Roar, Lioness. Roar

Lifeline

The Old Fart sits by the window in his office, watching his sleeping town through a spyglass. Looking at his half-shaven head reminds Latisha of the crude haircut Rothschild had given her. She rubs the fuzz on the side of her head, remembering the feel of the blade scraping across her scalp. Ms. Market closes the office door behind her and walks around to the big wooden desk. She regards her chair for a moment before choosing to pace back and forth.

"You've been gone for weeks. First your clan searched for you then they mourned you." Ms. Market shakes her head. "Your mother did not take your passing well."

"Tell me about the attack." Latisha doesn't wish to think about her mother's grief. There will be time enough for that when their enemies are dead in the sand.

"This afternoon we started getting reports of heavy gunfire and explosions in the west. We'd thought maybe someone was testing Phalanx's defenses, but this was closer. We weren't sure until the refugees." Market turns a few pages of the ledger on the desk. "One. Three. Twenty. All Yellow Sun with stories of a great slaver host attacking the walls of Pride Home."

"Is it over?" Latisha grabs the back of a chair to keep her balance. "Are there no more survivors?"

"The walls still stand," The Old Fart says, looking away from the window. "For now."

"Then you need to send aid."

"This is not our fight. We've survived this long because we don't interfere in reaver wars," Ms. Market counters.

"If Pride Home is gone, the slavers will come here next."

Always the observer, Ms. Market sits down and studies Latisha's face.

"Don't stare at me. Do something!" Latisha snaps. She takes a deep breath and sits. "If we lose, you lose too."

"You speak as if you know something."

"I know that they intend to hit all the clans as well as places like Market Town and The Edge of the World. Bellgrave's plan was to conquer the entire Bright Waste."

Ms. Market scoffs.

"Others have tried it. It can't be done. Phalanx will deal with them before it comes to that." The old man says.

Latisha thinks of Siobhan's visions and her true plans for the future.

"Phalanx might not be able to stop what's coming."

"Again it seems like you know more than what you are sharing."

Latisha looks up from her musings. "I realize you are fishing. I wonder if it's you who knows more."

"Let her hear it," The Old Fart says.

"Quiet, Abornazian." Ms. Market says, if a bit half-heartedly.

"She deserves to know... besides, it might not matter by morning."

"Let me hear what?"

Again Ms. Market stares, but her eyes soften.

"Tell me, damn you," Latisha growls.

"Enough, child. I grow tired of this constant posturing." Ms. Market rises and walks over to a strange sphere resting alone on their bookshelf. "Enough. You wouldn't have come if you didn't need us. We wouldn't have let you in if we weren't willing to help. Come."

She spins the sphere and the wall slowly swings open. The Old Fart locks the office door then gestures towards his counterpart. With no other choice, Latisha follows the woman through the hidden archway. Down a long hallway lit by a series of lightbulbs placed high on the wall they come to a set of stairs leading down. Abornazian, The Old Fart, trails behind, humming to himself. At the bottom of the steps is a wide room with three strange black windows looking out onto nothing.