Cassandra

III. Rise Of the First Rebellion

Whitestone, 2 years later.
In the still hours before dawn the temple was completely silent. The kitchen fire had faded down into a bed of dull coals that were the only source of light in the pre-dawn blackness. Ivan lay on a bedroll in front of the dying fire, fast asleep, and across the sanctuary I could hear Father Rynoll's thin whistling snores. I was curled up under the blankets, unable to sleep any longer. I wasn't nervous exactly, but I was excited. Every nerve in my body was singing, every sinew was tensed and ready for battle, each breath came slow and steady.
Gathering my strength I pulled back the blankets and slipped quietly out of bed. I'm ready. My body whispered as I rose. Moving soundlessly through the darkness, I grabbed a jar of grain and an empty pot from one of the kitchen shelves and slipped out of the kitchen, crossing the temple sanctuary. Finding my shoes near the door I fumblingly pulled them on in the dark. The two double doors gave a sonorous creek as I pulled them open and slipped out into the shadowed front porch. Running my hand along the outer wall of the temple, I made my way through the darkness round the back of the building, and ducked under the wooden shelter that leaned against the stonework. The father's goat let out a mournful bleat as I entered, and then I felt her warm nose prodding at my legs and nibbling at my clothes.
    "Stop it!" I said, shoving her away with my knee. "Be patient, you silly old goat." Groping through the blackness I found the stub of candle resting in a rough clay dish on a shelf, and brought it down from the shelf to light. In the flickering candle light I could see the inside of the shelter. Straw and hay covered the earthen floor, goat droppings the size and shape of giant raisins littered the ground, and a rickety wooden stanchion stood in one corner. A large gray goat, with perky ears and stubby little horns, was trying to poke her nose into the jar of grain, her short tuft of a tail twitching back and forth.
    "Stop that!" I giggled, pulling the jar up, and shoving her away again. As I walked over to the stanchion the goat obligingly leapt up onto the platform, and thrust her head through the bars, eager for me to feed her. Measuring out her grain into the trough, she immediately began to eat, snorting and grunting as she did. I tightened the loop of rope at the top of the bars so that they snuggly hugged either side of the goat's neck, and began to milk her, squirting jets of milk into the bottom of the stock pot from the kitchen.
    Milking the father's goat had become my job soon after I had told Father Rynoll and Ivan who I was, and it was one of the few things I still genuinely enjoyed. It was so peaceful: sitting here in the darkness, with the goat's warmth and her dusty smell for my only company. You didn't have to talk to her. After all, she was just a goat, she couldn't understand Common anyway...I let out a sigh, and leaned my cheek against the goat's soft round stomach, closing my eyes. Silence hummed between us, connecting us together like an invisible thread, and I felt an inexpressible sense of intimacy settle over me. All the tension and loneliness seemed to drain out of me, mingling with the milk as is it streamed into the pot. It was just me and the goat. It was enough.
    Then the flow of milk came to an end, and the spell was broken. I coaxed down the last few squirts of milk, then I pulled the pot away, loosening the wooden bars around the goat's neck so that she could get out. Picking up the jar of grain from the ground where I had set it, I gave it a little shake and frowned, there wasn't much left. The last two harvests had both been bad, and nearly everything that had been harvested had been taken by Sir Kerrion. Grain was in short supply. I'd have to be more sparing with it in the future, much to the goat's chagrin.
    "Thanks for the milk." I said patting the goat's side, blowing out the candle, and ducking out from under the wooden shelter. Stepping softly, I made my way back around the edge of the temple, and slipped back into the kitchen. I grabbed the poker and stirred the fire, trying not to wake Ivan, but he was fast asleep and didn't notice. Setting the milk on the table, I grabbed a length of cheese cloth, tied it over the top of a bowl, and slowly poured the milk through the cloth, straining all the impurities out. This done I unwrapped the loaf of bread on the top shelf and broke it into three pieces, setting the pieces on three separate plates. Fetching three cups from the shelf, I also distributed the milk.
    "Ivan." I whispered softly, going to him and giving him a shake.
    Ivan groaned as I shook him, and rolled over, rubbing his eyes blearily. "What time is it?" He asked.
    "Morning. The sun will be up soon." I answered, fetching a plate and cup from the table, and thrusting them into his hands. He stared down at them confusedly, smacking his lips sleepily. Ivan was an extremely deep sleeper. It would still be several minutes before he woke fully.
    "Eat." I commanded.
    "Why are you waking me up so early..." Ivan said, squinting at me through the darkness as I fetched my own breakfast from the table, and sat on the floor with him.
    "It's all coming down today." I said, wondering how on earth he could just forget about something so important. "Now stop asking stupid questions and eat."
    Ivan grunted sulkily, drowning his discontented mutterings in milk, as he blinked sleepily at the fire over the rim of the cup. My anticipation seemed to sharpen my appreciation for the bread's rich flavor, and I silently I tore into it, washing it down with milk. I'm ready. My heart whispered, and the fire in my chest flashed with fierce joy.
My anger was like a slow burning flame inside my chest, filling me with warmth, urging me onward. It was no longer a destructive raging inferno, beyond all control, that scorched and consumed me. I had learned to control it, master it, turn it into a seed of flame that sustained me. My hatred was always with me these days, glowing in my heart and filling my limbs with invigorating fire.
Ivan, sitting on the other side of the fire, was starting to look a little more alert. Polishing off the last of my breakfast, I carried my dirty dishes over to the bucket of water in the corner, and dropped them in. From under my bed I pulled out my few personal belongings and began to arm myself, pulling on a set of basic leather armor, along with shoulder pads, gloves, and bracers on my arms. Ivan was also dressing, pulling a fine chain mail shirt over his head that I eyed jealously. I had wanted to wear it but the others had said I probably wouldn't need it, so Ivan had ended up with it.
Last of all I pulled a sword and dagger, both in finely crafted leather scabbards, from under the bed. The dagger had been a gift from Ivan in case of emergencies, and the sword was the one I had taken from father's study. Somehow I had become rather fond of it, and with a swift movement I drew it from the sheath, giving it a couple of swings. It swished through the air, glinting in the firelight, and I listened to the sound with my head tilted to one side. I had never actually given the blade an official name, but every time I looked at it I was vividly reminded of its previous owner, the guard who had turned traitor on us, and so I loosely thought of it as the Traitor. All this time I had kept it instead of a finer weapon because I had determined that, as it had belonged to a traitor, so it would also kill one.
Shoving Traitor back into it's sheath, I strapped it around my waist, also pulling out the dagger and checking the blade. It was extremely sharp. As I finished dressing, Ivan grabbed two cloaks from the coat hooks by the door, and tossed me one. I tugged it around myself, and tied it under my chin, pulling the heavy hood up over my face.
    "Ready?" I asked, turning to Ivan. He had also donned his cloak and pulled the hood up over his face. I could just barely see his face through the shadows of the hood.
    "Oh yeah." He said, grinning evilly, and I grinned back.
    "Lets go then."
    Moving silently, we crossed the dark sanctuary, and I quietly opened the double doors again. The faintest trace of daylight was starting to filter into the valley as we stepped out into the open air, making the night shadows darker by contrast. Framed against the faint light I could make out the dark peaks of the Alabaster Sierras in the distance, still only dark shadows that wove in the valley and towered over Whitestone. To the north, perched above the surrounding forest on a small rocky plateau outside the city, I could just make out the shape of Castle Whitestone, a black shadow against the pale dawn light.
    Like twin shadows Ivan and I set off into the darkness, avoiding the footpath, keeping instead to the darker shadows under the trees. The woods around us were eerily silent. Usually dawn brought with it a symphony of birdsong, but ever since the Briarwoods had taken over all the birds had abandoned the valley. The forests felt like an abandoned graveyard without them. As we approached the edge of the city the trees began to thin out, and I could make out the flat expanse of fields between their trunks. The farmers usually came out to the fields at dawn, and some even before, but today the fields were completely empty. Nobody would be tending the crops today. Not that it would have made any difference, the acres of sparse wheat were growing badly despite all the farmer's efforts to bolster them. I could already tell that another poor harvest was imminent.
Beyond the expanse of scrubby plants the walls of Whitestone rose, surrounding the city, and completely obscuring everything inside. Tugging Ivan behind me I vaulted over the crooked wooden fence that surrounded the fields, and began to cross, keeping low to the ground. At last we reached the walls and crouched low at their base. They weren't smooth stone, instead resembling cobblestone in their structure, and it was easy enough to scale them. With a last heave I pulled myself up, and tumbled over the edge of the battlements, landing on the wide walkway behind them. A moment later Ivan joined me. Back when my family had ruled over Whitestone a constant watch had been kept from the battlements, but nobody patrolled the wall these days. The city's safety didn't really seem to concern the Briarwoods that much.
Ivan and I both dropped from the wall, landing at its base inside the city, and set off through the surrounding buildings for the central square. Whitestone wasn't exactly what you'd call a city. It was larger than a town, but not exactly big enough to deserve the title of a city. Many of the shadowed buildings around us were abandoned or partially ruined. Some were even burned, the work of Sir Kerrion, who had apparently decided that the poor harvest was the fault of the farmers, and burnt down several homes as punishment.
At last we stepped from the surrounding buildings into the open square at the center of town. Towering over the square, gaunt and naked, it's crown shrouded in dawn shadows, was the Suntree. It was dead. For as long as I could remember the Suntree had been towering shelter of green leaves and thick branches, that covered the ground in a net of shifting patches of sunlight and green shade. I could remember climbing in its branches hundreds of times, playing in the pile of leaves that had fallen from it every autumn, digging in the snow at its roots every Winter's Crest Festival. It was like an old friend that had watched over me all my life. And now it was dead.
The Suntree had somehow become a beacon of hope in these dark times, and it's death had shaken all of us. Nobody knew exactly how long it had been there, only that it had been growing in this valley long before Whitestone had been built. Legends said that when the first settlers had come into the valley, they had taken shelter under its boughs in a storm, and when they did the storm had broken and not returned until Whitestone was built. The followers of Pelor said that the tree had been planted by him, to close a wound in the light, and that it was a symbol of his power. What ever the origin of the tree, it was very old, and its loss had saddened us all.
"Poor old thing..." Ivan said, pausing as we crossed the square, and running a hand over it's dead surface.
"It's vengeance is coming my friend." I said, also stopping, looking up into its dark branches.
"Vengeance won't bring it back though..." Ivan whispered sadly.
"I know." I said, and I put a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. For a moment we stood silent like that, looking up at the tree, then Ivan shook himself and pulled away. Feeling a little bit more sober, we crossed the rest of the square and slipped into one of the narrow side alleys. The buildings on either side of the narrow pathway were both apparently abandoned, but as we came to a boarded up window on the right, I could just make out a faint bit of candlelight filtering through the wooden slats. Knocking softly, I put my lips to one of the cracks I hissed through. "Hey! Let us in."
"Who goes there?" A trembling elderly voice hissed back suspiciously.
"Trudy it's me!" I whispered back, stifling a laugh. "Cassandra!"
"How do I know it's you?" Trudy hissed challengingly. "You could be a spy! An imposter! A- a- doppelgänger!!!"
"Open the window Trudy." Ivan said wearily, pushing me to one side, and speaking through the wooden slats.
Grumbling discontentedly Trudy began removing the wooden planks until there was a large enough gap for us to squeeze through.
"You watch your manners young man." Trudy said reprovingly, when we finally made it into the room, and she moved to replace the planks. Ivan began to help her, and she yielded her place to him, mumbling approvingly under her breath. 
"You should put a sheet over the window." I told her when Ivan finished. "Some light's leaking through the cracks."
"Don't you get uppity with me." Trudy griped. "I'm over seventy years your senior miss."
I listened respectfully to her senile mutterings, not understanding a word of it, as she went off into a long tangent about how when she was my age she was taught to respect her elders. Trudy was a good woman in her way, a bit crazy perhaps, but trustworthy. Well over ninty years old, it was actually a bit surprising she was still as fit as she was, able to walk and take care of herself, living on her own with no more than assistance than one maid to cook her meals. At times I almost felt jealous of her. With almost a hundred years already under her belt, two years of oppression hardly made a difference when compared to the long life she had already lead. For her it didn't matter what happened today, her life was almost over anyway, and she had plenty of happy memories to look back on.
"Put a sheet over the window Trudy." I said, cutting into her long winded speech when she paused for breath, hastily adding "please!"
Trudy, who had been about to embark on another long tangent, smiled sweetly, mollified by my hasty courtesy, and began to spread a horse blanket over the window.
"We aren't the first ones here are we?" Ivan said.
"No indeed." Trudy puffed, fiddling with the blanket, until at last she was satisfied with it and dusted her hands on her apron. "The rest of thems is upstairs."
Ivan at once headed for the stairs, mounting them two at a time, and Trudy's face darkened. Before I could get a word in Trudy had set off on another long speech, more or less on the same topic as the last one, and I had to stand a listen respectfully while she talked. After a nearly ten minute lesson on manners and respectful behavior, in which Trudy hardly seemed to draw breath and she spoke so rapidly I couldn't find an opening to speak in, she finally drew a deeper breath.
"I'm sure he didn't mean to be rude." I said hastily, before she could begin speaking again, and I headed for the stairs.
"Got no respect that boy!" Trudy's voice called after me crabbily.
The room upstairs was dimly lit by one short stub of candle that stood guttering in the center of the table. The flickering light revealed the faces of the other resistance leaders, giving them a weird and ghostly look: Archibald, (an old adviser of my father's who had somehow survived the massacre when the other nobles were murdered), stooped, wrinkled, and crotchety at times. His bald head was covered in dark liver spots, and one of his eyes was clouded over and white. Despite this however, his remaining eye was piercing in its look, and there was still something commanding about his presence that filled the room when he spoke. Mattias, tall and muscular, with a full red beard, and broad round shoulders that made his head look small in comparison. He was the overseer of the whitestone mines, and when the nobles had been murdered Mattias had been the only person who knew how to run the mines, so Count Tyleeri had been forced to keep him around, though it obviously galled him to do so. Sygn, Mattias's wife, was his complete opposite: short, slim, fair skinned and haired, with a vivacious clever face, and nimble fingers. And last of all, Keeper Yennin, the head priest of the Lady's Chamber: the temple of Erathis, goddess of civilization. A keen, observant old man, with white hair neatly groomed into a small goatee. Strangers might have described him as being 'well preserved,' as he was still remarkably tall and straight for such an old man.
    A giant map of the city and the surrounding forrest was spread over the table, and Ivan was already bent over it, arguing in a low voice with Mattias, while the other's looked on. Archibald turned as I entered and I crossed the room to give him a hug. Sygn, who was sitting quietly in the corner, rose to give me a motherly kiss on the cheek, and joined me at the table, keeping her arm around my waist.
    "What are they arguing about?" I whispered.
    "Ivan thinks we should attack the castle first..." Sygn said with a shrug.
    "I thought we already decided that."
    "Well I guess Ivan thinks he has a better plan."
    "Ivan stop arguing about this." I said, and felt a wave of heat creep up my neck as everyone turned to look at me. I still wasn't used to being the ruling de Rolo. "We've already decided, everyone's in position, we can't ask them to change now."
    "The Nobles aren't the important ones." Ivan said emphatically, bringing his fist down on the table. "If we want to end this we've got to go for the head of the beast, not the hands."
    "If we go straight for the Briarwoods then the nobles will bring up reinforcements from behind and we'll be fighting on two fronts." Archibald said gravely.
    "I've been trying to tell him that." Mattias said. "But he won't listen."
    My finger began to trace over the map as I followed the road out of the city, through the woods, and up the hill to the castle perched above the surrounding valley.
    "There's a reason my ancestors built the castle right where it is. There's no way up except the road-" I said, pausing with my finger over the part of the road that climbed up the steep side of the rocky plateau. "And this stretch of road right here is a death trap. Theres no way off the road but down, and if that gets cut off then we're as good as dead. We attack the noble houses first, and then when they're out of the way, we attack the Briarwoods."
    Ivan huffed and crossed his arms, still not convinced.
    "Please Ivan." I said, putting my hands on his shoulders, and looking him straight in the eye. "I need you with me on this...We all need you on this."
    There was a moments tense silence as Ivan's eye passed over each face one by one. Archibald, standing gravely with his arms behind him, Yennin, watching all this silently, Mattias, who grinned and gave him a hearty wink, and then Sygn, who smiled gently. Then his eyes came back to my face, and a shuddering sigh passed through him.
    "Alright." He said slowly. "I'll follow what ever you decide."
    "Good." I said. Another silence settled over us, and this time it was my eye that passed over every face, and on every one I saw an expression of silent expectation. The final decision was up to me. I felt a lump of dismay rise in my throat at the intimidating realization. How could I know any better than they?
    "We attack the nobles first." I said at last.
    "Alrighty then." Mattias said with a grin. "Lets do this."
    "Yennin." I said, turning to the keeper. "If you would say a prayer before we go?"
    The keeper nodded, and we all stood silent as he said a quick prayer in Celestial. I had learned Celestial of course, a long time ago when life was simple, but I wasn't paying close attention and only captured bits of prayer that ran something along the line of 'may civilization prosper,' and 'may the bonds of fellowship guide us in these dark times.' At last Keeper Yennin fell silent, and we all gave a sigh, feeling that somehow the fight had been far off until now.
    "Good luck." I said soberly.
    A feeling of grim resolve hung in the air as everyone said their whispered goodbyes, and as I looked at each face I couldn't help but wonder if I would ever see some of them again. Sygn gave me a motherly kiss on the cheek, Mattias hugged me so tightly I thought I might have cracked a rib, and Ivan gave my hand a silent squeeze. But it may have been Sygn and Mattias's farewells to each other that saddened me the most. Both of them were going to fight, but not in the same company, and as they embraced in the corner we all looked away instinctively, trying to give them some privacy. At last the goodbyes came to an end and slowly the group dwindled, as first Mattias, then Ivan, then Sygn, and finally Archibald, left the room, leaving me alone with Keeper Yennin. Neither of us were going to fight, Yennin's divinely inspired spells would be needed for healing, and it had been decided by the other resistance leaders that I should stay and help him. This was the one decision in which my voice had carried no weight, I wanted to fight, but they had adamantly refused, saying that I was the last de Rolo left and they couldn't risk loosing me. Silently we crept down the stairs and found Trudy waiting at the bottom.
"Good luck deary." She said, her voice gentler than usual, and she kissed me on the cheek. Then she pulled down the horse blanket, Yennin helped her remove the boards over the window, and we climbed out into the early morning gray. Leaving Yennin to help Trudy out of the window, I walked back to the square and looked east. The sun was just rising over the top of the sierras in the distance, flooding the valley with pale morning sunlight, and the Suntree's long shadow stretched over the stones of the square like a gaunt and aged hand. At last Trudy managed to extract herself from the window, and with a final goodby to Yennin she set off in one direction and we in another.
It was much more difficult to hide now that the sun was up, but there was no one who would have noticed our passing, the streets were completely empty. Anyone who wasn't fighting was staying quietly out of sight, old men and women, mothers, and little children all hiding indoors where it was safe. Somewhere across the city I knew Ivan and his followers must be moving through the streets like a silent wave, but they were far away from us. Ivan, though still only a disciple, knew enough divine spells to be a useful healer, and we had decided to give him the group that was farthest from Yennin's aid.
At last we dropped out of a narrow side alley into one of the main thoroughfares of Whitestone, and across the road could see the Lady's Chamber towering over us. This temple was much larger than the temple to Pelor outside of town. The Zenith was a small compact building, with the simple sanctuary, two rooms for Father Rynoll to use, and the graveyard lying in front. Erathis was the deity of civilization, and thus her temple was much grander. The whole building was built like a coliseum or half dome structure, that towered over the courtyard like a giant half moon, throwing the prayer benches and plots of grass into shade. It was not a very defendable place, its entire front being open to the street, but it was the largest building at our disposal, and the only one that could shelter many people at a time. We had been hesitant to use it, but Yennin was at his greatest power when surrounded by the symbols of his patron, and in the end that had been enough. 
Flitting across the road, we darted into the deep shadows under the temple's towering walls, and Yennin began to bring out his herbs and other healing implements, while I began to search out blankets. Neither of us spoke to each other as we feverishly prepared. I had never associated much with the Keeper when my family was alive, he didn't possess the same fatherly charm that Father Rynoll had, and while I did trust Yennin, there was just something about him that put me off and kept him from being anything more to me than a good man. So it was that nothing broke the silence that had fallen over the city, and though I strained my ears I could hear no sounds anywhere.
The silence reminded me of the eery quiet that had fallen over he castle when the Briarwoods had taken over, and I found it hard to think about anything else unless I was busy, so that I compulsively tidied everything I could lay my hands on, and ended up doing tasks many times over...I wished desperately for something to do, even if a healer having nothing to heal was a good thing, but though I might long for work with all my heart there was nothing to do but wait.
As it turned out I didn't have to wait that long before I had work enough to do. We had only been at the temple for twenty or so minutes before distant shouts shattered the silence, and I knew that the fighting had begun. Before long a ragged band of wounded men came straggling into the temple. Some of them weren't badly wounded, but they had needed to help others who were, and Yennin had plenty to do.
"Which company were you with?" I asked one man as I dressed a nasty cut on his forehead, more to distract him from the pain than anything else.
"Mattias..." He said wincing. "We were headed for the Vedmire pig, but we got trapped in a narrow street on the way there, and had a sharp struggle to get out. Mattias and the other men managed to break through, and draw some of the action away from the wounded, but it was still a bad fight...We lost some good men..." 
"It's not natural." One of the other men broke in, shaking his head and looking scared. "The way they cornered us, as neat as a rabbit in a trap. It's like they knew exactly where we were coming from, and all they had to do was wait for us to walk right into it."
"Aye...Not natural at all..." The first man assented darkly, shaking his head.
"I mean, they couldn't have trapped us more neatly if someone had told them exactly what we were planning."
"Someone close too..." Another man put in, they all glanced at me suspiciously and fell silent.
"There you are." I said, trying to act as if I didn't notice their hostility, and admiring my neat handy work as I tied off the bandage. "Good as new."
"Thankee..." My patient said guardedly. Slowly he pulled himself to his feet, lifting his buckler shield from where he had set it on the ground, slinging it over one arm, and drawing his sword. "Well boys, let's get back to it."
The other men grunted in assent and followed him out of the temple. But I noticed that as they filtered off into the narrow lanes and alleys that surrounded the temple, none of them stuck together and they quietly drifted apart, as if by silent agreement. Feeling shaken by the silent suspicion they had leveled at me, I watched them go, and felt a cold lump of dread settle in the pit of my stomach.
Over the next few hours a steady stream of new comers brought news of the different battles, and most of it seemed to run along the same lines. Every narrow street was a death trap, every corner housed some hidden enemy, every inch of progress was won with a hard battle. The men were dispirited, many felt that the fighting was useless, and all agreed that somebody had given a detailed account of our plans to the Briarwoods. It was this perhaps, more than anything else, that disturbed the peace. The men looked at each other suspiciously, the groups that came in a body left by twos and threes, and nobody felt safe with each other. I caught many of them looking at Yennin and me distrustfully. Not that I could blame them, Yennin was in the perfect position to feed information, and none of them knew who I really was.
All this silent suspicion weighed on me, and the time seemed to drag. As the sun was beginning to near the edge of the horizon, a giant column of black smoke began to rise against the fading light, and I felt my spirits rise for a moment. It was the first real sign of change or progress we had seen.
"That's sir Kerrion's house, I'm sure of it!" One of the men said excitedly, and the others cheered.
"Ivan..." I said, getting to my feet and looking up at the thick column of smoke, feeling a faint smile tug at the corners of my mouth.
"I hope the fucker roasts to death in his bed!" One of the few female fighters shouted rowdily, and she spat on the ground, drawing cries of accent from her fellows. They began exchanging insults, describing all the horrible ways they hoped sir Kerrion was suffering at that moment, and the whole temple seemed pervaded by a sense of good cheer and invigorated spirits. Everyone seemed heartened by the distant smoke. Several of the soldiers who had already received attention from Yennin set off into the city, to eager to wait for the rest of their fellows, and I noticed that they stuck together this time, instead of drifting apart as I had seen so many other groups do before.
As I watched them vanish into the shadowed alleys a man came stumbling out of the darkness, covered in blood, with a horrible groove in his right shoulder where someone had ripped a chunk of the muscle out. He staggered to his knees at the edge of the temple as if the last of his strength was completely spent. I could see that he was only just barely alive, and I leapt forward to help him.
"What company?" I asked for probably the hundredth time that day, and I pulled his arm over my shoulder to help him up. He let out a cry of pain when I lifted him, and as his blood soaked into my shirt I saw that he was absolutely covered in slashes all over his body.
"Mattias..." He gasped, gritting his teeth against the pain as I half helped, half dragged him across the courtyard, out of the growing shadows of dusk, into the torchlit interior of the temple.
"Yennin!" I shouted urgently, dragging my burden forward, and Yennin hastily crossed the temple to help me.
"I bring grave tidings." The man choked out, squeezing Yennin's arm urgently, as if afraid he was going to collapse before he could speak.
"Not here my friend." Yennin said quickly, looking apprehensively at the other men in the temple. Relieving me of my burden, Yennin swiftly lifted the man, as if he weighed no more than a small child and carried him to an abandoned corner of the temple.
"What's your name?" I asked as Yennin set the man gently down.
"Peter..." He said, but before he could say anything more Yennin began to mutter under his breath, drawing his holy symbol from under his priest's robe. His hand began to glow with divine light, and I could see shimmering white energy begin to cloud the surface of his eyes until they were featureless white orbs. Peter seemed taken aback, and started to scramble away, looking alarmed. I seized him by his good shoulder, holding him still.
Completing his spell, Yennin reached forward and placed his hands on the top of Peter's head. Peter let out a relieved sigh, and I could see his wounds beginning to heal as Yennin let go of him. Most of the cuts only barely healed over, turning into fresh pinkish scars, but the bloody hole where the muscles in his neck and shoulder used to be was completely healed, the skin becoming as smooth and whole as if it was an old, long healed wound.
"Now tell us your news..." Yennin said wearily, seeming shrunken, as if a great deal of power had just gone out of him.
"Mattias is dead." Peter said tiredly. I felt hot tears rise to my eyes, twisting my throat, and I dropped to my knees, shaken by the news. Yennin only nodded gravely, seeming to become older and grayer than before.
"Tell us everything." He commanded wearily.
"It was a hard battle all the way there." Peter said, and I struggled to pull myself together, and keep my emotions in check. "They seemed to anticipate us at every turn, catch us again and again, everything we did seemed to be known before hand...Like they could read our minds...We lost many good fighters. After a hard struggle we managed to push into Vedmire's house, but when we got in they trapped us from behind so we couldn't get out again. And Vedmire..." Peter paused and shuddered. "That creature ain't natural. Mattias must have hit him over twenty times. Any normal creature would have been hacked to pieces, but Vedmire just stood there laughing, reacting no more than a stone would've if you took it into your head to try and take a slash at it. He had a sword, 'bout as big as he was. I swear, that thing was almost nine feet long. Mattias tried to take him down, but he just grinned and ran Mattias through in one thrust."
    I shut my eyes and turned my face away, trying not to imagine it. I thought of Sygn out there somewhere, fighting for her life, while all the while half of her life was already gone. It almost felt as if my tears were more for her than him. Peter paused, getting his voice back under control. Yennin whispered a prayer under his breath, offering Mattias's soul up to Erathis.
    "We never would have made it out at all, but Ivan came at the last minute." Peter said, clearing his throat and continuing, as if determined to tell all, no matter how painful it might be for him, or us. "His group had managed to set sir Karrion's house on fire and burn it almost to the ground, but then they got driven back. He came just in time too, if he had showed up just a minute later. That Goliath's sword was deadly, he could take a whole group out in just one swing. But Ivan managed to bring some of us back from the edge of death, and get us out of Vedmire's house before we were all slaughtered. He was headed back towards sir Kerrion's house when I left them. He sent me back to bring word of Mattias's death..."
    "Erathis keep his soul..." Yennin said, more to himself than to us. Then he cleared his throat and patted Peter on the shoulder. "Thank you my friend. You've had a hard fight, get a little rest."
    Slowly Yennin went back to his duties among the other men. I wandered away from Peter, out towards the edge of the temple, looking out at the setting sun. Its lurid smear of red seemed to mirror my inner thoughts, and I stared out at it, not really taking it in, or understanding any of it.
    Of all the resistance leaders, Mattias and Sygn had been the most like family to me. Both of them had strongly reminded me of my mother and father, not only in age, but in character as well. If anyone could have ever come close to replacing my real father, it might have been Mattias...And now he was dead...But I felt more grief for Sygn than for me. They had never had children. Mattias was all she had.
    At last, the sun sank beneath the horizon, and as its last tinges of red faded from the sky a group of ragged soldiers came flying out of the growing darkness, and stumbled into the temple. They looked weary, bloody, and defeated. Most of them seemed badly wounded, and all of them were completely exhausted. As they entered, I felt my heart grow cold. I didn't have to ask which company they came from, for Sygn was with them, being half carried by one of her men.