Great Egg, his head hurt! And his throat! He was parched!

“Whomr,” he croaked weakly. He wanted to ask for water, but that was seemingly not going to work so easily. For a brief moment, he considered clearing his throat, but it promised to be a rather painful experience without a little liquid to help, so he reconsidered.

He stuck his head out from the heap of blankets that were on top of him. He opened his eyes. Then he shut them back right away after the blinding rays of the midday sun sent waves of searing pain through his skull.

“Ghrm,” he said to no one in particular.

He felt around, hoping to get his hand on a waterskin. Alas, he had no such luck.

The situation is dire, and I have run out of options, he thought to himself in the voice of Alderman Chagall. The Alderman was one of his favourite roles back in the stone theatre of Sheepsford. But that was Before, of course.

So it goes with options, answered Ferdin the Blue to the Alderman, and even bowed mockingly to the worthy statesman. And with hopes and money and time. One tends to run out of them.

Trust in Romvik, my children, and everything will be alright, said eparch Mochiru sanctimoniously.

Ferdin the Blue sneered at that, of course. Then other voices and other opinions welled up in his mind, but his head hurt far too much to let imaginary people use it as their debate ground. Water, he reminded himself. I need water.

The best choice for that sort of things was Matti, the goose-herd. He was quick-witted, silver-tongued, but he was also tough and tenacious. Unlike some young actors turned into language tutors he could think of, Matti never broke and never gave up. Just the right man for the job!

He opened his eyes again and flinched as the spears of the sun set the insides of his skull on fire. But Matti wasn’t a man to be discouraged by some trivial pain. He sat, then stood, forcing his aching body to move swiftly and spryly. He stretched, smiled, then looked around.

He was in the middle of a carnage. The wagon he slept on still stood on its four wheels, but other carts were turned over. Corpses of men, horses and squirrels littered the narrow road, not a living soul in sight.

Rhodarr stood as if stricken by lightning, his mouth gaping open. But Matti knew exactly what to do.

He jumped out of the wagon, crouched on the ground, and drew his dagger. Staying low, preferably in the caver of wagons and corpses, he sneaked towards the edge of the forest.

It is clear that it was squirrels that attacked the column. Who knew squirrels can do this? But they retreated. Have we won? No. Obviously not. If someone besides me survived, they have already fled.

The thought hit his mind like a hammer and sent waves of primal fear through his body. His tongue nervously shot out, and he felt his scales going cold with fright.

Easy, said Matti calmly in his mind. The squirrels are gone for now. It is only midday yet, and the massacre had happened at least an hour ago. The clearing where you set camp for the night must not be far away. We get there, and then we will find out what to do.

The edge of the forest was not far away, indeed. As Rhodarr stole through the sorry remains of the caravan, he could already see the sunlit glade. The meadow was quite different from how he remembered it. The emerald lawn was torn up, littered with corpses and splattered with black blood.

Careful now! Matti warned. If there are survivors, they are on the glade. The squirrels are bound to watch them.

Rhodarr stopped in his track and forced himself to calm his breath. Then he looked around, sharply examining the trees and the bushes.

Matti was right. Little red shapes were moving in the foliage. They have not noticed him, not yet. I had a good teacher, after all.

Fear and excitement drowned out his thirst and hangover; Rhodarr felt as alert now and capable as he ever was. There was no point in delaying.

The actor sheathed his dagger, stood, and ran like hell.