"The babe?" I ask softly as I follow Heather into the back room of the inn... the inn where I first became acquainted with these folks and learned that the human spirit is not one to be daunted.

"She is settled with her new family and will be guarded by a trusted friend until we are able to meet them in the mountains," she replies in a low voice.

I nod, glancing around the room where the others have already gathered. "Thank you," I say.

She pats my shoulder, sending me a soft smile that lacks fear or any sort of emotion that I scared her little girl earlier that day. It eases some of the guilt from my chest, even as we join the rest.

David sends me a glance that is tempered by steel and compassion. Flash nods, his smile not quite reaching his blue eyes. Zephora pins me in place with her silver glare, then moves it to stare at Jace and Tim, who are locked in a word war and don't even glance at me, for which I am relieved.

Morgana grins, showing gaping teeth. I look away from her piercing gaze that holds a hint of silver, showing her other, more powerful, side.

General Brackenridge and Sir Rey are the last to meet my gaze, and both stare at me with unreadable eyes.

We’re seated in that back room where all this began many moons ago, when I was a lost Shifter searching for his family and found a safe haven in a little town. This is where Heather gave me a swatch of my old shirt, which still contains remnants of scent from my past life with my family from before Pa died.

This small room with a fire burning in a hearth on one side and the table in the center—still stained with all manner of splotches I don't wish to name—is where David gave me the Ring of the King, giving me reason to return to my father and save Whitecastle from the drought shaking the people. I finger the ring where it rests against my skin on a chain Zephora found. I had one more afternoon with father because of this gift. One more meeting with him to speak and understand that he not only didn't blame me for the loss of his wife and children... but that he still accepted me as his son. Warmth brushes the back of my eyes and I glare down at the table.

Father's murderer yet lives. Yellow's like a cockroach with too many lives.

Wait, says that voice once more. I want to ignore it, but I cannot do anything about it. What is the Allfather trying to express? I wish he'd just say it, and then I could get back to imagining Yellow beneath my blade, paying for the lives he's stolen.

Wait.

I hold in a sigh, my finger twitches as they long to rub the headache beginning in my temples.

I turn my mind back to the trials at hand. With my back to the wall, the same seat where the moon shimmers through the little window and lands on my shoulders, I can see both entrances easily.

A fire burns in the hearth, and my core, the most trusted men and women who have fought for freedom to be, are before me. Those who have stood by me every step of the way. Friends forged in the fires of war.

General Brackenridge and Sir Rey are the only two I am unsure of.

Flash sits between Jace and Tim at my left, and they are currently speaking of the spices used in mead that can also be used in a delicate lady’s appetizer, a frontui.

Surprisingly, Flash knows more about the frontui than he does the mead, leading to an interesting conversation.

“No. Cumin is most important to the spices,” Flash says, his eyes flashing. But I can tell he strains to keep his eyes from slitting, and they don’t.

Jace and Tim seem not to mind, even though they had to see something wild in his eyes.

“Cumin? Can’t be. Frontui is divine sweetness of borborygmus to set your mind to times of fluffy clouds and soft bunnies,” Jace says, gesturing with broad sweeps of his hands.

“What be borborygmus?” Tim asks, leaning around Flash to look at his friend.

“It—it is a genuine delight to the mouth. Such that you’ve never known could be!”

Zephora has a sudden coughing fit.

We all look at her, but the three soon go back to talking about frontui.

I raise a brow at Zephora, who sits with her arms crossed on the other side of Tim, not letting her off so easily. Her silver eyes dance with mirth.

She shakes her head at me, her lips twitching. "Gas," she mouths.

Ahh. Another word Jace has botched. Why am I not surprised?

I shake my head, biting my cheek against the amusement growing in my chest.

Sir Rey sits to my right with Morgana beside him, her cane tapping the ground and making Sir Rey wince with each ringing clang. I understand how grating that can be to sensitive ears, but I learned to tune out Morgana’s eccentricities long ago. The less you react, the less she attempts to get a rise from the animals in the room... and the humans.

Heather speaks with General Brackenridge and her father, David. The General is as stone-faced as ever. Heather’s silver eyes sparkle with a mixture of amusement and kindness while her father gestures with his pipe. She is a beautiful soul with a kind heart I admire. In a world such as this, kindness is perhaps the greatest strength of all.

“Roland,” I jerk in my seat, glancing up through my black hair that needs a cut. David watches me. “What are your plans?” he asks patiently, as if he has asked more than once.

I take a moment to think, gathering my thoughts as the rest grow silent. “How many men do you have trained?” I ask.

“Just over two thousand,” General Brackenridge replies.

I turn my eyes to the grizzled man, my lips wishing to part in surprise. “So many?” They had a thousand trained city guard the last time I was here, with some city folk I helped train.

His lips twitch before settling back into his scowl. “Protecting the family pack and territory is important to many, not just Kursak. I called in some favors.”

I nod. Touche, General. “With those numbers, I will leave the ground game to you and yours. This battle is unlikely to turn how we wish.” I meet the eyes of those gathered. They watch me, steely determination beneath the broadly differing exteriors.

The general’s scowl grows, his wrinkles deepening. “Don’t coddle us. We know the odds. Give us plans or get out.”

I lean back in my chair, finally giving into the urge to rub my forehead. The headache there is becoming more than a mere nuisance. “General, I plan to fight the dragons with one dragon and your balistea. The forests will likely burn before this is done, and us with it, unless something brings a miracle. There is a mage coming who will stand beside you against the magic welders of the Empire. She will contact you tomorrow, but do not trust her beyond this task. The rest will be up to you.” My voice comes out harder than I intended and numbness spreads through my core as I shove down anything unrelated to logic.

“A dragon?” Jace asks, his eyes lighting as if I’d just handed him a golden goblet.

The General leans forward, ignoring Jace. “You think yourself capable of handling ten, or more, dragons alone?”

I meet him gaze to gaze, leaning forward and steeling my hands in front of me. “I don’t think so, General. I must. Do we have any other option?”

His wrinkled and tanned face splits in a grin. It looks far more frightening than his scowl. “I was hoping you’d ask, Wolf. There is a little something we been working on for the dragons. But we need men for a suicide mission.”

When he finishes explaining, Flash leans forward, his mouth curved in a mischievous grin. “I’ll bring ten Were, but we won’t plan on dying, sir.”

The General grips the Were’s forearm. “I’ll hold you to that, Cat,” he replies.

They speak long into the night, some things of times past, some of the present, and some of the future.

I don’t join in. I merely watch, a smile turning my lips. They know not if they will live to see sunset tomorrow, should the army appear at first light. I can see it in the way their eyes bounce around the room with a sort of nostalgia that one would be hard-pressed to miss. I see it in the way they laugh louder and longer, as if making up for lost times when others won't be around to hear it.

None of us know what will come.

So they spend time now to enjoy the last moments before what may be some of these folks last moments here on Avidon.

It makes this time with them a bitter-sweet as I wonder who will live.

It makes me feel as if I’m sitting with ghosts, with mere vapors who may disappear with the dawn.

I will do everything in my power to ensure that doesn't happen. To ensure I sit with survivers and those who will laugh once this time is done and will see the sunrise on a world of peace. That is my fight. That is why I struggle on against overwhelming odds.

Someday, peace will reign on Avidon. It may just take war to get there.