I like to use this space after the end of the story to explain how the tale came to be, and why things are the way they are. This both helps me to better organize my thoughts on the story as a whole, and it helps readers to understand why certain elements of the story exist, while others do not.

Dawn of Darkness, or DoD as I call it, really began back in 2015, with The River that was Red. That tale centered on Raelin, and told the story of the war, more or less from start to finish. Raelin is thrust into the action when she hears rumors of a Volcarren army approaching from the south.

It was always in the back of my mind that the origins of that army were very similar to the origins of the Volcarrens in this story: prisoners, locked away in the wasteland, now suddenly free and rampaging across Valhalla, led by Utgar, their Valkyrie.

There is no other connection between Red and this tale, but that is where the idea initially came from. I didn’t return to it until the end of 2019, when, casting about for something to write, I recalled the desolate setting of the Volcarren, and the half-forgotten tale of Utgar’s origins.

The resulting story was Rise of the Valkyrie, the first in what I then thought would be a series of stories documenting the, well… rising of the Valkyries. However, that story was… less than optimal. It was short, felt flat, and I wasn’t that happy with it overall.

In early 2021, I decided to take another stab at the idea of Utgar, and try to do it justice. I wrote Valkyrie, a retelling of Utgar’s origins. It was still short and missed some opportunities, but I feel it was far better than its predecessor.

Following the completion of the Dilmir series, I found myself in need of another fan fiction to write, and the result is the tale you have just completed: Dawn of Darkness, or DoD.

Spurred on by comments wondering how Utgar became a villain and how the war began (or maybe those were just my own internal questions), I set about writing a sequel which would explain just that.

The early iterations of the story centered around Utgar, and his fall into ‘darkness’. What exactly that ‘darkness’ was, I had – and still have – no real idea. It was vague and undefined, terms like ‘distrustful’, ‘uncaring’, and ‘amoral’ all kind of swimming around in a fog of unresolved ideas. The fact was that Utgar’s character was kind of a mess from Valkyrie, and I had to reconstruct that first before I could move on.

It eventually dawned on me that a tale where Utgar ultimately ‘fell’ might not be too pleasant to read, since it would ultimately end in failure. Thus Taelord and Runa entered.

I took Runa’s optimism from the previous story and ran with it, constructing her to have an arc opposing Utgar’s, where she would hold to hope while Utgar accepted the inevitable. Taelord would be in the middle, observing them both, wavering between the two.

It was all very idealistic and ungrounded.

I did eventually realize that Utgar’s vague ‘darkness’ wasn’t working. I scratched that idea, and had him simply get closer and closer to choosing war. Some parts remained: his distrust of the Empire, most notably.

At this point, Taelord was the main character, and that stuck. However, as the story took shape, I began to realize that he wasn’t doing anything. He was just kind of… there, watching. And honestly, that’s still pretty much the case in the final product.

I did try to give Taelord a more active role. I crafted a subplot around him, a revelation of Ahnvad as his father, and a deeper connection to the Wellspring. And I really, really liked that subplot. Except that it went nowhere.

While it introduced some cool ideas and great connections (it actually explained Ahnvad’s motivations for being in the Volcarren), it had no end. Revelations dropped, nothing really changed, and… the story just kind of kept going. The problem was that while the subplot introduced some unknown things, none of those things really changed what was going on. The Volcarrens were locked too tightly up against the Empire for anything involving Taelord to really have much of an effect.

I tried mightily to make that subplot connect, but ultimately I had to cut it, leaving Taelord with very little effect on the story as a whole. Which I suppose makes sense. At the end of the day, the story is really about Utgar, not Taelord.

I was originally going to tell you what Taelord’s subplot was in this Author’s Note, but upon further consideration, I’ve decided to keep it back on the off chance that I use it in some future tale. More on that below.

Aside from Taelord’s lack of involvement, there are some things I feel could have been better in this story.

I feel like Runa’s transition from hopeful, to doubting, and then back to hopeful could have used more attention. The chapters where she changes are few and generally short, and if this were a novel, I would like to go back and consider more how I could make her transition more believable. Unfortunately, I only realized how little she seemed to change during the actual writing, at which point I needed to finish the story, not take it back to the drawing board. Let me know if you noticed this as well, or if it’s all in my head.

I also didn’t like how some of the conversations in this story feel. Particularly the conversations surrounding Rehs. There are a lot of paragraphs of unbroken text, where it seems like one person knows exactly what they are going to say before they open their mouth, and the other person just lets them keep talking, instead of interrupting. It reads more like a pre-scripted debate than a natural conversation. I worked on that as I wrote, and I think I managed to smooth out some of the conversations. I’ll need to look into what happened there, and how I can prevent it. Again, let me know if you noticed this.

So, did I gain anything from writing this tale? In a way. I feel the last two Dilmir stories are far superior to this. However, writing this story has served to highlight where I’m still deficient – primarily in writing dialogue and keeping things organized while writing. I plan on working on those two things as I prepare to write my first novel. One thing I am hopeful that this story did well was escalate tension at a steady rate. Let me know about that.

And that brings me to the future. Will there be a sequel to this story? No and maybe. I will say at this point that I do not plan on writing another full-length fan fiction. The development for my novels has finally started, and it’s time that I pay full attention to that.

I will not however rule out short stories. I think keeping in ‘writing practice’ while I work on my first novel will be a good idea, and I have several story seeds which I could possibly turn into shorter fan fictions. Some of those could certainly be sequels to this tale, although they would almost certainly take place several years later, and might even feature entirely different characters. Time will tell how that unfolds.

For now though, it’s full steam ahead on the first novel. Until then, keep reading, keep writing, and long live ‘Scape!  

Veth and Scar-shoulder were dead. Rehs and G’shar were dead. Dered had survived, and so had Kran, although he had lost a leg, and not even Utgar’s healing could restore it. Jer had been slain somewhere during the skirmish before entering the keep, and Leran had been cut down prior, near his home. Of the garrison stationed at Helsng, only a handful had escaped Utgar’s assault, and fled with Jandar. Many commoners of Helsng had been slain by the soldiers, and many more by Jandar. Over half of the Volcarrens and Vel had been cut down as well, and Einar had lost many of his rebels.

Despite the death and destruction, those who remained in Helsng welcomed Utgar as a conquering hero. Einar and Vydar pledged to serve him, offering their men as soldiers, and their knowledge as commanders.

Those who were left in Helsng set to rebuilding. The harbor was cleared, and contact established with the other southern villages conquered by the rebels. Young kyrie began to pour into Helsng, pledging their service to Utgar, and an army began to form.

Soon after the destruction of the keep, Taelord sought out his mother. She had survived, her prison mostly untouched. She seemed unconcerned over her fate, whatever that might be. For now, she was fed and sheltered, and seemed content. Taelord had frowned, but left her to her simple pleasures. He would purge Ahnvad from her one day. When he knew how.

He had sought an audience with Utgar soon after. He had no desire to remain at Helsng, the epicenter of Utgar’s war, and had requested permission to sail to Crevcor. He hoped to find Syafa and Aiiva there, and tell them what had happened to Rehs and G’shar.

Utgar had no reason to keep him. Now that the Empire wasn’t there to stop him, he had sent Kirav back to the Volcarren, along with a detachment of trusted soldiers, to secure the Wellspring. A fortress would be constructed over it, to protect it from any who sought its powers.

That of course meant its location would soon be known, which in turn meant Taelord’s threat to Utgar’s power – real or not – was gone. He was free to go, and Utgar granted him passage easily. Taelord suspected Utgar was simply glad to see him go. He saw Runa before he left however, and promised her that one day, he would return, and see her again.

Fera went with him. Taelord explained to Utgar that she only wanted safety. She was loyal only to whoever could secure her future. At Crevcor, away from both Utgar and Runa, she could cause no further harm. Utgar agreed, and she was released to Taelord. He suspected Runa might have spoken to her father on his behalf.

Meanwhile, Utgar drew in mercenaries and eager warriors from all across Kinsland, forming an army. The Empire fled from the entire region, and began gathering its troops in northern Anund, preparing for an assault.

Vydar was put in charge of training the army. His Vel were such legendary warriors, that the choice was questioned by no one, least of all Vydar himself. He took to the task eagerly, training Utgar’s forces how to break through Imperial ranks and wield any weapon.

Einar, meanwhile, was sent west, to negotiate with the Erianor Empire. Their stance on the war was largely unknown. There were reports of them both attacking Imperial strongholds, and supplying the Empire with shipments of raw ore. Utgar needed to know if they were an ally, or a foe.

Before he had a chance to find out, an Imperial army began to descend into Kinsland. They took Deraan first, overrunning the light garrison Vydar had set up there, and then struck south, hugging the Red Mountains and making straight for Helsng.  

Vydar marched out and met them in several campaigns on the open fields of Kinsland. The Empire won every one of them. On the ground, in the open, their tactics and formations were unbeatable. The rebels were ill-equipped and untested, and broke before the spear walls, flying to the air, only to be cut down by hails of crossbow-fire.

Utgar quickly found that his powers were useless when they could be countered by Jandar. If he turned his destruction against the Imperial army, he could slay many, but Jandar would take advantage of his distraction, and obliterate the rebel force at the same time. Such trades favored the Empire. They always had more soldiers, but Utgar’s rebels were limited.

Thus there was little Utgar could do to stop the Empire. Now he understood how the Wellspring wars had lasted for centuries – two Valkyries facing each other resulted in a stalemate – a long, bloody war, where their armies fought each other until one ran out of men.

Unfortunately, that was Utgar. The Empire had a seemingly unlimited supply of soldiers, and with each defeat, Utgar’s forces dwindled further. Finally, Utgar’s crippled army returned to Helsng, beaten and bloodied, the Imperials following them at an unhurried pace. Helsng was laid siege to.

The city fell almost instantly. Imperial strike forces landed at random points throughout the city, establishing control and cutting off Utgar’s forces. There was fighting in the streets, but finally the burning of the Maze and the Rows forced Utgar’s men back into the newly repaired keep.

The Empire then set up siege engines outside Helsng, and began to bombard the keep with slabs of rock, carved from the mountain itself. Surrounded, the keep disintegrating about him, his men all but gone, out of options, Utgar was finally forced to turn to the Wellspring.

There was one final ability of the Wellspring, a use which even the ancient Archkyrie had avoided using, knowing the hell it would unleash. But Utgar was desperate. He needed an army, one capable of beating the Empire.

And the Wellspring provided.

The End

The only light came from the strange lanterns around the Wellspring. Half of those were gone, smashed when the room had been blasted apart, but the rest still remained, casting a strange, flat light over what was left of the keep.

The damage was more extensive than Taelord had at first realized. Practically half the keep was gone, the stone blocks blown outwards. Beyond, houses had been crushed by the falling stones, people along with them in some cases. Fires had sprung up following Utgar’s attack, only to be suddenly extinguished in Jandar’s assault. Buildings had been charred to ash, and then blasted apart by ice. A good third of the Maze was a ruin, a mass of worthless timber and torn leather, scattered with bloody remains.

Utgar’s attack had incinerated practically the entire garrison. Well over three hundred soldiers had been turned to dust, their armor now lying across the floor in pools which had melted, and then frozen. The few who had remained had fled with Jandar, leaving Helsng to the rebels.

The city was theirs. But there weren’t many of them left to claim it. The mob which had attacked the soldiers at the last moment, the crowd of farmers Rehs had been with, had faired just as badly as the garrison. They had turned to a crystalized red mist upon contact with Jandar’s powers, which had then been blasted in all directions. Now, the ice had melted, leaving everything coated in a fine film of blood. Stones, weapons, survivors – everything. It had congealed, and was now caked on, a red crust over everything Taelord saw and touched.

Rehs was dead. Taelord had guessed as much when he suddenly fell silent, but now he knew for certain. He approached the place where what was left of Rehs’ body lay.

He had survived the bulk of Jandar’s powers, thanks to the crumbled block above him, but that hadn’t been enough. He had been slashed by a hundred small shards of ice, frozen from the inside out, his blood turned to crystal, rupturing his skin.

G’shar had been there too, though Taelord hadn’t noticed him until now. He had found a similar shelter near Rehs, and had similarly died. The two were mere feet apart. Taelord wondered if they had known they were so close.

He remained there for a long time, looking at them, their corpses crusted with red, shattered stone about them. One had wanted peace, one war. Both had lost.

Taelord didn’t know what to think, what to feel. He just stayed there, looking at their torn faces, trying to understand, trying to make sense of it, trying to somehow make it work.

But it didn’t make sense. The war had come, just as Taelord had known it would. And G’shar and Rehs… this was their end. Their fate. Not just for them, but for Taelord as well. For all the Volcarrens. War, constant and unending, followed by death. There was nothing else. There never could be anything else.

Ahnvad had been right.

“We beat you,” Taelord whispered. His voice quivered, and he realized his throat was tight. “We beat you, Ahnvad. Utgar left your corpse blackened, your armor rent.”

But that had proven nothing. Ahnvad had said the Volcarrens could never have peace, that if they escaped their prison, they would just start another war. And he had been proven right.

Runa alighted next to him, silent. She hadn’t been present, but had fled to safety. He glanced at her. There were tear tracks on her face, running through a film of soot and dust. She wasn’t crying though. She looked down at Rehs and G’shar, but said nothing. She simply looked at them, still, subdued.

Taelord remembered how she had flown through the air when they first approached Helsng. She had been happy then, sure of peace, untroubled by doubt. Taelord remembered thinking she was naïve, blind even. And maybe she had been. But he had smiled anyway. She had made him smile.

What he wouldn’t give to feel that way now. To feel hope, even when he could see no reason for it. Even a fleeting moment of hope, just a single smile, would be better than what he now felt.

Ahnvad had won. It didn’t matter that Utgar had killed him. It didn’t matter that they had escaped from the Volcarren. Ahnvad had still been right. He had broken Taelord’s mother, and now he had broken Runa. Taelord could see it in her face, her posture, her silence. And Taelord… he would be next. He could feel Ahnvad’s poison within him, growing, feeding on the despair and defeat around him.

No.

Taelord looked at Rehs and G’shar, blinking away a stinging in his eyes.

No.

He wouldn’t let this be the end. He wouldn’t let Ahnvad continue to win, over and over. He had stood against that tyrant, his father, when he was young. He could do so now.

He turned, took Runa by the hand, and led her away, to a clear area nearby. He stopped in a section of the keep which was empty of bodies and rubble, and had been spared from the terrible redness by a nearby stone building, which still partially stood. Runa followed him silently, and stopped when he did, standing still, looking down, saying nothing.

Taelord glanced at her. She wasn’t the same person she had been when they left the Volcarren. This Runa was darker, broken, empty inside. And she had every reason to be. She had been sure they could have peace, and she had been proven wrong. The war had begun, and would probably continue for a long time. Any chance of peace now was gone.

And if Taelord was honest, she should have seen that coming. They all should have. And yet she had hoped, and he had smiled. Despite everything, he had smiled.

Why? Blind optimism was no way to live, was it? Runa had learned that the hard way. And yet, standing now next to this quiet, darker Runa… Taelord couldn’t be sure. He saw too much of his mother in her, in the way she looked down, the way her wings drooped and her arms sagged.

The old Runa had been better. She had been naïve, but she had also been alive. She had seen the future which could have been, not simply the one which seemed most likely.

Taelord watched her silently. Yes. Yes, that was the difference. She had dared to hope, dared to focus on what might have been, instead of what almost certainly would be.

Ahnvad would have called it a foolish hope. An idle dream. A falsehood. And maybe he would be right. But didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because… they needed hope. More than ever, they needed it.

Taelord glanced out over the destruction. Kyrie slain. Buildings burned. Blood coating the streets. Yes. Ahnvad had been right. The Volcarrens did know only war and conflict. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t change. There would be war. And it would be bloody. But in time… in time there could be peace.

The rim of the sun appeared on the horizon. Taelord hadn’t realized the night had passed. He had lost track of time once Jandar had left. The light was reddish, dyed with smoke, a cruel imitation of the blood on the ground about them. But Taelord ignored those things. He looked only to the sun, and the sky beyond, which was now the palest of blues.

“A new dawn,” he whispered.

Beside him, Runa let out a breath. “A dawn of darkness,” she whispered.

Taelord glanced at her. The first rays of the new sun shone through the gaps in the keep wall, and lit her face and hair, illuminating both in gold light, tinted with red. But the light didn’t seem to reach her eyes. They remained dark, downcast.

“There is hope,” Taelord whispered to her.

Runa glanced at him, those cold eyes dead in the new light, as if they were endless pits into which the new dawn had fled.

“There is always hope, Runa. You taught me that.”

“There will be war,” Runa said, her voice flat, expressionless.

Taelord knew that voice well. His mother had used it once, after she had stopped trying to escape Ahnvad. It was the voice of defeat. Of acceptance.

“Yes,” he said. “There will be war. And it will be long and dark. But after every war there is peace. And this war is no different, Runa. There will be peace once it is over. And I will be there, and so will you.”

She looked at him silently for a time, those dead eyes searching his face, the new sun bathing the side of her head in light and casting the other side in darkness.

“How can you believe that?” she finally said. Her voice wasn’t accusing. It sounded almost… desperate. “How?”

Taelord held her gaze. “Because I choose to,” he said evenly. He watched her. “You can choose to also.”

She was silent for a moment, watching him. Then she turned to face the sun. Its light illuminated her fully, casting shadows behind her. To Taelord, the light seemed to lose its reddish quality, leaving her edged in gold.

“I hope you’re right,” she finally said, still watching the sun. She turned to him. “I really do.”

Taelord smiled at her. “There’s always hope,” he said.

She watched him for a moment. Then, as the rays of the sun illuminated the plains and the Red Flats beyond, she returned his smile. It was a small one, a tiny one, fragile in the new light. But it was still a smile.

“Stand aside!”

Taelord, who had been holding the door with the other Volcarrens, looked behind him. Utgar stood there, Vydar with him, and behind them… that must be the Wellspring.

The strange even light illuminated Utgar perfectly, allowing Taelord to see that his injuries had vanished. How… somehow Utgar had opened the Wellspring. He held out a single hand, palm outwards, facing the door.

“Move!” Taelord yelled, grabbing the nearest person and throwing them and himself out of the way. He remembered well Ahnvad’s warning about using Wellspring powers in enclosed spaces. Hopefully Utgar did as well.

The farmers and Volcarrens scattered, and a moment later, the door burst to splinters, revealing a mass of Imperial troops. They hesitated as they saw the Wellspring, and Utgar standing before it.

And then heat blasted from Utgar’s palm. A roar, like the air itself was bellowing in pain, filled the room, pressing against Taelord’s ears. A blast of wind accompanied it, throwing him against the far wall, away from the door. Heat seared his skin, worse than when he had fought the fire at Elet’s house, so hot he thought his very bones might melt.

And then came light. Orange, yellow, red, and blinding white. Fire poured, streamed, jetted from Utgar, slamming into the soldiers like a mountain falling from the heavens. Squinting, Taelord saw that they weren’t thrown backwards. They were simply incinerated. They turned to ash, and then to nothing, the fire stripping them away so fast that there was never a hint they had even existed.

And then there was silence, darkness, and blessed, blessed coolness. Taelord blinked, trying to rid his eyes of the afterimage of the flame. He could barely make out where the door to the Wellspring chamber had been. Now it was nothing more than empty space. The entire front half of the room had been torn open, blocks sent speeding outwards to punch holes in the outer ceiling, through which stars could now be seen. There was no dust – apparently the fire had incinerated that as well – leaving only scattered stone wreckage, blackened and crumbling.

The remnants of the Imperial force lay beyond, scattered between the Wellspring chamber and the inner wall. Very few moved. Their armor streamed from them in a molten mass, and the few who were still alive whimpered and cried out in pain.

And then, a strange sound came to Taelord: whooping. A wordless, joyful shout, picked up and echoed against stone. It didn’t come from the Volcarrens or the farmers, and certainly not from the soldiers. It came from beyond the inner wall, from the hall they had all run down.

And then the source of the sound charged into view, picking its way over the rubble of the inner wall, which had partially crumbled against Utgar’s power. Farmers – practically the entire population of Helsng – charged forwards, swinging axes and swords into the few Imperials who still moved, cheering and yelling.

Taelord spied Rehs at their head, running for the Wellspring, waving his arms and grinning ear to ear at the defeat of the Empire. So he hadn’t been in the battle after all. Taelord breathed a sigh of relief.

And then a sound, a terrible, familiar sound, filled the air. A rushing. A bellowing. A blast of air. Valkyrie magic.

But the blast didn’t come from Utgar. It came from overhead. Once again, Taelord was thrown against the wall by a strong wind. But this time, it was cold which washed over him, not heat. The air itself seemed to crystalize, and he found it difficult to breathe, as if his lungs had frozen solid. There was no brilliant light, but there was a whiteness, a refraction of light into a hundred colors against the walls. And then there was a terrible scraping and grinding, as a thousand million shards of ice fell from above, grating against stone.

Taelord was protected. He had been flung up against the side of the room by Utgar’s attack, and though the front of the room had been blasted away, the section where he was still had a fragment of roof. It deflected the bulk of the attack.

Others were not so fortunate.

Taelord saw Veth and Scar-shoulder, who had been in the mob at Leran’s house, and had unwisely stood up after Utgar’s attack, get leveled by the ice. They simply… exploded. Whiteness slammed into them, crushing them against the floor, and then ice shredded into them, leaving nothing behind but a fine red mist.

Kran, on the other side of the room, lost a leg in the blink of an eye. He managed to roll to the side, where a section of roof kept him from the rest. There was no blood. His leg was simply gone, a black stump where it had been.

Taelord saw Vydar and Einar, huddled in separate corners of the room with a handful of their soldiers, sheltered from the attack by remnants of the roof. Utgar too, despite standing in the open, seemed protected by some kind of magical forcefield.

Rehs was not so lucky. Taelord fully expected to see him vanish from sight, obliterated by magic, but he dodged to the side at the last moment, diving beneath a large stone block which was nearby, tilted up enough to allow him space beneath it.

Unfortunately, the stone had already been subjected to one Valkyrie’s attack. Two seemed to be too much for it. It shattered over Rehs, the shards protecting parts of him while allowing others to be struck. Rehs screamed, ice tearing into him, rock falling on top of him, and then he was silent. Just like that. Cut off as if by a knife.

The rushing of the air ended with Rehs’ scream. Silence returned, and this time it was returning warmth which was welcome to Taelord’s skin. He took a breath with difficulty, and peeked out from under his section of roof, struggling to see where the attack had come from.

---

Jandar landed before Utgar, ice crystalizing along his armor. He had lost his helm at some point, and his hair – a fair blonde – was wild, plastered about his face and frozen stiff. Mist still curled up from his hands, and his expression seemed frozen into a look of horror.

Utgar had survived the assault. Almost by instinct, he had thrust his hand upwards, and an invisible barrier had appeared around him. The ice had passed around it harmlessly. Now he lowered his hand, and watched warily as Jandar, weaponless, approached.

Jandar stopped before him. He said nothing, but his jaw worked, and his fists slowly clenched and unclenched.

Utgar was still processing what he had seen. Not to mention the absolute devastation which had been caused. Some large chunks of the outer ceiling had fallen in completely, allowing him to see that night had fallen outside. Had they been in the keep that long?  

“You kept some water back,” he finally said, watching Jandar. “When you stole from me.”

Jandar nodded curtly.

“Why didn’t you use it? You could have stopped this… all of this…” A sudden wave of anger took Utgar. “And you blame me for this? You dare to put this blood on my hands? When you could have stopped it in an instant?”

“Think!” Jandar hissed, his teeth clenched. “There were centuries of war because of the Wellsprings. Hundreds of years. Valhalla went into revolt at the mere rumor of a Wellspring in the Volcarren. And you think I would have used this power to quell a simple rebellion? Yes, I kept some water back, because I guessed how desperate you might be, just how far you might go. But I knew the cost of using it. I swore I would drink of it to do one thing only: stop another Valkyrie. And now you’ve forced my hand…”

He stood still for a moment, staring at Utgar with burning eyes. “Have you any idea what you’ve begun?” he whispered.

“I only ever sought peace,” Utgar said. He was silent for a moment, watching Jandar. After the terrible sound of the attacks, everything seemed quiet, still. “Maybe I was a fool to do so,” he said. “Maybe peace was never possible. Maybe… maybe this was inevitable. You and me, standing here, Wellspring water in our veins.”

Jandar glared at him. “If you had let us seal your Wellspring from the beginning, none of this would have happened.”

“Had I allowed that,” Utgar said, “what assurance would I have had that we wouldn’t be thrown straight back into the Volcarren?”

“Mine!” Jandar said. “I would have sworn it to you, Utgar.”

Utgar watched him for a moment, and then shook his head. “I couldn’t have trusted you,” he said. “I still can’t.”

Jandar took a deep, shaky breath. “What is done is done,” he said. “Let us end this now, before more lives are lost. I swear to you now, if you lay aside the Wellspring water and surrender to me, I will do everything in my power to see that you and those who follow you are treated fairly. You can live in freedom, away from the Empire.”

Utgar watched him. Could he trust this Jandar? Perhaps. But could he trust the Empire? After what they had done? The deceptions and plots they had woven? The way they treated their own people? Could he really rely on them for his own safety? For Runa’s?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t trust you, any more than you could trust me with Wellspring water.”

Jandar watched him for a moment, his scowl deepening. “Then we are destined to do this again,” he said. “Aren’t we? You will seek peace the only way you can: through the destruction of the Empire. And I will seek to stop you.”

“Maybe the Empire needs to fall,” Utgar said. “This doesn’t need to be bloody, Jandar.”

“The Empire is irrelevant,” Jandar said. “It has been falling for years. But you… you would open the Wellsprings. That I cannot allow. You would usher in a thousand years of war on Valhalla, all for your own peace of mind.”

Maybe he was right. But then, what choice did Utgar have? He would not gamble with Runa’s fate. Never. He needed to be sure, and the Wellspring was the only way.

Jandar took a deep breath. “I can see the time for negotiations is over,” he said. “I had hoped to avoid this, but I see now that is impossible. You and I, Utgar – we have nothing left to say to each other. You have made your decision, I mine. Now… Now Valhalla must face the consequences.”

“So be it,” Utgar said quietly.

“So be it,” Jandar echoed. “I will meet you on the field of battle.”

He turned, and sprang upwards, flying through a gap in the roof. No one bothered trying to stop him. Not when he could turn and level half the city in an instant.

Utgar watched him go. He had thought maybe Jandar would attack… but that would have been foolish. For all their might, Valkyrie could only focus their powers in one direction, and those loyal to Utgar were scattered around the ruins of the Wellspring Chamber. Jandar could have been surrounded.

Jandar disappeared into the night, and Utgar lowered his gaze, a deep sense of… finality settling on him. It was comforting in a way. He knew his path now. he would have to fight for freedom, for peace, for the life Runa deserved. Negotiation had failed. Perhaps it had never been possible. Now, there was only… war.

He might have known. He was a Volcarren. A fighter. A killer. How else could things have turned out?

Taelord still hadn’t found Rehs. Unfortunately, he had no chance to escape to search for him – the sky was full of kyrie. Most of them were soldiers, streaming in from the keep. They wouldn’t hesitate to cut down Taelord if he tried to fly or run.

A few Volcarrens had risen up to intercept them, but the Imperials in the back – the ones with crossbows – had unleashed a hail of bolts against them, dropping them. All things considered, it was safer on the ground for now. The soldiers wouldn’t fire into the crowd, for fear of hitting their own allies in the back.

That wouldn’t last forever, though. Utgar had arrived, and his axe was definitely having an effect, but more and more soldiers kept coming. Taelord had had no idea there were this many in Helsng. Eventually, the crowd would be surrounded, and then the spear-kyrie could simply stop advancing, and let the crossbows finish the work.

Meanwhile, the throng was pinning Utgar, preventing him from backing up. He stumbled, going down to one knee, and the rebels surged forward by instinct, enveloping him despite the spears. Taelord darted forwards with several others, and they hauled Utgar to his feet.

He was bleeding from a jagged cut along his right calf, and his right arm was dripping blood, hanging useless and quivering by his side. He gripped his axe in his left hand, but he staggered as he stood.

“The keep,” he hissed through the pain. His eyes searched those about him, most of whom were farmers, and focused on Taelord – the only Volcarren nearby. He grimaced. “Make for the keep,” he said. “It will be empty.”

Taelord understood. All the soldiers were here, trying to contain the situation. The keep would be relatively unguarded. He didn’t see what good that would do though. The keep was a death trap, with no way out. But he supposed it would be better than fighting out in the open, where they would soon be surrounded.

Several of those nearby heard Utgar’s words, and began shouting it on all sides. “To the keep! To the keep!”

“To the keep!” Einar echoed, emerging from the frontlines, somehow unscathed, though his blades were positively streaming with blood now. He turned aside a spear aimed for him and stabbed his saber straight through the small gap between the soldier’s wings, causing him to stagger back and drop his spear. “Fly! To the keep!”

His words seemed to cut through the crowd. They looked up, realized what he was saying, and leapt upwards. A volley of bolts flew into them, and dropped many, but it wasn’t enough. The rebels took to the air, Taelord and Utgar with them, a great seething mass of bodies, wings, and weapons, and charged west, towards the keep.

The Imperials didn’t pursue. Taelord guessed their advantage was on the ground, where they could hold a position and strike with their spears. They followed through the streets below, occasionally stopping to fire a stray bolt into the rebels, but they didn’t take to the air, and were soon left behind.

---

There was a handful of soldiers guarding the entrance to the keep. Some Vel dropped onto them before they even looked up, cutting them down with carved Taklay spines. The other rebels landed and surged into the keep, Utgar swept up in their midst. His injuries were distracting, but manageable.

From the outside, the keep was a half-dome, built straight into the side of the mountain. It was constructed from massive stone blocks, and Utgar could see the other side of those blocks as they entered the dark interior. He judged the walls to be at least two feet thick.

Immediately facing them was a wall, constructed out of similar blocks. Looking up, Utgar saw that it was also shaped like the keep – a dome within a dome. An inner wall.

He found Vydar by his side. “The Wellspring,” he said with difficulty, the pain in his leg burning. “It must be at the very center of the keep. We need to find a way… an entrance into the inner section.”

Vydar nodded, shouted some orders to his Vel, and the rebels began moving along the inner wall, searching for a way in.

It was dark in the keep, and as Utgar had hoped, almost entirely empty. Nearly every soldier had left, leaving only the occasional straggler, all of whom were dealt with quickly by Vel or Volcarrens.

Utgar glanced at the farmers near him as they moved. Many were injured, gripping their sides, arms, or legs. The dim light, cast only by lanterns on the wall and braziers on the floor, marked their injuries in high relief, making shallow wounds look deep, and red blood seem black.

The keep seemed much larger than Utgar had thought it was. Sounds reach them, echoes from the entrance: the Imperials had arrived.

“Quickly!” Einar called from somewhere up ahead. “If we can find the door to the inner section, we can seal them out!”

And us in, Utgar thought. But that didn’t matter. There was only one way this was going to end now: with him unsealing the Wellspring and demanding the Empire’s surrender. Well, so be it. He should have done that from the beginning. It had been foolish to try and negotiate with the Empire. They couldn’t be trusted.

After traveling what felt like the entire perimeter of the keep, they found a heavy door set in the inner wall. It was open, guarded by four soldiers who managed to wound a single Vel before being dispatched.

“Close the doors,” Einar called as they filed inside. “Quickly.”

They could hear the echoes of armored feet getting louder. The Empire was near.

Closing the doors proved impossible, however. Utgar guessed they must be shut by some mechanism, because even with every farmer and Volcarren straining against them, they didn’t budge.

“Leave them!” he called as the sounds of the approaching soldiers grew louder. “Make for the Wellspring; there will be a door there!” It was only logical – the Empire would have sealed the Wellspring with more than magic.

The space they were now in was open, the side of the mountain rising up behind them. Set against it, in what seemed to be a natural cave, was a small replica of the keep: a dome only a few kyrie high, but wide enough to fit at least fifty side by side.

The stones which made it up were chipped and scarred. They looked far older than the rest of the keep. Fires dotted the outside perimeter of the wall, braziers arranged in a pattern around it, illuminating the dark rock from below. In the very middle of the wall, a thick door was surrounded by a grand carved stone entrance, the slabs chiseled with reliefs and glyphs Utgar didn’t recognize.

No mechanism guarded this door. It was sealed, but the farmers crashed against it, and it opened, two halves folding inward. Utgar could hear the Imperials – they were through the inner wall.

“Stop them!” came the cries. “Don’t let them reach the Wellspring!”

They all rushed inside the Wellspring chamber, Utgar bringing up the rear. He caught a glimpse of Taelord dashing in with the others, carrying a broadsword. And then the door slammed behind them, closed by rebels on either side.

The bolt had been broken of course when they forced their way in, but the farmers and Volcarrens pressed against it, a crowd of at least fifty, all pushing against each other.

Utgar turned. The ceiling was low, and the domed walls curved, sweeping up sharply from the rock floor and flowing together at the top. There were lights: strange lanterns set in regular alcoves along the walls. Their light didn’t flicker or dim. It was steady and unchanging, and shone a brilliant white-blue. Utgar had never seen such things before. He approached one, staring at it, the steady light illuminating him. Was this archkyrie magic?

He turned towards the center of the room. It sloped gently downwards, made of stone like the rest of the keep, until it simply vanished, forming a deep, black hole. That hole, as well as part of the sloping floor leading to it, was covered with water. The Wellspring.

It didn’t look magical. It looked like normal water, though it seemed too still, too undisturbed to be entirely natural. Utgar approached it, and saw that it was perfectly clear. He could see the stones below it, and the point where they fell away, forming a great circular pit. That pit led to nothing but blackness. He reached out his hand towards the water’s edge, and was unsurprised to feel it run into a barrier.

There was nothing there but air, but he could feel it clearly: something quite solid kept him from the Wellspring. It felt slippery, but had no temperature, as though it were made of the air itself.

There was an almighty thud from the door. The soldiers had arrived. The farmers braced against the door. Another thud. Utgar could hear wood starting to crack.

He glanced at Vydar, who had approached.

“Time to turn the tide,” the Vel leader said, his eyes glinting in the darkness.

Utgar nodded, sighing. There was no other way.

He pulled from around his neck the small vial containing a few precious drops of Wellspring water. Only enough for a moment’s burst of power. Only enough to unseal a Wellspring.

He pulled the stopper from the vial, and tipped the water into his mouth. Aside from tasting cool and clean, it was no different than normal water. And Utgar felt no different. Except…

There was a tingling in his leg and his arm. Without looking, he knew his injuries were healing. He reached out his hand, felt it pass through the barrier around the Wellspring, and scooped up a handful of water at his feet.

“To a new Valhalla,” he said grimly, nodding to Vydar.

And then he drank.

Taelord was supremely grateful he had decided to take his sword with him when he chose to wander Helsng that morning. He held it now, staying near the fireplace, where he was sheltered from the press of the mob.

Eten’s family was fighting, the soldiers with them. Taelord had seen Geren be overrun almost instantly – he caught scattered glimpses of his body on the floor through the crowd, his wings and neck snapped. Two soldiers had fallen with him. The rest had their swords out and were swinging wildly, but there were simply too many rebels to fight.

As Taelord watched, a Volcarren sank an axe clean through the breastplate of a soldier. A farmer, carrying what looked like half a spear, stabbed it into a bounty hunter’s shoulder, causing him to drop his blade. A Vel swung a bone club into his head a moment later, crushing the skull.

Then there was a sound, a blast or a bellow, so loud that it shook the floor and caused everyone to look up. A horn. A horn outside. The call came again, louder this time. Closer.

“Imperials! The Empire!” The cry was taken up on all sides, relief from the soldiers mixing with fear from the mob.

Taelord drew himself close to the wall, and a moment later, figures in full plate armor began dropping from the sky and rushing into Eten’s home. They crashed into the rebels without hesitation, using their armored wings like fists, slamming them into farmers and Volcarrens alike. The armor had spikes at the bends of the winds, where they folded, and these left long bloody gashes in those they struck.

The soldiers carved a path to the survivors, dropping foes on all sides, leaving a trail of bloodied and beaten kyrie. There was almost no one left to reach. Taelord only saw one soldier and three of Eten’s family – Eten himself was on the ground, lifeless, in a pool of blood. The soldiers surrounded those who were left, and then punched their way back out of the home, taking to the air the instant they were free.

Taelord blinked. The entire rescue had occurred in a matter of seconds, and left at least twenty farmers and Volcarrens on the floor, clutching injuries. Others lay unmoving, mixed with lifeless soldiers or loyalists. After so much time spent trying to avoid killing…

But the soldiers weren’t finished. More thudded to the ground outside the home, these wielding spears. They leveled their weapons at the house, blocking the way out, more reinforcements landing behind them.

“Disperse!” someone called from behind the soldiers. “Leave this place, and no one need be hurt.”

In response, the rebels turned, and charged the soldiers.

It was a stupid thing to do, but Taelord wasn’t entirely surprised. He had seen it before in the Volcarren: at some point, the blood craze took over, and logic was left behind.

Many farmers were run through with the spears, their charges ending abruptly. But those behind clambered over them, and leapt into the ranks of the soldiers, swinging everything from real swords, to shards of Taklay spines, to mere rocks. The soldiers were overwhelmed, and the rebels poured out of the building, Taelord going with them.

He had been in enough conflicts in the Volcarrens to know that the safest place right now was ironically in the middle of the battling crowd, where the soldiers couldn’t reach him. At least until he knew he could escape safely, and search for Rehs. So he let the crowd sweep him along, being careful to stay in the middle, where the greatest danger was merely being trampled to death.

Many soldiers began to drop beneath the assault, most of them due to the attacks of the Volcarrens, who knew how to handle armored enemies. The farmers simply dogpiled soldiers before them, pulling them to the ground and raining blows on them until they stopped moving.

The soldiers tried to form ranks, but it was complete chaos. Commoners, doubtless attracted by the commotion, started to appear behind them, attacking them with ancient rusted weapons or farming tools. The commander in the middle tried to call orders, turning about frantically, but a Vel soared over the battling crowd and swung an axe cleanly into his face. The commander dropped, and the soldiers were enveloped, devoured completely by a mass of surging bodies and swinging weapons.

Taelord hung back, thinking that perhaps he could escape. He hadn’t seen Rehs yet, and in such a crowd, he should have at least gotten a glimpse of him. That meant Rehs probably wasn’t involved yet. Taelord glanced at the sky, judging whether or not he could escape to go look for him without being pursued… but then all thoughts of flying fled his mind.

A block, a perfect square of kyrie, flying in formation, flew over the mob, and then began dropping, line by line, before them. Spears came first, a double row of them, the soldiers holding their armored wings before them like shields, allowing only a small gap for the spear to poke through. Behind them were line after line of reserves, their spears held upwards at an angle. At the end came two full lines of kyrie with lighter armor and no immediately apparent weapons, though they all carried a strange device made out of dark wood, about the size of their chest. A moment later, Taelord realized they all had quivers of bolts at their sides. Crossbows, he realized with horror. Rehs had told him about them once.

Finally, following the last soldier, a figure landed, resplendent in regal armor bearing the symbol of the Empire, wearing a helm which seemed to be formed from shards of metal which had all flowed together, and holding a spear. Jandar. Commander of Helsng.

Most of the farmers hadn’t reacted. They were still too focused on finishing off the last of the soldiers, and many hadn’t even noticed the reinforcements arriving.

The soldiers began to move. Taking measured steps, staying in perfect formation, they advanced on the chaotic crowd before them, only a few of whom had finally noticed them. It would be a slaughter.

“From the sides!” came a call. Einar appeared from the middle of the crowd, his simple leather mask exchanged for a metal one, painted gold. He wielded two identical sabers – a strange choice of kyrie weapon, though judging by the blood dripping from them, Taelord guessed he knew how to use them. “Take them from the sides!” he called, pointing one saber at the advancing soldiers. “Flank them! Flank them!”

About half of the crowd regained enough of their sense to realize what he meant. They split, some going left and others going right. Most of them were Vel and Volcarrens, used to combat and more aware as a result.

“Einar!” Jandar called from behind the ranks of soldiers. “End this!”

“I intend to!” Einar roared back. “Charge!”

And then, using both of his sabers to deflect spears, he attacked. He slid under the second row of spears, slicing his sabers at the unprotected feet of the kyrie. The line started to buckle. Behind him, the farmers crashed haphazardly into the failing line, breaking it completely.

And then the Volcarrens struck from the sides. Wielding heavy weapons of steel, bone, or rock, they crashed into both flanks at the same time, tearing into the spearmen. The ranks began to buckle.

---

Utgar crashed to the ground behind the battling crowd. How had it begun? Who had started it? And where was Runa? He hadn’t realized she was missing from the pavilion until a short time ago, and had gone looking for her. Then he had heard the horns, and been drawn here. And now… if she was down there…

It was quickly becoming a full-scale battle. The soldiers were surrounded on three sides, but more were dropping from the sky, and Utgar could see the rebels starting to be pushed back. They weren’t trained fighters; they broke easily against the organized Imperial line. The only reasons they seemed to have gotten this far was because of the experience of the Volcarrens, and sheer numbers.

That was quickly changing. More and more soldiers were joining the fray, staying in formation, striking with their spears from a safe distance. The rebels were beginning to fall – Utgar saw farmers with hoes trampled underfoot by uncaring soldiers, smiths with hammers swept aside. It was about to become a bloodbath.

“Jandar!” he called to the figure in the middle of the soldiers. “Stop this!”

“Only you can do that!” Jandar shouted, glancing up and seeing him. “I’ve done all I can! Surrender, Utgar! End this now!”

Utgar looked over the battling kyrie. That wouldn’t end it. Maybe, at one time, his surrender would have stopped this from happening. But not now. Now… he was just another Volcarren. He had no more control over this than anyone else. He caught Jandar’s gaze, and slowly shook his head.

Jandar’s expression hardened, as if to say, ‘so be it.’ “Remember, Utgar!” he called. “This blood is on your hands.” And then he joined in the fray himself, whirling his spear over his head like a staff, using the tip to slice and strike any rebel or Volcarren in range.

“No!” Utgar leapt to stop him as Volcarrens fell. He landed directly in front of the line of soldiers, his feet apart, the battle-axe he had taken from Ahnvad gripped in both hands. Before the soldiers had a chance to advance, he swept the axe before him.

He was too far away to strike the soldiers, but flames erupted from the head of the magical weapon in a wide arc, and sped towards them. It passed through their spears as though they weren’t there, and crashed into the soldiers holding them. They stumbled back, their armor no defense against the heat of the flame.

But it wasn’t enough. Utgar swung his axe again, causing the line behind to buckle as fire struck them, but soldiers advanced on both sides, forcing Utgar to back up or be surrounded.

Unfortunately, the crowd of rebels was behind him, blocking his retreat. They were disorganized, acting off of pure adrenalin, and didn’t realize what they were doing.

A spear struck Utgar in the side of his leg, and then another tore at his arm as he turned. He swung his axe again, clipping a few soldiers, and sending the rest back, scrabbling at their chests in agony as the fire burned them through their armor. But more stepped up to replace them.

It had begun with the soldiers being outnumbered. But now that was quickly changing, and Utgar knew they wouldn’t last much longer unless something changed.

It felt like an entire day had passed, but it was only mid-morning. G’shar had wanted to leave early, before dawn if possible, but the docks were so crowded with people trying to flee the city that it was several hours past sunrise before Yesen was finally able to cast off, Syafa and Aiiva on board.

Taelord and G’shar watched, standing on wooden docks which were blackened and dusted with ash. The Windchaser moved slowly, likely due to it being crowded with people. Yesen had taken as many as he could, but the fishing boat was small, and could only hold so many. None of the larger boats had survived the fires.

Despite the number of people on board, Taelord could make out Syafa, Aiiva held close to her, waving to G’shar, who had moved to the very end of the dock. He waved as Taelord watched.

“He should be going with them,” a voice said behind Taelord.

He turned, and found Rehs there, half hidden in the shadow of a storehouse.

He nodded to G’shar. “I didn’t realize he’d stay. He should have gone with them.”

“You can make that happen,” Taelord said, approaching him.

Rehs shook his head silently, watching his father.

“It’s not too late,” Taelord said.

“I know,” Rehs said. “And I knew this wouldn’t be easy, but…” he shook his head, and turned away.

Taelord let him go. Rehs had made his decision. Nothing Taelord said was going to change that.

The rest of the day seemed to pass in a smoky haze. Taelord couldn’t stand staying at the now practically empty house, so he wandered the streets, sword on his shoulder, feeling like he was waiting for something – anything – to happen.

Overhead, the sky was a pallid, sickly shade of gray. It felt almost like it was about to rain, except for the charred smell in the city, and the stillness of the air. Squadrons of Imperial soldiers periodically flew over the city, grouped in threes or fours. The streets were nearly devoid of life.

Taelord thought about going to see his mother, but decided against it. What could she say? That they should have joined the Empire? Taelord decidedly turned away from the abandoned buildings near Utgar’s pavilion, where she was kept, and walked int the opposite direction, southwest, letting himself get lost in the endless maze of houses.

When the sun – which was little more than a vague extra brightness in the sky – was nearing the horizon, Taelord began to see people running through the streets. Some ran the direction he was going, while others ran the opposite way, towards the keep. He stopped one and asked what was happening.

“Leran,” he gasped. “They’re there, all there… at his home…”

“Who? Who’s there?”

The man shook his head, and slipped from Taelord’s grasp, leaping to the air.

Leran’s home wasn’t far, so Taelord ran there, instead of flying, his heart starting to beat rapidly.

He rounded a corner, and saw a sizeable crowd outside Leran’s home. It seemed to be comprised of Southern kyrie, Volcarrens, and even a few Vel. There was a flash of reflected sunlight. Soldiers in armor. There were guards at the middle of the crowd. They were surrounded.

Taelord pressed into the throng, but they were packed tightly, all jostling and yelling. “What’s happening?” he asked a burly Volcarren nearby.

“Leran,” the man said, bending low to be heard over the crowd. “He says the soldiers tried to force their way in, to collect taxes. The soldiers deny it.”

Taelord was inclined to believe Leran. Why else would the soldiers be here? However, what had happened didn’t matter much. The result was that the soldiers – of whom there were only six – were surrounded by a crowd of close to a hundred angry kyrie.

They had their spears leveled in a circular pattern, but there were too few of them. Farmers and Volcarrens were grabbing the spearheads and yanking them, or shoving them away, shouting and threatening the soldiers. No one had actually attacked – yet – but Taelord guessed they would soon.

A commander in the middle of the five soldiers was shouting for the crowd to disperse. He had a sword out and was holding it over his head, bellowing at the top of his lungs, but no one paid him any mind.

Farmers started to shove the spearheads upwards, trying to get in at the soldiers. Those in the back pressed forwards, eager to be a part of whatever was coming. Some kyrie began to rise up in the air, perhaps thinking to dive down on the soldiers.

Taelord got a better grip on his sword. This was it. It was beginning.

And then Runa appeared. “Stop!” she cried, flying in from nowhere, landing between the soldiers and the farmers, her hands outstretched.

A few – mainly Volcarrens – hesitated as they saw her. Most seemed to be too focused on the soldiers to register what she had said, or who she was. Taelord, his memory flashing back to a similar situation involving Geren not long ago, pressed through the crowd, trying to reach Runa. He wasn’t fast enough.

She had landed directly in front of one soldier. She had her back to him, facing the crowd, trying – Taelord guessed – to stop what was coming. The soldier, realizing who she was, promptly dropped his spear, grabbed her from behind, and pulled a knife from his boot, which he placed at her throat.

“Stay back!” he shouted. “Stay back or Utgar’s daughter dies! You hear me? Stay back!”

Taelord skidded to a halt, cursing.

Runa struggled, but the soldier was a lot bigger than she was, and he was wearing armor. He turned right and left, making sure everyone saw the knife. The crowd quieted, backing away, shooting murderous glances at the soldiers. It seemed that Utgar’s reputation as a ruthless killer – Valkyrie or not – was enough to keep anyone from endangering Runa. Save for the soldiers, apparently.

“Keep your distance!” the soldier shouted. He began backing up, and the other guards went with him, slowly backing their way out of the crowd. The farmers and Volcarrens followed slowly, at a safe distance, Taelord with them. Many, like him, were looking for any way to get at the soldiers without hurting Runa.

“Make for Eten’s home,” Taelord heard the commander say. “It’s closest, and there are soldiers there.” They turned, and began backing through the streets, making their way towards a large building, which seemed a bit too finely constructed to belong in the Maze.

Eten. The name stirred in Taelord’s memory. Yes… Rehs had mentioned him once. He was a bounty hunter. His whole family was. And he made his home here, in the Maze.

The soldiers backed right up to the door, and one turned, pounding on it. Taelord searched desperately for a way to get to Runa, but there was none. The soldiers still had their spears leveled, and the one holding Runa had his knife securely across her throat. She had stopped struggling, perhaps realizing she was more likely to get herself cut than escape.

The door opened, and the soldiers piled inside, the last one dragging Runa as he backed in. “One move against this place,” he said menacingly, “and she dies.”

And then he closed the door.

---

The home had two levels. The soldiers flew through a gap in the ceiling, landing on the second floor, and deposited Runa unceremoniously in a small room. “Keep an eye on her,” one of them said to the room’s occupant – a single man sitting on a chair. Then they left, closing the door.

Runa turned, rubbing her throat. The knife hadn’t broken her skin, but it had come close. That was the second time in as many days that someone had held a knife to her neck. She sincerely hoped it would be the last.

The room – including what little of the house she had seen – was well furnished. Rugs were on the wooden floors, tapestries and paintings of kyrie hung on the walls, and the ceiling was shrouded in a strange, partially transparent fabric, which seemed to give it the illusion of a depthless blue sky.

The room she was in, despite being small, had a grand bed set against one wall, easily the same size as Runa’s entire home back in the Volcarren. Curtains shrouded it, the covers embroidered painstakingly, and there seemed to be far too many pillows.

Besides the bed, there were a number of chairs, all ornately carved from wood, with cushioned seats. There was a tall rectangular wooden object, which Runa thought might be for clothes, standing beside the bed. And there were several small tables, more decorative than functional, with carved legs swooping down to the carpeted floor.

And sitting at one of the tables, regarding her with a frown which didn’t quite cover his surprise, was Geren. The bounty hunter who had captured Leran. Runa had stopped the rebels from beating him – and probably killing him – only three days ago.

He seemed to have mostly recovered from his injuries, though one arm was still in a sling, and the covers on the bed were turned back and crumpled, as though he had been resting there. He hadn’t said a word since she entered the room, and was now watching her, one eye only slightly more bruised than the other.

“You,” she said blankly. “What… What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” Geren said, his frown deepening. “Elet is my father. This is my family home. The better question is, what are you doing here? Or more importantly,” he added, “what will happen now that you are here?”

He stood, crossed the room, and checked the door. “I knew something like this would happen eventually,” he said, turning to face her. “The groundling fools. By bringing you here, they’ve put a target on all our heads. Well, more of a target.”

He made no move towards Runa, but remained by the door, watching her. So Runa took the opportunity to approach one of the chairs and sit down. The situation wasn’t lost on her; she knew that the crowd had followed her here, and was even now probably growing outside. And she worried what would happen when Utgar found out where she was.

It was enough to make anyone want to sit down.

She glanced at Geren. “I hope they didn’t hurt you too badly,” she said. “The rebels.”

“They did,” he said, no change in his expression. “My mother knows a thing or two about healing though.”

“I’m glad,” Runa said. Which she was. Once killings began, even she couldn’t see a way out of a war.

“Why?” Geren asked, frowning. “For that matter, why did you bother stopping them?”

Runa shrugged. “I don’t want war. Neither does my father. I wasn’t going to stand by and let those rebels start one.”

Geren snorted softly. “If your father didn’t want war,” he said, “he should have used the power of the Wellspring when he had it. Demanded peace.”

“Others wanted him to,” Runa agreed. “But he knew that would just create enmity between him and the Empire. He believed there was a better way. Some deal that we could reach with the Empire.”

“And you believed that?”

Runa paused. “Yes,” she said. “And I still believe it. That’s why I tried to stop the rebels just now.”

“And you were rewarded by the soldiers using you as a hostage. Well done.” Geren shook his head and sighed.

Runa frowned at him. “You don’t sound like you want a war either.”

“Me?” Geren said. “Of course I don’t! It’s the blasted rebels that want the war. I like the Empire the way it is. The way it was, at least, before you Volcarrens showed up.”

“Maybe we can still fix this,” Runa said. “Maybe—”

“Fix it?” Geren repeated, looking up. “How on Valhalla could you fix it? Prevent a war? Are you mad? It’s inevitable, Valkyriesdaughter. Nothing you do or say is ever going to stop it.”

Runa considered him for a moment. It was quiet in the room, the sounds of the crowd outside somehow deadened. “You’re wrong,” she said. “Not everyone here wants war.”

Geren snorted again. “These people have been at each other’s throats since the beginning,” he said. “North, South, farmers, merchants… we can’t exist together. Not peaceably. There will always be unrest, rebellion, and war. Go there,” he added, pointing to a window. “Look there, if you don’t believe me, and tell me I’m wrong.”

Runa glanced at the window. It was the only one in the room. Bars were across it, so she knew she couldn’t escape through it.

“Go on,” Geren said, gesturing towards it.

So Runa got up, approached the wall, and looked down through the window.

The crowd was there, as she had suspected. It had grown, and seemed to surround the house. Runa saw common people of Helsng – farmers, tanners, weavers, carpenters, smiths, butchers – Volcarrens and Vel dotted the crowd, a head taller than the rest, their dark wings easily visible.

Geren came up behind her. “Look out there,” he said, nodding to the crowd, “and tell me these people don’t want war.” He glanced out the window, disgust on his face. “They crave it.” He looked at her. “I appreciate your optimism,” he said, “but you were never going to stop this. Better for you to learn that now, and save yourself from making a mistake later. If there is a later,” he added grimly. He turned and left, returning to the door, but Runa remained watching the crowd.

What had she expected to see? A desire for peace rising from the crowd like a sunlit mist? The only thing here was hatred, and a lust for blood. She saw it on every face. Every expression was twisted with anger and frustration… how had she ever thought it wouldn’t come to this?

She turned away from the window, and sat back in her chair. It was easily one of the softest things she had ever sat in, but just then, she didn’t care.

Had she been wrong to hope? To think that war wouldn’t happen? Had she been foolish? Her mother wouldn’t have said so. Her mother had always said it was important to have hope. She had taught Runa to see the best in everyone and everything, even in the desolate Volcarren. From her, Runa had learned to trust that things could turn out better than they seemed.

Of course… thinking about her mother made Runa remember the day she had died… that darkest of days. She had trusted the wrong person. Assumed they only wanted some food and shelter, when in fact they had wanted more. She had been blind that day, too blinded by trust and hope to see what was truly in front of her.

And Runa… had she done the same thing? Was she about to suffer the same fate, captured by the very soldiers she had tried to spare a few short minutes ago?

“I’m sorry,” Geren said, interrupting her thoughts.

Runa glanced at him. He was watching her with sorrow in his eyes.

“I wish you could have been right,” he said. “I really do.” He looked down. “I wish for a lot of things… that things had been different.” He looked back up. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I’m just… I’m sorry.”

The door opened, Geren stepping out of the way just in time, and several people walked in. Runa recognized the commander of the soldiers who had taken her, and an elderly kyrie she guessed was Eten.

“We aren’t ready,” Eten was saying. “We must pack food, take supplies…”

“If you aren’t prepared to leave,” the commander said, “then you’re a greater fool than I took you for, Eten. You should have been ready to leave at a moment’s notice for days now. Now there’s no time. Unless you wish to stay behind and greet the mob outside, you and your family are coming with us, and you’ll be taking only what you can carry. Prioritize weapons.”

“What’s happening?” Geren said, glancing between his father and the commander.

“We’re leaving,” the commander said, striding up to Runa and taking her by the arm. She didn’t resist – that would accomplish nothing at the moment. “We won’t last very long here if the rebels decide to attack – we have to make for the keep.”

“But,” Eten said, glancing at Runa, “we have her. We don’t need to flee. We can negotiate, or—”

“Have you ever tried to reason with a crowd, Eten?” the commander said, grimacing. “Ever felt an abundance of logic from a mob? These people are minutes away from breaking this place down by sheer force of numbers. We make for the keep. I’ll keep this one close,” he added, nodding to Runa. “She’s our best chance of making it out of here alive.”

“But,” Geren glanced from Runa to the commander, “if the crowd is beyond reason…”

“Do you have a better idea?” the commander shot at him. “To stay here is certain death. We move, or we die. Even if the crowd doesn’t break in by some miracle, Utgar’s going to learn what’s happening at some point. Personally, I don’t want to be here when he finds out we have his daughter. Valkyrie or not – that man’s a killer. I’ve heard the stories about what he did in the Volcarren…”

“I can talk to him,” Runa said. “The crowd too. Let me go, and I’ll make them leave.”

The commander looked at her as if she had suggested opening the door and welcoming the mob with the promise of a hearty meal. “Let you go?” he repeated. “Release our only chance of getting out of this alive, and trust you – a Volcarren – that you won’t just send your friends out there in to finish us off once your safe?”

He shook his head at Runa’s words. “We move, now. Eten, take what things you can, and meet me downstairs. You,” he shot at Geren, “you can walk?”

“Well enough,” Geren said. “We aren’t flying?”

The commander shook his head. “Too dangerous. We could be attacked from any angle. In the streets, we have more control, and we can use our spears.”

He pulled Runa out of the room with him, and then dropped to the first floor, where the soldiers were assembled, all looking fearfully at the door, through which the crowd could be heard, shouting angrily. Several other kyrie were here – Runa guessed they were Eten’s sons and daughters – clutching old pikes or swords. All together, there were only fourteen of them, including Runa.

“Alright,” the commander said, turning to his men. “Keep your heads on a swivel. Stay close, keep your spears level, and skies willing, we’ll make it out of this in one piece. Remember, these people want a fight. Don’t give it to them. Don’t break ranks for anything. We have Utgar’s daughter, but that’s no guarantee they won’t attack us anyway.”

As if to underline his words, the door spontaneously shuddered, and then was slammed inward. It burst off its hinges and fell to the ground, skidding forwards, knocking a soldier out of the way. The crowd had kicked it in.

Kyrie poured into the house. The soldiers, armed with unwieldly spears, were overwhelmed. Those with swords drew them, but were quickly pushed back against the wall.

Runa was caught in the surge of bodies, buffeted this way and that. And then a hand appeared out of nowhere, and pulled her into the lee of the fireplace, out of the press of the crowd.

“Go,” Taelord said, gripping both of her shoulders. He looked at her, and she saw fear in his face – she didn’t think she had ever seen him afraid before. “Fly,” he said. “Go to your father, and get to safety.”

“What about you?” Runa asked.

Taelord grimaced. “Rehs is probably somewhere in this mess, or will be soon. I need to find him, and keep him from getting himself killed.”

Runa hesitated.

“Go!” Taelord commanded, shoving her towards the doorway, which was now clear.

She stumbled towards it, gave a last glance at the crowd pressing against Eten and the soldiers, and then leapt for the sky.

I’m sorry, Mother, she thought. I’m sorry.

Taelord thought nothing else could happen to make him feel worse, but he was wrong. He helped Syafa and Aiiva collect what last-minute things they hadn’t yet packed, and then entered the now-empty storeroom to sleep.

He couldn’t have slept for very long, however, before several rough voices woke him.

“Move.”

“You can’t seriously expect me to.” That was G’shar’s voice.

“We will make you move. Leave.”

“I will not—”

A dull thud.

Taelord sprang from his bed, grabbing his sword, which lay nearby. He pulled open the storeroom door, and then the main door to the house, and lantern-light flooded into the home.

Five people were just outside, one of them on the ground, curled up. Two of them held lanterns. They all carried axes, and wore the half masks of Einar’s rebels. One carried a torch, the end flickering with fire. G’shar was the one on the ground, seeming to have been thrown there.

It didn’t take Taelord long to guess what was happening. There was only one reason to carry a torch when lanterns were readily available, and it wasn’t for light.  

He heard a squeak of fear – Syafa and Aiiva seemed to have entered the main room, and were standing just behind him.

They stood there for a moment, Taelord in the doorway, sword held in both hands, point down. The four rebels watched him, hands on their axes. Between them, G’shar seemed to be trying to regain his breath; Taelord guessed he had been kicked in the stomach and winded.

“Stand aside, Volcarren,” one of the rebels finally said. “You know why we’re here.”

“I do,” Taelord said. He didn’t move.

G’shar pulled himself to his feet against the wall of the house, and Syafa and Aiiva reached out, pulling him through the door. The eyes of the rebels followed him, but they didn’t move. Taelord heard G’shar slump in a chair.

“Out of the way,” the rebel said to Taelord. “We don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then leave,” Taelord said.

The rebel frowned. “These people are loyalists,” he said. “Imperial sympathizers. They’ve refused to support the rebellion, and now plan to escape before the Empire loses the city. You have no business being in their home, or defending them. Get out of the way.”

“No,” Taelord said. He knew perfectly well that the four rebels could easily overpower him. Only two things were keeping that from happening. One was the sword he held, which could easily spill a rebel’s guts if one got too close. The other was the fact that he was a Volcarren, and, whether or not his mother was a traitor, the rebels seemed reluctant to harm Volcarrens.

The rebels decided to call his bluff. “Move,” one said, stepping forward to push Taelord aside.

Taelord brought his sword up, and the rebel backed off. The four of them unhooked their axes, and spread out, forming a semi-circle around the door. Taelord retreated further into the home, so that they could only come at him one at a time through the doorway. He bumped into someone. Aiiva put a trembling hand on his shoulder.

The rebels closed in slowly. The largest one, the one who had spoken, came first. He put one foot across the threshold, just out of reach of Taelord’s sword. His eyes took in the house – all wood. Easily flammable. He glanced at G’shar, who Taelord guessed was sitting limply in a chair. Then his eyes traveled further, to where Taelord judged Syafa and Aiiva to be.

“Maybe we’ll have ourselves a little fun before we burn this place down,” he said over his shoulder to the others. He flicked his eyes back to Taelord, sizing him up. Then he stepped in quickly.

Maybe he thought Taelord wouldn’t do anything. Maybe he thought he was just a thirteen-year-old who didn’t know how to use a weapon. Both were wrong. Taelord had grown up in the Volcarren, and knew how to fight.

He shifted one foot back, and swung the sword up in a curving motion, right across the rebel’s path. He missed the stomach intentionally. Instead, the sword carved a deep gash in the rebel’s chest, skating across the ribs. Painful, but not lethal.

The man staggered backwards as blood sprayed Taelord’s sword. His companions pulled him back, and Taelord remained where he was, one foot back, sword held ready above his head, the point angled down towards the rebels.

The rebel howled in pain, urging his companions to attack, but they seemed wary. They could take Taelord, they all knew it, but the first one through the door would probably lose more than blood.

“Come on,” the rebel with the torch said. “G’shar is nothing. It isn’t worth it.” He pulled his companions away.

Reluctantly, the rebels helped up their injured friend, and left, melting into the darkness.

Taelord finally lowered his sword, and closed the door after them. Only once it was shut did he become aware of how fast his heart was beating, and the cold sweat which had covered him.

“Thank you,” G’shar said weakly. He was sitting in the nearest chair, taking deep breaths.

“You were standing guard?” Taelord guessed, turning to him. His voice shook slightly.

G’shar nodded. “I thought they might try to burn the house. I tried to stop them, but… one of them hit me in the leg… my old injury, and… it gave out.” He held it tightly, grimacing in pain.

“Get some rest,” Taelord said. “I’ll keep an eye out the rest of the night.” He pulled open the door and walked out before they could object. He wasn’t tired; his body was too full of adrenalin. He put his sword point down on the ground, and adopted a posture he knew he could hold for hours if necessary. No one was going to burn G’shar’s home tonight.

He owed them that much.

---

Dawn seemed to take forever to come. No one came near G’shar’s home, though Taelord heard the occasional distant shout or scream. The Empire wouldn’t take much more of this. They would find a way to strike back, and soon.

When red streaked the horizon, he heard Syafa inside, preparing an early meal. He opened the door. She was standing over the fire, adding the last of the food they had left unpacked into a pot.

“There’s something I need to do,” Taelord told her. “You’re safe now; the rebels won’t do anything during the day.” Yet, he added to himself. “I won’t be long.”

She glanced at him. “Be careful,” she said. “And Taelord? Thank you.”

“It was the least I could do,” he said.

Then he closed the door, rested his sword on his shoulder, and went in search of Rehs. G’shar might have accepted that Rehs was staying, but Taelord wasn’t ready to give up that easily. Not after last night.

The city he walked through was full of smoke. The rebels were getting overzealous, burning down homes with the slightest connection to the Empire. A great gray-white cloud hung over the Docks – Taelord knew Yesen and some of his crew had stood guard over the Windchaser last night, to keep it from being damaged by the fires again. Clearly their presence hadn’t stopped the rebels from burning other Imperials ships docked there, as well as probably empty storehouses.

The streets were empty. The rebels had retreated, and no one else was up yet. It was still quite early.

Taelord went to Jer’s home. He didn’t know where Rehs was, but guessed that Jer might. After banging on the door for a solid minute, a wary-looking Jer finally opened it, and grudgingly told Taelord that many of the rebels had taken up residence in the abandoned buildings closest to Utgar’s pavilion. Taelord thanked him and left.

He got lucky. The first building he checked – which he thought might have been the home of an elderly Imperial woman who had left a few days before – contained a handful of rebels, including Rehs.

They had built a small fire just outside the door, but nearly all of them were inside, sleeping after the night’s activities. Only Rehs remained, huddled against the wall of the home, staring into the fire.

He started when he saw Taelord. His eyes flicked to the sword he carried, and drop of fear entered his expression. Good, Taelord thought. Rehs could use a little fear for what he had gotten himself into.

Taelord walked right up to the fire, and sat down next to Rehs, his sword by his side. He had grown cold standing outside all night – the fire felt good, even if it was nearly out.

“Why are you here?” Rehs asked warily. He glanced at the sword, which Taelord realized was still splattered with the rebel’s blood. “What happened?”

Taelord didn’t look at him. “I just came from your home,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the fire. “The rebels tried to burn it down last night. They struck your father. Scared your sister near half to death.”

“Are… Are they all right?”

“They’re fine,” Taelord said, still not looking at Rehs. “They’re all fine. No thanks to your friends.”

Rehs was silent.

The fire was low, nearly out. Taelord couldn’t feel much heat from it. He started to feel cold again.

“You want me to come back,” Rehs said. “You want me to go with my family, leave the rebellion behind.”

“Of course I do,” Taelord said, staring at the charred wood of the fire. “If I were in your place, I wouldn’t hesitate to leave.”

Rehs sighed. “This is important,” he said. “This is necessary.”

Taelord finally turned to him. “Can’t you see what’s happening?” he said.

Rehs glanced at him, frowning.

“When I left the Volcarren and saw this place, I saw potential. I saw freedom, happiness… but your rebellion is turning it into the Volcarren. Even the sky looks the same now.”

Rehs’ frown deepened. “You saw what you wanted to see,” he said. “You know that right?”

They looked at each other for a moment.

“Helsng,” Rehs said, “Valhalla… it’s a land of oppression, not freedom. There hasn’t been any potential here, no bright future, for a long time. Now there is. Now, for the first time since you were imprisoned, we have a real chance to have a better life.”

He shook his head and looked back at the fire. “You talk about peace, Taelord, and how you want it – I want that too. But the only way we’ll get it is by fighting the Empire.” He stood, looking down at Taelord. “You fought them,” he said. “They didn’t give you another choice, so you fought them. Well, they haven’t given us another choice either. So don’t come here and try to tell me we shouldn’t fight, or that it will accomplish nothing. People would have said the same thing about you fighting the Empire back in the Volcarren. You proved them wrong. You proved it was possible.”

He paused, watching Taelord. “Go back to my father,” he said. “They should leave now, while they can. But I’m staying.”

Taelord stood as well, picking up his sword. He met Rehs’ gaze for a time, and Rehs returned it, his face set. Then Taelord turned and left.

Rehs wouldn’t be convinced. Taelord believed that now. He had failed.

He directed his steps back to G’shar’s home, his sword back on his shoulder. People were starting to move in the city, though they gave him a wide berth. Taelord guessed the blood on his sword probably had something to do with that. He found that he didn’t care.

Rehs’ words stung him. Not just because of what Rehs was abandoning, but also because he was probably right. Taelord had seen what he had wanted to see in Helsng. He had been convinced that they would walk out of the Volcarren, and enter a land where they could live their lives in peace. Where they wouldn’t have to worry about the next meal, or being raided in the night, or the Empire taking away what little they had managed to save.

Taelord snorted to himself. He couldn’t help it. Now that he saw what Helsng was, he realized he had been as naïve as Runa. A life of peace in Valhalla was an idyllic dream, a silly fantasy. They would need to fight for it. They had always needed to fight for anything worth having. Ahnvad had taught him that.

Taelord paused, G’shar’s home in sight. Ahnvad. His father had been right. He had said they would always be locked in war, with the Empire, with each other, struggling for some distant future. And he had been right.

Taelord stared at the dirt between his feet without seeing it. Curse you, Ahnvad. He had won. He had always won. Taelord’s mother had finally accepted that. And now… now it was Taelord’s turn.

Taelord looked up, searching, desperate for something – anything – to prove Ahnvad wrong. But there was nothing around him except houses. Houses and smoke. And yet…

Not all of the smoke came from the rebels. Some came from chimneys, from fires in nearby homes, over which kyrie were cooking their morning meal, just as Syafa had done for Taelord. Inside, the family would be sitting at their table. Helsng was nearly consumed by war, and still people could sleep. Sleep, eat, talk. There was still life beyond the rebellion and the Empire.

You couldn’t control everything, Ahnvad, Taelord thought. You wanted the world to be as twisted and violent as you were… that’s why you came to the Volcarren, isn’t it? Because you knew you were wrong? Because you thought you could turn the Volcarren into some kind of reflection of yourself? And you were mostly successful. But you didn’t reach Runa then. She had hope. And you can’t reach G’shar now.

Little comfort that was. So there had been a few who had resisted Ahnvad. What difference had it made? Runa had been captured and tortured. G’shar was being forced to flee with his family.

“Taelord?”

He looked up, and saw G’shar himself approaching.

“Syafa said you left…”

“I wanted to talk to Rehs,” Taelord said. “One last time. See if I could convince him…”

“You spoke to him?” G’shar said. “What did he say?”

“He said—” Taelord paused. He had just noticed Aiiva behind her father – perhaps she had followed him, hoping for word of her brother. She watched him now from behind G’shar, her face half hopeful, half pleading.

“Give him time,” Taelord said, facing G’shar. “He’s made up his mind, but” – he glanced again at Aiiva – “I wouldn’t give up hope.”

“There’s a chance, then,” G’shar said, letting out a sigh of relief. He turned, saw Aiiva, and pulled her into a hug. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You and your mother will leave with Yesen. I’ll follow as soon as I can with Rehs. We’ll be together again. All of us.”

There wasn’t a chance of it. G’shar and Aiiva turned, and began heading back in the direction of the house, but Taelord couldn’t bring himself to follow them. Did he believe what he had told them? That Rehs could change his mind? Not at all.

The thought sickened him. That was the sort of thing Ahnvad would say. Taelord had always responded with resistance to Ahnvad’s words, insisting that things could get better. Even after he was proven wrong, he had still continued to say so, just to annoy his father. What had happened to that person? What had happened to the boy who had looked on Helsng, and hoped?

Was he dead? Replaced by a shadow, a shadow of Ahnvad?

Curse you.

Maybe Rehs could change his mind. Maybe once he got a glimpse of what war really meant, of the killing and the chaos, he’d realize what he was leaving behind. Maybe he would be ready to listen to G’shar. Maybe he would be reunited with his family.

He will. Taelord slowly followed G’shar back to the house. He will. He will. He didn’t give himself a chance to doubt. Not because he was convinced Rehs could change. But because he had to believe it, even if it was impossible.

He will.

Taelord had always known Utgar distrusted him. He couldn’t blame him, not after what he had done. But now… well, he was probably lucky to simply be in one piece. In fact, he was surprised that Utgar had merely summoned him, rather than sending Dered to dispatch him on the spot.

He still couldn’t believe what Dered had told him. His mother, threaten Runa? Try to force Utgar to surrender? He had never dreamed she would do such a thing. She had seemed so disinterested in what was going on, even to the point of not caring which side won or lost, as long as she had a roof over her head. Why would she now suddenly do something like this?

Dered led him to an abandoned home. Loyalists had lived there until recently. They had left some days previously, leaving Utgar to claim it as a temporary prison. Guards were stationed at the door and windows, but they let Taelord pass.

He found his mother inside, sitting at a table much like G’shar’s. It was dark; the windows were shuttered from the outside. She seemed uninjured, for which Taelord was grateful.

“Taelord?” she said as he entered, closing the door behind him. She rose, and pulled him into an embrace. “Heroes be praised you’re all right,” she said. “I feared Utgar might think you had something to do with this. Especially after what I told him…”

She sat, and Taelord sat next to her. “Mother… what happened?”

She sighed. “I’m sorry for not telling you,” she said. “I didn’t think you would understand. I did it for your sake. To keep you safe.”

“Did what?” Taelord said. He guessed she wasn’t talking only about threatening Runa.

“I went to the Empire,” Fera said. “I asked for mercy.”

Taelord rested his elbows on the table and covered his face with his hand. “Why?” he said. “Why, Mother? Why would you do that?”

“Because I don’t want to die with the rebels,” she said. Her voice was soft. She wanted him to understand. “I don’t care who wins this conflict. I only want you to be safe. The Empire… it is powerful. They can protect us.”

“But they are wrong,” Taelord said, lowering his hand to look at her. “You’ve seen the way they treat people, Mother.”

“They wouldn’t treat us that way,” she said. “You would show them where the Wellspring is, and they would reward us. We would have good food, a comfortable home…”

“They can’t be trusted,” Taelord said. “Utgar might be paranoid, but he’s right about the Empire. Once I showed them where the Wellspring was, they would have no reason to keep us safe. Or even to keep us alive, for that matter.”

“They’d have even less reason if we stayed with the rebels,” Fera said. “If we helped them, they might have no reason to keep us safe, but they’d also have no reason to harm us. I took that chance.”

Taelord shook his head. “And they promised you this?” he said. “Safety? In return for what? Utgar’s life?”

“Not his life, no,” Fera said. “His surrender. I asked them what I needed to do to gain their protection. They said they needed Utgar to surrender, and to go through his daughter. Convince her if I could. Threaten her if I couldn’t. I did just that.”

“And you failed.”

“For now,” she said, reaching out and covering his hand with hers. “But the Empire knows I tried. They’ll remember that I was loyal. And you, Taelord… you can still tell them where to find the Wellspring. If you do that—”

“No.” Taelord shook his head, standing. “I won’t, Mother. I don’t want war. But I want the oppression of the Empire even less. This isn’t the way to peace. Maybe there is no way, I don’t know, but it’s not by making a deal with the Empire.”

He turned away and knocked on the door. Dered opened it, and he left. His mother watched him leave, silent, a sadness in her eyes.

“What does Utgar plan for her?” he asked Dered once the door was shut.

“Nothing, yet,” Dered said, shrugging. “He won’t kill her. Mostly because Runa begged him not to.”

Taelord felt a wave of gratitude for Runa.

“He’s watching you though,” Dered said, frowning. “Utgar. I don’t think he believes you knew about this, but still… be careful.”

“And you?” Taelord said.

Dered shrugged again. “You were with Runa yesterday, when she wandered off… I don’t believe you’d wish her harmed.”

Taelord thanked him, and left, making for G’shar’s home.

What did he think? What was he supposed to think? His mother had joined the Empire. She had very nearly made them all prisoners. Taelord didn’t know how to react to that.

Ahnvad. It all came back to him. He had done this to her. Before, when she still tried to escape, she would never have made a deal with the Empire. She would have stayed loyal. She would have cared what happened to the other Volcarrens. To the people of Helsng. She wouldn’t have acted only for herself and Taelord.

But Ahnvad had changed her. He had broken her. Now, all she seemed to care about was staying safe. Getting her next meal. Having a comfortable bed. As if there was nothing left worth fighting for, and only the small things mattered. Ahnvad had won.

Taelord stopped in the shadow of a house. I won’t let you win, Ahnvad, he thought. You won’t take her. You broke her, but she’s still there, somewhere. I’ll show her that you’re wrong. I’ll do it, Ahnvad. I’ll save her.

And there was only one way he was going to do that. Ahnvad had said the life of a Volcarren would always consist of war. That it was inescapable, as unchangeable as the sun setting. Well, so far he had been proven right. The Volcarrens had arrived in Helsng, and now it was about to tear itself apart.

Taelord just had to find a way to escape it.

Except… he couldn’t. Not anymore. He had planned on going to Runa today, and asking her to convince Utgar to escape the city with them. But this had changed everything. His mother was a prisoner of Utgar. He couldn’t leave without her, and Utgar wasn’t likely to free her. He resumed his pace towards G’shar’s home, his mind trying to find a way out of Helsng before it destroyed itself, and coming up empty.

He spent the rest of the day at the house, helping Syafa whenever he could, doing his best not to dwell on his mother. G’shar and Rehs were gone, helping repair the Windchaser, but Aiiva was there, G’shar having forbade her from going to the Rows to practice weaving, saying it was too dangerous. So the three of them took down the dried herbs which hung from the roof, and packed what little food Syafa had stored into crates and sacks. G’shar had said that he intended to leave the following morning, and Taelord believed him.

Rehs and G’shar returned after the sun had set, tired and hungry. Syafa cooked some fish they had brought, and for a time, there was silence as they all ate. Their number was done to five. Veth and Scar-shoulder had never returned since last night, and now Taelord’s mother was gone as well. No one mentioned what she had tried to do, even though word of it had spread throughout Helsng rapidly.

Finally, finished, G’shar leaned back. “Yesen says the Windchaser is good enough to at least get us through the Kinsland River,” he said. “After that, lumber will be plentiful, if we need to make repairs. The sails and lines are new, and the crew is ready. I want everyone to pack whatever they need tonight. We leave before dawn the following day.”

He turned to Taelord. “Are you able to come with us?”

Taelord shook his head. “I want to,” he said, “but I can’t. Not now. My mother is here, and…” And if there was a chance of us all leaving together, it’s gone now, he thought.

G’shar nodded, his mouth set. “I understand,” he said. “You’ll always be welcome at our home, wherever that might be.” He turned to Rehs.

“Son,” he said, “I understand you want to stay and fight. Were things different, I would as well. But the most important thing is for us all to get to safety. There may well come a time when we both have to take up arms, but it is not now. I want you to pack, and be ready to leave in the morning.”

Rehs didn’t look up from his plate, even though he had finished eating. “I’m staying,” he said, his voice quiet.

G’shar frowned. “Rehs—”

“I’m staying,” Rehs repeated. He looked up. “I’m joining the rebellion. It’s all right, Father,” he added, standing. “I understand now. You need to keep Mother and Aiiva safe. Take them in the morning, go somewhere far away. When this is all over, I’ll find you. But right now… right now my place is here.”

“Your place is with your mother and sister,” G’shar said. “We’ve been over this before, Rehs. You are too young. You are not a man.”

“Age has nothing to do with it,” Rehs said. His voice was calm; there was no hint of the anger he usually spoke with when disagreeing with G’shar. “I’ve already packed my things. I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?” Syafa repeated blankly, her face pale.

Rehs nodded. “I’m a rebel now,” he said, turning to her. “I should sleep where they do.”

“Rehs—”

“It’s done, Father,” Rehs said. He met his gaze. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m going.”

For once, G’shar said nothing. He frowned at Rehs, but remained silent.

Don’t let him go, Taelord found himself thinking. Do something. Don’t let him leave this behind.

Rehs hugged Syafa, and then Aiiva. “Don’t worry,” he said, patting Aiiva on the back when she seemed reluctant to let him go. “I’ll be fine. Father will take you somewhere safe, and when this is all over, I’ll come find you there. If” – he glanced at G’shar, hesitant – “if I’m welcome?”

They watched each other for a moment. G’shar stood. “I can’t condone this,” he finally said. “You go without my blessing. But never… never think you won’t be welcome in my home. You are my son, Rehs. I will always love you.”

They embraced, a tear streaking Rehs’ face.

“Stay safe, my son,” G’shar whispered.

They let go, and Rehs pulled a small sack, which Taelord hadn’t noticed him carrying, onto his shoulder. “This war will be over before you know it,” he said, opening the door and pausing to look back at them all. “I’ll be back in no time.” Then he was gone, the door shut behind him.

Taelord remained sitting at the table for a moment. Then, when no one moved or spoke, he got up and followed Rehs.

He called his name once he was outside the house, and Rehs paused, turning, already partially in shadow.

“I’ve made up my mind, Taelord,” he said. “Don’t try to stop me.”

“Of course I’ll try to stop you,” Taelord said, stopping in front of him. “Even if I’m the only one. I know the mistake you’re making,” he said. “I grew up in war. I was surrounded by it. Conflict after conflict, Volcarrens and Imperials slaughtering each other over nothing… I know it. You don’t want that, Rehs. Trust me. Think of your family.”

“I am thinking of my family,” Rehs said quietly.

“No you’re not,” Taelord objected. “If you were, you wouldn’t be leaving them. You would go with them, protect them, keep them safe. You can do that a lot better by staying with them, rather than fighting here. There’s no reason to go with the rebels.”

“There is every reason,” Rehs said calmly. He put his sack down and faced Taelord. “Rebellions are made up out of people willing to risk themselves to make a better life for others. If I left, why couldn’t another? And another, and another, until the whole rebellion fell apart? This is something I need to do. This is something important.”

Taelord stepped closer. “Rehs,” he said, lowering her voice, “you have a family who loves you. You have a life with them. If you leave, if you join the rebellion… you’ll be throwing that away. Trust me, I saw it too many times in the Volcarren. What you have… many Volcarrens would have killed to have it for a single day.”

Rehs glanced at him. “Would you?” he said. “Would you have killed for it?”

Taelord watched him for a moment. “Yes,” he finally said. “A father who loved me? A sister to grow up with? A life where I didn’t have to worry about survival? Rehs, I would have killed a hundred men if I thought that was possible.”

“And I’ll kill a hundred to defend it,” Rehs said.

Taelord frowned.

“You can’t win, Taelord,” Rehs said. “This rebellion is important, and I will be a part of it.” He hoisted his sack back over his shoulder. “I’m sorry you don’t feel the same.” Then he turned, and was swallowed up by shadow.

Taelord watched him go, wanting to do something – pull Rehs back somehow – but finding himself unable to. Instead, he simply stood there, watching the night long after Rehs had disappeared.

“Thank you,” G’shar said.

Taelord turned. Apparently, G’shar had been listening from the door, and had now approached.

“For talking to him,” G’shar added.

“It didn’t change anything,” Taelord said bitterly. He turned back to face the place Rehs had vanished.

“You tried though,” G’shar said. “If Rehs was going to listen to anyone, it would have been you.”

Taelord sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry I couldn’t convince him. I’m sorry… I’m sorry things turned out this way.” He turned back to face G’shar. “When we left the Volcarren, I thought we were entering a new life. Now it seems like all we did was bring the conflict and misery of the Volcarren with us.”

G’shar shook his head. “War would have happened with or without you,” he said. “It was inevitable. I only wish… it had happened elsewhere.” He looked at the darkness where Rehs had vanished, but then turned away, beckoning Taelord back inside.

“I won’t be on the Windchaser,” he said as they neared the door. “I’ll send Syafa and Aiiva, but I’ll stay here.”

Taelord looked at him, surprised.

“It may be that Rehs will realize what he’s gotten himself into,” G’shar said. “He could change his mind. When that happens, I’ll be ready. We’ll escape this city together.”

“Will they be all right?” Taelord asked. “Syafa and Aiiva?”

G’shar nodded. “I trust Yesen. He’s an old friend. He’ll keep them safe. We’ve arranged for him to dock at Crevcor – it’s an isolated island village. The rebellion won’t reach there. They’ll be safe.”

Taelord nodded, suddenly weary. Syafa and Aiiva might be safe, but what about Rehs? What about his mother? Would they be safe?

Would he?

“Utgar isn’t seeing visitors today,” the guard said, eyeing her.

“I wish to speak to Runa.”

He frowned at her.

“Ask her. She’ll want to see me.”

The guard raised an eyebrow. “What’s your name?”

“Fera. Mother of Taelord.” She smiled as the guard’s frown deepened.

“Wait here,” he said, and ducked inside the tent.

She had gotten up early, earlier than anyone else, and wandered Helsng, working out how best to say what she had to. Only when the sun was well up, had Ser found her, and told her it was time. She had hastened straight to Utgar’s pavilion. She hated doing this without her son knowing, but… well, he would just try to stop her. She knew he would.

She shook her head. Poor Taelord. There was so much about the world he still didn’t understand. She wished they lived in a place where he never needed to learn, but… well that was foolish thinking.

The guard returned, Runa with him. She frowned when she saw Fera. “You are Taelord’s mother?” she said.

Fera inclined her head. “I would speak with you,” she said. “Alone, if I may.”

Runa glanced at the guard.

“Stay within sight,” he said. “And don’t go too far.” He looked Fera up and down – probably looking for weapons – and then returned to the front of the pavilion, where he watched them, hand on his axe.

“Come,” Fera said, placing a hand on Runa’s shoulder and leading her around the pavilion, to the side. She stayed within sight of the guard, but judged him to be out of earshot.

Runa frowned. “What do you want?” she asked, turning and facing Fera.

Fera could hear the uncertainty in her voice. She took a breath, knowing she must choose her words carefully. “I know your father is searching for a solution to the rebellion,” she said. “He seeks peace, but doesn’t know how to reach it. I have come to show him the only possible way.”

“He’s inside,” Runa said hesitantly.

“I know,” Fera said. “I thought to speak with you first. I doubt he would like what I have to say. Will you hear me?”

Runa watched her with a frown. “Tell me,” she said after a moment.

“Utgar must surrender,” Fera said. “Please, let me finish,” she added, holding up a hand as Runa opened her mouth.

“This is the only option. He has no Wellspring, and even his own Volcarrens are beginning to disregard his wishes. If he remains as he is, between two forces bent on destroying each other, he will be overrun. He doesn’t wish to join either side; therefore he must surrender to the Empire.”

“My father has considered this,” Runa said slowly, “and has decided against it.”

Fera wasn’t surprised. “Has he considered it fully?” she said. “Has he considered the might of the Empire? What they could do? They have armies, food, resources… what does he have? Less than a thousand fighters? Half-starved farmers and fishers? Weapons made out of bone and rock?

“We sit on the brink of war, Runa. We can all see it. But it is not a war the rebels or Utgar can win. It could start at any time, and if it does… he won’t survive. You won’t survive. The Empire will crush you. You must go to your father. Convince him to surrender to Jandar. It’s our – your – only hope.”

“We can’t,” Runa said, watching Fera with a frown. “I suggested surrendering to the Empire myself, but we can’t trust them. Father convinced me of that. Believe me, I want to trust them, but… after what they’ve done, what they are still doing to the people of this city…” She sighed, shaking her head. “I can’t trust them. I’m sorry, Fera. We can’t surrender.”

Fera looked into her eyes, searching them, and believed her. Her mind was made up, and therefore so was Utgar’s. They wouldn’t surrender.

But they didn’t understand. They had to surrender. It was the only way Fera could be sure. They only way to keep Taelord safe. She sighed. So be it.

She had carefully maneuvered herself close to Runa, and now she leapt towards her, pulling a knife from beneath her shirt. It was small, easily missed by the guard. Runa was taken completely by surprise, and Fera crashed into her without resistance.

Runa fell, and Fera went with her, both of them rolling to the ground. Runa fought. Fera had anticipated that. The girl had grown up in the Volcarren after all, in the Bone Desert. She knew well how to fight. But she was still only twelve. Fera overpowered her easily, and stood, holding Runa before her like a shield, her knife pointed at her throat. Runa stopped struggling as the cold metal pricked her, and before them, guards skidded to a halt, too late to intervene.

“Bring Utgar,” Fera said, speaking to the closest guard. “Tell him I have his daughter, and that he will hear my demands.”

The guards glanced at each other, uncertain. They had their weapons out, but they didn’t dare approach. Fera dragged Runa backwards, putting her back to the canvas of the tent. She couldn’t get surrounded.

“Go,” she said.

One of the guards turned and practically ran to the pavilion entrance. There was a rushed rumble of voices from within – Fera judged Utgar had been speaking with Vydar, leader of the Vel – and then hurried footsteps.

A shadow fell across them as Utgar appeared, Vydar behind him. He turned, saw Fera and Runa, and approached slowly. He was even taller than Fera had realized, now that she was standing so close to him. He stopped a few paces away, towering over her, his features cold. Deadly.

“I have your daughter,” she said, pressing her back to the canvas of the pavilion, knife still pointed at Runa’s throat. “Move towards me, and I will make sure her death is slow.” Runa had stopped struggling, and now stood still, watching her father with wide eyes. Her grip was vice-like, tight on Fera’s arm about her throat.

Guards fanned out behind Utgar, but he swung out an arm, halting them, and watched her carefully, his eyes burning. This was not a man to trifle with. Fera knew that. But she also knew that he loved his daughter more than anything. She had pieced that together from things Taelord had said, and from the way he protected her, keeping her isolated from everyone else. As long as she held the knife to Runa’s throat, Utgar was hers to command.

“You will summon Jandar,” Fera said calmly.

No one moved.

Fera pricked Runa’s skin, so that a tiny bead of blood appeared.

“Do it,” Utgar hissed. “Bring Jandar.”

One of his guards jumped as if burned, and took to the air, heading for the keep.

“And what,” Utgar whispered in a deadly voice, “is Jandar coming here for?”

“You are going to surrender to him,” Fera said, keeping an eye on the other guards. There were seven by now. “You will command your forces to lay down their arms, and you will do whatever Jandar asks of you. You will not, however, relate the location of the Wellspring.”

Utgar’s only reaction was to narrow his eyes. “Why not?” he whispered.

“Because my son will need something to bargain with,” Fera said. “When Jandar arrives, I will have secured your surrender. And when my son tells him the location of the Wellspring, our future safety will be assured.”

She could see Utgar piecing together what she meant. There were only so many people who knew where the Wellspring was. “Taelord?” he hissed. “You are his mother?”

“I am,” Fera said. She looked calmly into Utgar’s eyes. Every instinct was screaming for her to run, but she ignored them. She had Runa. She had the knife. She controlled everything.

And then she controlled nothing. A powerful hand gripped the arm holding the knife, and pulled it away from Runa’s throat, practically shattering the bone with its power. Fera cried out, and another hand gripped her other wrist, pulling it away from Runa’s neck.

Runa, now free, launched herself towards Utgar, and the seven guards all flew at Fera, pulling her to the ground.

“Do not strike her!” Utgar’s voice commanded, and the guards lowered their fists. They kept her pinned to the ground, and Fera saw another Volcarren round her, and approach Utgar.

“Thank you, Kirav,” Utgar said, still watching her.

Kirav glanced at Fera, and she saw that his face was a mass of cuts, and one wing was held tight in a wooden splint. “Good thing this tent has no floor.” He nodded to the section of canvas wall behind Fera, which she guessed he had crawled under. She had never seen him.

“Good thing you stayed behind in the pavilion,” Utgar said. “You have my thanks. When this is all over, I’ll reward you with something better than guard duty.”

“Looking forward to it,” Kirav said grimly as Utgar approached Fera.

“What is this?” a commanding voice asked. Fera turned her head against the ground, and saw Utgar’s guard a short distance away, panting, Jandar at his side, unarmored but still somehow regal. His eyes went over Runa, who was standing next to Utgar, holding a hand to her neck; to the tent, which Fera guessed Kirav had torn to reach her; to Fera herself, held against the ground and surrounded by guards. His eyebrows raised.

Utgar turned. “I ask the same of you, Jandar,” he said, a tremor of anger breaking through his voice. “You come to me, asking for surrender, and then barely an hour later you send an assassin to demand the same?”

“Assassin?” Jandar repeated. “Has someone been slain?”

“Not yet,” Kirav growled, glaring at him.

Utgar pointed to Fera. “You sent her here to threaten Runa, to make me surrender. Do you deny it?”

Jandar looked to Fera, and met her eyes. In that moment, she knew what he was about to do. She saw the sorrow it caused him.

“I don’t know this woman,” he said, looking back at Utgar. “I’ve never seen her.”

Fera closed her eyes. She had known Jandar would have to deny her if she failed. But still…

“You won’t mind if I get some answers out of her, then?” Utgar said. He clearly expected Jandar to protest, to show some hint that he had sent Fera there.

Jandar shrugged. “She’s a Volcarren,” he said. “This is your concern, not mine. I would say though, if your own people want you to surrender this desperately… you might reconsider my offer.” He turned, and without a second glance at Fera, left.