Taelord looked at the strange wooden device before him. It had been erected in an empty space, where the Rows, Maze, and Keep all met. It was the closest thing Helsng had to a central location – a spot where workers, Merchants, and soldiers could easily run across each other.

“What is it?” he asked a laborer standing nearby. She was one of several who were there, all watching the device with apprehension.

“Nasyka,” she whispered. “An execution device,” she added, when Taelord glanced at her in confusion.

The Empire needed a device for execution? Taelord found the concept odd. In the Volcarren, one simply ran another through with a shard of bone until they were dead.

“The bars swing down,” the woman said, pointing to two rows of bars which currently were in a vertical position, pointing towards the sky. “They form a cage so the man can’t escape. His wings are bound with leather, so he can’t fight back, and then his head is locked in place.” She pointed to a small block, with a hole in the middle large enough for a kyrie neck. It seemed to have a top and bottom half, and Taelord could see hinges on one side. “Then blades come in,” the woman whispered, “from either side, and…”

She didn’t need to go on. She turned and hastened away, leaving Taelord to contemplate the unpleasant device on his own.

He was alone, which hadn’t been the case for some time. He hadn’t been properly by himself since Vraen was killed. Rehs had wanted to come with him to see the device – the Nasy— whatever the woman had called it. The death machine. But G’shar had held him back. Seeing Jer, he had pieced together that Rehs had been involved – however minutely – in the plan to free Leran. Taelord had left when tempers began to rise.

He had thought maybe his mother would want to come with him, but she hadn’t. She had left shortly after Marenn, saying she wanted to go to the Rows. When Taelord had asked her why, she had shown him a small sack she had taken from under her bed in Srung. It had contained three rolls of a silky white material.

Taklay bandages. The Red Taklay was a predator few Volcarrens chose to hunt. The size of a man, it could spit acidic venom, and encased those it killed in silk cocoons, preserving them for later. It was that silk which made them such a tempting target.

Something in the silk helped injuries heal. A single bandage could repair most minor injuries in a matter of days. That, combined with the danger and rarity of Taklays, made the bandages highly valued. Fera had said she wanted to trade them, see if she couldn’t barter for some food and other supplies.

Taelord had been unsure about letting her wander Helsng on her own, especially after he had just told Runa how dangerous it was. But his mother had insisted on going by herself, and G’shar had assured him that no one would dare harm a subject of Utgar. Taelord supposed that made sense. Had Runa known that, or had the thought never even entered her mind?

So Taelord had come here instead, to where the execution would take place. Leran would be slain within a matter of hours. The news had spread quickly, and Taelord could practically feel the tension in the city. No one seemed to be on the streets – all the people were staying in their homes. Taelord had seen them, through open doors or windows, sitting around tables or in chairs, not speaking, some with old family weapons in their laps, others idly holding farming tools.

If the Empire went through with their plan to execute Leran, what would happen? Would the people rebel then and there? Charge the keep and the soldiers? They would be cut down instantly. The keep was bristling with guards – Taelord had seen them coming and going at the dark hole which was the entrance to the dome-like structure.

And if they didn’t rebel, what then? Runa could think what she wanted; Taelord knew it was only a matter of time.

He found himself looking eastward, toward where he had been told Haukeland lay. That was their one way out. If the scouts returned and Haukeland was habitable, they could still leave.

But would they? Should they? Taelord didn’t want to just abandon the people here, and he knew he wasn’t the only one. Many were like Kran – determined to help. And some, like Veth, were eager for revenge against the Empire. If Utgar commanded they go to Haukeland, might most of his Volcarrens simply… ignore him?

Taelord’s thoughts were interrupted by a cry. He turned quickly, and saw a figure dashing away from the device – he was moving so fast that he was only a blur, but Taelord caught a glimpse of brown wings and orangish skin, and a face which seemed only half there – though he quickly decided it must simply be a leather mask which came halfway down the face, leaving the mouth and jaw exposed. Then the figure was gone, escaping in the maze of buildings nearby.

Taelord glanced at the device, and saw smoke rising from it in several places. Flames curled up the supports and washed across the main platform. The bars which would swing down to hold Leran in place suddenly turned into columns of fire, tongues of flame leaping, trying to reach the sky.

“Water!” a nearby guard bellowed. “Someone bring water!”

But the closest water was the river, and none of the watching laborers seemed inclined to help. A small crowd grew, watching, Taelord among them, as the entire device turned to fire.

A cloud of smoke grew above the device. Soldiers finally arrived carrying wooden buckets of water from the keep, but they were too late. The fire they doused turned to smoke, revealing blackened wood which crumbled as the water hit it. The device was destroyed. Someone had taken matters into their own hands.

Taelord didn’t know if he should feel relieved or more worried. Leran wouldn’t be executed immediately, but neither would the Empire simply ignore this. Judging by the murmuring of the crowd as the fire was put out, Taelord guessed he wasn’t the only one wondering what would come next.

They didn’t have long to wait. As the last of the fire was put out, revealing the smoking wreckage below, a kyrie stepped from the keep.

Taelord knew instantly, from a single look at him, that this kyrie was a commander, a general, someone in charge. He wore full plate – not the partial armor of the guards, but a full suit of battle armor. The edges were tinted with gold and blue, and a symbol was embossed on the breastplate: A collection of curving lines forming a half circle, with a single star above them – the symbol of the Empire. He wore no helm, allowing his yellow-blonde hair to fall past the collar of his armor. His face was lined, creased at the moment with a frown.

He approached the burning wreckage, charcoal disintegrating to ash under his plated feet, and stopped, observing the destruction. Then he turned to the small crowd of farmers who had assembled.

“The lawbreaker Leran will be executed as planned,” he said. “The Empire cannot allow its laws to be disregarded. The burning of a Nasyka will not stop that. He will be beheaded with an axe if necessary, but he will die. Today, at noon.”

He turned to leave.

“Murderer!” someone shouted from deep within the crowd. The farmers stirred uneasily.

The commander slowly turned back to face them. “I know you see these laws as unjust,” he said. “In a different life, I might have even agreed with you. But they are laws. Without them, without the Empire, there is nothing. There is only the strength of one man’s arm to hold back chaos and death. And I know – as will you if you continue – that such strength is not enough. There must be order. There must be obedience.”

“Obedience must be earned!” someone else shouted from within the crowd. It was impossible to tell who had spoken.

“Who are you?” another voice shouted. “We don’t know you! Give us Yiven! Let him speak to us!” There were several shouts of agreement.

“Yiven is no longer regent of Helsng,” the commander said.

A dead silence met his words.

“He has – a few short hours ago – been replaced by the command of the Emperor himself. The Emperor felt that the situation in this city was deteriorating too quickly under Yiven’s leadership, and he sent me to set things right. I am Jandar. I am your regent now.”

There was a moment of quiet whispering. From what he heard, Taelord gathered that Jandar was known to some, though not very well.

“Lord Jandar,” someone said, stepping forward. Taelord recognized Jer. “If it is true that you have replaced Yiven, then you can overturn his decision to execute Leran. At least hear me, and my case for doing so.”

“I have reviewed your plea,” Jandar said, “and regrettable though it is, I must stand by Yiven’s judgement. The law is clear. Leran broke it.” He paused. “I am sorry,” he added. “The Emperor himself has demanded that the situation in Helsng be brought under control, and leniency will only make things worse.”

Jer stepped back, looking as if he had been slapped in the face, and Jandar looked over the crowd.

“Some of you,” he said after moment, “might know that a rebel force is near.”

The crowd immediately broke into whispers.

“You might be considering joining it,” Jandar continued, silencing the whispers. “Or you might think that they will take Helsng. My orders come from the Emperor himself. If you do the former, you will be punished when the rebels are met by an Imperial army. And if you hope for the latter, you will be disappointed. These rebels have taken small farming villages and fishing ports with little resistance. Their rebellion will end here, at the borders of Helsng. If any of you thought there might be a riot, or a revolution, or an overthrowing of the Empire, know this: the rebellion is over.”

He turned and left, whispering rising behind him like the smoke now coiling in the air.

Taelord and Rehs were both distracted at breakfast. Rehs was eager – Taelord guessed he was waiting for word that Kiran had broken Leran out of the Imperial dungeons. Taelord feared hearing the same.

Everything seemed to be falling apart. War seemed closer every time Taelord woke. He still had the broadsword he had taken from Srung, and he slept with it nearby, half expecting to be woken from sleep by the sounds of battle.

There was of course a logical way to look at it. War was probably going to happen with or without the Volcarrens. There was no reason that they couldn’t just leave, whether or not it started. And maybe that was exactly what Taelord would have to do – flee Helsng with his mother and find somewhere else to stay. But it would mean leaving G’shar and his family to their own devices.

But then what could he do? He hadn’t caused this, and he certainly couldn’t stop it. Taelord frowned, and forced himself to eat more of the breakfast Syafa had put before him. He wanted peace. He hated the Empire. But he needed peace.

There had been no word yet. Had the Empire decided to release Leran? Had they even heard Jer? Or had Kiran already penetrated the keep, and freed Leran?

The only word had been from Kran – he had knocked on G’shar’s door late last night to deliver a message from Utgar to all the Volcarrens: not to take any action against the Empire which could lead to war. Veth and Scar-shoulder had frowned at the words, and Rehs had looked disappointed. Taelord only hoped the Volcarrens would listen.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knocking at the door. G’shar frowned. Rehs, Veth, and Scar-shoulder looked up eagerly. Taelord looked at the door fearfully, as did Aiiva. Syafa glanced at her husband. Taelord’s mother continued eating.

G’shar stood, and pulled the door open. “Marenn!” he cried.

A man who looked to be about G’shar’s age stood at the door. He was no common laborer, Taelord could see that instantly. He had the orange-brown skin of a Southern kyrie, but he had an air about him of being well-kept. He wore the wool trousers and shirt most farmers wore, but he also had on a leather vest over them, which was clean and looked new. His hands and face were clean, as where G’shar’s were almost always somewhat dirty from working in the fields.

“G’shar!” he said, embracing him like an old friend.

“Come in,” G’shar said, gesturing at his own seat.

Marenn stepped inside, and G’shar closed the door.

“Rehs, Aiiva,” G’shar said, “this is Marenn. We were both in Kelen’s army. We fought together in the Midland campaigns. I owe my life to him several times over.”

“And I owe mine to you,” Marenn said, sitting down. “So we’re even.” He smiled at Syafa. “I feel like I know you,” he said. “G’shar talked about you so often that sometimes I felt like I’d known you my whole life.”

Syafa smiled and busied herself ladling some breakfast into a bowl.

“You’ve done alright for yourself, G’shar,” Marenn said, leaning back and glancing around the house. “Not exactly pulling in the harvest, but you’ve stayed afloat. Better than I have, anyway.”

“You’re still a freeman, though?” G’shar said quickly, standing by the door since the table was full.

“Technically,” Marenn said. “Honestly I don’t know what I am at the moment. I had to flee Taeleron.”

“Why?” Rehs asked, eager.

“Rebels,” Marenn said grimly. “The Empire must have known they were coming. Pulled out during the night, and I woke up to an army swarming through the town.”

“An army?” G’shar said. “An actual army?”

Marenn nodded. “Ill-equipped. Low on food and other supplies. But yes, a real army. Decent size, too.”

“But if they’re at Taeleron—”

“They’ll be here soon enough,” Marenn said solemnly. “Helsng is the next logical target. The Imperial garrison here won’t pull out this time though. Helsng is defensible, and there’s a Wellspring here. There will be fighting.”

Syafa put a bowl down in front of him, and then sat back down, casting a worried glance at G’shar. Everyone was silent. It was real. The rebels were coming.

“You left,” G’shar said.

Marenn nodded, attacking the food before him. “The rebels were plain about it. They needed everything I had, and they took it. A years’ crop, gone. But once they realized I didn’t want to join them, they let me go, easy as that. That was… at least three days ago now. I’ve been flying north ever since. Figured I would make it here, then get on a boat and be well away by the time the rebels got here.”

“Where will you go?” Syafa asked.

“Anywhere,” Marenn said, glancing at her. “Somewhere north. I have no love for the Empire, but the South is in turmoil right now. The rebels practically own everything south of here, and I don’t doubt their aim is to at least control all of Kinsland. They have spies everywhere, stirring up the workers.”

“You think there are spies here?” Rehs said, barely able to keep the excitement from his voice.

“I’m sure of it,” Marenn said, chewing. He swallowed. “And the Empire is too, for that matter. They stopped me on my way in, asked me who I was and where I was from. Wanted to know what I was doing here. Told them, plain as day. Don’t know if they believed me though.”

“Why wouldn’t they believe you?” Aiiva asked, her voice sounding small.

“They’re looking for spies,” Marenn said darkly. “They’re desperate to catch them. It started in Taeleron with spies: soldiers getting jumped at night, barracks catching fire, prisoners being freed.”

Rehs stood, glancing at his father and then back at Marenn, a gleam in his eye. “But if there are spies here, then—”

Another knock came at the door. Everyone turned – Marenn faster than any – and fell silent as G’shar opened it.

“Is Taelord here?” a familiar voice said. “Someone said he was…”

“Runa?” Taelord said, swinging off of the bench he was sitting on and standing up. G’shar stood aside to reveal Runa standing just outside the door. She smiled when she saw Taelord.

Rehs, who had stood at Marenn’s words, now gaped at Runa stupidly, as if her arrival had temporarily robbed him of ordered thought. Behind him, Fera glanced up from her meal.

“Are you a friend of Taelord’s?” G’shar said. “Come in, come in. We’ll be somewhat cramped, but—”

“It’s fine,” Taelord said, crossing to the door. “I don’t want to interrupt Marenn.” He stepped outside with Runa, and closed the door behind himself.

“What are you doing here?” he said, turning to her.

She shrugged. “I asked around, and finally someone said they thought you were here.”

“You’ve been wandering around Helsng?” Taelord said, torn between happiness at seeing her and exasperation that she hadn’t thought of the danger. Only Runa… “It isn’t safe.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s what my father said. ‘You must stay here. It isn’t safe in the city.’”

“He was right,” Taelord said. “Don’t you realize how close things are to falling apart? If something happened to you, that could be all the Volcarrens need to attack the Empire outright.”

Runa frowned at him. “I should have known you’d be worried about the worst possible way things could turn out,” she said.

Taelord’s happiness at seeing her was quickly fading. “What else should I be worried about?” he said, folding his arms. “Or are you saying that a war isn’t inevitable?”

“Of course it isn’t inevitable,” Runa said. “It’s possible, I don’t deny that, but there’s no point in acting like it’s already here.”

Taelord glanced around. “It is already here, Runa. There is a rebel army in the south. They’ll be at Helsng soon.”

She seemed unfazed by his words. Perhaps she had already known, from hearing the reports Taelord was sure Utgar was receiving. “That doesn’t mean there will be war,” she said, shrugging. “I know it’s likely,” she said, hurrying on before he could interrupt, “but there’s a chance the Empire will listen to whatever demands they make. They don’t want a fight any more than my father does.”

“It won’t matter if the Empire listens,” Taelord said. “These people want blood, Runa. They hate the Empire, and for good reason. The Empire could outright surrender, and the rebels would probably still attack.”

“Maybe,” Runa said. “Or they might realize they can work things out without violence.”

Taelord watched her with exasperation. “How can you say that?” he finally said.

She shrugged again. “My father has a Wellspring. Many Volcarrens don’t want war. The Empire wants to avoid it. The reasons aren’t really important. What matters is that peace is possible. It can happen. We just have to make the right choices.”

“Maybe,” Taelord admitted. “Maybe there can be peace. But how likely do you think it is? How can you fly through Helsng, and still think war won’t happen?”

She frowned at him. “I choose to have hope, Taelord,” she said. “Peace is possible. I choose to believe in it.”

Taelord didn’t know what to say. Runa wasn’t blind – she saw the same city he did. But her optimism – her unquenchable optimism – it baffled him. “Why did you come here?” he finally asked.

“I wanted to talk to someone,” Runa said. “Father’s kept me in that tent ever since we got here, and every time I try to speak with him, he’s been preoccupied. About the Empire, or the Wellspring, or what could happen next. So I thought I would find you.”

“Why me?” Taelord asked.

“You talk to me,” Runa said. “At Vraen’s camp, no one wanted to be near me because I was a Valkyrie. But you didn’t care. You talked to me. We’re friends.”

Taelord stared at her blankly. “Friends?” he repeated. “Runa… I betrayed you to Ahnvad. I nearly got you killed.”

She smiled. “You weren’t trying to, though,” she said. “You were trying to fix things. Besides, I like talking to you. Usually,” she added, her smile slipping.

Taelord found himself fighting back his own smile. Runa always seemed to have that effect on him. “Well,” he said and then stopped as two soldiers dropped to the ground nearby.

They approached quickly, wearing the partial plate common amongst the guards in Helsng.

“Move,” one of them said shortly to Taelord, jerking his head to the side.

Taelord stepped away from the door. He had no desire to stand in the Empire’s way. Runa remained where she was, frowning at the guard, so Taelord put out an arm, and pulled her back as well.

The soldiers stopped before the door, and the one who had spoken hammered on it three times with his gloved fist. The door was opened by G’shar.

“Are you harboring the individual known as Marenn?” the guard asked roughly.

“Harboring?” G’shar repeated. “We aren’t ‘harboring’ anyone. Marenn is a friend, and welcome in this house any—”

The guard shoved him aside and strode past him. Inside, Taelord saw Marenn stand up from his chair.

“Marenn,” the guard said, “we are to bring you with us.”

“For what reason?”

“You are wanted for questioning, about your activities in Taeleron.”

Marenn glanced from one guard to the other. “You think I’m a spy don’t you?” he said, licking his lips. “I’m a freeman. I’m loyal to the Empire.”

“Come with us,” the second guard said, grabbing Marenn by the upper arm and practically pulling him out the door.

“Release him,” G’shar said angrily. “He’s—”

“Stay out of this,” the guard said warningly, turning to G’shar. “Unless you want to join him.”

Marenn tried to pull back against the guard’s grip. “I’m not a spy!” he protested.

The first guard grabbed his other arm, and began hauling him out of the door.

“I’m not a spy!” Marenn repeated. “I’m a subject of the Empire! You can’t—”

His words were cut off as the guards leaped skyward, snapped their wings down, and shot up and away.

Taelord watched them for a moment, Marenn growing smaller in the sky, still struggling fruitlessly against the two guards.

“I should go,” Runa said.

Taelord looked down.

“Father thinks I’m still in the tent,” she said. “If he finds out…” She shook her head, and leapt to the air, winging her way towards Utgar’s pavilion.

G’shar remained standing just inside the doorway, still looking at the sky, where Marenn and Runa had disappeared. “We need to leave,” he said, looking down.

Syafa glanced at him.

“It’s not safe here,” he said. “I’ve misjudged things – put us all in danger. We need to get out now, before things get worse.”

Syafa nodded, though she looked frightened. Inside, Taelord could see Aiiva, glancing between her mother and father, fearful. Rehs was still sitting at the table, silent, staring at his empty bowl. For once, Fera seemed to be listening, watching G’shar attentively.

“There’s a boat,” Taelord said, making up his mind. “The Windchaser, Yesen’s fishing boat. He said he could take your family away from here in a few days’ time.”

“We’ll be on it,” G’shar said without hesitation. “As will you,” he added over his shoulder, to Rehs. Rehs said nothing.

He turned back to Taelord, frowning. “I don’t know how this will play out for your people,” he said. “But, if possible… you are welcome to come with us. It will be just as dangerous here for you as it would be for us – more so in fact. The fishers will not turn away another able body.”

“I…” Taelord paused. Could he leave? Should he? It was certainly dangerous in Helsng, and it would only get worse. Leaving was probably the best thing he could do. The best chance of staying safe. It would mean leaving Runa, but…

The small flicker of hope within Taelord winked out. Utgar would never let him leave. He knew the location of the Wellspring. He should have remembered that. As long as he knew, Utgar would want him nearby, where he could keep an eye on him. He would have to stay. He would have to—

“Rehs!”

A shout interrupted Taelord’s thoughts. He turned, and saw Jer approaching at a fast walk.

Rehs appeared in the doorway. “What is it?” he called, grimacing as G’shar looked between him and Jer with confusion.

“It’s failed,” Jer said, drawing up a short distance away. “I spoke to Yiven, but he refused. So Kiran went in, and we waited, and… Rehs, they got him. They… They killed him, trying to get Leran out. Ran him through in the halls. He’s dead.”

“Kiran,” G’shar said slowly. “Isn’t he the one—”

“It gets worse,” Jer interrupted. “The Empire… They’ve reached a decision. Leran will be executed. Today. At noon.”

Utgar’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. She was there, a small form huddled in a nest of blankets and furs. Runa hadn’t awoken. That was good. Utgar let the cloth divider fall back into place.

When Yiven had appeared earlier that night, Utgar had feared that his voice would wake Runa. But it hadn’t. Utgar had told Yiven to leave; the matter would be taken care of. Yiven had tried to protest, but upon further reflection, had seemed to decide leaving might be in his best interests.

Utgar returned to the front of the pavilion, where he sat down on one of the chairs the farmers had provided. Runa, he thought, staring at the ground. You deserve better. So much better. He had tried to give that to her. He had been trying ever since she had been born. Why did it have to be so hard?

She didn’t like staying here, hidden away in this tent. Utgar knew that. But what could he do? Let her wander Helsng? The city was on the brink of revolt. If it weren’t for the insurance of the Wellspring in the keep, he would never have even come here in the first place.

Had he made the wrong decision? Should he have simply trusted the Empire from the start? He shook his head at the idea. They had imprisoned them all in the Volcarren. They had fought hard to keep them there. No, the only reason the Empire was cooperating at all was because Utgar could wipe them off the face of the world if he wanted to. Utgar needed to be near that Wellspring. Just in case.

“My Lord Utgar?” Dered’s head appeared at the tent entrance. “Kran is here.”

Utgar nodded, and Dered pulled the tent flap open, letting Kran enter.

Utgar had seen the Volcarren only a few times, and then only in passing. He had forgotten just how large he was. He was a good half a head taller than Utgar, and Utgar himself was taller than most. Utgar stood, attempting to shorten the height difference as much as possible.

“Kran,” Utgar said. “I trust you can guess why you are here?”

“I have an idea, Valkyrie,” Kran said evenly.

“You challenged the Empire. You interfered in their business. Yiven himself came to me not long ago, demanding that I punish you in some way.”

Kran was silent. He stood stiffly, staring at a point somewhere above Utgar’s head, his massive arms at his sides. Utgar noted that he carried a bone-axe, tied to his waist with a simple rope.

“I have no intention of punishing you,” Utgar said. “Yiven has no place demanding such things, and I told him exactly that. The Volcarrens are my responsibility.”

“Then why am I here?” Kran said, still staring above Utgar.

“Because I want to talk to you,” Utgar said. “Sit down,” he added, gesturing at another chair nearby. “We aren’t an army, and you aren’t a soldier.”

Kran glanced at the chair, and then sat. Utgar sat as well, noting as did so that the chair looked too small for Kran.

“You’ve put me in a difficult position,” Utgar said. “You realize that, don’t you?”

“I do,” Kran said, his voice measured. “But the position the Empire put Leran and Nya in was more difficult. Respectfully.”

“Perhaps,” Utgar said. “But it still wasn’t your place to interfere.”

“Wasn’t it?” Kran said, finally meeting Utgar’s eyes. “Valkyrie, we won our freedom because we were willing to stand up to the Empire. I won’t now let that same Empire hurt these people, not when we can do something about it.”

Utgar frowned. “I too sympathize with these people,” he said, “and I would help them if I could. But we have to consider the future. If we are to have peace, we have to stay out of this conflict. I don’t like that – I doubt any of us do – but we can’t risk a war.”

“Why?” Kran said bluntly. He watched Utgar for a moment. “You are a Valkyrie,” he said. “You would win any war.”

Utgar had expected that argument. “I don’t fear winning or losing,” he said. “I fear the war itself. We need a future, Kran, not endless conflict.”

“A future?” Kran repeated. “Valkyrie, what kind of future do you think we can have? Do you know what the Volcarrens want? What they expect to happen? I want peace as well, but I don’t think we’ll have it. Not this way.”

Utgar frowned. “What do you mean?” he said. “What is it that the Volcarrens want?”

Kran shrugged. “It differs,” he said. “Some want war. They hate the Empire and are ready for a fight. They’ll take any excuse – including the oppression of the Empire – to start one.

“Some few want peace. They’re tired of conflict, and are ready to make lives for themselves, here or in Haukeland. But they fear the Empire. They think that as long as the Empire remains, it will be a threat to them. Many of them also sympathize with the people here, and don’t wish to leave them to the Empire. They see war as necessary.”

“And you?” Utgar said. “You don’t strike me as a warmonger or one interested only in peace.”

“No,” Kran agreed. “I feel that most Volcarrens are like me – in the middle. We have no particular desire for war, but we also feel that we owe these people. They’ve given us food and shelter, and now it’s our turn to help them.” He leaned forwards. “This oppression of the Empire is wrong,” he said. “It has to end. I don’t want war, but neither am I afraid of it.”

Utgar was silent for a time. Hearing it from Kran, he realized: he should have paid more attention to those who followed him. He should have taken the time to understand what they wanted, and how they might react to the Empire. By bringing them here, he had put them in direct contact with those many of them considered mortal enemies.

Had he been a fool? Perhaps. But he still needed to be near the Wellspring. That hadn’t changed. What was done was done – he doubted the Volcarrens would leave now even if he asked them to. From what he had seen, many of them – like Kran – were too invested in the fates of the farmers here.

No, the only thing he could do now was wait. Wait and hope.

“I appreciate your words,” he said to Kran. “But we can’t have war. Our best hope is Haukeland. We must continue to wait for the scouts to return, and then leave.” Haukeland might have been a ploy of the Empire’s, but it was still their best chance for a deal.

“And if their report is unfavorable?” Kran asked.

“I don’t know,” Utgar admitted. “For right now, we must avoid getting involved. The Empire has every right to demand that we stay out of things; more involvement will only make this unrest worse.”

He glanced at Kran. “You seem to know the Volcarrens better than I do,” he said after a moment. “How would you ensure peace?”

Kran looked at him for a moment, his expression hard to read. “I’m not sure that we can,” he finally said. “Truthfully, I’m not even sure that we should.” He paused. “Many will want to stay and help these people,” he said. “Even if the scouts do return from Haukeland with favorable reports. I count myself among them. It’s the right thing to do, Valkyrie,” he added.

For a moment, they watched each other. Utgar considered Kran’s words. For a brief, terrible minute, he considered them. He was a Valkyrie. He could demand anything he wanted of the Empire. He could help all these people. And what then? He wasn’t invincible. The Empire could slip a knife between his ribs while he slept, or harm Runa. He couldn’t take that risk.

“No,” he said standing. “I can’t risk war.”

Kran stood as well, watching him.

“I’m sorry,” Utgar said. “I really am. I want to help these people, but we need peace. All of us. Go back to the Volcarrens, and tell them that no action is to be taken against the Empire which might lead to war.”

Kran was silent for a moment. “What of Leran?” he said. “If the Empire executes him, there may be nothing even you can do to prevent a war. You could demand that he be released. Prevent a war, if you aren’t willing to start one.”

Utgar shook his head. “If I did that, I would be siding against the Empire. I can’t interfere, Kran. I’m sorry.”

Kran nodded slowly. “I will take your words back to the other Volcarrens,” he said. “But I feel that this war is coming whether we interfere or not. When it does… You may need to interfere, Utgar. You may not have a choice.”

Then he turned, and left.

Utgar sat back down. What Kran had said was true. The execution of Leran could easily cause a riot, and a riot could start a full-scale rebellion. And yet if Utgar interfered as he knew he could – the Empire would have no choice but to follow the demands of a Valkyrie – might he not start the same thing? The Volcarrens would be emboldened, the Empire would fear what he might do next… No, he had to stay uninvolved. It was the only way. But still… was it the right choice?

Taelord’s decision to accompany Rehs to the meeting of farmers didn’t sit well with him for the rest of the day. It wasn’t so much what they were bound to discuss which bothered him. It was the fact that he hadn’t told G’shar.

He kept telling himself it wasn’t his place to interfere, but that didn’t make him feel any better. G’shar had taken him in, given him food and a place to sleep, and the first thing Taelord did was accompany his son to a meeting of people who would probably start some sort of riot.

And still, he said nothing. When G’shar offered him a second helping of dinner that night, he tried to decline, but the words wouldn’t come out. He ended up only nodding feebly, and Aiiva put another bowl before him.

Why? Why didn’t he tell G’shar what Rehs was planning that night? Taelord couldn’t answer that. All he knew was that he had no love for the Empire, and – though he told himself this wasn’t their fight – he wanted to see them defeated. He shook his head. Peace. He wanted peace. That was what he had told himself over and over since he left the Volcarren. Why couldn’t he have that?

Jer’s house wasn’t far, as Rehs had said, and before Taelord could find a satisfactory answer, he found himself before the door, he and Rehs having snuck out. Veth and Scar-shoulder were there too. Rehs knocked, the door was opened by Jer, and they moved inside.

Jer’s home was very similar to G’shar’s in shape. However – as Rehs had told Taelord – Jer was a farmer – albeit a rather successful one – not a freeman, and the difference was noticeable. There were no stone walls or fine wood beams to support the ceiling. The home was made of hardened mud bricks, the roof formed out of poles with animal hides stretched across them.

There was only one room. The house was circular, the only stone in the home being the fireplace, which was set against one side of the house. Against the far side were several beds – little better than the straw Taelord slept on now. He counted three smaller beds for children, and quickly spotted them: three small, dark faces, watching the assembling farmers and Volcarrens from the shadows behind the hearth. A woman – presumably their mother – sat by the fireplace on a simple stool, mending a pile of worn clothes.

“Alright,” Jer called over the low murmur of voices which filled the house. “I believe everyone is here who said they would come.” Taelord glanced around – there were at least twenty of them, including the massive form of Kran in the middle, Nya beside him.

Silence fell, and Jer lowered his voice to a normal level. “We all know why we’re here,” he said. “We believe the Empire has no right to hold Leran. Whether it’s lawful for them or not is irrelevant – we believe it’s wrong. The question now is: what do we do about it?”

“Our goal must be to free him,” Kran said, his voice slow and thoughtful. “And to keep him that way. However we do this, it must end with his family fleeing this city.”

Nya nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, we must flee. If we stay, the Empire will just come after him again.”

“The question then becomes,” Jer said, “just how do we get him out? Leran is being held in the Imperial prison, deep within the walls of the keep. The Empire doesn’t even allow laborers within those walls.”

“I can get him out,” a voice said.

Everyone turned, and Taelord saw a dark-skinned kyrie leaning against the far wall. He didn’t remember seeing him at the Docks.

“Kiran,” the kyrie said. “You may have heard of me.”

“Who is he?” Taelord whispered to Rehs, as murmurs filled the room.

“Resistance fighter,” Rehs whispered back, wide eyes on Kiran. “He’s been imprisoned at least three times, but he just keeps breaking out, usually taking other prisoners with him. He’s opened the gates for rebels, burned Imperial garrisons – I had no idea he was here. I thought he was further north.”

“We’re not looking to start a rebellion,” one of the farmers said, frowning at Kiran. “We just want to free Leran.”

“And I can make that happen,” Kiran said calmly.

“Undoubtedly,” Jer said, a frown on his face. “But I think we should consider alternatives before we try to break him out.”

“Can we reason with the Empire?” Kran asked. “Make them pardon Leran? Show them he had no choice?”

Kiran gave a snort of laughter, but most of the others nodded slowly to themselves.

“They might listen,” Jer said. “It’s no secret they want to avoid a rebellion, and freeing Leran would certainly go a long ways towards preventing any rash actions.” He spared a glance at Kiran.

“Who will they listen to, though?” a farmer asked. “They probably won’t let us even speak, and it’s not like we can bribe our way into a meeting with them.”

“They’ll let me speak,” Jer said. “I might be a laborer, but I am descended – distantly – from a noble family of merchants. They’ll hear me.”

“And if that doesn’t work?” Kiran said, still leaning comfortably against the wall. “If they hear your words, then throw them right back at you?”

“Then we’ll try it your way,” Jer said, his mouth set. “I don’t think we have another option.”

The farmers nodded, some looking grim.

“It’s settled then,” Kran said. “Jer, you will speak to the Empire, and try to get Leran released. If they deny you—”

“Then I’ll free him before the moon rises,” Kiran said. He stood. “Be ready,” he added to Kran and Nya. “Once he’s free, you’ll need to fly.”

There was a knock at the door, sharp and sudden, and everyone jumped. Jer crossed the room.

“Who knocks at this hour of the night?” he called through the door.

“I bring a message,” came the reply, “from Lord Utgar.”

Jer opened the door, and a Volcarren stepped inside. He seemed unsurprised to find so many kyrie crammed into the house. “Kran,” he said, stopping just inside the room, “Utgar requests your presence.”

Kran frowned. “When?”

“Now. He’s waiting for you.”

Kran’s frown deepened. “Surely he didn’t listen to the whining of the Empire?”

“I don’t know,” the Volcarren said. “They spoke with him, and he sent them away, then sent me to find you. I heard you were here.”

Kran shrugged. “I’ll be back soon,” he said to Nya. He crossed the room to where the Volcarren stood, and they left together.

“You had all better leave as well,” Jer said. “I doubt the Empire will be very understanding if we’re all found here together.”

Kiran nodded and left immediately, a breeze of cool air entering the home as he opened the door. Taelord glanced at Rehs, who nodded, and they followed Kiran out.

They landed at the Docks a short flight later. Beyond the straight streets and large houses of the merchants – a section of the city which Rehs called the Rows – the stone streets gave way to hard ground, which was packed with low buildings. These were made out of the earth itself, sod walls giving way to wooden slats which formed the support for more sod, which formed the roof. Sparse grass grew over the sod, so that each building looked like a large, uniformly shaped, mossy boulder.

“Are these… houses?” Taelord asked as they landed amongst them. They each had a wooden door, but no windows that Taelord could see.

“Storehouses,” Rehs said. “Every merchant has one – some have more. The merchants are constantly trading and buying – they need somewhere to put everything they have, so they put it here, close to the Rows and the boats. This way,” he said, “there will be more action by the docks.

He led the way through the storehouses. A few were open, allowing Taelord to see sacks and barrels crammed into them, kyrie going in and out.

They emerged from the storehouses a few moments later, the ground giving way to wooden planks. A sudden cool breeze struck Taelord, along with an upswing in noise as a throng of kyrie came into view. Beyond the kyrie were great wooden things, which Taelord guessed were the boats. And below and beyond them, there was… water.

Taelord had of course seen water before. The Toxic River which divided the Volcarren from Kinsland was plenty wide. But it was also covered in steam, its shores encrusted with white and yellow. It had been something to avoid, a sight to fear.

The river Taelord now saw was the opposite. Its waters were blue – bluer than he had expected. The color alone made them look clean and inviting – a stark contrast to the fetid yellow of the Toxic River. The water lapped gently against the edge of the docks and the sides of the boats, and birds flew overhead, calling shrilly.

Taelord paused, trying to take it all in.

“What do you think?” Rehs said, turning to him and grinning. “I bet they didn’t have anything like this in the Volcarren.”

Taelord shook his head, his eyes still drawn to the blueness of the water. It was a moment until he noticed again the mass of kyrie before them.

The dock was alive with them. They were streaming on and off the boats, carrying sacks, crates, barrels… carts were waiting near the boats, being loaded or unloaded, and everywhere Taelord turned, people seemed to be doing something. Many of the kyrie – particularly those overseeing things – were Northern kyrie. They had bluish or pale skin, fair hair, and seemed to be slightly taller than others. Those who were unloading the carts were clearly Southern – they had orangish-brown skin, dark hair and eyes, and seemed to walk with a stoop, their wings folded tightly to their backs.

Among them however were many Volcarrens, and they stood out. Their red skin and black leathery wings were hard to miss, and they seemed just as tall as the Imperials. Most of them were standing on the docks, staring at the water and the boats just as Taelord had been.

None of them were alone. Each seemed to have a small entourage of kyrie – all Southern – who were laughing and talking, pointing to the boats and carts.

As Taelord watched, several Volcarrens were approached and pressed with gifts of food, all of which they accepted easily. Taelord wasn’t surprised – you learned to take food when you could get it in the Volcarren.

He glanced to the side, and saw an elderly Volcarren sitting on a barrel, surrounded by a group of children – surely none older than five – all of whom were listening with rapt attention as he told them tales of survival in the Wasteland.

A few Volcarrens even ran through the crowd, chasing girls, all of whom seemed to be shrieking with laughter as they wove between the carts and workers.

Not all of the Volcarrens seemed to be enjoying themselves, however. There were quite a few Imperial soldiers on the docks, watching over the goods being transported to and from the ships, and very nearly every last one of them was eying the Volcarrens with frowns. The Volcarrens, in turn, were watching them intently, as if they were sizing up their target, considering when and where to strike. Their hands were on their axes, and with them, several Southern kyrie were watching the guards as well, similar expressions on their faces.

Rehs didn’t seem to notice. He led Taelord through the crowds, to the very edge of the docks, where some smaller boats were moored.

These looked much less grand than the larger boats Taelord had noticed. They were flatter, with only a single deck, and a hold below. Most of the deck seemed to be devoted to a massive system of pulleys and lines, the ropes as thick as Taelord’s arm. Resting on the back of the deck, a large net was lying in folds, and on top of it, there was a massive piece of canvas which Taelord guessed must be a sail.

Here too, kyrie were pulling barrels out of the hold, rolling them down a plank to the dock, and loading them into carts. But these kyrie were different. They were all Southern, judging by their skin color, but they looked… bigger. Tougher. Somehow more weathered. Nearly all of them had beards – uncommon here in Kinsland – and they wore strange, stiff trousers, and either a simple leather vest, or no shirt at all.

Rehs seemed to know them. “Yesen!” he called, approaching them.

A burly kyrie, with an untamed mass of reddish-black hair, looked up. “Rehs!” he bellowed, throwing aside the net he had been carrying and pulling Rehs into what Taelord thought looked like a rather painful hug. “Are you joining us again this season?” He released Rehs and looked him up and down, grinning.

“Not this time,” Rehs said. “Things are happening here in Helsng, and I want to be here when they do.”

Yesen shook his head, his smile fading. “I wouldn’t,” he said darkly, scanning the docks. Taelord saw his gaze lingering on the Volcarrens. “Once we cast off, I’m getting as far away as I can.”

“You’re leaving?” Rehs said. “Why? We could use you, Yesen. I know you have no love for the Empire.”

“I’m surprised anyone does,” Yesen said, “with the taxes they levy. But no, Rehs, I’m not staying. I’m a fisher, not a warrior. Business can only be good if you’re alive to run it.”

“This is important though,” Rehs said.

“So is your life,” Yesen said, glancing sharply at him. He put a hand on Rehs’ shoulder. “You should come with us. Your whole family. It won’t be safe here much longer – the rebels are getting bolder – they’re already in Taeleron, and I’m sure Helsng is next.”

“They’re in Taeleron?” Rehs echoed. “But that can only be good. I’ll be here when they reach Helsng, if they aren’t here already.” A gleam entered his eye. “Think of it, Yesen: freedom from the Empire. I want to be a part of that.”

Yesen nodded grimy. “You always did want to be where the action was.” He picked up his net. “Well,” he said, “we’re staying here for a few days at least – need some new crew, and we’re supposed to take on some shipments for Erianor. There’s always room for you and your family. Just think about it,” he added, when Rehs frowned. “Let your father know. We could take you all – you’d be safe in Erianor – word is that they’re staying neutral in whatever happens.”

He turned as one of the sailors behind him shouted something, and Rehs turned away, rejoining Taelord.

“How do you know them?” Taelord asked as Rehs began leading him past some of the other ships.

“I’ve always been bored with farming,” Rehs said, glancing back at the sailors. “So last season, once the crop was in, I spent a few months with them, sailing on the Windchaser – that’s their fishing boat – helping with the fishing and the sails – to see how I liked it, you know?”

“And did you?”

“I loved it,” Rehs said fervently. “They’re always sailing. They ride the winds and the currents around Valhalla, either going around the coast, or taking the big inland rivers. They catch fish, and then trade it where they stop for other things. They get to see things and go places I had only heard stories about. There’s always something happening. I was sorry to leave when it came time to plant again.”

They passed a group of silent Volcarrens, who were watching some nearby soldiers with dark looks, arms folded. Taelord watched them for a moment, before turning away.

“So go,” he said.

Rehs glanced at him.

“Yesen was right, Rehs,” Taelord said. “You should take your family and go. This is the perfect opportunity. I know you want to be here when the rebels arrive, but trust me, you don’t. I’ve been in the middle of battles and rebellions – you don’t want any part of it.”

Rehs waved his hand, as if Taelord’s words were a cloud of annoying insects. “This is important,” he said. “But more than that, it’s my duty. This is my home, my life. I have to fight for it. If I don’t, how could I expect anyone else to?”

Taelord fell silent. He wasn’t surprised by Rehs’ attitude; he had met several like him in the Volcarren, amongst the soldiers that Ahnvad used. Many had been young, eager for confrontation with the Volcarrens. Few had survived their first encounter. Taelor didn’t want that for Rehs.

But it wasn’t just him. G’shar, Syafa, Aiiva, everyone who had taken the Volcarrens in… in a rebellion, it was invariably the common people who suffered the most. Taelord shook his head. What could he do? If Rehs’ own father couldn’t convince him to avoid conflict with the Empire, Taelord doubted that he stood much chance.

They wandered about the dock for some time. The activity never seemed to lessen. Small boats came and went, taking on passengers or unloading nets of fish. The larger boats continued to take on supplies, and everywhere Taelord looked, carts seemed to be moving, delivering goods to different storehouses.

Not all of the carts came from boats though. Most of them came from a narrow dirt road which seemed to run along the edge of the Rows, leading back to the area of Helsng Rehs lived in – which Taelord learned was called the Maze. He could understand where the name had come from.

Neary all of the carts seemed to contain sacks of grain. They were piled high, but the carts just kept coming. One after another, they stopped at a storehouse, several Southern kyrie unloading the sacks and lodging them inside, then the cart would turn around and go back the way it had come, making way for yet another cart.

“Where’s it all going?” Taelord finally asked Rehs, after watching the tenth cart in a row deliver its cargo. He couldn’t see how the storehouse could hold it all.

Rehs shrugged. “It’s up to the merchants,” he said. “Most will be sold in the Rows. Some will be shipped off to other cities.”

“The merchants buy the grain?”

Rehs glanced at him. “Buy it?” he repeated. “They own it.”

“But…” Taelord glanced back at the road. “The farmers…”

“They own the farmers too.” Rehs frowned at him. “How did they run things in the Volcarren?”

“No one ran anything,” Taelord said. “We all just tried to survive.”

“I suppose that makes sense…” Rehs shook his head. “Well, the merchants – most of whom are Northern Imperials – own everything, including the workers. The workers have to give whichever merchant owns them everything they produce. All of it. The merchant then returns enough for the workers to keep working and sells the rest. They have to send some of the money they make to the workers too, so they can buy things they need, but it isn’t much. Most of the workers here are farmers, so most of the merchants deal with grain.”

“And you,” Taelord said. “You’re farmers? You’re… owned by a merchant?”

Rehs scowled. “We’re freemen,” he said. “That’s the only way I could leave with the fishers for a season. Workers aren’t allowed to leave the city unless they have permission from their merchant. Freemen can come and go as they please.”

“And what does that mean? Freemen?”

“Freemen are workers who’ve managed to buy themselves from the merchants,” Rehs said. “Father scraped together enough to buy his freedom, and mother’s too, before me and Aiiva were born. It means we’re technically merchants, free to go anywhere we please.

“But in reality we’re almost just as bad off. Merchants have to pay huge taxes to the Empire. The Imperials – the ones with workers – they can afford it. But the freemen, like us, we need to pay for it all ourselves. Technically we own everything we produce, but we have to give nearly all of it to the Empire anyway, just to keep them from taking everything we own.”

“They could do that?” Taelord said. “Come and take… what?”

“Our freedom,” Rehs said darkly. “If we can’t pay the taxes, then whoever we owe money to can claim us as workers. We’d stop being freemen, and become their property, working their land, giving everything we make to them.”

“How is that…”

“Right?” Rehs supplied. “It isn’t. But it’s been that way since forever. Workers have been rebelling since forever too, which is one of the reasons why this rebellion is going to be different – the Empire is taking it seriously. That means it’s not just a few villages banding together – there’s an army out there, in the south somewhere, and the Empire is worried.”

They were interrupted by a commotion near one of the boats. A small craft had docked – small enough that all it seemed to carry was a handful of people. A knot of Southern kyrie had already formed in front of it, standing right at the water’s edge, and it was their murmuring which Taelord had heard.

He and Rehs joined the crowd, trying to see what was happening.

The boat seemed to contain four people. Two were soldiers, wearing the same partial plate most of the guards in Helsng did. They each carried a sword, both of which were out, though their points were lowered.

The other two kyrie were Southern, though their similarities ended at their skin color. One wore close-fitting leathers, the kind of outfit Taelord now recognized as being designed for long flights. He too carried a sword, which was currently sheathed, and had a length of rope slung across his chest.

The end of the rope ended in a knot, tied around the final kyrie’s wrists. This kyrie wore simple clothing – a wool shirt and pants – but both were dirty and torn. The kyrie himself had several bruises on his face, and one of his wings seemed slightly bent, the feathers broken.

“Out of the way,” one of the soldiers said, stepping from the boat. He moved his sword back and forth before him, keeping the point down, forcing the crowd back.

“What’s going on?” Taelord whispered to Rehs.

“Bounty hunter,” Rehs whispered back, glaring at the soldiers. He nodded to the Southern kyrie holding the rope. “He’s a freeman. A lot of freemen become bounty hunters, getting paid to track down runaway workers. Traitors.”

He nodded to the bounty hunter. “He’s Geren,” he said. “He lives right here in the city, along with his family. They’re all freemen bounty hunters. They’ve brought back over a dozen workers for punishment in the last five years.” He glared at Geren. “They’re worse than the Imperials.”

Rehs’ sentiments seemed to be shared by the crowd. More kyrie had joined them now, and as the four left the boat, an angry murmur ran through those who had assembled.

The prisoner stumbled as he left the boat, and the bounty hunter – Geren – yanked him upright by the rope, jerking his arms up and causing him to stagger to his feet.

“You there!” A Volcarren shoved his way through the crowd. He was a giant of a kyrie, taller than most Imperials, with muscles to match. He wore no shirt – Taelord guessed he perhaps hadn’t been able to find one which fit. In his wake moved a kyrie woman, middle-aged, her face streaked with worry.

“Why do you mistreat this man?” the Volcarren said, moving to the front of the crowd and barring the way.

“Move,” one of the soldiers said. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Answer my question first.”

The soldiers eyed him. “What is your name, Volcarren?” one of them asked.

“Kran,” the Volcarren said. “Lieutenant of Vraen.”

“I’ll be sure to mention you to my superior, Kran,” the soldier said. “He in turn may see fit to go to Utgar, and tell him that you’ve been interfering with Imperial business. Unless you get out of the way.”

Kran ignored his words, and stepped closer. “By what right do you bring this man here, bound in ropes and beaten?” he said.

“By the right of the Empire,” the soldier said, standing his ground despite Kran’s size. “Now move aside! This is no concern of yours.”

“It is my concern,” the woman who had come with Kran said, stepping forwards. She looked at the prisoner, and there were tears in her eyes.

He held her gaze, but shook his head. “Go back, Nya,” he whispered. “Don’t interfere…”

Nya made to move forwards, but the guard barred her way. “Your husband knew what he was doing,” he said. “He didn’t have permission to leave, but he did so anyway.”

“Only because your laws forced him to!” Nya said, turning on the soldier, tears in her eyes. She turned to face the crowd. “Do you know why my husband ran? What the Empire asked of him? They said he had kept back part of the crop, that he had denied the Emperor what was ‘rightfully his’. And they were right. We kept part of what we harvested, and hid it.

“But only because we have six children to feed. But does the Empire give us more, knowing our family is larger than most? No. They give everyone the same.”

The crowd murmured at her words.

She turned back to the guard. “So yes, we kept some of our crop for ourselves. We committed the heinous crime of trying to feed our children. And you – your Empire – they knocked down our door, demanded payment, and took the food from my children’s bowls. When it wasn’t enough, they said my husband would need to make up the difference, working in the Kor mines. Everyone here knows that’s a death sentence. So yes, my husband fled. He took a chance at life, and being able to provide for his family, rather than letting the Empire kill him. And for this you punish him.”

The crowd had begun to shuffle restlessly as Nya spoke, and now they pressed in tighter, forcing the soldiers back.

Their swords went up. “Be gone!” One of them cried pointing his sword – which was shaking – at those closest.

Kran folded his arms, scowling, and regarded the soldiers. “You aren’t leaving this place with that man,” he said. “Release him to us.”

“You’re mad,” the soldier whispered. “This is an Imperial affair. I have my orders. This man is to be punished for the crimes he has committed.”

“Crimes,” Kran echoed. “We’ve all heard the ‘crimes’. Would you do any different, were it your family?”

“I would never deny the Empire what belongs to it,” the soldier said stiffly.

“No?” Kran said. “Do you have children, soldier?”

“I – That’s irrelevant!”

“Is it? Maybe we’ll take everything you own, take the food from your children’s mouths, and then see what you think.”

“Disperse!” a new voice shouted over the crowd.

Taelord turned – with difficulty due to the tightness of the crowd – and saw that more soldiers had arrived. These wore full armor and carried spears. One, his helmet under his arm, stood at their head.

“Disperse!” he repeated. “Let these men through, or you’ll all be held for interfering with Imperial business.”

“All of us?” Kran said, easily towering over the heads of the crowd to speak to the commander. “I think you’ll find that difficult, Imperial.”

Those in the crowd murmured and nodded. They outnumbered the soldiers several times over.

The commander didn’t seem fazed. “Wall!” he barked.

With a single fluid motion, the soldiers who had come with him – six in all – formed a line in front of him, shoulder to shoulder, armored wings held in front of them like shields, leaving only a small gap for their spears, which they held like lances, pointing directly at the crowd.

Silence fell over the Docks.

“Those people,” the commander said, gesturing to Geren, the prisoner, and the two guards, “are coming with me to the keep. Unless you wish to go for a visit to the prisons, you will let them pass, and then you will disperse, and go about your business.”

Looking down, Taelord saw Kran make a motion, as if to draw an axe from his belt. However, he had no axe. He had probably removed it the previous night, and not thought he would need it.

The soldiers stepped forward, and the crowd was forced to part before their spears. Geren shoved his prisoner forwards, and the two guards brought up the rear, keeping their swords up. The six soldiers enveloped them, raised their spears, and then escorted them across the Docks, away from the crowd.

Noise slowly returned to the Docks.

Everyone who had assembled seemed deflated. Kran scowled after the soldiers, and he wasn’t the only one. Taelord saw several other Volcarrens in the crowd, watching the soldiers go as if they were seriously considering chasing after them.

“Who was he?” someone asked. “The prisoner?”

“Leran,” Kran said. “A farmer like many of you.”

“They’ll kill him,” Nya said from beside Kran, watching the soldiers lead her husband away. There were tears in her eyes, and a fearful tremble to her voice. “Either they’ll send him to the mines, or they’ll execute him right here for fleeing.”

“They’ll do neither,” Kran said, putting a massive arm around her. “You’ve shown me kindness, Nya. I won’t let the Empire do this. I’ll stop it.”

“How?” a dockworker said. “This is wrong, but what can we do? We’re laborers, not soldiers. If we try to interfere, we’ll just end up like Leran, or worse.”

The crowd murmured in agreement.

“Something must be done,” another kyrie said. He had light brown hair, and his skin was a lighter shade of tan than most of those around him. His clothes were also somewhat cleaner – Taelord wondered if he was a freeman, like G’shar and Rehs.

“I agree this must be stopped,” he said. “But we have to be careful. Kran, if you and Nya will come to my home tonight, after sundown, we will consider what can be done. Any of you who wish to do something are welcome to join.”

The crowd rumbled at his words.

“We’ll be there, Jer,” one said.

“As will I,” added another.

Jer nodded, and slowly, the crowd began to disperse.

Rehs turned to Taelord, his eyes alight. “I’m going,” he said.

Taelord wanted to say something, to try and talk him out of it, but the words wouldn’t come. How many times had he decided to fight back against Ahnvad, even knowing what might happen? This was no different.

“Don’t tell father,” Rehs added. “Tonight, after dinner, you and I can sneak out. Jer’s house isn’t too far from our own.”

Taelord hesitated, then nodded. Who knew? Maybe the farmers would be able to find a solution to Leran’s plight which didn’t involve violence.

At least, Taelord hoped they did.

Taelord woke to the sound of poorly suppressed laughter.

“Hush, Aiiva,” a voice he recognized as Syafa’s said from the other room. “You’ll wake them.”

Taelord rolled over and stretched, his arms over his head. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept like that. He had been worried about what had been said last night, but it couldn’t compare to sleeping in the Volcarren, not knowing if he’d wake up suddenly with a knife against his throat. He had slept soundly for the first time in… he didn’t know how long. He glanced to his side. His mother still slept, but Veth and Scar-shoulder were gone.

It felt strange, just lying there, knowing that he didn’t need to immediately get up. Taelord’s life had been divided into two: the times in Srung, when he had been imprisoned by stone walls; and the times he had escaped from it, when he had needed to wake well before dawn if he was to avoid the Imperial patrols Ahnvad had sent after him.

Lying here, with the knowledge that neither was the case… Taelord wasn’t quite sure what to do. Perhaps there was nothing he could do. Nothing aside from remaining here, where there was good food and a roof over his head, and simply waiting for Utgar to secure his future. Taelord felt uneasy at the prospect. He had always had some plan, some course he knew to take. Now he… just sat and waited.

Taelord cast the thought aside and got up. If all he could was wait, then he might as well enjoy where he was. Leaving his mother still sleeping, he crossed the small room and eased open the door.

Syafa, Aiiva, and Rehs were sitting at the table, talking in low voices. Aiiva had her hand over her mouth, apparently overcome with suppressed laughter, and Rehs looked as though he was trying to be angry and failing.

“Taelord,” Syafa said as he entered. She stood, crossed to the fire, and began ladling something into a bowl from a pot. “Did you sleep all right?” she asked as she turned and put the bowl down in front of him. “I do hope the straw was comfortable enough, and the nights can get cold here in Helsng…”

“It was easily the best sleep I’ve had in years,” Taelord told her. She smiled, and he sat. The bowl seemed to contain some sort of fluffy, yellowish material, mixed with cooked vegetables and grain. Taelord had no idea what it was, but he picked up the fork Syafa provided and started eating.

“Are you needed anywhere?” Rehs asked. “Anything you have to do?”

Taelord shook his head, and swallowed. “As far as I know, we’re here until the scouts come back. They left with some Imperial guides three days ago, when we were still in the Red Flats.”

“It will be at least a week before they return,” Syafa said from the fireplace, where she was scooping out the pot into a bowl.

Rehs nodded. “Look,” he said, turning back to Taelord, “let me show you around. I’ve been all over Helsng – I can show you what it’s like.”

Taelord glanced up. “I thought… I thought you were farmers,” he said uncertainly. “I thought maybe I could help—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rehs said. “You’re a hero! You shouldn’t be working in the fields.”

Taelord frowned.

“Anyway,” Rehs continued, “the harvest is in. Father’s supervising the storage of the grain, but there’s nothing for you or me to do right now.”

“Where’s Veth?” Taelord asked, noting his and Scar-shoulder’s absence for the first time.

“They left early,” Syafa said. “I think they wanted to see the rest of Helsng. You might as well let Rehs show you the city,” she added. “He’s been talking about nothing else.”

Aiiva gave a giggle which she managed to turn into a passable cough.

Taelord glanced at the door of the storeroom, where his mother still slept.

“She’ll be fine,” Syafa assured him. “I’ll keep some breakfast warm for her, and she can come with me when I go to the Rows – we’re nearly out of Eris roots.”

Taelord didn’t know what the Rows were, but he thanked her anyway.

“Come on,” Rehs said, standing. “I’ll show you the Docks. You’ve probably never seen so much water.”

Taelord shrugged, scraped the last bit of food from his bowl, and stood.

“I’ll go with you,” Aiiva said, getting to her feet as well. “Neresa’s home is on the way.”

Rehs frowned. “I wish you would stop going there,” he said.

Aiiva fixed him with a look. “I need to learn a trade,” she said. “Neresa is the best weaver in Helsng, and she’s willing to let me help her.”

“She’s an Imperial,” Rehs objected.

Aiiva rolled her eyes. “She’s kind,” she said. “And she’s not obsessed with politics, like some other people I know.”

“Fine,” Rehs sighed. “But don’t expect me to walk you in the door.”

“Like you ever do,” Aiiva said, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Come on,” Rehs muttered, turning to Taelord. He pulled open the door, and Taelord followed him out, Aiiva bringing up the rear.

“Be careful,” Syafa called after them.

Rehs waved to her, and then jumped. His wings snapped out on either side, and then swept downwards, shoving his body up. Behind Taelord, Aiiva jumped as well, her wings pulling her skyward.

Taelord sighed. He preferred walking, but he supposed he’d have to get used to flying. He wasn’t in the Volcarren any longer. He bent his knees, and then leapt upwards, snapping his wings out and down. It was surprisingly easy, once he got used to having nothing below him but air. He rocketed upwards, not quite as controlled as Rehs or Aiiva, then leveled, doing his best to follow them.

They flew over a winding maze of houses, some little more than conical tents, others built with stone foundations like G’shar’s home. Most were in between, formed out of mud with straw roofs, or built from wooden poles and animal hides. There seemed to be no order to the homes or the streets between them: houses had been built wherever there was room. Sometimes a road would simply end, blocked off by homes at random angles.

Near the middle of the maze, Taelord saw a large tent. Volcarren guards seemed to surround it, and beyond them, a sizeable crowd of people had gathered. Utgar. Taelord shook his head. Of course he hadn’t trusted anyone enough to let Runa sleep in a strange house.

They sped by the tent, then more homes, then came to the first straight road Taelord had seen. It was wide, ran across their path, and seemed to be laid with flat stones. It was completely empty.

Beyond it, the homes were different. Here, they were orderly, forming straight lines, with wide streets between them. They were constructed out of stone blocks, and all seemed to be squarish or rectangular. They were also massive. Each one of them could have easily fit at least four homes the size of G’shar’s inside, some of them more.

Rehs and Aiiva angled downwards, and Taelord followed. The stone street rushed up to meet him, and he leveled out quickly, coming to a wobbly landing. Aiiva and Rehs alighted beside him.

They seemed to be in some sort of merchant quarter. Ter, a ramshackle village near Srung, had possessed something similar, a simple square where Volcarrens sold Ranta spines and Taklay silk to the Imperials, in exchange for food.

Here, the large square buildings were open on the street side, and kyrie within were buying goods which had been placed on shelves or hung against walls. Taelord saw large bails of wool being loaded into carts, and various furs on display in another building. Nearest them, bolts of cloth had been hung outside, all dyed brilliant colors, some with patterns woven into them.

“Tell mother I’ll be back before dark,” Aiiva said. She waved, and ducked inside the cloth-seller’s building. Rehs frowned after her.

“Why are these homes different?” Taelord asked, turning on the spot, looking at them all.

“These are merchants,” Rehs said, a hint of anger in his voice. “Imperials,” he added, when Taelord glanced at him. “They have all the money. They like to live here, in their straight streets and large homes, charging impossible fees when we try to buy anything from them. Come on,” he added. “I don’t want to be seen here.”

He unfolded his wings, but a call behind them made him stop.

“You there! Stay where you are!”

They turned, and Taelord saw two Imperial guards diving towards them from the sky. They landed on the street a short distance away, and approached quickly. They weren’t as armored as the soldiers Taelord had seen in the Red Flats, but they wore breastplates, bracers, and shin guards, and each had a long straight sword strapped to their left leg.

“State your name,” one of them barked at Rehs, while the other watched Taelord, hand on his sword.

Taelord guessed he was supposed to feel intimidated by the soldier’s glare, the strength of his grip on his weapon, the way his wings flared out behind him, looming over Taelord. But he had learned he couldn’t be intimidated by people if he was to survive Ahnvad. So he simply crossed his arms and observed the soldier silently.

“What’s this about?” Rehs said, scowling at the guard.

“Your name,” the soldier repeated, stepping up to Rehs and towering over him.

“Rehs.”

“And are you a citizen of Helsng, Rehs?”

“Of course I am.”

“What’s the name of your father?”

“G’shar,” Rehs said, his scowl intensifying. He glared at the soldier.

“There’s a G’shar here,” the other guard said grudgingly, still watching Taelord. “He has a son. They’re freemen,” he added, glancing at his companion.

The guard and Rehs watched each other for a moment, neither saying a word. Finally, the guard turned away. “If I were you,” he said to Rehs, “I would stay away from them” — he pointed to Taelord. “We wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea about you and your family.”

“No,” Rehs agreed. “We wouldn’t.” He stepped purposefully closer to Taelord, still glaring.

The guard looked like he wanted to respond, but the other soldier grabbed his arm. “Let’s go,” he said.

The guard nodded, though he still frowned at Rehs. They stepped away, then jumped to the air, flying back the way they had come.

“What was that about?” Taelord asked.

Rehs shrugged. “The Empire’s on edge,” he said. “They’ve been paranoid for a while now, looking for rebels everywhere, and now you’ve arrived.”

“They were looking for rebels?”

Rehs shrugged again. “They probably saw us together, and thought that anyone with a Volcarren must be a rebel. Groundling Imperials… they’ll have to arrest half the city with that logic.”

“But,” Taelord said, watching the retreating forms of the two soldiers, “do you think they’re right? About rebels being here?”

“I hope so,” Rehs said, his voice growing eager. “If the Empire is starting to stop random people on the street, they obviously think so.”

Rebels. Soldiers. Conflict. If Taelord had hoped G’shar was wrong about the unrest in Valhalla, here was proof otherwise. They had walked into the beginnings of a revolt, and Taelord knew from experience that those never ended well. They had to get out of Helsng while they could.

And yet, he felt a twinge of guilt. G’shar and Syafa – and probably most of the people here – had taken the Volcarrens in, given them food and beds… leaving them to their own problems seemed poor repayment.

“Come on,” Taelord said. “Show me the docks.”

Utgar stood in the entrance of the pavilion, looking out over Helsng. The sky was black; night had come. Stars were overhead. Utgar had been surprised by just how many there were, that first night in the Red Flats. The acrid clouds over the Volcarren had never allowed more than a brief glimpse of the sky beyond. The air was cool and still, welcome changes from the constant blowing of the Volcarren. Utgar breathed deeply. The air was clean. Free.

From his vantage point, he could see a multitude of tiny points of light, firelight spilling through windows or open doors. The city was mostly quiet, allowing the sound of crickets beyond the wall to be heard.

He was in the middle of what he had learned was called ‘the Maze’: a collection of crude homes and winding streets, where the farmers and other laborers of Helsng resided. There was no real meeting square or central plaza in the city, so the farmers had pointed him here, where several oddly positioned houses created a sufficiently open intersection. The ground here rose up sharply, and it was on top of this rise that Utgar had decided to stay.

The city looked peaceful, lit only by firelight, the mountains rising up behind it, the dull roar of the waterfall – really more of a whisper, given its small size – in the background. But Utgar felt a sense of unease as he looked out over the city. He had questioned some of the farmers, and learned of the unrest which plagued Valhalla, and the hatred against the Empire. A revolt was brewing, and Utgar had walked right into the middle of it. He would just have to make sure he wasn’t here when it happened.

Utgar turned from the entrance, letting the tent flap fall, and retreated inside. It was a good tent, not overly large, but constructed from sturdy wooden poles and sewn animal hides. A cloth divided it in two: a front half where Utgar now stood, and a back half, where Runa currently slept. Utgar had stored his water there as well, six skins full. It wasn’t much, but then he only needed a small drink every few days to maintain his powers. What he had would easily last him for several months.

He retreated to the central pole which supported the tent – a thick, sturdy trunk – and leaned against it, considering. The tent creaked slightly.

Many of the people had offered their homes to Utgar of course, but he had refused, asking instead for a tent. It wasn’t that he distrusted them really, he was just… cautious. He had lost Runa twice to Ahnvad not that long ago, and didn’t want to repeat the experience. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but Utgar would rather be that than too trusting. He knew all too well what happened when you trusted the wrong person…

“My lord Utgar.” The tent flap was pulled aside and the head of one of Utgar’s guards appeared.

“What is it, Dered?” Utgar asked.

“A woman,” Dered said. “She says several of the people want to offer you food. She’s collected it and brought it here.”

Utgar frowned. “You know my answer regarding this, Dered. We have our own food, and these people have little.”

“Yes, my lord,” Dered said. “It’s just, well… she’s quite insistent. She says she… wishes to thank you.”

Utgar considered for a moment. He didn’t want to offend the people here, and they seemed to insist on giving him food. “Very well,” he said. “Let her enter.”

Dered’s head retreated, but he held the tent flap open wider, and a young woman stepped into the tent, carrying a large basket laden with food. Utgar saw vegetables, fruits, loaves of bread, and strips of dried meat.

The woman took a few hesitant steps inside, staring at Utgar as though he were the Emperor himself. Then she knelt – quite gracefully, Utgar thought, given that she was holding a large basket – on the ground; the tent had no floor.

“Valkyrie,” she said, bowing her head, her voice a half-whisper. “I am Ena, and I bring you this gift on behalf of the people of Helsng.”

She had blonde hair, which was common to the Northern kyrie, but her skin was a deep orangish-brown. Definitely Southern.

“There’s no need to kneel before me,” Utgar said. He’d done nothing to deserve that.

Ena reverently got to her feed, her head still bowed.

The only light in the tent came from a lantern hanging on the central trunk, but it was enough to dimly illuminate the two of them. Now that she was standing, Utgar could see that Ena was quite pretty. She wore simple clothing – a pair of woolen pants all the kyrie here seemed to wear, and a sleeveless woolen shirt which was equally common, over which she wore a simple leather vest, tied with cord.

“I thank you for this gift,” Utgar said. “And I thank the people of Helsng who made it. Please tell them of my gratitude. But… I cannot accept this. I know how little food you have.”

She looked up. She had blue eyes, again uncommon amongst Southern kyrie. “Please,” she said, her voice reverent. “This is a gift. Your arrival brought us hope. This is the least we can do.”

Utgar shook his head. There was another reason he couldn’t take the food. “I cannot,” he said. “Understand, I would gladly accept this gift, but I must not. The Empire already fears that I am here to overthrow them, and even something as simple as accepting this food could suggest that I am taking a side in the conflict I know is present in this city. All I wish is peace.”

“As do we,” Ena said. Some of the reverence had left her voice, and she now spoke with earnestness. “We seek peace as well, but the Empire makes it impossible. They demand nearly everything we have. They take what we grow, and then return only enough to keep us from starving.”

She took a small step forwards. “We don’t want war,” she said. “We only want to live our lives. But the Empire won’t let us.” She paused, searching Utgar’s face. “For a long time,” she said, “we have had to give the Empire everything it demands, accept what they say and do, live beneath them.” She let her words hang, her face hopeful, even expectant.

Utgar held her gaze silently.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, looking down.

She retreated a step, her face falling. “This isn’t your fight,” she whispered. “I know you don’t want strife with the Empire.” She bowed her head, and then looked back up at him. She smiled, but Utgar could tell the expression was forced. “Please,” she said, “accept our gift. Even if you aren’t here to overthrow the Empire, you brought us hope – even if it was false. That hope was enough. My sister smiled today, for the first time in years.”

She bowed her head briefly, and stepped towards the tent flap. “Please accept the food,” she said, “as thanks for that, if nothing else.” Then she was gone, turning and sliding out of the tent.

Utgar let out his breath, still leaning against the trunk. A part of him – the cold, logical part – told him that she could easily have been trying to manipulate him. He found that he didn’t care. Everything she had said was perfectly true.

This wasn’t his fight, but he could do something to help these people. They had given him and his Volcarrens food and shelter; they had welcomed them with open arms. The least he could do was stand up for them.

He couldn’t do that of course. He couldn’t get involved. He needed to be on the Empire’s side; he needed peace with them. Things were bad enough, with the people treating him like a conquering hero. He needed to remain apart from the conflict.

He remained where he was, looking at the basket of food. How many families had gone hungry tonight to bring him that? And for what? Hope?

This isn’t your fight, he told himself. Think of peace. Think of Runa. That didn’t help. He knew exactly what Runa would do. She would do everything she could to help these people. She wouldn’t even think about the consequences, or how her actions might be seen by others. Foolish. Innocent.

But probably still the right thing to do.

Utgar remained where he was, looking at the basket of food for a moment longer. Then, unable to convince himself either way, he swept aside the cloth barrier, and retreated into the darkness. Perhaps the morning would bring answers.

Not long after, they stood before Rehs’ home. It was squat and small, but it looked to be better constructed than some others that Taelord had passed. The foundation was stone, with a roof made out of solid wooden beams, with hide stretched across them. Mud and straw filled in the gaps. The door was wooden, and next to it was a single window, a simple hole in the stones, with a shutter which could be closed over it at night.

The shutter was open at the moment, allowing light from the home to spill into the rapidly darkening street where Taelord stood. It shown dimly on other homes nearby: they were in the largest section of the city, where the roads wound and the homes were small.

The light flickered as if from a fire, and he could hear a calm male voice speaking within, although from his current angle he could see nothing but a wooden wall.

“Come on,” Rehs said. “It might be a tight fit, but we have space in the storeroom.”

“We can sleep outside,” Taelord said quickly. “We’re used to it.”

“Not a chance,” Rehs said with a laugh. “I’ll sleep outside before you do. We don’t have any extra beds, but we’ll be able to find you some straw to sleep on, and my mother has extra blankets.”

Straw? Blankets? Taelord guessed Rehs didn’t realize most Volcarrens were lucky to have a roof for the night, let alone walls.

Rehs beckoned them all forwards, and pulled open the door.

Taelord had no idea what he might find inside. The typical Volcarren shelter had been made from bones and animal hide, usually constructed in a canyon or cave. Srung had been built from large stone blocks, and had possessed little decoration. A rug here, a curtain there to keep the sand out. Braziers had lit the dark corridors, and doors had been fashioned from age-blackened wood and metal frames.

The interior of the house Taelord now saw couldn’t be more different. Warmth and light spilled out as Rehs opened the door, coming from a fire which was set into the adjacent stone wall, crackling invitingly, with two pots suspended over it.

A man appeared at Rehs’ shoulder, smiling and holding out a hand in welcome. “Come in, come in,” he said. “You’ve spent your last night without a roof. What we have is yours.” He beckoned them in, and Taelord and the others stepped across the threshold.

Most of the home was comprised of a single large room. The fire was set against one wall, and opposite it were three smaller rooms, each with a simple wooden door. All were currently closed.

Set in the middle of the wooden floor was a solid-looking table, set with simple wooden dishes and flanked by wooden benches, with a chair at either end. Taelord had never seen so much wood in one place.

Drying herbs hung from the rafters, and Taelord saw an old spear hung on the wall over the hearth. Other than that, the home was bare. It didn’t feel empty though. It had a distinct air of having been lived in: corners and surfaces were worn and smooth, the door caught slightly as Rehs closed it, and the underside of the hearth was blackened with soot.

But what Taelord noticed most was the smells. The home smelled of wood of course, but it was fresh wood, a scent Taelord had only smelled once, at Srung. He had thought it was the best scent then, and his opinion hadn’t changed. There was a spice to the air as well, probably from the herbs overhead, and a familiar scent of leather, from the roof.

But the most powerful smell came from the pots over the fire. It was unfamiliar to him, savory and spicy at the same time. He had never really gone hungry in the Volcarren – his proximity to Srung ensuring that food could always be found. But he was still used to eating whatever he came across. The idea of actually eating a prepared meal, instead of what was left over, felt odd to him. Like the world had somehow reversed.

Three people were in the small home. A girl, maybe fifteen, stood near the fire, holding a woven basket which was flat like a platter. A woman was stirring the contents of one of the pots, and as the Volcarrens entered, she began ladling it into bowls, and placing the bowls on the platter. They both wore simple clothes of what looked like wool – Taelord had seen it on occasion in Srung.

The man who had appeared at the door now gestured at the room, still smiling broadly at the Volcarrens. “We might be a bit cramped, he said, but we have warm food and soft straw. I’m G’shar, and this is my family: Syafa, my wife; you know Rehs, my son; and this is Aiiva, my daughter.”

Syafa nodded briefly to the Volcarrens, casting them a smile before returning to the pots. Aiiva glanced at them, gave an uncertain smile, and quickly focused her attention back on the platter she was holding.

“I can’t tell you how pleased we are to have you here,” G’shar said. “Please, sit.”

The Volcarrens sat awkwardly around the table. The benches on either side seemed wide enough for four to sit comfortably side by side, so Taelord took the far one, his mother sliding in next to him, and Veth and Scar-shoulder sitting next to her. Rehs sat across from the Volcarrens, still staring avidly at them as if he had never seen anything quite so fascinating.

G’shar eased himself into the chair at the head of the table, stretching out his leg as he did so. He grimaced, and rubbed it as he sat.

“Injury?” Veth asked, noting the motion.

“An old one,” G’shar said. “I was drafted into Kelen’s army during the Midland campaigns. Got struck in the leg by a stray spear, and it’s never been quite the same since.”

“You’re a soldier?” Scar-shoulder asked.

“I’m a farmer,” G’shar said. “Always was, always will be. The Empire though… it takes whoever it can for its wars. There aren’t very many professional soldiers these days – most are laborers, rented out to the warlords.”

Rented? Warlords? Taelord glanced at Veth, and saw that he was just as confused. “But,” he said, “I thought there was peace here.”

“Peace?” G’shar said, giving half a laugh. “Technically there is peace, certainly. But unrest is growing throughout Valhalla. There have already been revolts in some of the southern villages.”

“Why?” Taelord asked. “What are they revolting about?

“Of course,” G’shar said. “You wouldn’t know. Well—”

“Enough talk for now,” Syafa interrupted. “Let these people eat. Then you can criticize the deplorable state of the Empire all you want.” She sat down at the other end of the table, and Aiiva approached, carrying her platter full of bowls.

G’shar smiled at his wife and fell silent, and Aiiva put bowls of stew before everyone. She sat down herself, and for a moment there was silence as they ate.

Taelord dipped his wooden spoon into the stew and took a bite. The broth was thin, but it was actual broth, not simple water as it might have been in the Volcarren. It was mostly meat, but Taelord recognized the texture of vegetables and even grain – both practically nonexistent in the Volcarren. Even the meat was different – tender and seasoned. It was easily the best thing he had ever tasted.

However, the experience of eating the only decent meal he had ever had was marred with a flicker of worry. There was unrest in Valhalla? Towns in revolt? Taelord had been so focused on escaping the Volcarren, that he had always assumed Valhalla would be a land of peace and plenty.

He glanced at his mother, but she seemed unconcerned with what G’shar had said. She was eating slowly, apparently savoring every bite. Next to her, Veth and Scar-shoulder also ate, but Taelord saw them exchange looks, and he knew that they were wondering what was happening in Valhalla.

“What was it like, in the Volcarren?” Rehs asked, leaning forward eagerly as he ate.

“Let them eat,” G’shar laughed. “There will be plenty of time for questions later. More?” he added, nodding to Taelord’s bowl.

Taelord glanced down, realizing that he had emptied the bowl in a few quick spoonfuls. Another habit from the Volcarren: eating quickly before the chance was gone. He felt somewhat embarrassed; everyone else was still eating, savoring the stew.

“Only if there’s enough to go around,” Taelord said. “I don’t want to—”

“Nonsense,” G’shar said, waving his hand.

Aiiva got up, took Taelord’s bowl, and went to refill it from the pot over the fire.

“Thank you,” Taelord said to her as she returned and put the bowl back for him.

She gave him a tentative smile, and then returned to her own bowl.

Taelord looked at the stew for a moment, the smell of good food wafting up from it. He had gotten used to always being hungry in the Volcarren. Even in Srung, he had subsisted mostly off of dried meat and boiled roots. And now a bowl of stew sat before him, a meal fit for the Emperor himself.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked G’shar, looking up. “All of this – feeding us, giving us a place to stay. I don’t understand.”

“You stood up to the Empire,” Rehs said. “You challenged them, and you won.”

Syafa nodded. “Giving you a place to stay is the least we can do,” she said.

“But…” Taelord frowned. “Aren’t you subjects of the Empire? I thought people here would be displeased to see us, maybe even hostile.”

“Hostile?” Rehs echoed. “We’re on your side.”

“Side?”

“Eat,” G’shar said, “and I’ll tell you why these things are.” He leaned back, his own stew finished. Veth and Scar-shoulder had stopped eating, and were watching him. Even Taelord’s mother seemed to be listening between spoonfuls.

“I suppose,” G’shar said, “the unrest started a long time ago. You see, Valhalla is split in two. The North and South are separated by a vast amount of barren land. It’s dry, mostly devoid of animals or trees – not suitable for life.

“The North is colder, but is full of forests. There is good farmland there, and plenty of water and lumber.

“The South is warmer, and much of it is barren, but there is space here. Near water, like we are, crops will grow and animals can be herded. Further south, there are forests and game animals, and the southern seas are full of fish.

“The climate is gentler in the North, but there are resources here in the South. We can produce ore from the Midland mountains, cloth and meat from the animals we raise, and enough grain to feed the entire Empire.

“But the people are in the North. They live easier lives, while we in the South have to contend with the climate. It’s been that way since time began: the South producing, the North consuming.

“The Northern kingdoms grew wealthy off of our labor, and instead of learning to support themselves, turned their efforts to ‘civilized living’. Politics,” he added, at Taelord’s frown. “Comfort. Leisure. Luxury. The Imperials want for little in their Northern cities.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Taelord saw that his mother had stopped eating, and was giving G’shar her full attention.

“The North grew greedy for power,” G’shar continued. “Soon, they weren’t content with dictating the laws of their own countries. They wanted to control us as well. Divides between North and South grew, armies formed, and eventually it broke into war.

“We lost. We didn’t have the time or knowledge to train soldiers, and the North was better equipped, thanks to our labor. I’m sure you know this story: it’s how the Empire was formed.

“For a time there was peace, as the Empire called it. Then, unhappy with the way the Empire controlled his life, Migol banded together the South and led a revolt. He was defeated, slain, and his followers were banished to the Volcarren over a century ago.” He nodded to Taelord and the others.

“Since then, unrest has only increased. Migol sparked the idea that revolt was possible, and there have been small rebellions ever since. None have succeeded of course, because they were isolated. But now some far southern villages have risen up against the Empire, banding together. It’s said that rebel spies are all throughout Kinsland, in every city, and that a real rebel army is massing somewhere beyond the Lower Wastes, led by a general they call Einar. These are more than passing rumors; they’ve lasted long enough to prove that.”

There was a moment of silence as Taelord digested what he had said. “And these things,” he finally said, “what will they lead to?”

“War,” G’shar said with a frown. “I don’t know where or when, but war seems certain, especially with your arrival from the Volcarren.”

Taelord glanced at his mother, and saw that she was watching him, her expression sad, as if she was sorry he had to hear to truth. He looked away. “Is it safe here then?” he asked.

G’shar nodded slowly. “For now,” he said. “It is safer than anywhere else, at least. Leaving wouldn’t give any escape from the taxes the Empire imposes on us, not unless we joined the rebels, and I’m not prepared to do that. And for now, Helsng offers safety from the brewing war. So we stay. But there may come a time when we must leave.”

“I’ve heard that rebels are massing at Fedir,” Rehs said, an excitement in his voice. “There are rumors that they’ve arrived in Vysor too, right here in Kinsland.”

G’shar nodded solemnly. “You may be right.”

“They’ll come here,” Rehs said confidently. “We’ll throw out the Empire soon.”

“We?” Syafa cut in. “I thought we agreed, Rehs.”

“Maybe you did. I will join them, Mother.”

A silence fell over the table as everyone paused eating. Rehs glanced at his mother, and then at Aiiva, who had her spoon suspended halfway to her mouth, and was watching him.

“This is what I’ve been waiting for,” Rehs said. “The chance to strike back against the Empire! The chance to hurt them like they’ve hurt us.”

“Rehs,” G’shar said calmly, “we talked about this. I wouldn’t see you hurt. I know the ways war can change a man, and wouldn’t wish those changes on anyone. If it seems like war will come to Helsng, then we will leave. All of us.”

“This rebellion is important,” Rehs said, frowning at his father.

“Of course it is,” G’shar said. “But I doubt that it needs the life of a thirteen-year-old.”

There was silence. Rehs turned back to his stew, scowling. G’shar frowned. Syafa was silent, and Aiiva watched Rehs, as if afraid he might get up and walk out the door.

“There might be no war,” G’shar said quietly. “Not with Utgar here.”

“What do you mean?” Veth asked.

“He’s a Valkyrie,” G’shar said simply. “Everyone, Empire, rebels – they’ll do whatever he says. If he wants war, there will be war. But the rumor is that he wants peace. And if that’s the case, no one – rebel or Empire – will be able to keep him from it.”

“That’s why we met you outside the city, Rehs said, anger still in his voice. “The Empire wants to seem unbeatable, but then Utgar escaped. That was supposed to be impossible, and he did it.” He glanced at his father. “It’s like… Rebels have been massing in the South for a long time, and now Utgar’s here with a Wellspring…”

Taelord glanced at Rehs. “You hope he’ll join the rebellion,” he guessed.

“Why wouldn’t he?” Rehs said. “He’s already fought the Empire in the Volcarren. He was imprisoned by them. They’re petrified of him, afraid of what he might do. Of course he’ll join the rebellion.”

“We will too,” Veth said, surprising Taelord. He leaned forward, a disturbing gleam in his eyes. “The Empire put us in that prison. It’s time we repaid the favor.”

“Utgar wants peace,” Taelord said. Rehs and Veth glanced at him. “He does. We aren’t here to start a war.”

“Maybe you aren’t,” Scar-shoulder said. “The Empire’s had this coming for a long time. I intend to have my revenge, and I won’t be the only one. The other Volcarrens will want blood.”

“You’ll defy Utgar?” Taelord said.

“Utgar might not be able to stop a war from happening,” Scar-shoulder said. He didn’t meet Taelord’s gaze. “When it does, I’ll be there.”

“I will too,” Rehs said eagerly. “It’s time—”

“—To sleep,” G’shar finished. “It’s late, Rehs, and I’m sure our guests are tired.”

Aiiva stood, gathered her platter, and put the empty bowls on it. Syafa stood as well. “We have room for you in here,” she said, gesturing to one of the three rooms behind them.

Taelord and the others stood, and Syafa ushered them into the dark room. It seemed to be a storeroom – there was a small pile of crates in one corner, and some sacks in the other. Beyond that however, the room was bare. Taelord suddenly felt guilty about eating as much as he had.

Against the wall were several flattened rectangles of hay, bound together with cord. Blankets had been laid on them, forming makeshift beds.

“It isn’t much,” Syafa said, “but I hope you’ll be comfortable.”

“Thank you,” Taelord said, turning to her. “This is far more than we had expected. And… I’m sorry if our presence has caused Rehs to—”

“Don’t worry about that,” Syafa said. “He’s always wanted to do something more than farming. This is just his latest interest.” She turned, closing the door behind her, but Taelord saw her face as she left. There was worry on it.

They lay down, Taelord choosing a bed next to his mother. She smoothed the blankets and put a cushion she had taken from Srung under her head, and was asleep almost instantly. Taelord however lay awake, staring at the dark ceiling, the things he had heard repeating in his mind.

They had just escaped the Volcarren. The last thing he wanted was more conflict. Utgar had the Wellspring. Surely the Volcarrens wouldn’t go against his wishes? Yes… Yes, there was no point worrying. Utgar was a Valkyrie.

Taelord rolled over, but sleep didn’t come. He stared into the darkness for a long time, Scar-shoulder’s words echoing in his mind:

“I intend to have my revenge, and I won’t be the only one. The other Volcarrens will want blood.”

It was two more days until they finally left the Red Flats. Before then, the soldiers from Srung left them, going north. Taelord guessed it was for the best. They had families in the Empire, which made their loyalty to Utgar questionable. And Utgar had no desire to keep them as prisoners. So they were allowed to leave, a troop of nearly two hundred departing, and fading into the distance.

The Volcarrens and Vel continued west, towards Helsng. As they walked, mountains had come into view on the western horizon, and now these seemed to dominate the sky before them, stretching to the south and north.

Taelord – like the other Volcarrens – had never seen a proper mountain. He had thought the hills they passed before entering the Red Flats had been large, but they were miniscule compared to the scale he now saw. The base of the mountains was shrouded in a gray-yellow haze, but further up, the slopes turned green. As they drew closer, Taelord could pick out trees – something he had only heard stories of. On the highest mountains, the trees faded to brown, and then finally to white. The soldiers – before they left – had called it snow, but what exactly snow was, Taelord had no idea.

As the ground around them began to become more grassy and less sandy, a squadron of Imperial guards met them, offering to lead them up a valley between two mountains, to Helsng. They said the city was built at the head of a river, set against a mountainside further up the valley. The Volcarrens could camp in a vacant field next to the city.

It took them another day to reach Helsng. During that time, the Volcarrens discovered something Taelord had not expected: they could fly.

He had always known that there was something in the Wasteland air which kept Volcarrens from flying. It caused them to have leathery wings and red skin. But he had never guessed that by leaving the Volcarren, they could regain the ability of flight. As he watched Volcarrens move jerkily through the air, constantly in danger of crashing into the ground or each other, he had to admit this changed things. They had escaped the Volcarren, and now they had escaped the ground as well. They were truly free.

Taelord himself had tried flying, giving his pack to his mother to hold. It was a strange feeling, only the constant motion of his wings keeping him up. He was torn between a sense of freedom he had rarely felt, and a deep desire to return to the ground, where he could at least feel something solid beneath him.

His brief flight did allow him to better see the surrounding land. They had entered what seemed to be farmland – rows and rows of tilled earth, nestled between hills. The fields were vacant, but Taelord could imagine plants growing there. They didn’t have plants in the Volcarren, only fungus and small root tubers. He wondered what the fields would look like…

And then he forgot about the fields completely, as he rounded a mountain and Helsng itself came into view.

The city was surrounded by more densely packed farmland, fields plowed right up to the city wall. That wall was low, more of a steep earth embankment – probably meant to keep animals out. Beyond that, the city seemed to be divided into four distinct sections.

Immediately beyond the wall there was a mass of buildings, streets between them running in uncertain directions, their widths varying, homes set at odd angles. None of the homes looked particularly big – though of course to Taelord, any home at all was extreme luxury.

Beyond the homes was a more ordered section. Here there were rows of… buildings, Taelord guessed. They couldn’t possibly be homes, they were far too large for that. They were all squarish in shape, and ordered into neat lines, wide straight streets going between them.

Built up against the side of both sections, connecting directly with the cliff behind the city, was a gigantic dome. Taelord had heard of structures like this: proper kyrie castles, meant to survive prolonged attacks. The fortress at Srung had merely been a place to house a garrison. This… this was a proper keep. He guessed that was where the Wellspring must be.

Further beyond the neat rows of houses, the river ran, formed by a waterfall which cascaded down the cliff just outside the city. Wooden docks were constructed at its edge, and Taelord could make out several large shapes resting there – probably vessels for traveling the river.

Seeing the city, and all the homes it held, and the large keep… Taelord had a sudden moment of doubt. He realized for the first time just how massive the Empire was. They had armies. They had resources. If Utgar didn’t have the Wellspring, they could probably crush the Volcarrens in a single day. And they probably would.

Word had come back after the negotiations with the Empire ended: scouts would go to a remote island called Haukeland, and if it was suitable, they would all sail there. Until the scouts returned, they would camp at Helsng.

But what if Haukeland didn’t work out? What if the Empire changed its mind? Taelord wanted peace, not just for himself, but for his mother. But what if—

His thoughts were interrupted by Runa, who went careening through the air so close to him that Taelord nearly fell, her turbulence knocking him sideways. He righted himself and glared after her… but he couldn’t stay angry.

Runa had mastered flying quickly – which Taelord guessed made sense, since she had been a Valkyrie, and thus already flown. Now she spun through the air, literally spun, upside down then right side up, laughing as the world turned about her. Taelord couldn’t help but smile at her careless enjoyment. She might be blind and naïve about things like the possibility of war, but watching her… Taelord smiled anyway.

He was still smiling when he landed back beside his mother. She handed him his pack and sword back, but didn’t share his smile.

“What’s wrong?” Taelord asked.

“We should have left before now,” Fera said, glancing back the way they had come. “We should have hid in the Red Flats perhaps, made our way north.”

Taelord frowned. “We’re going to Haukeland,” he said. “What are you worried about, Mother? Utgar has the Wellspring, and wants nothing but peace. The scouts will return in a week or so, and then we’ll be able to start a new life in a new land.”

His words had no effect. “There will be conflict,” Fera said, shaking her head sadly. “The Wellspring will cause it. I’ve seen it before in Ahnvad – its pull will be too great. It cannot bring peace. Only war.”

“You’re wrong,” Taelord said automatically.

“Am I?” Fera said. “Even if I were, we are a bloodthirsty people. The Volcarrens long for revenge against the Empire. This is but a respite, Taelord. There will be war. There is always war.”

“That’s Ahnvad talking.”

She turned away. “He was right about some things,” she whispered. “I hate him like you do, but… he was right about us. About Volcarrens.”

Taelord couldn’t accept that. He turned, and leapt back to the air, willing to endure the strangeness of flight if he could escape the memory of Ahnvad.

Utgar had the Wellspring. The Empire couldn’t fight that. There would be peace. There had to be.

---

Taelord landed as they drew closer to the city. Fields surrounded them now, and these were filled with plants, long stalks as high as a kyrie, shrouded in long leaves and tipped with fat pods of what Taelord guessed must be grain. He had tasted it on occasion at Srung, but never seen where it came from.

Before he landed, Taelord had seen farmers dotted throughout the fields, swinging long scythes, harvesting the plants. Smoke curled up from the buildings beyond Helsng’s wall, and as the sky began to darken, smells began to reach the Volcarrens, carrying the scent of cooking food.

They passed out from between the tall plants, the fields on either side now harvested, allowing them an unobstructed view of the city. A few farmers stood on the harvested fields, and they turned as the Volcarrens approached.

One of them cried out when he saw them, waving his arms and pointing in their direction. Others took up his cry, several leaping to the air and flying into the city. The rest threw aside their scythes and came charging towards the Volcarrens.

More people began to spill from the city, flying over the wall and landing in the fields, to run towards them. Men, women, children even… it seemed like the entire population was racing towards them, yelling and waving their arms.

Taelord stopped and lowered his pack, reaching for the hilt of his sword, wary. But as the people came closer, he saw that they were unarmed. Their cries resolved into laughter, their shouts into cheers. He got his pack back on just as the farmers arrived.

The squadron of soldiers who had led them through the valley tried to stop the tide of farmers, but they were shoved aside without a second thought. The crowd pushed past them, cheering and clapping as if the Volcarrens were conquering heroes. They began rushing forwards, greeting individual Volcarrens and offering to carry packs.

One kyrie, around thirteen perhaps, Taelord’s age, ran up to him.

“I’m Rehs,” he said, out of breath. “I can carry your pack, if you want.”

“I can carry it,” Taelord said quickly, getting a better grip on it. Everything he owned was in that pack. He doubted the farmer wanted to steal it, but in the Volcarren you learned to protect what little was yours first, and trust later. If at all.

Rehs didn’t seem to mind. He picked up the pack of a nearby Volcarren – Veth, Taelord thought he was called – and began walking backwards, watching Taelord and the other Volcarrens, a broad smile on his face.

Taelord glanced to the side, where Utgar and Vydar had paused as several farmers approached them. They were both shaking hands as though they had just won a competition. Taelord couldn’t help but notice that Runa seemed to be surrounded by four guards, who were keeping the farmers from her. He frowned. True, they didn’t know these people, but they were farmers. Surely Utgar could give them the benefit of the doubt?

“Come on,” Rehs said. “You can put your packs at my home.”

Taelord glanced at him. “The Empire said we should make camp somewhere nearby—”

Rehs waved a hand. “The Empire says a lot of things. I’m not going to let you camp in some field.”

“Why?” Taelord said. He frowned at the other farmers around him, all laughing and cheering. “What did we do?”

Rehs laughed. “What did you do? You escaped! You beat the Empire! Both were supposed to be impossible.”

“But… what does that matter to you?”

“Of course,” Rehs said, “you don’t know anything beyond the Volcarren. Come on, it’s almost dinnertime. I can tell you everything while we eat.”

“We have our own food,” Veth protested, and Taelord nodded in agreement. No one was this friendly in the Volcarren, and it was unnerving him, baseless though his reaction might be.

“You eat with us tonight,” Rehs said. “You’ll understand why soon, I promise.” He gestured to the Volcarrens next to Taelord, which included his mother, Veth, and another kyrie with a deeply scarred shoulder.

Taelord glanced at Veth and the others. The same thing seemed to be happening everywhere: farmers were offering their homes and food to the Volcarrens. He saw one particularly grizzled raider being led away by a young woman, practically a girl, who was pulling him forwards by the hand, laughing at his hesitancy. He shrugged at Taelord, and let himself be led towards the city.

“We should go with him,” Fera whispered behind Taelord, nodding to Rehs. He frowned, but she was right: there was no danger here. They weren’t in the Volcarren anymore.

“Come on,” Rehs said, turning and leading the way. Taelord shrugged, and followed Rehs towards Helsng, his mother behind him, Veth and Scar-shoulder bringing up the rear. He kept his pack, however.

From the rock he stood on, Utgar could see the whole of the Volcarren force, laid out before him in a disorganized line. He had called a halt, and the Volcarrens had stopped mostly where they stood, sitting down on the sandy ground, pulling some meager rations from their packs, or sharpening their weapons.

It was these Utgar watched. He had been in a fighting force before; he could recognize the tension before a battle. Those kyrie who sat, running stones over their blades or swinging axes experimentally – they expected a fight. Most of them probably even wanted one.

But Utgar couldn’t afford a fight. There were several reasons why, not the least of which was Runa’s safety. But now, looking out over those who had followed him, he realized another: he couldn’t afford to lose any Volcarrens.

He might be a Valkyrie, but he wasn’t invincible. He could probably slay an army in a matter of minutes, but a single assassin could just as easily come up behind him, and knife him in the back. If things turned to open battle – which Utgar knew was a very real possibility – then he would need as many men guarding him as possible. And right now he had less than a thousand.

There had been more, of course. Over a thousand Volcarren raiders and barbarians, well trained in combat. But they were dead, along with Vraen, slain by Ahnvad. Taelord had caused that.

Taelord. Utgar didn’t quite know what to do with him. He believed him, he had decided that much. The boy hadn’t meant to get Vraen and his army killed. And neither had he meant to put Runa in danger. But he had still done both.

There had been a time – long ago – when Utgar would have killed Taelord just to simplify things. He wasn’t that person any longer. Taelord had shown that he could be useful, even if Utgar couldn’t trust him. Besides, Runa had insisted that he had done everything he could to keep her safe, even if most of his plan had failed. She trusted him. Utgar doubted the soundness of his daughter’s judgement in the matter, but still… no, Taelord could remain alive. He would keep an eye on him, however.

The scout Utgar had sent on ahead returned, landing before him. He was a soldier from Srung. Utgar would have preferred to use a Volcarren, but only the soldiers could fly. “I met with one of their scouts, Lord Utgar,” he said, kneeling and bowing his head. “They wish to meet. The delegation is on its way.”

“Do not bow to me,” Utgar said. He shaded his eyes and looked across the Red Flats as the scout got slowly to his feet. Yes… Yes, he could see them. Across the perfectly flat ground, he could make out a faint black speck, just on the horizon. He could almost discern its movement, the dark smudge growing closer as he watched, its shape distorted by the heat of the ground. They would be here soon. Under an hour, if he was correct.

“Very well,” he said, lowering his gaze back to the scout. “Tell them that I will await them here.”

The scout nodded and leapt back to the air, clearly only too glad to escape from him.

Vydar approached, the loose black clothing he wore rippling softly in the breeze. “You think their intentions are peaceable?” he asked, watching the scout retreat back to the Imperial delegation. His voice was slightly muffled by the black cloth wound loosely around his head, covering everything except his eyes.

“I doubt they are hostile,” Utgar said. “They wouldn’t be coming to talk if they were.” He turned to the Vel. “I want it clear, Vydar: I want peace. I don’t want anyone attacking the Imperials the moment they show up.”

“Of course,” Vydar said, inclining his head briefly. “My Vel will not attack.” He turned and retreated towards the column of black-clad warriors.

Utgar watched him go with a frown. He wanted war just like the others. He was only willing to forgo it because Utgar had the Wellspring. They were allies, but it had been clear from the beginning: were their positions reversed, and Vydar Valkyrie, they would be preparing for war, not peace. Still, they were in this together. They were both Volcarrens, they had both fought the Empire, and in a way, Utgar trusted him.

He turned to another scout standing just behind him. “Spread the word,” he said. “Tell everyone that the Empire approaches. I will speak with their delegation. Make it clear that no action is to be taken against them.”

“Yes, Lord Utgar,” the scout said, saluting. Then he leapt away, spreading the word down the line.

Utgar watched as the whispers spread through the Volcarrens, rippling away from his location like a gentle breeze. He knew full well most of those with him wanted to fight the Empire, generations of hate fueling their anger. But if there was to be any chance of handling this peaceably, Utgar would take it. He had the Wellspring. That was something the Empire couldn’t ignore, the one inescapable advantage he had. The Imperials might have armies at their command, but they couldn’t afford to fight him.

That gave Utgar hope.

---

The delegation arrived later that day, consisting of a handful of Imperial soldiers in gleaming armor, and several kyrie in close-fitted leather doublets. Although the clothing looked simple, it was etched with many intricate designs. It still seemed like an odd choice of apparel for the representatives of the Empire.

The soldiers eyed the Volcarrens through visored helmets. Utgar had seen plenty of soldiers in the Volcarren, but none like these. They wore armor on practically every inch. Even their wings were armored, two spikes jutting upwards at the bend, where the wings folded. They each carried a single spear, somewhere between a lance and a short-spear. Utgar imagined they had to be hot in all that armor under the desert sun, but they didn’t show it. They stood straight and powerful, the sun gleaming off their armor.

The delegation erected a pavilion a short ways away, two kyrie having carried the poles and canvas necessary.

Utgar leaned to the side, where Kirav stood. “Stay here with Runa,” he said, keeping an eye on the delegation.

Kirav nodded once, hand on his axe.

Utgar glanced at Runa, who stood nearby, silent, watching the delegation like everyone else. He turned, nodded to a Volcarren behind him who had been a commander under Vraen, and they stepped forward. Vydar detached himself from the column of Vel nearby, a single guard with him as well. Together, they approached the Imperials.

There were only four soldiers. They stood at each of the four corners of the pavilion, erect and silent. They didn’t turn their heads as Utgar and Vydar approached, but remained motionless, standing straight as the spears they held rigidly before them. The only sign of life was an almost inaudible clinking, as their plated hands tightened slightly on their spears.

Utgar and Vydar walked under the pavilion, the canvas top blocking the glare of the sun, allowing Utgar to see the delegation. None of them wore weapons that he could see. Their skin was light, varying between faint yellowish to deep blue, and their hair was white, yellow, or light brown. The feathers of their wings were several shades lighter than their skin. They couldn’t have been more different from the Volcarrens, all of whom had dark red skin, black or dark brown hair, and leathery wings, thanks to the Wasteland.

“Greetings,” one of them said, stepping forward and offering a hand. “I am Yiven, ruler of Helsng and regent of Kinsland. I speak for the Empire.”

Utgar took the offered hand briefly. Before he let go, he noted that Yiven’s skin felt soft. These were no warriors. Nor were they hard-working kyrie. He doubted Yiven had ever lifted anything heavier than a goblet.

“I am Utgar,” he said. “I lead the Volcarrens. And this is Vydar, leader of the Vel.”

“Y-Yes…” Yiven said, glancing at Vydar. He seemed frightened of the Vel.

Utgar couldn’t blame him – Vydar was taller than he was, the black shroud adding to his imposing appearance. His guard stood behind him, silent, his hands hidden within dark folds.

“Utgar,” Yiven said, returning his focus to him, “we know what has happened in the Volcarren. We know of your dealings with Ahnvad, and of the existence of the Wellspring. You can understand our… concern upon hearing that you had entered Kinsland. May I ask your intentions?”

Utgar regarded Yiven silently. The man spoke with hesitation, as if afraid that Utgar might lash out at any moment. Utgar had met men like him before: cowards, easily swayed to the will of others. This was the regent of Kinsland?

“My intentions are simple,” Utgar said. “I seek peace. I and those with me seek only a new life in Valhalla. Let us have this, and there is no need for further conflict.”

Yiven bowed his head as one of the other members of the delegation – all of whom had stayed at the back of the pavilion – leaned forward to whisper to him. Yiven whispered something back, and the other kyrie nodded.

“I am relieved to hear that you seek peace,” Yiven said, straightening. “We will be happy to let you settle anywhere you wish, once the Wellspring is sealed.”

“Sealed?” Utgar repeated.

Yiven seemed to pale at the single word.

Utgar frowned. “Why would I seal the Wellspring?”

The kyrie stepped forward again and whispered urgently to Yiven. Utgar’s frown deepened as Yiven whispered back. The kyrie shook his head, and Yiven looked worried. He straightened once more.

“The… The Wellsprings are all sealed,” he said, with what Utgar guessed was an attempt at composure. “They have been for centuries. Ever since the days of the archkyrie. Why,” he said with a tense laugh, “if they hadn’t been sealed, we would probably still be at war, fighting amongst ourselves over their power. Only by sealing them was the war ended. Having one open now would only restart that conflict. Surely you wish that no more than we do?

Utgar watched Yiven silently for a moment. The regent seemed to shrink under his gaze. “I have no desire for conflict,” Utgar said. “But neither do I plan to seal the Wellspring.”

“But Utgar—”

“Let us not pretend. Without the Wellspring, your armies could force me back into the Volcarren. I will not allow that to happen.”

A different delegate approached, and whispered urgently with Yiven.

Yiven glanced at Utgar. “With the Wellspring,” he said carefully, “you could destroy the peace we’ve enjoyed since the Uprising. You can understand our request, surely.”

“And you can understand my position,” Utgar said evenly.

“I c-can,” Yiven stammered, “but your fears are unfounded. We don’t want conflict. Seal the Wellspring, and we will let you live anywhere you want. In peace.”

Utgar regarded Yiven. He couldn’t seriously think Utgar would accept that. Trust the Empire? After they had spent the last century keeping the Volcarrens imprisoned? “I have no guarantee you will keep your word,” Utgar said, frowning.

Another kyrie stepped forward to whisper with the regent.

“Can you not speak for yourself, Yiven?” Vydar said unexpectedly.

Yiven blanched further, glancing at Vydar. He turned back to Utgar. “We have money,” he said, whetting his lips. “Riches. Take all you want; go to any corner of Valhalla you wish. We’ll let you go in peace. We’ll give you safe passage. You have my word. But the Wellspring… it must be sealed.”

Utgar’s frown had turned to a scowl as Yiven spoke. “You seek to bribe me?” he said. “I have no need for your wealth. What I ask is simple.”

“What you ask is impossible,” Yiven whispered. “We… We cannot allow the Wellspring to remain open. We can’t. P-Please understand.”

Utgar frowned, tightening his grip on his axe without thinking. The slight motion was noticed by all four Imperial guards. To the untrained eye, they didn’t move, but Utgar could tell they had shifted their balance towards him. They remained still, tense, waiting.

Peace, Utgar thought. We must have peace. He relaxed his grip.

“Surely we can reach an agreement,” he said. “What if we left Valhalla, settled elsewhere? The Volcarren is isolated, the Wellspring could be easily guarded.”

“Perhaps,” Yiven said slowly, glancing at the other delegates behind him. One of them shook his head. “But the Wellspring?” Yiven said. “You would leave it open?”

“Of course,” Utgar said.

Yiven shook his head, grimacing at the ground. “I’m afraid that an unsealed Wellspring, guarded or not, would be a threat. Even now, Utgar, there are rumors of rebels massing in our remote towns, thinking your arrival marks the beginning of some sort of revolution. You see, Ugar? The mere idea of a Wellspring is dangerous.”

“Then we have a difficulty,” Utgar said, mentally noting Yiven’s words about rebels.

Yiven glanced at him, then back at his advisors.

Utgar watched him calmly. He wasn’t afraid of the Empire, not with the power of the Wellspring in his veins. But they must have peace. How could Utgar accomplish that without sealing the Wellspring, the one guarantee they had?

Yiven and one of the advisors seemed to be communicating non-verbally. She nodded, looking grim, and Yiven turned back to Utgar. “Haukeland,” Yiven said. “Haukeland will solve our difficulties.”

“What is Haukeland?” Vydar asked, sounding suspicious.

“An island,” Yiven said. “A large island, east and north of here. It is far from Valhalla, so far that it hasn’t been mapped since the days of the archkyrie. It is said that it is fertile, forested… You could go there, start a new life for yourselves.”

“And the Wellspring?”

“It… would need to be sealed,” Yiven said delicately. “But,” he added as Utgar frowned, “Haukeland is so far that you could take Wellspring water with you. As much as you wanted. Your powers would remain intact well after your departure. You would have your guarantee of safety, and we would be able to seal the Wellspring.”

Utgar considered for a moment. He was loathe to give up the Wellspring – every instinct told him not to – but he was also wary about pushing the Empire too far. He wanted peace, not war.

“Why has no one settled on this Haukeland?” Vydar asked.

Yiven glanced at him. “Myths,” he said dismissively. “Children’s stories.”

“What stories?” Vydar said, his eyes narrowing.

“It… It’s said that… that the island is cursed. That some… evil force lives there. But it is just a tale. It’s not true. Just a myth created because the island is so far. Because it’s unknown. They are pure fabrications. Haukeland would be perfect for you.”

“I will speak with Vydar,” Utgar said, cutting off the Vel’s reply. He turned, and Vydar reluctantly followed him back out into the glaring sun. They walked a short distance away from the pavilion, their guards remaining behind.

When they were out of earshot of the soldiers, Utgar turned to face Vydar.

“You mean to consider this Haukeland?” the Vel guessed.

“I feel we must.”

“It is the Empire who must consider our wants,” Vydar said. “We have a Wellspring. State your terms, Utgar. Demand to live here, in Kinsland, close to the Wellspring. They dare not refuse us.”

“Perhaps,” Utgar said. “But I feel such a demand would lead to war eventually, Wellspring or no.”

“Then let us fight them. What can they do? We have a Wellspring. You could destroy them, Utgar. You could overthrow the Empire.”

And he could. Utgar knew that. But that wouldn’t lead to peace. He would live out his days in fear, surrounded by guards, watching every shadow. Maybe he could live like that, but could Runa? He didn’t want to find out.

“No,” he said. “If we destroy the Empire, we’ll still have no end of enemies. And if I force them into a deal they don’t like, all we’ll do is sow the seeds of war. I want to do this right, Vydar. If I can make a deal with the Empire, here and now, which we can both live with, we could have peace forever.”

“Even at the cost of the Wellspring?”

Utgar frowned. “I never wanted that Wellspring,” he said. “All I wanted – all I still want – is peace. If the Empire insists the Wellspring be sealed, then perhaps this Haukeland is the best compromise. Some water can always be set aside, preserved, in case we need to open a Wellspring again.”

Vydar nodded slowly. “That is true,” he said. Then, “But that is true. Utgar, surely the Empire has seen that. And letting you keep your powers, going to Haukeland with unlimited water? Why would they suggest such a thing? It benefits you alone. Sealing the Wellspring means nothing when you could easily just open it again.”

Utgar paused. Vydar had a point. “You think they are planning something?” he said.

“I don’t know,” Vydar admitted. “But the Empire tried to make its fair share of deals when I commanded the Vel, and this one feels wrong. There’s nothing preventing us from setting up on Haukeland, then sailing back here and annihilating them. That’s not a deal. It’s a ploy.”

Utgar nodded, thinking fast. “We’ll need to agree to something,” he said, “or our men will eventually grow restless enough to start a war on their own.”

“You think we should play along?” Vydar said. “Accept but delay, see what the Empire is planning?”

Utgar nodded. “And perhaps, during that time, an opportunity for a real agreement will present itself.”

Vydar nodded, and they returned to the pavilion.

“I will accept your offer,” Utgar said, stopping before Yiven, who looked as though he might faint from relief at the words. “We will go to Haukeland, taking Wellspring water with us, and you can seal the Wellspring behind us. However,” he added as Yiven opened his mouth, “I wish to send a party of scouts first.”

“Scouts?” Yiven repeated blankly.

“Of course,” Utgar said. “You said Haukeland was cursed.”

“It is a myth,” Yiven protested. “A fable. Just an old story.”

“All the same,” Utgar said, “I will want to know that Haukeland is safe before I send my people there. I suggest we both select three scouts. They can travel to Haukeland, search it for whatever dangers might be there, and then return. If their reports are favorable, then I and those with me will depart immediately.”

Yiven stammered incoherently for a moment, until one of his advisors leaned forward and whispered to him. He regained his composure as she spoke.

“This is suitable,” he said, facing Utgar once more. “However, Haukeland is a week’s journey away by boat. It will take the scouts two weeks to get there and back, not including however long it takes them to determine the safety of the island.”

Utgar had expected this. “Then we’ll have to stay somewhere,” he said calmly. “Helsng, perhaps.”

“Helsng?” Yiven squeaked. “Utgar… There’s a Wellspring there… Surely you can understand… Appearances…”

“Helsng will be convenient,” Utgar said, stepping forwards. Yiven stumbled back. “When the scouts return, you will doubtless want to hear their report as well. Besides, Helsng is closest. My men are hungry, and tired of sleeping on the ground. The least you can do, after keeping them imprisoned in the Volcarren for the last century, is give them a bed and a good meal.”

All four guards had shifted to face Utgar, spears held tightly. He ignored them.

Yiven spluttered in Utgar’s shadow. “I – But – Helsng, Utgar! The – The Wellspring! You realize how that will look, you staying there? Remember the rebels I told you about? They’ll think you’re going to open it. Start a war.”

“I have no intention of starting a war,” Utgar said, “and I will be happy to say so to any who ask me.” He looked down at Yiven. “But we will await the scouts at Helsng.”

Yiven seemed to wither before him. “Yes… Yes, of course. It’s just… Very well. We will await your arrival.” He stumbled backwards, and his aides surrounded him, whispering urgently.

Utgar and Vydar retreated back to the column of Volcarrens.

“The Wellspring?” Vydar whispered once they were out of earshot. “Is that why you insisted on Helsng?”

Utgar nodded. “I’m sure that even now the Empire has scouts in the Volcarren, searching for my Wellspring. Should they find it and seal it while we’re waiting, I’ll need to open another. Helsng is closest. But Vydar,” he added, stopping the Vel, “tell this to no one. I mean to avoid war if I can. This is merely a precaution.”

“Of course,” Vydar said. “I will tell my Vel where we are going, and nothing more.”

He left, and Utgar watched him go. Had he made a mistake by insisting on going to Helsng? Certainly there were any number of villages they could stay at while they waited. But no. The Empire couldn’t be trusted. Utgar needed to be near that Wellspring.

He only hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.