Morgan and Issa sat together in her father’s kitchen, enjoying a huge breakfast of biscuits, eggs, sausage, and greens cooked with something remarkably like garlic. Issa had been filling Morgan in on what he’d missed while his body went through its changes. It amounted to a lot of her visiting and catching up with friends she’d been missing over the last couple of months. Morgan was just starting to wrap his head around the various names of her friends when a loud knock sounded from the front door.

Issa stood and went to answer, and Morgan kept eating. He could hear the muffled conversation taking place as he crunched down some bacon, and then the door thudded shut, and Issa came back into the kitchen, a harried look on her face. “Morgan, we need to go to the council building. There’s an emergency meeting.”

“Ungh, alright,” he said, swallowing. “What’s it about?”

“The trade ship my father was on was ambushed passing through the Deep Down. Some survivors jumped overboard and rode the current to safety, and they’re going to make a report to the council.” Her face was wan, and Morgan could see she was trying to hold her emotions in check, but a tiny tremble in her lower lip brought him to his feet, and he pulled her into a hug.

“Alright, alright, let’s go hear what they have to say.” He held her tight, and one soft sob escaped her, but then she sniffed and straightened up.

“Right. Let’s see what the report is. Maybe there’s hope.”

They didn’t waste time after that, most of their belongings were in their dimensional storage containers, so they didn’t need to grab any gear. Morgan made sure the stove was off, then they hustled out the door and along the path leading to the bridge. They walked in silence, Issa not in the mood for small talk, and Morgan worried he’d say something wrong. He knew she was close to her father, and she'd be devastated if he’d been taken or killed in the raid.

Morgan knew what it was like to lose parents and family, but her relationship with her father was different. He’d been just a kid when his parents died, and he felt mostly numb to their loss. Every now and then, when half asleep, he’d remember something his mom said or the smell of his dad’s cologne, and it would be fresh for just a moment, but it never lasted long. He supposed his sister’s death was a lot more like how Issa would feel if her father were dead, and he didn’t want her to have to experience that loss. He desperately hoped the news they were about to hear wouldn’t be all bad.

They passed through the market square, down the street toward the mayor’s office, and up a side street that Morgan hadn’t explored before. It led past a library, a small park, and then into a courtyard before the town hall. A crowd was gathering outside, and just as Morgan and Issa arrived, the doors to the hall opened.

The crowd surged for the doors, jostling to get in and secure good seats. Though, there were still quite a few available when Morgan and Issa finally made their way inside. It was a high-ceilinged room with a dozen rows of benches facing a raised dais where an oblong table sat. Seven people sat at the table, and Morgan recognized two of them: the Governor and Swent’s father.

Morgan sat next to Issa on a bench about halfway from the front row, and then they waited as more people arrived and the seats at the table gradually filled with council members. The crowd hushed, and conversations dropped to murmurs as two bedraggled, hollow-eyed, Ardeni youths were ushered into the hall from a rear door. They were brought before the table of council members and given seats in the open area between the table and the rows of the seated populace.

“Silence! Silence, please!” the governor said, loudly at first but then in a shout. When the conversations fully died down, he cleared his throat and continued, “Thank you. We have before us Gil ap’Yarl and Dav ap’Hon. They bring grave news of the merchant flotilla from Fevra City. Men, thank you for standing before us; I know you’re exhausted. Everyone here needs to hear your news, though, to organize the appropriate response. Please, give us your report.” With that, he sat down, and Gil and Dav looked at each other nervously. Finally, one of the men stood, nodded to the assembled council members, then turned to the audience and spoke.

“I’m Gil ap’Yarl, and my news is awful, indeed. As we passed through the deep canyons, our entire trade flotilla was taken.” The audience erupted in exclamations and questions; even Issa hissed and grabbed Morgan’s arm, squeezing so hard that her sharp nails began to dig into his flesh through his shirt sleeve. Questions were shouted like, “What do you mean taken?” or “Taken by who?” or “Is everyone dead?”

“Silence, please! Let the council ask the questions for now. We’ll take public comments and questions afterward!” The governor slammed his open palm on the table several times to get the audience to quiet down. “Gil, please describe, in detail, what happened.”

“Alright, well, as I told Constable Turg, we were making good time down the Rill, picking up speed down into the deep canyons. It was about noontime two days ago when we got to the wide part of the river outside the Deep Down. That’s when we knew something was wrong—they were hanging all over the cliffs. Even hanging from ropes that’d been strung over the river.”

“Who was hanging?” one of the council members asked.

“The Urghat. The Urghat from the Deep Down, thousands of them.”

“They were dead?” Holis, the governor, asked.

“Oh, aye. Long dead—scraps of rotten flesh and fur hanging from bones. Some of the crews started cheering when they saw all the dead Urghat, but Captain Thillis on the Paradise, he shouted for everyone to shut up. The order went out among the other boats, and pretty soon, we were drifting through the wide section, death hanging all around us. It was quiet, not a sound on the flat water. We had our bows out, watching the caves along the cliffs, but we didn’t see anything. When all fourteen ships and boats were through the narrows, and we broke out the oars, that’s when they came.”

“Who came?” the same council member that had spoken earlier prodded.

“They swooped out of the caves, up high—gray-skinned with wings and talons. Their eyes were like coals, black and flaming red. They breathed gouts of smoke, swung swords and clubs, and grabbed us with their claws. I saw dozens carried off into the caverns and dozens cut to pieces. We tried to fight, truly, but when our boat caught fire, most of us jumped into the river. They plucked us out like garwings taking fish.

Me and Dav here, we were the only ones that got through to the narrows, and the current pulled us away. It was only luck! I saw so many grabbed up out of the water; I don’t know why I didn’t get grabbed! It wasn’t fair, just luck!” The young man collapsed into his chair, holding his head in his hands, and the crowd broke into chaotic conversations and shouted questions. Morgan was jostled as some people tried to get closer to the council table to call out their questions and concerns.

Morgan felt Issa stand next to him, then the familiar pulse of her Energy gathering as she prepared her Battle Chant. She stood up on her bench, and her voice rang out, discordant and harsh, impossible to ignore, “Silence! You, Gil, and Dav, I’ll have an answer: do you know of my father’s fate? Roald the Artificer?”

Issa’s eyes were purple-black smoke, and the force of her voice bore down on his mind, making him wince. He looked around and saw that he was barely affected compared to the general populace; most of them held their hands to their ears and hunkered down, looking at Issa with alarm. “Answer me!” Gil and Dav shot to their feet, almost like she’d forced them to, and while Gil shook his head violently, Dav managed to croak out a response.

“No, no, Miss! I’m sorry, but we barely managed to keep from burning, drowning, or getting hacked to pieces. I don’t even know if my captain lived or died!”

“Miss ap’Roald! Please stop this, and maintain your dignity!” the governor shouted. Morgan stood, straight-backed with his arms folded, towering over the assembled Ardeni folk. He wanted Issa to know he was there to support her, but he didn’t say anything. Slowly, Issa let the buzzing background noise of her War Chant fade away, though a purple light still shone in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Governor. I let my emotions get ahold of me. That said, I don’t see what we have to discuss. Time is of the essence. We need to organize a rescue party.” Several shouts of agreement rose from the crowd, and the Governor’s face began to redden.

“That’s a decision for the council! We need to weigh the risks and determine the logistics!” Morgan felt Issa’s chant start to buzz again, and then her voice rang out.

“Morgan and I will be organizing a rescue party near the merchant docks. Spread the word. We’ll take as many as can fit on whatever boat we secure. If you organize something else, then we’ll welcome the backup.” With that, Issa turned, hopped off the bench, and strode toward the door. People made way for her, and Morgan hurried after her, not sparing a glance for the dumbstruck council.

“I’m sorry, Morgan,” Issa said as they walked to the market square.

“Why?”

“For assuming you’d be coming with me on the rescue.”

“Nothing to be sorry for when you’re a hundred percent right.” Issa looked up at him and took his hand. As they walked, Morgan glanced over his shoulder and saw that quite a few people had followed them out of the town hall. Some were running off in different directions, but a good crowd had formed behind them.

“We have a crowd following us,” he said to Issa.

“Good. The council will debate for a while, but they’ll realize we’re right. By the time they come around, we’ll be ready to set out. Morgan, if no one volunteers a boat, we might have to buy one.” She looked up at him, an eyebrow raised.

“It shouldn’t be a problem. We have thousands of beads and quite a few other valuables we can trade.”

“You won’t have to worry about a boat, Issa!” A white-haired Ardeni woman strode forward from behind Morgan, and with a start, he realized he recognized her. It was Swent’s mother. “Rua is among the missing; you can take one of our barges—it’ll carry a hundred folk on its deck.”

“Good, thank you, Lynna.” Issa reached out a hand toward Lynna but then dropped it and kept walking. “We’ll do everything we can to get her back.” A series of wooden ramps led down from the market square to the riverbank under the vast, sweeping arch of the bridge. When they finished descending and stood on the boardwalk that ran along the river, Issa turned to Lynna and said, “I’ll gather the volunteers here. Can you have one of your captains bring the barge around? The sooner we’re off, the better our chances.”

“Yes, I’ll have him bring it around. I’ll offer all of our crews hazard pay to crew the ship. I’m sure we can come up with enough hands from among them.” She turned and made her way down the long boardwalk and around the bend where tall wooden warehouses and docks started to protrude into the river.

Issa’s eyes flared purple, and the discordant buzz of her chant started up again, “Listen! All of you that followed us here. We need hunters. We need fighters. We’re going into battle against something terrible, but if our missing loved ones are to have a chance, we need to hurry. Get your things, and spread the word. In one hour, we leave with the best one hundred fighters that Tarn’s Crossing can muster.