When the enemy rises up around you like the waters of a flood, do not turn away the hand of any ally who offers assistance. No matter how unlikely.

A wise saying

The string of the bow tight to her ear, Sheala stared down the perfect straightness of her arrow's shaft. From atop the wall spanning between the twin towers of Mours Canyon, past the tip, and off in the distance on the ravine floor below, the unlucky member of the imperial cavalry she followed along with was oblivious as to how he'd been marked as her next target.

With slow patience, she tacked her shot ahead of his charge, inhaled, held her breath, and then released her shot with a smooth peeling back of her fingers.  With the twang of her bowstring, the arrow went forth, although she didn't watch her shot. She didn't have to. The arrow would find its mark, forcibly dismounting the soldier from his horse.

The former thief was already notching her next arrow as she and close to four dozen other archers were providing support for knights and other soldiers from the Mours Towers garrison in the confined space below and to the east of the wall.

More than one of the archers sworn to defend this fortification took notice as she stood with them atop the wall. Red hair whipping behind her in the firm, east to west running breeze buffeting them all, her ancient armor was not even remarkably similar to the style they wore. But not a one asked a question about her presence. Especially not once they witnessed how adept a shot she was.

They all seemed eager for the assistance as they were outnumbered, and firing with accuracy from this vantage was no easy task. If the strong wind were not enough to make an archer's normally true shot fail, there were plenty of other variables to account for. Any one of them, precipitating any number of mistakes, could lead even the best of the marksmen to miss.

Distance alone was enough to cause problems from atop the wall. Speed of targets, not to mention possible, and often frequent, changes in their trajectory during the arrow's time of flight over that span was just one more consideration.

All combined, each of the conditions facing those lobbing arrows down upon the battlefield made each shot even trickier.

The medallion Sheala wore had been buzzing with warnings of danger ever since she'd taken up her current perch once the battle had begun, as though it were screaming at her to find a safe haven in the midst of the battle. Now the signals were growing more intense, but she would not allow them to distract her attention from her next target.

With a thunk, the archer next to Sheala was down; the arrow felling him coming from above and to their left.  It happened right as she released her next shot and was already reaching for another arrow. She turned her eyes up to see a line of Imperial archers formed up on the northern wall of the canyon.  "Archers north!" she called out above the commotion of battle.

She drew a bead on the one who was most ready to fire, put her shot high and to the right to account for drop over distance and wind, and let it go. It curved in a smooth arc to hit her target, blasting him in the head as other archers on the wall also responded to the threat and ended it before another of their number were taken out.

"Good shot!" she heard one of them call to her as she had another arrow at the ready.

"Thanks," she replied.  "Just doing my part."

"Well, stop it!" Reane stormed out onto the walkway running the length of the wall.  "What do you think you doing up here?"

"Target practice."  With that explanation and a shrug, Sheala ended the life of one more imperial cavalry man with another shot. It was only about this time that Sheala was able to take in the scope of the battle below. Up until now, she was focused only on her chosen targets and lost sight of the bigger picture.

"We're getting ready to go! And you're up here fucking around? Like there isn't a war going on?"

"I know the score."  Another arrow ready, Sheala let that one fly next in succession. "I've got one last shot, and we can go."

Her final arrow out of her commandeered quiver, Sheala had just begun to fit notch to string when the ground shook. The force was enough that the arrow was dropped in shock.

Reane's hand on her arm, Sheala found herself being dragged across the wall to the northern fortification.  Above the tower before her where she was being pulled, a sheet of stone began to cascade down as though in slow motion.

"Shit, forgot about those explosives." Sheala worked to gain feet under herself and be more than just dead weight.

"Yeah, doesn't look like Lagos Dunn's soldiers weren't able to make it to them before being detonated."

Smaller bits of the rubble were already clacking off the fortification's upper battlements as the larger bits struggled to free themselves. Eventually gravity would win out, but the delay bought them a precious few moments to reach the door yawning open and wide, Brentai there and waving in panic to urge them to hurry.  A sizable chunk of rock slammed into the walkway near enough that it forced him to retreat inside.

"We're not going to make it!" Sheala's panicked plea was nearly drowned out.

"We'll make it," Reane countered her friend's pessimistic appraisal of their situation.

To help their cause, the seer dared to open up her mind and sought to force back, or at least out of the way, as much of the stone as much as possible. But she could tell the moment she made mental contact with the landslide the mere force and weight alone would overcome her if she were too aggressive or bold.

While fighting back the imagery and visions that sought to crowd in through the opening presented and trying to consume her attention, the sea captain did only as much as she felt capable of without resulting in permanent and unrecoverable injury to herself.  She'd barely been able to move the Oracle a little over a year ago back in Catersburg, and the mass of these stones was orders of magnitude greater.

Still, her restrained efforts bought them both precious seconds. As they dashed through the open door, a slab from the cliffs above crashed down to their left.  Had it not been for Reane's intervention, it would have crushed the women even if its ultimate trajectory seemed harmless in the end. Still, it was close enough to a strike that Sheala swung a wider than necessary path to avoid it.

"Don't just stand there," Reane called out to Brentai as he remained by the door. "Run!"

And he did.

As he joined both women proceeding towards the exit leading into the depth of the stronghold, all of them escaped in the final seconds before a wave of stone from above collapsed the outer walls and filled the space behind them. To make matters worse, a thick grit of pulverized stone grated the lungs as it was inhaled.

Coughing, prone on the floor and mere feet from a wall of rubble, Sheala swiped sweaty and dirty red hair from her face. "Well, that certainly was an adventure," she said with a laugh.

"Needlessly reckless is what I'd call it," Reane replied.  "What in the name of the Fates were you thinking? Do you want to get killed?"

Standing up and dusting herself off even as more dirt from the air clung to her, Sheala tried to make herself presentable. As though it mattered. "Hey, if I'm the chosen one, I can't die, right?"

Reane answered with a raised eyebrow. "What are you babbling about?"

"You know, the chosen one? The one that's going to open up the shrine and save the world? I can't die."

Reane wanted to reply to the words, but instead messaged the bridge of her nose with a force becoming her growing frustration. "That's the dumbest thing I've heard you say, and you've said some pretty dumb things."

"Look, I know you're trying not to tell me, but I figured it out."

The crack of Reane's hand slapping her across the cheek whipsawed Sheala's neck, stunning the young woman.

"Ow!" Sheala cried out. "What was that for?"

Reane's arm was cocked back for another swing, but only Brentai's intervention and hand around her wrist prevented it. "Reane! Enough!" he said.

Reane never once turned to look in his direction, pulling her hand free, and holding back on another strike. "Listen, Sheala, get this through your thick skull.  I don't know what asinine ideas you've got running through your head right now, but there aren't any guarantees in any of this. This isn't some epic tale of adventure that's going to come out all good in the end because a scribe sitting at a desk desires it to.  This is real life.  Got it? Happy endings are the exception, not the rule."

"Geez!"  Huffing back while rubbing her cheek, Sheala glowered at Reane. "Sorry!  I'll be more careful."

Reane calmed herself while her friend stood there sulking, but it took several deep breaths for her to respond. "Don't start making assumptions about what's going to happen. I've told you before the future isn't written. And just because you, me, or anyone wants things to happen a certain way? That isn't any guarantee."

Anthony burst onto the scene.  "Ah! There you are. You found her, I see?"

"Yes. Being her normal, reckless self.  Like always."

He addressed the prominent red welt resembling a hand on the side of the redhead's face. "Looks like that hurt."

Sheala snorted. "Maybe you'd like one of your own?"

"I'll pass, thanks. Gregory ans Sayra are waiting for us down in the tunnels. We're all ready to go."

"Good," Reane replied. "I think things are about to get a lot worse real fast now that the canyon walls have come down on us.  So let's make ourselves scarce. Have you seen Lagos Dunn anywhere?" With her question, she began heading into the bowels of the keep buried within the remaining walls of the canyon.

The others followed.

"Not since he left to command his forces against the Imperial attack," Anthony said.

About half way to their destination and to meet up with the rest of their party, the tower's steward emerged out of a side passage from the one they traveled. He was encased and ready for battle in his own plate armor, although his head was uncovered.

Along with the otaur and the six knights assigned with guarding him, he moved with determined purpose.  It was hard to tell, what with the guards in full plate and their heads hidden behind their helms, but they appeared to be the same group who had been with him in the audience hall during their first meeting; five men and one woman.

"I figured you'd all have been long gone by now," he said, falling in lock step with Reane.

"Had to go find this one." She chucked a finger over her shoulder at Sheala. "The Ambassador thought it would be a wonderful idea to go out with a bow and join in the fun."

"You act like I'm not capable," Sheala said with a groan. "I got thirteen."

"Thirteen?" Lagos Dunn asked.  "From the top of the wall?"

"Yep."

"Impressive. Such skill."

"Don't encourage her," Reane complained.  "What's the situation?"

"We were able to get to the explosives along the south ridge before they were detonated.  Unfortunately, our luck was not as good with the northern ridge. I was just heading down to see if I could find someone to give a report and present me with an appraisal of the damage."

"I can tell you the upper part of the north tower is crushed and buried." Reane told him what she knew from her firsthand experience. "Beyond that? I can't say.  But I saw the amount of rock coming down as we ran for our lives, and I would suspect that's just the tip of the iceberg. Now that the damage is done, I would presume the next wave of attacks will include those dragons the Empire has been staging at the Sagon Wall."

"A fair assessment."

 "Sorry to tell you this, Steward, but you may want to start thinking about evacuating."

"Evacuating Mours Towers? Never." Although his words were firm, the subtle nuances in their delivery implied a less than certain belief in them.  "Even if they bury the towers under mounds of rock, we still have the tunnels in the canyon walls to hide in. We can emerge at any of two dozen points on the surface and cause havoc for the Imperials."

"Suit yourself." Reane shrugged.  "Ultimately, that's your choice, Steward.  These towers, however, are your strongest advantage. My council would be as I have said.  Especially if you want to ensure you live to rule Fimmirra once this war ends."

"Your advice is noted," Lagos Dunn replied with a terse nod and a smugness that annoyed pretty much everyone present. "Even if I decline to heed it."

"I'd listen to or if I were you, friend." The unknown voice caused the entire procession to stop on a silver coin. The next response was the guards bringing their halberds to bear upon the short statured dwarf standing there behind them. Korg hefted up his axe. Although none of them made any further move beyond that.

Stroking his beard, the intruder remained calm, despite the business end of several weapons staring him down.  Covered in streaks of black soot, his face appeared as though he just crawled through the shaft of a coal mine. "I think that's a little much, don't you?  Considering that I am unarmed? However if you'd like to see how I'd go about evening the odds in the face of aggressions against my person, then by all means, please feel free to attack me at your leisure."

Sheala leaned in to Reane for a hushed question. "What's he talking about?"

"The dwarven fighting art of Yut Sa Kah," Reane whispered back, mirroring her friend's posture. "I think. Never had the pleasure of seeing it put into practice, although a part of me would love to observe it first hand."

"Perhaps," the intruder replied, "you'll get your wish, Missy. Depends whether these fools want to goad me on. I might be a dwarf of the plains, but my mother always said I should have been born a hill dwarf with my prowess at fighting."

Lagos Dunn pushed his way through his escorts, not wanting to show weakness and put forth the implication he actually needed protection.  "Who are you, and what is a dwarf doing here?"

"Name's Cabbat. Cabbat Longfield. I've come to render assistance in your time of need," he responded, continuing to work fingers through the strands of hair streaming down from his chin.  "Seems you could use some right about now.  What with Imperial forces about the storm your precious sanctuary?  And after my latest invention proved a resounding success at bringing the walls of the canyon down upon you."

The boast of his role in the recent fate that had befallen Mours Towers drew a menacing, single step advance from the armored guards punctuated by clanging armor. While the points of the guards halberds drew ever closer to the unconcerned dwarf, Lagos Dunn's ensuing laugh resonated down the stone walls of the passage.  "You're working with the Imperials?"

"Aye," the dwarf agreed. "I have been working for the Empire.  While also working against them."

"If that's the case, we certainly don't need your help.  You dwarves haven't cared one lick about what's been happening on this side of the mountains for centuries. So forgive me for being skeptical about your sudden appearance and offer. It's no secret dwarves are not exactly on friendly terms with we humans."

"It's true that, for the most part, we find you humans to be creatures of disgusting habits.  One of which involves the propensity to start wars with anything that lives and breathes and disagrees with you. However, I find myself in a bit of an unusual situation thanks to my dual allegiances. One where I have been able to, how should I say this, move the precarious situation that plagues this side of the mountains along in a manner favorable for your side of the conflict. All while inhibiting the Empire and their quest for a particular artifact of immense power.  Which everyone is well aware of, I presume? Considering you have the Child of the Storm and a Seer of Denang in your midst?"  He pointed an aggressive finger at Reane who seemed halfway surprised but also halfway not surprised by the comment.

The blond-haired sea captain reacted by burrowing her eyes into the dwarf. "How do you know who and what I am?"

"Sweetheart, please. I see worry born from the weight of foresight etched in every line on your face. We dwarves have prophets of our own, and I have seen those signs before. Now, as I've said, I'm actually here to help. Hard as that may be to believe, considering I just blew up your towers." He turned his attention to Sheala. "Truth is, the last thing I want is this one's key falling into the hands of the Empire. So, I suggest you get a move on out of here. Use whatever tunnels down here that you must for your escape and get to the east and the Mount of Carnak. Meanwhile, you sir, better get to escaping to the west. At least if you want to have any chance of ruling over those piddly little islands you desire so much. I've got an idea for a distraction that should buy everyone the time they need."

"And why should we trust you?" Lagos Dunn beat Reane to the comment.

"Because you won't have a chance if you don't. There's two dozen black and red dragons east of the Sagon Wall. Each getting ready to take flight as we stand here having this little chat. You want to try to outrun them without a sizable head start? Be my guest." Holding out his hand, the dwarf motioned for the steward of Mours Towers as if requesting him to hand something over to him. "Your medallion," he demanded more bluntly when Lagos Dunn did not concede.

"Excuse me?"

The dwarf sighed. "Look, General Nightwing wants the medallion that one carries," again he pointed to Sheala. "I believe we're all in agreement we can't let her get a hold of it. So we need a decoy. You're a Dunn, right? So yours will do nicely."

"This is my family crest," Lagos Dunn protested, clutching at the precious item under his outer protective skin of metal. "The last remembrance of my family line and sign of my birthright."

"And if you want to live to uphold your family line, you'll hand it over. I caught enough of your conversation to understand your goals."

As if powered by the ultimate realization that the dwarf's words were true, Lagos Dunn produced the tarnished and battered symbol of his heritage from under his armor. Despite a reluctant hitch in the motion, the steward turned the item over to the dwarf who in turn collected the chain and trinket without any pomp or circumstance.

"And how do you plan to use that to secure our escape?" the steward asked.

"I told you, a decoy." Taking stock of the medallion he now held, the dwarf squinted at the lone female guard in her plate armor. "Remove your helmet, missy. Let me look at you."

Reluctance and inaction from the woman was the response his request received until Lagos Dunn gave her permission. "Do as he asks, Herena."

Stepping out of her ready stance, halberd in the crook of her left arm, the guardswoman lifted the helm from her head to reveal her own reddish hair. To which the dwarf nodded and started looking back and forth between Herena and Sheala. "Close enough."

"Wait," Herena spoke for the first time. "How did you know the color of my hair?"

"Yes," Sheala asked. "How?"

"I didn't," the dwarf admitted. "Figured I'd not get so lucky and have to spend considerable time finding another redhead around here. Guess my luck is better than normal these days."

"I don't think," Reane challenged him, "luck had anything to do with it."

"My great grandmother was a prophet. Maybe I've I've always had a slight talent for knowing things. Hard to say what's foresight and what's coincidence." Cabbat shrugged, holding up the silver disk to Herena. "You're going to take this. And you're going to get captured."

"She'll be executed." Lagos Dunn objected to the plan he'd only heard the most basic portions of, drawing the obvious conclusion as to the rest.

The dwarf nodded. "For sure." There wasn't any hint of concern for the woman's fate in his tone. "Can't promise it'll be quick or painless. Depends on General Nightwing's mood. But her sacrifice will buy you a couple hours at least while the ruse is found out. These Imperial soldiers only know they are looking for a redhead with a silver medallion."

"I won't allow—"

"My lord, please." Herena interrupted. "I appreciate your concern for my safety. But if it means you and what remains of our people can escape? I'll gladly sacrifice myself for that. There are many citizens here who are no soldiers and who are not suited for fighting. Women and children."

The steward took the slightest of step towards her. He caught himself in the middle of it, trying to hide the obvious action. "Herena? I—" The crack in his voice was enough emphasis to impart the emotions he was trying to hold back.

The woman placed the medallion's chain about her neck. "It must be done," she said.

Lagos Dunn pulled in a quaking breath through his nostrils while setting his jaw line firm. His posture became more pronounced in its stiffness and perfection, shoulders rolling back. "We will never forget your sacrifice. I will never forget."

"Remember me," she answered. "But do not dwell on me or my fate."

It was as if he wanted to go to her, to embrace her and hold her, to say something more, but knew that he could not. "I will not. Now or ever." Instead, he snapped to attention and saluted her. The other five guards, and even Korg, followed suit.

Sheala broke the solemn moment with an astute question about something no one else seemed to have noticed. "Uh, excuse me, but where'd that dwarf disappear to?"