Shouts and cries drifted from the village as the bandits wreaked havoc. Even with their enhanced strength and night vision, the patrollers and night archers were having a hard time dealing with the attackers. Second Lieutenant Audryn rose from and faced the gate. "We'll have plenty of time later to figure out how they got their hands on a Firemount. For now we must continue our charge."

While a part of the squad skirted the burning south gate to enter the village, another secured ropes on the Firemount and hauled it up behind some trees.

All around Farren, the village crackled and groaned. Dark shapes darted around in the haze of woodsmoke that stung the eyes, and with their torches they set aflame the thatched roofs.

Kinallen was on fire.

Armour to protect her limbs, a weapon and a pair of strong arms to deal damage. Yet Farren felt lost. Her throat was dry as she swallowed hard. Farren found it difficult to breathe, and it had little to do with the smoke.

Farren did not get very far. She turned a corner and fell to her knees near a smoke filled alley. Her surroundings blurred as a coughing fit overtook her. All around, the battle raged on.

She had for long believed she'd left those memories back in that smoking rubble of her home that fateful night many years past. But she'd been ever so wrong, for now they rose to hold her back in the middle of battle.

━━━━━━⚔︎━━━━━━

Across the hills on Autumnwind plain, there once sat a little frontier village called Larton on the easternmost edge of Midaelia.

Farren gulped lungfuls of cool air, and found herself unarmed and barefoot. Instead of her armour, she was clad in a frilly white dress, dirty at the seams from an evening of splashing around in puddles. Oh no. Mum was going to be furious. The damp scent of the season's first rainfall rode the air. It rained a lot in Larton.

At the village square, she could hear arguing. Some people were holding Mister Shafforn, the village chief, tightly by his arms. They were tying him up. Was that some sort of game? But Mister Shafforn looked angry and scared. He didn't want to play.

They were all shouting about the village chief becoming allies with the Drisian Crown Prince, General Krugmann.

At the wheat fields, Farren had heard the adults talk endlessly about the prince as they worked. Apparently, the prince was leading some sort of military campaign.

So what if Mr. Shafforn had become friends with him? What was so bad about making friends? Farren didn't understand.

Driven into the ground near the crowd was a tall stake, at the bottom of which firewood was piled high. The villagers had torches with them. Some of the angry folk banged on the front door of the village chief's house, yelling after his son, Emric, to come out.

"Are you building a bonfire?" Farren asked. It was a strange feeling, like she was reading off a script of a play she had starred in numerous times before, as though she knew exactly how this story was going to end.

"Yes... yes, a bonfire. But this is not for you little ones to see," said one of the people gathered at the village square. Their face was blurred.

"Has he done something bad?" she asked. The people were dragging him to the stake.

The unnamed villager whose face she still couldn't make out turned to her. "He has, indeed. He has made friends with the bad Drisians, you see. He's sold us to them, allowing their troops to pass through our village, trample our fields and plunder our homes," they said, kneeling down so they were face to face, "you don't make friends with Drisians."

"Why? Are they bad?"

"Very," said the villager. "That's why we won't let them pass tonight. Now be a good girl and run home, quick!"

Farren ran, as fast as her tiny legs could carry her. She ran, because something was terribly wrong. Why were they tying Mr. Shafforn to the stake? He was a good man. And so was his son, Emric. He was friends with her brother and knew all sorts of fun tricks with playing cards.

That night, she slept with her pillow pressed to both ears to muffle poor Mr. Shafforn's screams. Later, she woke up unable to breathe. Their house was on fire, and outside the window, troops of Drisian horsemen rode past.

Larton was on fire.

━━━━━━⚔︎━━━━━━

-"WHAT IN THE NAME OF RHILIO ARE YOU DOING, CLEARSTRIKE!" Audryn's voice carried over all the commotion from some ten paces far, dragging Farren out of her trance. For once, she was glad to hear Audryn's shouting.

Farren's hands tightened on the leather wrapped grip of her battle-axe and her eyes, watering now from all the smoke, darted around. You are not in Larton. You are not in Larton.

This is Kinallen.

Larton is no more, it perished long ago.

You are a soldier, for fuck's sake! Get a hold of yourself.

Legs still shaking, Farren got to her feet as one of the Drisians rushed at her. She yanked the man close by his rough fur cloak and rammed her helmed head into the bandit's face. The spikes dug into flesh, then tore it off as Farren pulled back, and with her axe she delivered the killing blow. Teeth still bared in a snarl, the mangled wreck of a severed head landed with a thud before rolling off to somewhere unseen among the smoke.

The warm blood dripping from her cheeks grounded her into reality, assured her she was back to the present. Farren felt at peace. She preferred to be at the present, even if that present was a smouldering heap of a village. She took several deep, calming breaths.

Arrows zipped through the air every now and then, the precise aims of which made Farren assume they were fired by the night archers.

There were footsteps behind her. Another one of those bandits. she turned, axe ready in her hands; but before it could be put into action, an arrow slashed through the air inches from her side and went straight through the attacker's throat.

Dorin Farler, one of the night archers, made his way up to her.

Farren nodded her thanks, to which the vampire answered with a fanged grimace. "About time we get folks out of the village, eh Corporal?"

"Right," said Farren, then turned as clattering of hooves reached her ears.

Troops of mounted archers now rode in, Karles in the lead. Arrows flew, though not with the unnerving accuracy like the night archers. They did not have enhanced night vision like their fanged counterparts. Nevertheless, they were now beginning to surround the company of bandits.

Second Lieutenant Audryn gave the signal. "Take the people through the north gate, move!"

Farren and the night archer called Dorin dashed along the village path, rounding up the villagers as they went.

The arrival of the mounted archers dulled the edge from the onslaught of the bandits. Among the archers, the one who stood out the most was Alastair, Farren had to admit with some aggravation.

As always, he rode separate from the squad, the motion of his hands a blur as he nocked arrow after arrow on his beloved yew longbow.

The next moment, a bandit charged at the train of helpless villagers. Before Farren could so much as turn, Alastair had shot down the rogue. He was already aiming at another when she spotted him. There was something about the way he killed, his lethal precision; Farren was reminded time and again of the assassins of Byton.

Rendarr joined Farren and Dorin on the way as they led the train of terrified people toward the north gate.

"Notice something odd about this?" said Rendarr.

Now that was an awfully vague thing to ask.

"About what?" said Farren,"the Firemount or the bandits or the package or the weird as hell dead but not dead ginger guy or the--"

"Yes to all, but right now let's just look at the bandits. Notice how they seem more keen on setting the houses on fire than actually looting them?"

In truth, she hadn't taken the time to observe the enemy. "Nah. Too busy reminiscing about the good ol days."

Rendarr gave her an incredulous look as she now turned to look at the bandits.

"Odd choice of place, Corporal," said Dorin.

"Aye, nothing like a good village fire and eye-watering smoke to bring back good memories, am I right?" Farren let out a dry laugh, which of course no one returned.

Clearly, nobody had a sense of humor. Tough times, thought Farren.

However, she could see Rendarr's point. All around, the attackers were engaged in combat with soldiers and patrollers alike, but they did not appear eager to simply take their loot and run, which was how most raids usually went.

They were making trouble for the sake of making trouble.

"It seems as though they're trying to keep us busy," said Farren.

Cursing, Rendarr rubbed his sleep-deprived, bloodshot eyes. "As if the rest of the day wasn't strange enough. What're they up to? Sweet Draedona take them! I can't think anymore.”

Thankfully, they reached the north entrance unimpeded. Farren had a moment to breathe as the rest of the night archers took the horde of panicked people from their hands and began to help them onto the rows of wagons outside to take them to safety.

Alarmed screams came from a crowd of soldiers gathered before a thatched house on fire. And Farren recognised the voice that shouted the loudest.

"Foxward?" Farren rushed up to them. The healer was in the midst of the commotion, his face red and hair a mess of tangles.

"Corporal Clearstrike!" He lunged toward her and gripped her hands. "Eliora--she's --she's gone inside the house. I begged her not to go, the wagons are ready, but-"

A clamour rose from the group of soldiers again, making both turn. There she was, Eliora the healer, striding out of the burning house with two screaming toddlers under each arm. Her cloak was on fire.

"Doctor! You're safe," Foxward rushed to his mentor.

"I am, indeed," said Eliora, handing the children to Foxward as she tossed her cloak to the ground and stomped on it with a mud-caked boot to put it out. "Cool it, son. Old Eliora ain't dying that easily. Promised my wife I'll come home by the time of Spring Fest, and not in a coffin. Not even Draedona can take me before that."

As Eliora turned and began her stride toward the wagons outside the gate, a gust of wind lifted her scorched cloak, and came into view a morningstar, quite possibly the same one used to slay the forest troll, strapped to her belt. Farren's hand shot up in salute of its own accord. The old lady smiled.

Karles rode up to them from his squad and reined in. "Commander Karyk has arrived," he said, dismounting.

Farren and Rendarr turned to find Commander Karyk riding in through the north gate, Lieutenant Evander by his side. His square-jawed face glistened with sweat, his dark hair shot through with more white than she'd ever seen. Without wasting a moment, the three began to make their way toward him in hurried footsteps.

But this time, they were interrupted by Dion, the only friend of Alastair from the archer squad. He rushed up to the lieutenant at the same time, a limp figure clutched in his arms.

"Have the healers departed?" he was wheezing, "where are they?"

In his arms was a night archer, body convulsing horribly. An arrow jutted from his neck, rendering him beyond any coherent words.

It seemed to take all his strength for Dion to utter his next word. "Alastair did this, sir.”

"What?" said the commander. "Alastair Henris?"

"Yes, commander. Me and -him," he gestured to the injured night archer, "we saw him by the gates, aiming at you as you rode in. Then he spots us, we leap toward him, and... his arrow sprung off the bowstring."

Dion dropped to his knees to set the night archer down gently on the ground. He then clutched his hair with his bloodied hands, tears streaming down his face. "He's fled into the woods, last I saw. Rhilio's mercy, I thought I truly knew him."

Incoherent croaks and grunts escaped the vampire's mouth, his crimson eyes wide. His whole body convulsed and twitched, and Farren was sure she could hear bones snapping.

She exchanged wide eyed glances with Lieutenant Evander.

Glikayne.

How did Alastair come into possession of such poisoned arrows?

Despite the fire surrounding them, a chill went down her spine. Had a murderer roamed free among them all this time?

"The package--" began Farren.

"Is safe back at the camp in my office," said Commander Karyk, "Evander has told me all of it. I thank you for retrieving it."

Commander Karyk ran a hand through his greying hair. "For now, I need you three to head to Brittlerock, right away. Notify Commander Del about this attack and ask him to send word to the capital," he said, "the way things are going, we need to be prepared for another attack. We'll need reinforcements."

-"Yes, commander."

"Go, now," said Commander Karyk. He seemed to have aged a decade from the last time Farren saw him.

It took another quarter hour for the three to secure mounts and wade their way through the crowd to get through the north gate of Kinallen. By that time, things had calmed down somewhat.

✦✧✦✧

They rode out beneath the dark sky. This far from the village, the air was cool and fresh.

"Seems like they've got the situation under control," said Farren, as she urged her horse into a canter.

The resounding boom of a Firemount up at the camp far behind them contradicted her the next moment. Their heads snapped back to stare at the camp on top of the hills. Smoke billowed over the wooden gates.

Now it made sense why the bandits had been trying to keep them busy.

The package was at the camp.

Farren clenched her teeth as her grip tightened on the reins, biting back an overwhelming urge to turn her mare around that very moment.

For now, they must ride on.

✦✧✦✧

New entry added! Larton and Brittlerock.