other. Together, they did their best to help him up the steps to the front seat of the wagon. It may have only been a few steps, but Bickum still struggled. It was a great relief to Nite when he was finally able to get to his seat and sit down.

"Thank you," Nite said graciously to Clyde. "I would appreciate it if you rode the wagon down to our house. I'll follow behind you and try to keep up. Just make sure that Bickum's fine." She glanced nervously at her father. "I should have insisted that he stay home today. It's way too hot for him out here."

Clyde nodded. "I'll make sure he's okay."

"I can hear you," Bickum grumbled from the wagon seat. "I am not as frail and weak as you think I am."

Nite looked over Clyde's shoulder at him and frowned. "You need to hush. I know what's best for you."

Just then there came a loud shout from the front of the store. The three of them all turned their heads in the direction of the sound.

Nite looked worriedly at Bickum. "What the-?" She was cut off by the sound of even more shouting and yelling, like a group of people were fighting.

"This can't be good," she muttered to herself as she rushed around the side of the building. Clyde followed behind her, bringing the horse and the wagon with him.

As Nite rounded the corner, she saw a sight that was rare in the village: a full out street brawl. Everywhere, fists were flying as villagers threw down with one another. They were yelling and screaming as clouds of dust surrounded them. A throng of people had already begun surrounding the brawl.

Nite, gasping, ran to one of the many bystanders, a villager named Mickali. "What in the world is going on?" she yelled.

"There's a fight!" the villager yelled back. He didn't look at her and started cheering.

"I know that! Who started it?" Nite was forced to duck as a flying projectile-what appeared to be a shoe-whizzed past her head.

The villager kept cheering for the fight. "Some newcomers!" he hollered, letting out an excited cheer.

"Newcomers?" Nite looked closer at the fight, trying to see the faces of the brawlers. Some of them she recognized, like Barney the sheepherder, Mildred, the woman with the twenty dogs, and Donald the Angry.

But some faces were unknown to Nite. There was a man who was exchanging punches with Gerald Shockton. He was built like a tree trunk and had a nasty scar running down the side of his face. Locked in a headlock by Hendon the Miller was a scrawny teenager who was doing his best to claw out his attacker's eyes. There was a third man, who was incredibly short, that was running between the legs of all caught in the brawl and violently delivering kicks to the backs of his opponents' knees. A few people were face down in the dirt and impossible to identify.

All that Nite could do was stare in shock. Although it wasn't unusual for travelers to come through Tonrin, it was almost unheard of for them to get into fistfights with the villagers. That kind of behavior was not tolerated.

There was no way for Nite to stop the fight without getting involved in it. She was forced to watch in horror as the normally mild-tempered villagers-excluding Donald the Angry-violently fought their opponents for reasons unknown. The teen was terrified that someone was going to be seriously injured.

It was a female stranger who finally put an end to the brawl. Appearing out of nowhere and shoving her way through the crowd, she stepped out dangerously close to the fight. A poorly aimed fist nearly hit her in the head, but she didn't so much as blink, let alone try to duck. She held her pistol over her head and fired it into the air twice.

"Everybody, stop!" she bellowed with all her might. The seething woman fired another shot for good measure.

The brawl quickly sizzled out. The bystanders finally took it upon themselves to intervene and begin pulling the brawling villagers apart. They were yanked to the sidelines; everyone had bleeding cuts and bruises that were already starting to turn black. Dixer Shelling even appeared to have an injured wrist, though whether it was sprained or broken Nite couldn't tell. Whatever the injury, he was loudly complaining about how much it hurt.

The foreigners were left in the middle of the circle of pissed off villagers. There were seven of them, eight when the woman with the gun was counted. The behemoth of a man, the one built like a tree, barely had a scratch on him. The dwarf was next to him, not even reaching his waist. With blood trickling down his face, the scrawny teen was trying to help up a battered woman from where she lay on the ground. Two other people were busy struggling to hold back a final man from charging the villagers.

Nite- like everyone else- couldn't pull her eyes from them. They were dressed strangely, in vibrant colored and unusually styled clothing. Half of them wore the Dahlarian military uniform, with its green and blue streaks along the shoulder and beautiful crest over the chest. The black pants had a green waistband and a blue pattern down the side stitching. It was an elaborate outfit that was given to military members in the upper ranks.

The other half of the group, including the pistol-toting woman, wore less elaborate outfits. They had thick vests over button up white shirts. The pants they wore were loose and baggy, had many pockets, and were tucked into thick leather boots. Nite noticed that the dwarf even had a sheathed knife at his hip, one he thankfully hadn't drawn in the altercation.

There was something about the group that rubbed her the wrong way. Despite the fact that they had been badly beaten in the fight- where they were greatly outnumbered- they looked ready to resume it. There was anger and ferociousness in the eyes of most of them, with many even wearing snarls on their faces. The woman who had broken up the fight kept her pistol in her hand as she stormed towards her group. She joined them and turned to glare at the crowd.

Nite couldn't help but feelthat the dog's warning the night before had proven itself valid: the danger hadarrived.