Merrin turned back from where she'd been standing by the window, a smile briefly lighting her features. They had been rare, circumstances that could inspire more than a fleeting grin from her. Somehow she found it curiously fitting that she, not yet twenty and heroine of her own adventure - though an adventure unlike any told by minstrels, an adventure marked more by its difficulties than its triumphs - should be telling Adeila, who was twice her age at least, stories about the world.

Seating herself again, Merrin felt her fingers brush the hilt of her saber, wire-wrapped and studded just three times with the tiniest of sparkling clear stones, and was reminded not of her duel with T'mor, but of the war Adeila spoke of. Had things come so far...that she, peasant girl and dragonrider, carried a weapon that could fit even her small hand? A lord's daughter in Darkmoon Bay. She's about your size. Even T'mor, peasant as much as she, forged weapons for those who ordinarily would never so much as lift a blade.

Her own words echoed in Merrin's mind. The struggle needs to end. And perhaps this too would be immortalized in legend. Legend told in times of war, or peace?

Peace, thought Merrin fiercely. She glanced at Kiril, at the look in her eyes older than any little girl should look. Would she be carrying a weapon before long?

As the question wove itself through her thoughts, the letters stark and bleak, Merrin shook herself out of that frozen moment to look across at Adeila. "The world," she said. "It's very big."

She recalled the innkeeper's fascination with Vryngard. It was nearly the only place she knew besides home...but Vryngard had been the world, when she was first there. She'd seen Amarinth, an abandoned temple built into ancient mountains...she'd been back two thousand years in time. Perhaps she had seen the world, a little. "Very big," she said again. "You don't think it's the world when you're seeing it at all. It's just...vast and strange." Realizing her voice had taken on a note of wistfulness she hadn't meant it to, Merrin looked up with a grin. "I'm afraid I can't tell very much of the world."

_________________

[time... lapse...]

From the almost comical expressions on both Merrin's and T'mor's faces, neither of them had been anticipating this.

"Excuse me. Coming through. Miss, you'll have to move. That spot's mine by privilege of association."

The young woman in the front row turned and looked Kendath over. What she saw seemed not to impress her, for she didn't budge. Instead, she flicked her blond tresses over a frilly shoulder and, pointedly turning her back on him, returned her gaze to the space holding everyone's attention - the cleared grassy area in the center of the village commons. Neither Merrin nor T'mor had begun doing anything interesting yet, though most of the village had already gathered. In a community like this, news traveled like faster than tidal waves.

Kendath sighed and glanced around for another suitable vantage, though not without a scowl at the townsfolk jostling him from behind. The crowds were thinner on the other end of the commons, toward the seaward side, but squeezing through twenty feet of sweating, cursing villagers to get there was an adventure he'd prefer not to chance. And considering how the fishermen here were all a head taller than he was, neither would he settle for the back row. A sparring match between Merrin and a brother thrice her size was not something he intended to miss.

Apparently the young woman shared his thoughts, for she still refused to budge an inch, enough for Kendath to stand comfortably on both his heels - though how she'd gotten wind of a duel between the resident blacksmith and his sister, a knight fresh from Vryngard, escaped him. How the entire village had gotten wind of it was leagues beyond him, particularly since they'd been careful not to interact with the townsfolk.

Kendath was getting tired of balancing on the balls of his feet. "I would hate to step on your toes," he said politely, with a glare that implied different sentiments. "But if you don't scoot over, I'm afraid that might be - Oh. Nice meeting you, then." And with a hasty wave at the new arrival - a T'mor-sized man who happened to be the girl's father - Kendath promptly changed his mind about viewing priorities. He could settle for the back row.

The midday sun soared high above them, an explosion of gold against blinding azure. Made excited by the heat and impatient by the wait, the townsfolk began shouting good-natured taunts at T'mor, obviously a well-known figure in the village. Some of them were chanting "Mistress Vryngard! Mistress Vryngard!," while others simply cheered and waited for the sparring match to begin.

_________________

"You didn't say anything about this!" Merrin indicated the gathered audience with one gesture, expression dismayed.

"Come on, you don't want to disappoint them, do you?" T'mor raised an eyebrow. "I hope you're not scared."

"I'm not - T'mor - fine, let's start, then!" Merrin pulled out her saber, and eyed the greatsword with something akin to dismay. She stepped back, blade at the ready, and happened to catch sight of Kendath somewhere in the semicircle of people. You're not scared, are you?

"I'm not scared," she said, aloud.

"Good," said T'mor. "Neither am I. " He brought up his sword. They circled each other, Merrin staying just out of range, balanced so as to dance away if he moved. A flash of silver - gods, that sun was bright - and she darted sideways, bringing her saber up to ring briefly against the greatsword. There was a split second of crushing weight on her wrists and then Merrin slid it free, speedily backpedaling. There was attentive silence from the gathered viewers. Two more seconds of eying each other.

"Does Vryngard mostly teach defense, then?" inquired T'mor, soberly but for the twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Come on, Merrin! Come and get me!" The last words were half a taunt. "Bet you can't give me a black eye anymore."

"Bet I can!" Merrin whirled, twisted down and under, and managed to nearly touch him before swiftly dancing out of reach of the greatsword. "You're scared," she tossed at him, saber a flicker in midair, half a grin touching her lips.

Up - down - she turned halfway and their blades met with a ring - block high, block low, twist away so their hilts didn't lock - Merrin found herself laughing, breathless, facing him with a taunting grin on her lips. "I'm not little Merrin any more! Is that the best you can do, or are you afraid Jayen'll be angry if you hurt me?"

"Jayen's unfairly biased," T'mor retorted indignantly. "Why, he'd be positively horrified to find I hurt you, but if you brought him my head in a bag he'd ask you if you're all right!" He lunged, she parried, dancing on her toes.

"Better watch, or I will!" Merrin feinted left and ducked in under his guard, saber a flash of silver in the blinding sun. She intended to nimbly flick her swordpoint up to rest at his throat but he blocked, flashing his greatsword up to press down, forcing her to bend backwards. "Don't think Kendath would be very happy either if I managed to do anything," he whispered, mischief rife in his expression. Merrin desperately hoped nobody could hear but her. "Shall I tell him? Oh, but perhaps it's a secret...Merrin who said she'd never fall in love..."

"Never said anything of the sort!" flashed Merrin, bristling with indignance. Out of sheer audacity she brought up her other fist with a brilliantly aimed left hook that would have connected flawlessly - and given him a black eye he richly deserved - had he not jerked sideways to avoid it, thus giving her the opportunity she needed. Merrin whirled away, light on her feet, expression a picture of quivering indignation and ire."T'mor Tanner," she gasped, frantic with the possibility, "I will - I will - decapitate you if you so much as -"

His expression, gleefully amused, reminded her she was shouting, and Merrin leapt forward to trade blows furiously - left, right, high - finally utilizing every scrap of training Vryngard had ever given her.

"There it is!" he bellowed, half laughing. "Very good, very good! Do you always need your opponents to get you mad before you'll really fight them?"

"No!" Merrin was flushed, poised to dodge his next blow. "I'm entirely - capable - of beating you -" every phrase was a dart in to attack "- you great ox!"

Her hair was loose and getting in her eyes, tinted almost auburn in the brilliant sunlight. Merrin gulped a breath, tossing it over her shoulder and meeting his next lunge with a parry. They traded blows for a few breathless moments. Suddenly he was very close - Merrin twisted away, making to slip out of the trap, and found her way blocked. "Oh, I don't think so!" she gasped, swiveling, and in the next flurry of confused blows - he swept his gargantuan blade down to force hers back - Merrin wrenched it free - whirled halfway, ducked, and whipped forward and in under his guard to -

- stand there, heaving for breath, saber point poised at his throat. Several members of the crowd were cheering wildly; shouts of "Vryngard!", "The lass got you one, Master T'mor!" abounded.

T'mor grinned down at her. "Very good," he said. "I suppose I'm obligated to keep quiet now."

"You had just better," said Merrin.

The next few minutes were made up of hearty slaps on the back, some of which knocked the breath out of Merrin all over again; congratulations, which made her blush; and several good-natured jibes in T'mor's direction, which he bore with equanimity.

Merrin sheathed her saber, smiling and hardly knowing why. She managed to wriggle her way toward Kendath in the small melee of people, and stopped in front of him, still panting a little for breath, eyes alight with victory and cheeks flushed. "Well - how'd I do?"

_________________

On a Meiltha foray into the mountains, Kendath had once watched a lynx attack a grizzly bear for a chunk of fish. It had been famine in the dead of winter, and the lynx, driven mad by hunger, had raked at the grizzly's throat with a fervor justified only as madness. While Merrin didn't have claws, and T'mor was a few teeth short of a grizzly, that showdown between the cat and the bear was the first metaphor that surfaced to mind.

The two predators circled each other, returning stares, sizing the other up. The larger one had muscle and power to surpass the other, and T'mor knew it - if subconsciously, from his languid gait and the way his greatsword swung from side to side. The cat knew this as well. She danced on the balls of her feet, balanced, ready to spring away should the grizzly lunge. Overreacting, Kendath thought absently, watching the greatsword shift from one hand to the other. Bears don't lunge. They lumber. And this bear doesn't look too keen on either...

T'mor's shoulders twitched, and suddenly he found that bears were quite adept at lunging and swiftly at that. The giant blade caught the sunlight in a spurt of white-gold and came crashing down with the weight of a hammer. Unable to meet it face-on, Merrin jumped sideways and took a glancing blow to her sabre, then caught the greatsword in a crushing hilt-lock before leaping free.

The lynx landed on all fours and watched her foe with narrowed eyes. The grizzly, conscious of his opening, backpedaled as well and managed a subtle smirk, ensued by a not so subtle taunt.

Until then, Kendath hadn't noticed that his feet ached from standing on his tiptoes, and he settled back onto his heels with a grumble of disgust. Whether this was aimed at the irritatingly tall man in front of him or Merrin herself was difficult to discern. But disgust at Merrin there was, for if he'd never witnessed her dispatch half a troop of brigands, he would have assumed that the weapons masters at Vryngard were losing their touch. Merrin could do better. Merrin had better do better.

Steel clashed a second time, and she shouted something he couldn't quite catch. A third ring of steel... a fourth... Merrin was breathlessly spinning, dancing, launching herself from every possible angle at T'mor, who could no longer stand staunchly on two feet for fear of getting decapitated. He moved slowly - almost too slowly, it seemed - but never failed to escape that whip of the sabre just in time. They locked hilts again and this time froze, face-to-face, meeting each other's gazes with penetrating intensity.

Kendath had no idea what transpired there, but next thing he knew, the lynx was out of her hole.

Up - down - over - out. Merrin's sabre blazed silver through the air, flashing alongside a glint of coppery hair one second, then whipping out of sight behind T'mor's hulking shadow. Feeling the bite of claws, the onset of fury, the grizzly didn't retreat but pressed harder, hoping to crush feline grace with poundings of strength. The greatsword arced around with momentum that would have shattered the sabre on impact, but the lynx was already bouncing away, whirling - and the greatsword was moving too hard and fast for T'mor to reverse its direction -

The grizzly's breath caught in his throat, and his sweat dripped down his cheek, down his chin, and onto the sliver of steel poised at his throat.

I never much liked bears anyway, thought Kendath. Too cuddly. He spotted Merrin coming toward him and squeezed through the throng of villagers chanting Vryngard's name to meet her halfway. Snickering, he slapped her twice on her shoulder. "Wonderful method of repaying a sibling. If I were T'mor, I wouldn't show my face for a month." He idly shoved aside a gaggle of young male admirers and began weaving the way to the edge of the commons. "Who taught you to hold a sword?"

_________________

"Commander Thorone," said Merrin, her smile briefly bittersweet. "He was the weapons master." She shrugged a little uncomfortably, unwilling to dwell on the subject, and flashed a pleased grin up at him once more. "No, by the time T'mor gets home he'll have bragged to half the continent. He has a much higher opinion of me than I do."

Said burly blacksmith traded a few wry parting jibes with an amused bystander, and came to sling an arm around Merrin's shoulders. "I'm somewhat regretting our large audience now," he said, in direct contradiction to his grin, and the look of veiled pride he cast his diminutive defeater. "I heard that, by the way. You're too modest, sister dear."

Merrin's eyeroll vividly expressed her sentiments. "And you," she retorted, ducking out from under his arm, "are far too large to lean on me." She cast him a wry look. "That is the last time you coerce me into a duel. Ox."

"Mouse. A suggestion," said T'mor, his glance taking in Kendath as well. "You may want to disperse before Adeila quite discovers this impromptu duel. I do value my head quite highly."

He grinned, tousled Merrin's hair, and was away. Merrin shot a look at his retreating back, between resignation and amusement. She grinned lopsidedly at Kendath. "He rather proves my point."

_________________

Kendath shrugged helplessly and looked around. The townsfolk were milling about now, returning to their daily business, and it took a while for him to regain his bearings in the cluster of stilted huts. With a grimace, he discovered that he'd been leading them the wrong way. Adeila's ward lay across the commons, which meant another trek through the crowd of sweaty villagers. The flaming midday sun failed to brighten the appeal.

A troop of boys with sticks were replaying the duel as they passed, and one charged and knocked his fellow over as they passed. "On guard, you great ox!" he shouted, waving his stick in the air, and Kendath stifled a snort. He eyed Merrin wryly. "You've probably caused more excitement in an hour than they've ever seen in a year. I think I saw someone's poor grandmother faint when you almost gave T'mor that black eye. I hope you're happy."

"Merrin Dragonrider!"

They'd nearly reached the other side of the commons, when the voice came calling out from behind them. Something about that cry made Kendath hesitate before turning around. The woman standing on the porch of a large building recognized as the town hall was not Adeila. Then he realized... Save for T'mor and the healer, Merrin had kept her name secret from the villagers. Trepidation crept down his spine. His sharp glance oscillated between Merrin and the woman.

"Mistress Merrin!" she called again, impatiently, and made as though to descend the steps and come escort them herself. The townsfolk noticed, and they retreated to make way for her. Kendath still wasn't certain whether to advance or retreat, but she snatched the decision out of his hands when she grasped both their arms and began leading them toward the town hall.

Kendath seized her wrist and, with a deft twist, unlatched her fingers. An abrupt jerk had her stumbling away from Merrin as well. "Sorry," he said, giving her wrist another twist when she struggled. The villagers nearest them froze in their activity. Two or three started forward, but a glare blocked their steps. He met the woman's eyes, dark with fury. "Right. Who in the abyss are you?"

"Lyssa. Mayor Lyssa to you, good sir."

He released her, and she backpedaled with a gasp, her hand flying to the straggles of hair that'd escaped her bun. "Nice to meet you, Mayor. Now politely tell us what you want." An incessant buzz at the back of his mind told him that something monumental was amiss. He glanced around coolly at the accumulating villagers. "I don't think this is any of your business."

"You will come with me. In there." Lyssa jabbed a finger at the town hall. Jaw taut, she turned from Kendath to Merrin. "Mistress. Good sir. I am the mayor, and lives are at stake. You two had better explain yourselves."

_________________

Merrin looked utterly bewildered, standing uncertainly with her hand hovering not quite near the hilt of her saber. There was a time when she never would have thought of such a thing, but experiences like those with Feldwar had served to somewhat mitigate her naivete. She looked from Kendath to the mayor, who was smoldering with fury, and back at Kendath. She would have liked to ask who had been kind enough to announce her name to the village in general - another respect in which she was not quite the innocent Merrin of months or even weeks ago - but Lyssa hardly looked amiable enough to answer even that.

"I - I don't know -" she began, tentatively, trying to think why on earth the merest duel should be cause for ire. The uncomfortable silence made her aware of the semicircle of bystanders. "Inside, then," she acquiesced doubtfully, and cast Kendath a look in passing - what's going on?

Mayor Lyssa hardly looked mollified, but Merrin was nineteen, female, and about as threatening - even with her saber belted at her waist - as the lads in the square dueling with sticks were skilled.

Once they could converse in relative privacy, within the tiny entranceway of the town hall, Merrin instinctively - and unconsciously - moved closer to Kendath. She met the mayor's gaze. "If you would be kind enough to explain what we seem to have done wrong, I'd be much obliged."

Merrin Dragonrider! she'd called imperiously. Merrin winced. That was almost as effective as leaving a helpful arrow pointing in their direction, for any Meiltha that might be following. Every townsperson in the vicinity must have heard. Her stomach knotted uneasily. "I assure you, if I had been aware that a bout of sparring would invite your displeasure, I wouldn't have dreamed of engaging in it."

_________________

"Sparring?" Mayor Lyssa stared blankly at the younger woman for a moment, her glance momentarily darting to the belted sabre. Apparently something clicked, for her lips twisted in a grimace of half-scowl, half-ironic smile. "Oh no, Mistress Merrin. Far from it." Steps thudding across the floorboards with more force than would be expected from sandals, she crossed the tiny foyer and held open a door at the other end. "Do come in."

An undercurrent in her voice - the way she'd enunciated Mistress Merrin, perhaps - made Kendath hesitate, his hand falling casually beside his weapons belt, before crossing the threshold. Deja vu nagged - why did this happen every time they thought they'd reached a sanctuary? It seemed that trouble would be halted at the outskirts of a quiet community like this, but apparently misfortune was too enamored of them to let them go.

However, it didn't occur to him just how well misfortune dogged their trail until he entered the room.

The first sight he noticed were the three men - villagers, they appeared, and young, hands clutched around their hunting knives as though doubting their own nerves to use them. The second sight he noticed was the fourth man, slumped and bound on the floor. And the Meiltha insignia on his cuirass.

Kendath's mouth went dry. He spun around to face Mayor Lyssa. "How - ?"

It didn't escape his notice how Lyssa leaned against the door, her arms crossed to place her fingers within convenient reach of the knife strapped on her own belt. So much for the innocuous fishing community. "Our hunters found him." She looked down at the Meiltha as one would look down upon a piece of offal across one's path. An eyebrow cocked at the tallest of the three men standing. "Tell them, Cabe."

Cabe could be no more than twenty-five. He shuffled his feet, cleared his throat. "Ten miles north of here, in the forest. He was a scout, or maybe a patrol. Avenn" - he gestured at his companion - "accidentally killed the other one. We took this one captive. He says... he says..."

"I know you, Mistress Dragonrider." A wet cough and a shuffle of tied feet. Dripping blood onto the floorboards, the Meiltha captive righted himself and bared his teeth in a grin. His fingers twitched in the direction of a pile of throwing stars just beyond his reach, but he composed himself and mimed tipping his cap at the bristling Mayor Lyssa. "Mistress Dragonrider. Filthy traitor. High General Ironlegs would love to meet you both. It can be arranged, you know."

_________________

Merrin's reaction was immediate and explosive. Her hand shot to her belt almost convulsively, saber out in a ring of steel. "I've met him," she snapped, tone of voice almost managing to convey fury. Had it not been for the color draining from her face, one would be hard-pressed to guess how unreasoningly afraid she was. "It's not an experience I'd care to repeat."

Ironlegs - Ironlegs - sick with the recollection, she banished the images before they could paralyze her, but a slew of new ones overwhelmed. Oh, gods, the siege of Vryngard...she pictured him atop those white walls, his backdrop a Meiltha pennant snapping in the bitter wind, a pennant flying from towers stained by blood. Her knuckles were white around the hilt of her saber.

Her heart was hammering wildly. Merrin forced herself to sheathe her blade, still unable to tear her eyes from the leering Meiltha captive. She swallowed once - twice - and turned to Lyssa. What did this mean? A Meiltha. A scout, a patrol? Oh, gods, gods, that meant there were more. Merrin attempted, for the briefest moment, to tell herself fear would accomplish nothing, but the sick knot in her stomach only tightened.

Right. This was illuminating, at least insofar as the cause of Mayor Lyssa's ire went. Merrin focused on that. Solve this problem first, this one, don't look at the Meiltha on the floor. "You've likely gathered this man is no friend of mine," she said, voice trembling only the barest amount. "I - we'll...we'll be gone by morning, I swear it. You needn't...worry."

"Such a pity," sneered the man on the floor, eyes fixed on Merrin's face. "The High General was so looking forward to your company."

"I've had enough company from your High General to last me an age and then some," Merrin flung at him, hand wrapped around the hilt of her saber once more, though it remained sheathed. Her gaze flickered once more over the man, simultaneously repulsed and unable to look away as she was. What were they to do with him? They couldn't let him go, couldn't leave him here...already afraid she knew what he'd say, Merrin shifted her eyes to meet Kendath's, the question implied.

_________________

Mayor Lyssa planted both hands on her hips and swiveled around to face them. She was the most diminutive figure in the room, including Merrin, but that gesture seemed to make her grow taller, more threatening. Or perhaps that could be explained by Kendath's involuntary cringe. Whichever the case, tension went up a notch. "Morning," she reiterated, augmenting her scowl with toe-tapping. "Morning. I want you out of my town now."

That sounded like a spiffing plan to Kendath, who'd deemed that staying the night here would be asking for an invitation to the Meiltha camp anyway. "Fine by me," he shrugged. "Point us to Thyrault, and we'll be on our way."

Lyssa looked taken aback, as though she hadn't anticipated cooperation. Her eyes narrowed, then widened a second later when she assimilated exactly what he'd just said. "Thyrault? The Thyrault? The ruins? Dear heavens, why would you want to go there?"

"You look like someone who'd recognize a lie when she hears one, so I'll refrain."

"But Thyrault! You can't go in there! You'll break your necks - you'll - " She sputtered, worked her mouth, but was countered only by calm silence. Her gaze darted to the Meiltha captive, whose head was cocked in the epitome of casual disinterest, then back at Merrin and Kendath, the latter of which was beginning to leak impatience by the drumming of his fingers across his falchion's pommel. "You don't... you don't know where it is?" she asked at length, without conviction. "You must have seen it on your way here - it's quite prominent from the road. The ruins..."

Kendath's memory flashed back to the white city he'd sighted on dragonback. From the sea, it hadn't looked ruined, but neither could he recall any torches on its walls or ships populating its harbor. It wasn't far from the town, perhaps ten miles or so. How convenient. "Right, then. We're off. But first..." Stooping down, he helped himself to a shuriken and, seizing a handful of the Meiltha's hair, shoved it under his throat. "Any last words?"

"See you in hell, traitor."

"Oh, come on. Don't be boring." Another jerk on his hair elicited a sharp gasp. Kendath slowly drew the shuriken's edge across the captive's throat. "I'm sure Ironlegs wants the girl. Is he coming, then? You can't be the only one."

"Coming?" His chuckle deepened to a snarl and a cough. He tried to spit, but Kendath shoved his head back again and the saliva choked in his throat. "Have you ever had the pleasure of meeting High General Ironlegs, traitor? He doesn't merely come. He conquers. He annihilates. Be prepared. Even the gods can't save you now."

"It's not the gods we need," growled Kendath. In a deft movement, he dropped the shuriken and snatched a sliver of black from a latch on the cuirass. The same motion brought the dart plunging down into the Meiltha's neck. The captive crumpled without a whimper.

Lyssa's jaw went slack. She hastily closed it and regained enough composure to demand with a touch of haughtiness, an unmistakable trace of uncertainty: "He's - he's dead? Why? How did you - how did you find - ?"

"Hollow porcupine quill, dipped in spider's venom. Next time, make them strip off their armor too, just in case," he replied with a shrug, straightening and eyeing the body, his expression unreadable. "What else were you going to do with him? Meiltha soldiers are trained to withstand interrogation at all costs, and unless you have an arsenal of torture techniques on hand, I doubt you would have gotten much out of him." He pointedly waved Lyssa away from the door. "We'll be leaving now."

The door was alreay opened and they were already over the threshold, when Mayor Lyssa called after them, "Wait." She stood there, chewing her lip for a moment, before reaching a decision and striding forward to place a hand on both their shoulders. "The stables are across the street. Here, take this." She pressed into Merrin's hands a clinking brown sack. "Take our finest and swiftest. Head north, and you'll come across the road. It's the surest path to Thyrault. Gods be with you both."

_________________

"My things," said Merrin. She stood, momentarily stunned, the sack in her hands. Ironlegs from one side. The ever-looming threat of Shadowers on the other. Oh, gods, she couldn't breathe, couldn't think - the urgency of it pressed on her, stifling. He conquers. He annihilates. Even the gods can't save you now.

White fire flashed through her consciousness, jolting Merrin from her haze of panic. That didn't make sense. Her gods could do anything. Her gods -

"Right, take this, get horses," she said, thrusting the clinking sack at Kendath. Her palms were damp and sweaty. She rubbed them on her breeches, gulping air and collecting her thoughts. No time, no time. She raised her eyes to his, clinging to his familiarity in the horribly abrupt whirlwind of panic. "I need to say goodbye to Kiril, Adeila - get my cloak - T'mor will want to know - oh, T'mor," and for a moment Merrin was perilously close to tears. She swallowed, fists clenched, forcing herself to think, think and not freeze. She moistened her dry lips. T'mor. "I need to tell him -"

No time. She shook her head mutely and pressed the sack into his hands. "I'll meet you at the stables." And she was gone, running, running for the smithy. Every step pounded at the dull ache in her side, not quite healed. T'mor. T'mor. T'mor.

A collision with someone large and solid knocked the breath out of her and then T'mor was steadying her, expression alarmed. "Merrin? Merrin, what's -"

"No time," she gasped, eyes flying to his face. "T'mor, we have to go, have to get out of here. They're coming, he's coming. You have to leave, right now! Promise me!"

He studied her in consternation. "Why? Who's coming?"

Merrin shook her head, unable to verbalize the details. "Promise me you'll go," she repeated. "T'mor, promise me!"

He froze, grasping her by the upper arms, searching her face. "All right, I swear, I will," he said, after what seemed an age. There was time for one bone-crushing hug. Merrin hid her face against him, grappling with tears. "Stay safe," she said, and tore herself away.

Kiril, Adeila - she leaped the steps and flung herself inside. Her cloak was there, and her belt pouch. Snatching both, she spun to scan the room, and saw Kiril first. Two steps and she pressed the little girl to her fiercely, praying hard - so hard - for the protection of the gods on little Kiril. "I have to go," she said, releasing Kiril to search her face. "Ah, gods, Kiril, I'm sorry - so sorry -"

Kiril tore herself away, tears already starting to her eyes. "I knew you would!" she cried, the look of betrayal on her face cutting to Merrin's heart. "Everybody leaves! Nobody stays, nobody! Not Mama, not Uncle Pumfoot, not anyone!" The last word was so fraught with anguish that Merrin felt her own tears spilling over. She dashed a hand across her eyes. There must be something, anything, that she could do.

"Kiril, go with T'mor." The thought had passed her lips before she realized it, and the prospect galvanized Merrin into frantic action. "Aye, that's it," she gasped. "T'mor will keep you safe, Kiril, and I'll see you again. I promise."

Eyes fixed on her, Kiril swallowed. "You promise?"

"Kiril, I swear it, on my life and by the gods. Go! Run!" Merrin dug the last few coins from her belt pouch and pressed them into Kiril's hands, wishing she'd thought to bring some from Lyssa's gift. "The smithy. Tell T'mor Merrin says you're to go with him, he'll understand."

She managed to see Kiril sprinting off in the direction of the smithy and, hands trembling, snatched her cloak up and whirled to face - Adeila. For what seemed the millionth time, Merrin stumbled over the explanatory words. "We have to go. Kendath and I. They're coming, Meiltha are coming, they're after us." Merrin fumbled to fasten her cloak, breath catching in her throat. Involuntarily, she pressed a hand to her side, gulping air past the dull ache. "Thank you, thank you for everything."

_________________

"Shh, shh, dear," Adeila whispered soothingly, catching Merrin's arm with one hand and helping her fasten the cloak with the other. Closing her eyes briefly, she placed a hand over the spot that Merrin had been clutching and murmured a few words. "You must calm down, Miss Merrin. I take it your significant other is still in the village? Of course he is; I should have liked to have another glance at those ribs before he left....I should never have allowed either of you out of this house today. You're scarcely well enough to walk, much less spar with that brother of yours....Don't look so surprised, dear. I happen to be quite a bit smarter than you may think."

She paused to press a bundle into Merrin's hands. "That's more healing salve and fresh bandages; I expect you to continue treating those wounds as I instructed. Salve twice a day, clean bandage at least once. Oh, and there are some dried herbs in there, for stamina and such. Not quite as effective as they are fresh, but they'll keep longer. Goodbye, dear. Avoid the main road if you can, and please, please be careful. Svit and I happen to be quite fond of you two."

Adeila pulled the young woman into a brief hug before ushering her out the door. "Now, hurry, and the gods be with you."


Once Merrin was out of sight, Adeila closed the door and let out a weary sigh. "So much to do...." she muttered to herself, stripping the sheets from one of the cots to wash. She turned to the next one, only to find Svit staring expectantly up at her. "Not now, sweet. Mummy's very busy." She started to remove the linens anyway, only to have Svit clamber up onto her shoulder and begin chattering insistently. "The gods will take care of them, dear. You know that."

Svit merely looked pointedly over to the half-packed bag that rested in the corner.

"No, no, that was simply in case they needed me to go a certain distance with them, sweet," she replied airily as she began to gather up the sheets and transport them to a large basket. "They're evidently quite well enough to be on their own, and I gave them plenty of supplies and instructions. Besides, they have the gods watching over them. I would simply get in the way of things."

There was a moment of silence as Svit continued to stare evenly at her.

"I'm not- It's more than-" Adeila paused, casting Svit a sidelong glance as she began stripping the final cot. "I don't have to explain myself to you. I'm nearly thirty years your senior. We're not, and that's that. If the gods had intended otherwise, they would have made it much...." she trailed off as her gaze fell on the item that still hung from the hook next to the cot. Kendath's cloak. Sighing quietly, she looked back over at Svit with the tiniest of smiles. "I suppose you're feeling quite smug right now, aren't you?"



Five minutes later, Adeila finally caught up to Merrin on the road, made significantly easier by the fact that the latter still wasn't making excellent time. Adeila had donned a patched-up cape that was nearly as colorful as her robes and had a large satchel slung over one shoulder, with Kendath's cloak in one hand and a lightweight walking stick in the other. Svit was occupying his customary space on her shoulder. "Your companion left this," she commented as she came up beside Merrin. "And I'm coming with you."

Merrin looked from Adeila to the cloak, and then back at Adeila. The ache in her side had subsided to the barest twinge, but to run back from Adeila's - which wasn't in the main village - after sprinting for all she was worth to get there was a challenge she hadn't been up to. Every step brought a glance at the incongruently sunny sky for unwelcome dragonwings, every breath a burst of renewed panic. Initially, her heart gave a painful leap in her chest - a leap too often followed by a plummet. "I can't thank you enough," she started with a glance up the road, thinking of waiting Kendath, her cobalt eyes dark with anxiety, "but - you don't know - we're not running away from danger, Mistress Adeila. We're running into it."

Svit flicked out his tongue inquisitively, let himself down to the ground, and wound his trim little form around Merrin's travel-worn boot. She bent to offer him her hand to climb up, stifling a burst of sadness at leaving. He refused with a chitter.

There wasn't time. Merrin slid her hands gently around him, making to coerce him off. Still no cooperation. If anything, he wound himself tighter. "Svit," she said pleadingly. "Svit, please."

He appraised her momentarily, then sank tiny teeth into her finger in what could only be described as a message: Sorry. You haven't got any say in this one.

Merrin straightened, her worry at the time they were wasting increasing. Adeila couldn't. It was too dangerous. They could die, all of them. She swallowed, intending to voice those sentiments, feeling the urge to go, to run. She looked up.

Somehow, in meeting Adeila's eyes, she read the answer. And it told her that resistance was as futile as trying to pull Svit off her boot. "All - all right," she managed to agree, voice barely above a whisper. Her throat was tight. She tried to smile. "Thank you."

A split second more of standing there, and Svit uncurled himself and whipped back up to Adeila's shoulder imperiously. Merrin cast one more look at the sky, then motioned for Adeila to follow, breaking into a jog despite the discomfort to her side. "Kendath's waiting - we have to hurry!"

_________________

It was fifteen minutes later that Kendath exited the stables leading by the reins two stallions, their saddlebags bulging with provisions. He didn't know what he'd anticipated upon stepping out into the street - the village in chaos, perhaps, the townsfolk milling about in panic. Perhaps nothing out of the ordinary - many a village like this one had fallen to the Meiltha without a whimper. A small town like ours, they always claimed, with a humoring smile and a laugh. Why would the great Meiltha overlords be interested in a small town like ours?

They were right. The Meiltha couldn't care less. And what the Meiltha didn't care about, they annihilated. Innocent families, entire communities scattered before their feet like dust motes in the wind. Before he met Adanil, Kendath had never considered it from this vantage. No, beyond that. He'd never considered it, period. If the villagers hadn't run fast enough, that'd been their problem.

Thus, the sight in the commons knocked him entirely off his guard. The villagers weren't running. Quite the opposite.

"What in the abyss do you think you're doing?"

Mayor Lyssa didn't bother turning around to acknowledge him. She'd exchanged her dress for a leather vest and a pair of breeches. Feet apart, back rigid, she continued muttering under her breath. Not muttering. Counting. "Stay still!" she barked, and the men ceased their movements and froze with murmurs of apology. "Fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one. Sixty-two," she concluded. Her lips compressed. "What kind of soldiers are you? Form ranks!"

The sixty-two men in the village square stumbled to obey. Sixty-two trips later, they stood erect in what passed for rows. Near the middle ranks, something that resembled a hoe clattered to the ground. The units surrounding it broke formation, clutching their knives and spears. Flushing, the boy snatched up his hoe and flashed Lyssa an apologetic smile.

"Mayor..." Kendath cleared his throat.

"Whatever you're about to say, don't say it," snapped Lyssa, whirling around, eyes flashing. "They just need a little practice is all. I don't suppose you're much good at playing commander?"

"No, but - "

"Then remain silent." She sniffed, straightened her vest, and turned back to face her assembled militia. "I've been mayor of this town for twenty-four years, after my father before me and his father before him. My great-great-great grandfather was the first to settle these shores. He invited his family, then his friends. We will fight for what is ours. But why am I explaining myself? I don't expect you to understand."

The stallions skittered sideways, impatient to be moving. Not budging an inch, Kendath tightened the halters and appraised the ragtag infantry peppering the commons. Farmers, fishermen, smiths. As one, determined. As sixty-two, nitwits without a clue how to operate as a single unit. They didn't stand a chance. "Look at me, Mayor." When she didn't respond, he sighed and reiterated, emphatically, "Look at me, Lyssa."

Furious at this mode of address, she spun around.

Kendath returned her stare tenfold. "Have you ever witnessed a battle?"

Silence.

"All right, let's try again. Have you ever seen a dragon?"

That one told. The stare shattered. Jaw taut, fists clenching and unclenching by her sides, she looked about frantically, as though searching for an escape. Her eyes fell upon her newly assembled militia and broke away to slide over the town hall that symbolized her responsibility. Then she did something utterly unexpected. Lurching forward, she actually seized Kendath's forearms - his shoulders were too high to reach - and shook him. "Help me, help me! You know about dragons - you know about Meiltha - surely there must be a way - "

"There is a way, Mayor. I've been trying to tell you all along!" he growled, detaching her hands and retreating a step. "The Meiltha will outpower you. They will destroy you. Cut your roots and run. Take your boats, your horses. Get out of here." He stopped, struck by a sudden thought. Wetting his lips, he continued swiftly, "The city of Dey'tarn. In the mountains, northwest of here. If you follow the road, you should reach it in a threeday. There's a... there's a temple. The high priest can help."

Lyssa seemed to consider this. At length she straightened and nodded. "Yes. Yes, we'll do that. My town - my responsibility." She offered a thin smile. "Thank you. I... I will keep them safe. We will survive this, I swear it."

And Kendath found that he wanted to believe her very, very much.

-----

He was waiting by the road, both stallions snorting and pawing the dirt behind him, when Merrin emerged from the sand dunes. For a reason he couldn't fathom, the sight of Adeila, satchel slung over her back, startled but hardly surprised him. Besides, from the set of Adeila's jaw, he doubted he could do much about it where Merrin had apparently failed. The prospect of extra company didn't appeal to him, but they could use a healer where they were going.

He accepted his cloak with a curt nod of thanks and squinted at the road ahead. One side fell away to sand dunes and the warm, panoramic seascape that'd become so familiar. The other nestled against the shadows of a verdant maritime forest. Ahead, the white spires of Thyrault lanced with pristine brilliance into the gold-specked skies.

"Ready?" Kendath swung himself onto the saddle and nudged his mount forward, but not without a final backwards glance at the small fishing village sprawled under the afternoon sun. Innocence never lasts.

_________________

The knot of panic in Merrin's midsection had loosened, but she couldn't help twisting to scan the village and search the skies until the village itself, nestled between smooth sand dunes, was no longer visible. When the beaten dirt road, nothing but a darker ribbon winding through the unoccupied coastal sand, curved around the shoulder of a cliff to duck under the shadows of the forest, she let out a subdued breath.

The horse, remarkably immune to Merrin's anxiety, plodded steadily on beneath her. The path, dappled by sunlight filtering through leaves, stretched away from them into forest. No dragons from the skies. No threat - nothing except Merrin's urge to look behind her at every turn.

Stop it. They're fine. T'mor's fine, Kiril's fine. We're safe. The last was not true, and Merrin knew it. They hadn't been safe. Not for a long time.

Disgusted at herself - they'd seen no threat, nothing except the sneering Meiltha captive, that remnant of an event Merrin wanted so badly to forget - she glanced sidelong, at Kendath. He'd been silent, which wasn't unusual, but even at the addition of Adeila, all he'd offered was a nod.

She bit her lip, unsure how to ask the question that rose readily to her mind. "The village," she started. "The Meiltha...they're only after us. They wouldn't..."

Unasked, a vision of a village, very like the one they'd just left, rose to her mind. A village reduced to a charred carcass by Shadowers devoid of anything resembling mercy. Merrin felt momentarily sick. "Oh, gods, I want it to end," she burst, bleakly terrified of what lay behind, and even more of what lay ahead. I want somewhere that's home, somewhere the people I love won't die because they're the people I love. I can't bear it...not knowing...not knowing until the end whether I'll live or die...

Lips tightening, unwilling to voice her own fears, Merrin fell silent, willing the world to stop closing in around her, longing to fall back into anonymity and be not the Chosen of the gods...only Merrin, whose actions would not change the world, were they good or ill. Miserably, she spurred her horse ahead, simultaneously aching for the end and terrified of what it brought.

_________________

Adeila rode along steadily but a touch uneasily, being somewhat unused to riding in general. Horses rarely had a use in such a small village, save as farm animals or transportation for the rare long-distance messenger. She had learned to ride, of course, and did occasionally use a horse for when she needed to reach a farther-away farm with especial haste, but for the most part preferred to walk everywhere. It didn't help that the horse wasn't particularly accustomed to creatures like Svit scampering around and perching everywhere from its hindquarters to the top of its head, either, though it seemed to be gradually adjusting.

As they continued to follow the path, Adeila glanced over at Merrin, noting again just how young the girl truly was. It nearly made her question why the gods would make such a choice, though they no doubt had their reasoning. But to take such bright, pure innocence and force it out into the darkness of the world, where it seemed destined to be snuffed out forever....

Adeila was sympathetic by nature; it was partly why she had gone into healing in the first place. She couldn't bear to see others suffer, especially not those who had done nothing to deserve such a fate. And in Merrin's eyes, she saw a suffering far too deep for any one mortal to endure.

She appraised the young woman for a moment longer before easing her horse a bit closer to Merrin's. After all, what was the purpose of a healer if not to ease suffering, even if just the tiniest bit? "You and T'mor seem quite close, dear," she began conversationally, deliberately selecting an easy topic. "How many years are between you?"