Once Malchus reached the gates of Glowigham, he hovered at the edge of the wood, awaiting the report from his scouts. When they had not appeared after an hour, he began to wonder about their efficiency.

“I should have exiled him when I had the chance,” Malchus complained to his servant who stood a few feet behind him. He may as well have complained to the air, for all the thought he gave the servant. “How can a man need so long to find an old lady?”

Just as he turned to reenter his tent, the watchman hailed someone who had exited the gate.

“A report, Lord Capigan,” came the reply, and Malchus unconsciously readied his stance in anticipation of action.

The first messenger had learned his lesson, opting to volunteer no information until forced to do so. More eager to please, the second scout set out to report his “progress” to his leader. Without a word, the first messenger stepped back several paces.

“We found the old lady,” he offered enthusiastically, “but we were ambushed before we could restrain her. I do not believe she has left the city, though, so if we burn it, we should take care of her as well.”

“I need her alive, you idiot! She is going to lead us to our target.” Malchus punctuated his words by sending the scout hurtling to the ground, an unsuspecting victim of “Lord Capigan” and his manic fist.

From where he lingered at the edge of the troop several yards away, Jameson’s mind would not form a coherent thought. A troop, wearing his enemy’s seal, preparing to enter a town to destroy it. Even worse, the uniform seal had been altered more to resemble the true seal of Capigan – only those highly familiar would have known the difference. Even more disturbing, words had floated past his ears that turned his vision red. “Lord Capigan,” the soldier had said to his leader. Lord Capigan, or more accurately, Malchus Lorne.

This was no noble wreaking havoc on the region, no rogue group of soldiers jumping aboard a ship of debauchery. No, this troop – led by Aylee’s attacker – had somehow gained access to official-looking uniforms and the Duke’s horses. The only explanation lay with Paulus Maximus. Malchus Lorne had received supplies and sanction from Maximus to unleash destruction in James’s realm.

“Thought for a second he was going to call us off after Tardery lost the scrub.”

The voice came from beside Jameson, and he glanced down into the face of a ragged foot soldier who was staring up at him like they were the best of friends. Though the uniform resembled Jameson’s, he now realized that, not only was the seal different, the cloth seemed ready to unravel – no doubt a testament to how much value Maximus placed on individual soldier’s lives. Jameson wanted to turn away in disgust from someone who participated in raids with Malchus Lorne, but he did not wish to draw attention to himself.

“Was real disappointed, too,” the man continued, “because on the last raid, I managed thirty coin and a couple of ladies maids. Man like you, with that horse and sword – you could probably manage half a dozen ladies and a couple hundred coin. Can I join your squad?”

“It seems to me that it might be wise to keep in mind what will happen to you regular soldiers once Capigan resettles the region.”

Glaring up at Jameson, the man chewed the inside of his cheek for a minute, considering what he should say. “I reckon a man like me can disappear. You dandies will be a little harder to hide. Maybe I don’t want to travel with you.”

Jameson held his expression still until the man turned away, but once he was alone again, he clenched his jaw in fury. How had Malchus managed to assemble so many small-minded and cruel men into one troop? Not all of them were pure peasant-class, either, though he could imagine a promise of money would lure a good portion of the men in before they realized the nature of the mission. He would have liked to believe that men would choose goodness if they did not suffer from want, but there was no possible excuse for those who came from moneyed families. Would they claim that desperation or suffering had driven them to corruption? They might, but the claim held no basis in truth. Jameson had seen that money or a lack thereof bore little bearing on a man’s character. He had known men of the highest honor from both wealth and poverty, and he had known those with avarice and cruelty from both groups as well.

For some reason, the betrayal of his father seemed impersonal and political, as did the sullying of Jameson’s own name. Staring at Malchus Lorne, knowing what he had done to Aylee, to other women and families, knowing that a mindless reprobate bore responsibility for so much suffering – the thoughts swelled into a storm of rage. Rather than move to remedy his fury, Jameson took several literal steps backward and, sliding behind a huge trunk, he leaned against it to remove the marauders from his sight. He could still hear them, but he found the lack of visual offense helped him contain himself.

“What will we do now, sir?” ventured an unseen speaker.

“We will be forced to attack in a more systematic manner,” Malchus replied, the sneer apparent in his tone.

At his words, no one ventured an opinion, and Malchus wondered if any of his men possessed a brain. “So that no one will slip past us,” he began slowly, “we will extend the fires from the gates where we set the barrier fires, searching every house or building in a line parallel to the gates. After we have cleared a house for the old lady, we will barricade the doors and burn that which we have searched – to ensure that no one will sneak past us and hide or warn the woman.” If I lose a few troops in the process, Malchus shrugged to himself, I have enough to spare.

Just hearing the instructions, every scene Jameson had encountered made sense. Lolly, Ponsit, the marsh, so many others: the destruction of the towns reflected the treacherousness of their destroyer. If the man would forcefully devour the innocence of a well-known maid, regardless of the blow to his reputation, why would scruples hinder him from consuming the honor and integrity of the unknown? Power revealed character indeed. Yes, Malchus Lorne had taken his small-town tyranny and expanded it to the entire dominion.

Jameson realized that if he died, then James died, and the domain might change hands to someone equally as unscrupulous as Malchus. Still, Jameson had to stop Malchus regardless, both for the townspeople of Glowigham and for the Capigan name. Malchus possessed a cruelty that surpassed even Paulus Maximus. At least Paulus would toy with political powers and engage in courtly games. Malchus would seek out the poorest and the weakest, then for his own pleasure, mete out destruction upon them. Even at the risk of his own rule, his own life, Jameson had to stop Malchus. Maybe Itchy would finish the removal of Paulus Maximus if Jameson failed, but Malchus Lorne posed enough of a threat to justify great risk. He only regretted that he had not spoken to Aylee before the night, given her some hint that he might enter into danger before the morning. If he survived, he would seek her out for a more serious conversation about their situation. Once I figure out exactly what that is…

Though Chester had started off earlier than she had, Aylee managed to catch her brother before he reached the town. They had passed the troops within a few minutes of mounting their horses, but both had slowed long enough to mingle the sound of their steeds with those of the troops’ animals, penned a hundred feet behind where the men gathered. A fortunate fact for Chester, too, because he would not have recognized Malchus and his troops in official uniforms when he came upon them, and he might have made it half way into their midst before realizing his error. When Aylee caught sight of Malchus, she yanked her horse's reins with such force that she feared she had hurt her steed, and spying her action Chester followed suit. After a moment's petting, her horse eased forward and Aylee forced herself to breathe.

Her heart thundered in her chest as she processed the image before her: Jess, armed and uniformed, wearing the symbol from the medallion she carried in her pocket. Now, he stood among a hundred men, adorned by the same symbol, and commanded by Malchus Lorne. When a soldier approached him, Jess spoke to the obvious peasant as one would expect a noble to speak – haughty and condescending. The truth was so much worse than Aylee had imagined.

She had hated herself for falling prey to a libertine. She hated herself even more for proving a naïve simpleton regarding political schemes. What could explain Jess in league with Malchus? Why would they possibly want to sequester her with a band of troops? Now Jess stood with a troop of men who had unleashed an incredible destruction of property, killed numerous men, and sullied the virtue of countless women. She closed her eyes to suppress the growing nausea in her gut.

Much to her dismay, her imagination supplied her with a possible solution to her questions: Jess could not have participated with Malchus in every campaign – the noble had remained at camp during many of the attacks. Lady Willen, though, had spoken of a “political sponsor” of the campaigns of infamy. Was Jess, the noble, that “sponsor”? If that were the case, though, why did Jess harbor her in his camp?

Well, Malchus obviously wanted Aylee. Did Jess keep her with him as payment for his primary instigator, a prize to be dangled before Malchus to ensure his best efforts? Not that Malchus would need much encouragement to enact cruelty. Aylee fingered the knife at her waist – she was horrified at the thought of what Jess may have enacted, but at the moment, the horror paled against the vision of the man at the head of the troop. She wanted so desperately to hide out, to wait for an opportunity to finish the job that Jess had interrupted both in her own barn and in Lady Willen’s courtyard. Instead, she knew she would run.

Suddenly unsteady, Aylee slid from her mare’s back and leaned against a tree. For several seconds, she could only breathe as she swallowed the foul taste in her mouth. If Chester hadn’t slipped past her at that moment, she would have left the horse and made her way as quickly as possible to the nearest village, where she would seek the names of the local merchants and pray she recognized them.

Chester, though. Chester was gone in an instant, and he could have no idea what he would encounter inside.

Lurching to a stand, she looped her horse’s rein around a low-hanging branch and followed on her brother’s heels. Though the trek taxed her endurance, she forced herself to breathe through her nose lest the heated vapor of her breath reveal her presence in the cold night. Unfortunately, Glowigham was older than Bennigton, at least a century if the wall signified anything. Bennigton had never considered a wall, as the community stood in fair unity regarding its safety, and they had grown significantly under James.

Glowigham, though, would prove much more daunting to enter. For a moment, she lost sight of Chester in the shadow of the wall, but having plunged after him into the darkness, she finally recognized a silhouette scurrying deftly up a short span of the city’s protection, and she doubled her speed. Having left the troops at the village gate, she could finally sprint without fear of disclosing her presence.

When she reached the spot, she realized that her arms did not possess enough strength to pull herself over, though the wall leaned at a favorable angle. She needed at least a small amount of aid, so she glanced around her until she spied a small log lying nearby. Rolling it to the spot, she leaned it on its end and managed to reach the top of the wall by standing upon the log. With her fingers securely curved over the ledge, she was able to scurry up to seat herself on the wall. No doubt many a thief had taken advantage of such a weakness in the perimeter.

Darkness yawned beneath her, and she cupped her hands around her eyes to block out the light from the glimmer of fires that had just risen near the gate. After a moment, she could make out a grassy hill a mere ten feet beneath her. Not an easy drop, but certainly not particularly daunting. To her consternation, the long-blade dropped out of the makeshift sling she had tied on her leg, and she could not make out its location as it fell to the earth. Still, she had nudged it in her attempt to stop its descent, and it had tumbled in the direction of the gate. Aylee, therefore, scooted a few feet away and dropped from there onto the grass.

For several moments, Aylee could make out nothing around her. A few seconds later, she noted a gentle thump a few feet behind her, and she realized that she must have dropped down before Chester, maybe because the wall lay so low where she had descended. A low hiss informed her of her brother’s position to her left, and she felt along the wall until she could hear his breath. “I’m here,” she whispered, determining to stand still until her eyes began to adjust. Unfortunately, her plans did her no good.

“Aylee Hembry!” came a low voice, urgent but subdued. A pair of arms wrapped around her and tugged her into the smallest crevice between the outermost home and the wall.

“Ch-chester?” she stuttered, though she knew absolutely that the arms around her did not belong to her little brother. In fact, she recognized them instantly, and her entire being froze in terror. She had been such a fool to think she could maneuver her way through a cadre of trained soldiers. Her hubris had cost her pride the night she tried to fight Malchus at Lady Willen’s. Now, she stood in certainty that it would cost her life.

“What are you doing here?” the voice of Jess castigated her. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to be here right now?”

He could feel her jagged breathing against his chest, and he worried that he had frightened her. Controlling his anger, he tried to relax his grasp, but she did not move away, instead standing as still as a statue. After several seconds, she seemed to swoon, and he had to pull her to his chest to keep her upright. He had intended to release her once her breath settled, but since it did not, he kept his arms around her to hold her up.

“Aylee, answer me,” he prodded. “What are you doing here?”

“I…I came for Chester.” She had revealed Chester’s presence when she had mistaken Jess for him, so there was not new danger in the claim. “He thought to sneak in and make his way with the soldiers, but when I saw the troop outside, I realized he had misjudged the safety here.”

“So you ran into the danger you feared for him?” Jess demanded.

Aylee pressed her thoughts for believable answers. “I know he trained with you, but he did not even bring a sword or a knife, and he has not trained as much as I.”

Narrowing his eyes, Jameson pushed Aylee away from him so he could assess her claim. When he did so, he took in the anxious flitting of Aylee’s eyes, as if she did not wish to look at him. “Where is your sword?”

“Not a sword – a knife,” she hedged. No need to tell him she had lost it. She stepped farther away from him, and she tried to maintain a casual stance, but she felt like a caged animal, ready to spring at her captor if she sensed her freedom. With the wall so ensconced in shadow, she could not see his face, but her eyes darted in the direction of the gate in search of her weapon.

“Look, Aylee. I will find your brother. I have a promise to keep inside these walls, but I can keep another one as well. Did you see which way he ran?”

Not that I would tell you if I had. “Away from the fire, I imagine.” Her eyes latched on a flash of metal to her right, and she took a cautious step toward it.

“What’s wrong?” he queried, and Aylee froze her movement.

“It is the fire, of course. I had not imagined how terrifying it would be.”

As if to punctuate her words, a crash erupted behind Jess as a nearby roof succumbed to flames. She prayed no one was inside.

At the sound, Jess spun and threw out his hands, as if to protect Aylee from the fire. She took the opportunity to lunge for the knife, and in a moment, she had gripped and shoved it into her belt.

“Please,” Jameson pleaded as he turned back to her and realized how she had moved, “don’t go that way. Let me take care of this. You don’t know these soldiers – you are not safe here.”

“I don’t know the soldiers,” she purred with a sly smile. “But you do.”

Jameson coughed. “Not personally, no, but I have seen them and I have heard them, and it will not do for a lady to wander these streets tonight.”

“No, I imagine not,” Aylee laughed. “Not one of your ladies. Wouldn’t want to risk that they might run into each other.” She didn’t know why she had said it – so far, he had no idea she had found out the truth about him – but hurt and anger gripped her as she stared at the face of the man to whom she had almost given her heart.

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“Just leave me be, Jess. Go keep your promise to your other maids, and let me fend for myself.”

Confused, Jameson took a step toward her. “My other maids?”

“Such a sheltered life, was it?” she leered.

“Aylee… You’re talking nonsense. Just come with me.” He strode toward her, reaching to grip her by the arm.

The knife suddenly materialized in her hand, and she jumped away from him, imitating the stances she had practiced with him in training. “I am not going with you,” Aylee asserted. “I am going to get my brother. Do not stand in my way.”

Dumbfounded, Jameson stared at the knife, What had come over her? Peering into her furious determination, he could not fathom what had so transformed her. Only that afternoon, they had strolled through the clearing at the edge of the camp, the had spoken of training, and she had blushed with what seemed to be pleasure. Only hours before, he had considered the future, how he would reveal to her his identity once his world had settled into security – or had settled into perpetual insecurity; either would allow his divulgence. Now, she glared at him with more fury than he remembered seeing in the eyes of any human directed toward him.

She had circled so that her back stood to the fire, and as he watched, she slowly edged toward it. Whatever he opinion of him, he did not want her to come to harm. “Aylee, you do not want to go into that town.”

She had done talking with him. With a rapid twist, she spun away from him and began a dash toward the row of homes. From nowhere, a blow felled her, and she came to her senses face down, with a heavy weight pinning her to the ground.

“Shhh…” came the warm breath that blew past her ear.

“Let me up!” she hissed.

It was Jess, she knew, and he had gripped her right wrist so tightly that she could not move to strike him. If he was really in league with Malchus Lorne, she might now encounter what Malchus had planned for her all those weeks ago. She wanted to fight, but she found herself edging toward despair. “Please, Jess. There is no need for you to harm me,” she pleaded, though she did not imagine her words would carry any force.

“Aylee, don’t speak,” he whispered. “Look.” He pointed to the row of houses she had been aiming for a few seconds before, and when she lifted her chin, she noted about half a dozen men, torches and swords in hand as they harangued and tormented a middle-aged man and woman. A moment later, the troop had latched the door and set the roof aflame.

“Let me up!” she grunted. “I need to help them!” Who did she think she was appealing to? Did she think he would care?

“I will let them out before the fire spreads if you will just stop fighting me and climb back over that wall!”

She would never get away if he thought she would run from him, so she stopped squirming and lay her head onto the grass. Sensing her concession, Jameson rose to his knees, keeping his grip on the knife and raising his other hand to pry it from her grasp. Without warning, Aylee flinched her hand just before Jameson reached it, and she managed to nick the soft flesh on the side of his left palm.

“Ack!” he complained, and he let go of the knife entirely in his shock. Taking advantage of the moment, Aylee scrambled to her feet, and Jameson scurried backwards, out of her reach. “Aylee Hembry! Stop! I don’t know what you have decided to believe, but I am not going to harm you! Why are you trying to attack me?” Even as he kept his distance, he slowly slid toward the houses, hoping to take his stance between her and them. Time was growing short for him to rescue the couple in the burning home.

Aylee held her knife at the ready, but would staring across at the face she had grown so attached to, she couldn’t decide to injure him. She hated her traitorous mind – he deserved it! Still, unless he attacked her or someone else, so did not think she could do it. At least now we can stop the pretense. “Why would you not harm me?” she taunted. “Is it beneath you, milord? You leave the more insidious tasks to the peasant soldiers? You fill your hours with diversion, like indulging your ‘weakness for ladies.’ I have been a diversion – and an utter fool!”

“What are you talking about, Aylee?” he begged, aghast. “You have constructed a story that does not reflect reality.”

“Ha!” she scoffed. “It’s rich of you to talk of ‘constructing stories.’ All the while holding me in wait for a man who would lock me up and unleash unjust suffering on me, as he has on others.”

Jameson could not comprehend her words. Did she honestly think he held some nefarious intent toward her? “Say what you will, but I intend you no harm, and I will certainly not allow another to harm you. In fact, if anyone tried to bind you or confine you or harm you in any way, he would do well to remain in one piece. I hold manifold reasons to abhor what has occurred in this towns, but if someone harmed you...I just need you to leave and return to where my soldiers can protect you. And if I am able, I will stop all of this here tonight.”

“I am going to free those people, Jess. Whatever your plans for this town”

“Look,” he offered, his tone conceding. “If you climb to the top of that wall, I will go open that door right now, and you can watch me to see if I let those people out. If I do, you promise me to leave. If I don’t – if I leave them to burn – you can come let them out yourself. Please…they need help now, and I have other promises to keep here, but I can’t leave you..”

The words finally ripped Aylee from her insensibility, “That’s right; your promise. You can’t neglect Miss Joffrey…If she perishes, who will ply you with kisses once I am gone?”

Jameson blinked. “You are determined to think the worst of me. Aylee, Miss Joffrey is as old as Lady Willen! I owe her a debt. I’m here to save her.”

Aylee finally paused, stunned by the potential blow to her indignation. “No, that is a lie like everything else about you.”

“I can only convince you by my actions if you will let me…”

“By your actions, then, so I will believe...”

Finally losing his cool, Jameson set his feet firmly on the ground and set his jaw in determination. “Aylee Hembry, you will have to stab me if you try to go into that fire, and you will leave those people to burn if you delay too long. But if you will climb that wall, I will go now.”

For a moment, Aylee stood before him, knife raised at the ready, but when she realized that he had triangulated her away from the homes, she knew she couldn’t get past him without a fight. If she forced his hand, those people would burn. She had to take a risk – spinning back to the wall, she sprinted back to a barrel that rested only a few feet from where she had dropped inside. If she seemed to go along with him, maybe he would at least move on to whatever agenda he had come to enact.

Jameson couldn’t believe that she had actually conceded to his request. He had begun to formulate how he could save the family and keep Aylee from harm, but then she was just gone. Staring forlornly at her back, he realized that he might never see her again. Still, he could not regret the sight of her as she mounted a rain barrel and clambered to the top of the wall. He had turned her away from immediate danger, and that might prove the last service he could offer her. Maybe she will seek out Itchy, he sighed hopefully, but he could not follow her.

Instead, he spun back to the village that had become a furnace, making a line toward the house of the couple. Even with a fire raging before him, Aylee filled his thoughts. After everything he had done for her, after the extreme measures he had taken to make her comfortable, to protect her – she still believed him a scoundrel? He wanted to sit on the grass in the middle of the field and recover until the ache in his chest subsided, not to mention the stinging pain in his left hand. He could not, however. As important as Aylee was, she was not his only responsibility.

He quickly made his way to the home, whose roof had nearly succumbed to flame, and he threw open the door, only needing to lean over the threshold before arms reached for him. He pointed them toward the wall, not at all sure that someone of their age and height would find a method to scale it, but at least they would have a dozen yards between them and the fire.

Glancing to the top of the wall, his mind painted a ghost of Aylee seated there, watching him keep his promise, but of course, in reality, she was already gone. He could not imagine how she had suddenly decided he was her enemy, but the pain that clutched at his chest told him that the fact would torment him for a long time. Jameson could not consider it for the moment – not with fires raging and innocent people in danger.

Instead, he made his way out of the little courtyard of the home and headed down the path to the center of town. Once he reached the narrow road beyond the first row of houses, chaos reigned. Fires burned almost unceasing between him and the gate to the village, and in almost a line along the fires, Jameson’s troops battled those in the false Capigan uniforms. Behind the line, a strange and eerie silence blanketed the homes, as if they had no idea what awaited them if the wrong soldiers lost the battles.

At the very back of the town, amidst a large dearth of rooftops, rose a quaint domed steeple, and it caught Jameson’s attention. If he were to choose a place to hide someone he loved, he would pick a place far from the fuel provided by straw roofs and baked brick. He started toward the clearing, set on reaching the chapel, but keeping his eyes open for an alternative just in case.

+++++++++++

When Aylee had scrambled to the top of the wall, she had done so distractedly, unsure how she intended to proceed. A crash resounded beneath her, and she turned back, afraid for Jess despite her resistance against him. The blood welling from his hand stung as deeply in her heart as it likely had on his flesh, but she could not regret what she had done. In league with Malchus Lorne, all along! Still, she breathed a sigh of relief when she made out his rapid motion down a path and into the city. Apparently, the crash had been another house conceding to the flames.

She began to pull her leg up and over the other side, preparing to escape the insanity she had aspired to enter on a misbegotten belief. Instead, she lowered her leg back into the city, and soon, its partner joined it. In her struggle against Jess, she had forgotten her reason for rushing into the town in the first place. The small herd of about a dozen animals, prodded and sometimes carried by a young man with curls glowing white in the firelight, sent her pulse thrumming in fear. Chester!

Dropping back onto the grass, she tore out after her brother, determined to make him leave the animals and save himself. Not likely, she realized. More likely, he would hand her a baby lamb or a chicken, and she would help lead Noah’s ark out of the fire.

“Chester!” she screamed, peering in the direction he had run. “Chester, come on! We’re leaving!”

Though she cried out with all of her strength, Chester did not turn. She had him in her sights, but her mind kept wandering to another figure, unseen, dashing through the fire on a mission. It was too soon for her not to mourn the loss of the Jess she had created in her mind. Part of her hoped she was wrong about him, desirous that he prove himself as honorable as he claimed. Another part, though, rebelled against the sense of injury, and that part of her would have found more satisfaction if he proved the scoundrel.

Aylee plodded past several houses, but looking back over her shoulder, she realized that the fires were moving closer, and the people in the homes were sound asleep, completely unaware. Rushing to the nearest home, she rapped loudly and persistently until a man in a nightdress came and creaked the door open. Action did not require an explanation from Aylee, because as soon as the man’s eyes registered the fire behind her, he spun back into the house and began shouting at its occupants.

“Wake your neighbors and head north,” she commanded. “The clearing along the wall has not caught fire as yet.”

By the time she found Chester, a small crowd of people had gathered around her to match his crowd of beasts, and she had started a dialogue with the townsfolk about how to escape the damned walls. The entire front of the town now lay in flames, but the soldiers seemed in no hurry in their destruction, content to let the first round of fire die down before they lit a second. On the down side, the fire’s location had removed any hope of escape by ordinary means. On the up side, the soldiers’ strategic hiatus allowed Aylee time to consult with the villagers to find another way out.

Most everyone considered the gate the only entrance and exit from the city, though several of the younger and stronger had already climbed the lower sections of wall and made their escape. The exodus of the strong left Aylee and Chester largely in the company of the elderly, the sick, or those who cared for one of them.

“Beg your pardon, miss,” offered one elderly man, quite more sheepish than he needed to be. “We have a conduit that comes into town. Perhaps we could follow it out somehow.”

A murmur went up from among the crowd, and Aylee thought she heard a general consensus that the conduit would not fit many of the larger men. “But,” answered one of those men, “the wall there has needed repair for years, what with all that water. I bet if we take a pickax to it, we could enlarge the hole of the conduit enough that all of us could fit through.”

To her relief, several of the others agreed, so Aylee ordered her brother to lead the way toward the conduit. Not because he knew the way most familiarly, but because he instinctively picked the quickest and easiest route, an important task when leading the infirm. Half of the village had made it through the hole before the soldiers lit the second row of homes.

++++++++++++++++

Though he had run through the night, Edrick had found no sign of the nobleman he sought. Around him the lighter sky began to filter through the treetops, though the sun’s rays did not yet peep between the trunks. He had run so fast and so hard that his skin burned hot even in the near frosty air. What could he do now, now that he had spent himself on a vain effort? He saw no easy solution. Could he wait for an unknown man to show up in some undecided location? If he returned to his mother, not only might he give away her location, but he might have trouble getting through the guards, either in or out. If he showed up and tried to worm his way back among the troops, he doubted that he could extract her under the nose of Malchus and his men.

Still, he had to return. Perhaps he would merely join his mother in the church and try to prevent her death by some other means than flight. He wondered if the young man whom he had run into might have come out of the nobleman’s troops. To stand so close to success but miss it! The thought sickened him. Edrick, though, could spare no time to deal in regrets, not if he would make it back before Malchus found the chapel. In front of Edrick, the city wall rose like a hulking giant against the blanched sky of early morning, and the chapel lay trapped too far inside those walls to offer him much hope - not because of the troops between him and the city, or even the imposing wall.

No, his greatest concern licked its way over the top of the wall and scurried toward him along the ground. The thick smoke, evidence, no doubt, of the first fire, had surrounded the troops, enveloping them in a ghost-like and menacing apparition. Ironically, the smoke also provided Edrick with his best option for entry. It not only slithered serpentine over the wall, it also rose hovering in the air. It did not, however, rise like a thick column - a sure sign of a continuing and intense flame beneath. It scattered in random tendrils and wisps, like a swarm of insects flooded by light, each escaping in random paths away back to darkness. The smoke would hide Edrick well.

The cloud of fumes outside the wall glowed from within, lit by the soldiers’ lamps and by the glow of the sun which peeked over the horizon. In relative darkness, Edrick could easily maneuver past the troops unseen. He could not, however, open the huge city gate by himself, or do so without bringing attention to himself. Instead, he determined to tackle the wall in the spot he had left it. At the age of five and thirty, he did not look forward to the sore muscles that would result from a second such climb, but his daily labor had rendered him strong, so he knew that he could at least manage the feat. Firm with resolve, Edrick headed toward the wall. Before the sun had finished its rising, he would see his mother.