Vonders tried to step in with a spear to stop the thing's charge, but instead was knocked aside.

Tolpen gave up on the arrows and swung his bow like a great sword, clubbing the misshapen face with all the strength he could muster. The thing fell to the ground again and let out a squealing noise.

The wagon door opened and Tega stepped halfway out. Without even considering, Nolan moved to stand between her and the monster. His duty was to protect her. His father had always taught that duty was all a soldier had to concern himself with. The rest was dressing.

Tolpen whapped the monster's head four more times with his bow, screeching with each blow delivered. As his arms rose up for a fifth, Vonders caught his elbow and shook his head. "Might need that bow yet."

Vonders glared for only a moment and then calmed down.

The thing let out one long sigh and seemed to deflate a bit. The body relaxed to the point where Nolan knew it must surely be dead. He stayed exactly where he was, however. Some dead things didn't stay as still as they should. That was a lesson he would not easily forget.

Tega stepped from the wagon with surprising calm and looked down at the dead thing.

Nolan turned to her and relaxed a little. "Stradly is dead." He had no desire to protect her from the truth and no reason to. She had seen as much as they had and still she held herself together.

Tega's face lost composure for only an instant and then she nodded. "I had thought it would surely be Maun first."

She pointed to the dead thing on the ground. "Roll that over, please. I want to see it better."

Nolan almost told her where she could take her desire to examine it, but remembered that while here, he worked for her. Instead he nodded and with Vonders' help maneuvered the thing onto its back.

The monster obliged him and remained dead.

He silently thanks all of the gods for that small blessing.

And then he watched in mute surprise while Tega studied the body and cut samples of the hair and the skin from it.

Drask watched the fight in absolute silence. He did not move. He did not consider helping either side. Instead he studied every move the Fellein made and filed the information away. Better to know an enemy than to guess what might be in their hearts.

The Broken they fought was not very skilled. They killed it with ease and all of them lived through it. Still he stayed where he was as the girl a he thought it might be the sorcerer's apprentice, Tega, but could not be certain from this distance a first looked the corpse over and then began cutting.

If she planned to eat the flesh it would go poorly for her. The Broken had poisoned flesh. That was part of the punishment the Daxar Taalor rewarded them with for their failures.

They could no longer offer anything to anyone. They were useless. They were broken.

They were godless.

The men with the blonde girl stepped away as she started her examination, and shortly entered the tent and came out with the body of a man who was older than the rest of them and flabby besides. Drask shook his head. He had seen several people in Tyrne who were overweight and the notion horrified him. That anyone could consider themselves capable of fighting when they weighed so much... Still, there were a few among the Sa'ba Taalor who were as large and carried extra flesh and they were only alive because they were skilled combatants. Physical prowess alone did not make a warrior.

After a bit of discussion the group decided the man needed to be burned. They managed to start a small fire and lit the man's clothes, which smoldered and sputtered and finally burned. When his remains were burning well enough, they dragged the Broken over and cast it into the flames.

Through it all, Drask stayed on his perch, moving his legs from time to time and carefully stretching to avoid letting his muscles cramp or his joints lock.

And that was how they spent the day, killing a Broken and burning corpses.

It was a wonder to him that the Fellein ever managed to accomplish anything.

From his perspective Drask saw the troops moving from the Seven Forges toward the place the Fellein called the Temmis Pass. He nodded his satisfaction at the careful movement of the soldiers. He did not know exactly what Tarag Paedori was planning, but he also understood that there were no better tacticians for a land battle among his people.

They moved at night, and from this distance they were little more than a smudge on the horizon. He doubted that any of the people below him would have spotted the column moving.

He could not guess how many of the Sa'ba Taalor were moving in that column, but part of him longed to walk with them.

Andover Lashk stepped from the castle at Prydiria and moved into the daylight. The skies above were mostly clear, and the temperature was pleasant. His skin felt dry after what seemed like days in the intense heat of the god's heart. Seemed like days. In truth he could not begin to guess how long he had been in the presence of the Iron God.

All he truly knew was that he was changed. Again.

Some truths seemed to remain constant no matter what. One did not face a god and come away unchanged.

The second Great Scar on his face was larger, and bisected his mouth. He could feel the changes in his flesh far more easily this time. Below his nose to just above his chin there was a line of flesh that split his mouth in half. That line could move and could open, and when it did he suspected he looked like a monster. He understood now why the veils were important. Anyone not prepared for the ways of the Sa'ba Taalor would have been terrified by what they saw when they looked upon the warriors.

Andover knew that he should have been horrified but he was not. The culture he was with admired scars as signs of achievement. Great Scars even more so. A person with no Great Scars was either young or in the eyes of the people of the valley, godless. What could be worse for them?

He had never cared much for the gods when he was growing up. The gods, it seemed, had never much cared for him, either. But here, in the Taalor Valley, the people and the gods had a relationship that was extremely different. He was only beginning to understand it, but it seemed to him that it might be something wondrous.

He looked at his hands and the iron rings that he held in his grip. The rings, like the scar, were a gift from the god of the mountain. He suspected he knew what they were for.

Delil waited nearby, sitting on a flat stone that had been carved, smoothed, sanded and polished until it was as flawless as still water and almost as reflective. The woman was sharpening one of her swords and had several other weapons nearby. There were daggers and throwing knives and several long, thin darts that looked like they should have been harmless. He'd seen her use them and knew better.

She smiled at him as he approached and he smiled back. Her face was revealed to him. Andover felt like she and the rest of her people had given him a great honor by taking their veils away around him.

She looked at his face and saw the new scar and as he came closer she stood up and ran one callused fingertip across it gently.

"You are blessed indeed, Andover. Two gods have favored you in less than a week. That is very rare."

He looked into her eyes and smiled. "Where did everyone go?" The last time he'd been outside there had been vast crowds of armored Sa'ba Taalor around, most of them with weapons and supplies aplenty.

"They have gone to meet with your rulers to discuss whether or not a war will happen."

He felt oddly relieved. He'd felt a certain dread that the king would make him go along. He was supposed to be an ambassador, according to Drask. "Is there anyone left here?"

"Oh, yes, there are many people left here. But they are training."

"Training for what?"

"If there is to be a war, everyone must be prepared." Her voice carried an odd tone to it. He couldn't decide if she was disappointed that she was still with him instead of with the rest of her people. He also wasn't quite brave enough to ask her. Andover had dreamed of being with a woman and Delil had made that dream come true, but he didn't know the intricacies of what happened next. He had never been close to a woman before this journey.

Delil stood up and started putting away her weapons. He was amazed even after months of being with her by how quickly she could slip the various blades into their sheaths. "We should go now. There are places we have to take you yet and time is short."

"It is?"

Delil looked at him and nodded, her expression solemn. Behind the scars and the gray skin and the odd silvery light of her eyes she was rather average in looks, but that did not matter. He'd grown very fond of her and knew he could trust her and the lingering memories of what they had done together made her lovely.

He pushed away thoughts of what they had done, how her flesh had felt in his hands and touched by his lips, and made himself focus as she started to speak. "Time here is short. There are places you must see within this valley and there are other places you must go as well, Andover Lashk."

"How do you know that, Delil? How do you know what I must do?"

She tilted her head in that odd way of hers. He understood what it meant now. The way she looked at him sometimes was both an expression of surprise at how naive he was and exasperation that he could ask so foolish a question. "I know because Wrommish tells me. You have been marked by the Daxar Taalor, Andover Lashk. You should start listening when they speak to you."

Shame washed through him quickly and was shoved aside by irritation. "This is new to me, Delil. You have had a lifetime to learn how to listen to your gods. I have not."

"And that is why I am here. I am here to help you listen." Her voice was surprisingly light. She finished strapping her weapons in place and grabbed the bundle of clothing she'd been carrying. Somewhere along the way he had left his behind. He was about to start cursing when she reached to the side of her previous perch and lifted his supplies. "Come."

"Not yet." He shook his head.

"What?"

"The Daxar Taalor have spoken to you and they have spoken to me, too. I was told to finish this before I go further." He unrolled the bundled good and took out the separate sections of obsidian. Putting them back together was easy. They fit as if they had always belonged together.

Andover stared at the assembled axe with a critical eye and considered how best to make sure the pieces would stay together. Delil looked with him and finally nodded her head.

"You need hide."

"Hide?"

"You killed Pra-Moresh. You took their fur for your own. The skin of the beasts is good, touch leather. A little and you can tie it. Or better still, you could use metal wire." Her fingers touched the edges where the two pieces joined and she ran a line of imaginary wire, showing him how she would secure the two segments.

Andover nodded again and then rolled the iron rings between his thumb and forefinger. They were just the right size to wedge into the obsidian and lock the parts together. "I think maybe the gods have plans for me and though they may not speak as clearly to me as they do to you, the Daxar Taalor are still telling me things."

The rings locked into the socket of the obsidian blade, above and below. Once in place the blade that had wobbled was properly secured.

Delil squatted and watched as he worked the metal and the volcanic substances together. She spoke very softly. "Never have I seen the like."

"What? An axe?"

"No," she responded. "Two gods working together on one weapon."

That was all she said on the matter. When she stood again she started walking, moving down the path away from where they had already been and moving deeper into the valley.

Without another word Andover followed her. There were places to go and according to her they were running out of time.

"What did Wrommish tell you, Delil?"

"That we must visit each of the mountains before the time comes to leave the valley."

"What? I thought I was supposed to stay here with the Sa'ba Taalor."

"No, you are supposed to stay with my people, but you are not supposed to stay in this valley. We are not staying in the valley forever. It has almost served its purpose."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what I say, Andover." She was growing tired of his questions and so he shut his mouth. He would wait a while for more answers. Still, he looked around as they continued walking and wondered why the people would leave.

And, of course, he wondered where they would go. There seemed only one possible answer and he found that answer lay uneasy within him.

The streets in Tyrne were crowded with people and supplies. Many of the people looked shocked to find themselves on the streets and moving away from their homes, but more looked angered by the idea.

At first when the announcement came that the Empress would be leaving Tyrne and heading for Old Canhoon and there was shock and disappointment. Several times gatherings of citizens attempted to reach the palace and ask their new ruler to change her mind, but they were turned back. Surprise was the usual response to that. Pathra Krous had almost always managed to find time for concerned citizens of the city. Pathra Krous was well thought of and had been a boon to Tyrne.

And now his replacement came along and changed everything without warning. At first it was just the increased military strength in the city, which, after the murder of the Emperor most people could understand. Then came the decision to leave Tyrne. And then, oh, the madness, the latest insanity.

Town criers had been about, announcing the Imperial order to leave the city within days. There were a few people who scoffed. No one wanted to believe the decrees. That was when the madness began.

Libari Welliso had been warned to expect trouble, but this? He shook his head at the reports coming into his command center.

In the Gardens district, where many of the fine old homes had walls and gates and guards to keep the families safe from intruders, a few families were refusing to vacate. That was to be expected, really, as many had been situated in the same place for generations and had more invested in the property than merely possessions.

Libari sent guards to explain the position of the City Guard: if the people in those palatial homes wished to stay, there would be no one to assist them. Their guards were being told to leave as well, and the families of their guards. That seemed to make it through a few people's heads and several families prepared to move their possessions to other places or at least to lock up their homes. Some of the newer inhabitants had already left, which was a pleasant surprise.

To the south, where the largest collection of immigrants congregated, he had less trouble and more chaos. The Roathians who'd made it to the area were already homeless and few of them had supplies. The families he saw looked wounded at the idea of moving on, but few of them protested.

The biggest problem in that part of town was caused by his own guards, some of whom felt that they should be allowed to take out their frustrations on the poor wretches who were already lost and abandoned. He was doing what he could. Currently seventeen of his City Guard were awaiting his punishment for complaints ranging from abuse of authority to rape and murder. Welliso ground his teeth at the thought of administering justice, but he would do it, if only to guarantee that others were not foolish enough to think they could get away with breaking the rules.

Still, he'd never gelded a man before. It was not a task he looked forward to performing.

Around the palace, where the majority of houses and apartments were used by the people who served at the palace, the city was calmer. When the Empress and her entourage moved on to handle the parley, those who served at the palace began the massive task of moving the offices of the Empire to Canhoon. Many of those very same people were moving too, preferring to keep their jobs and relocate to the old capital.

There were entire streets that were abandoned. Walking the same places he had walked for most of his life, Welliso felt his skin crawl and his hair rise into hackles at the unsettling silences.

But mostly, in the other parts of the town, there was chaos. It took time to pack belongings and most did not want to leave behind anything that might be important. Wagons that were overloaded with worldly goods lumbered onto streets never meant to accommodate the sheer volume of traffic trying to leave Tyrne, and in short order tempers flared and the fighting began.

The City Guard and the Imperial Guard worked together to clear the streets. The situation was growing worse, despite their efforts.

In the westernmost part of the city someone had either been careless or had deliberately set a fire. The blaze was growing and there seemed little that could be done to quell it. Soldiers were attempting to put the fire out with buckets of water run up from the Freeholdt River, but with little success. The river was too far away and the wells in the area were blocked by the growing blaze.

The people there were going out of the city by heading either south or directly across the city to the Eastern Gate, the main access to the river. The only obstacle in their way was, of course, the palace, which lead to a lot of name calling, stone throwing, and worse forms of civil disobedience. The congestion had reached a level where no one was moving anymore and the City Guard were doing what they could to break up skirmishes and calm down the already angry and distressed citizens.

And the Imperial Army was doing what it could to back up the City Guard.

And ultimately, nothing was getting accomplished.

Libari Welliso had no choice, not in his own opinion. He brought the combined forces down to hammer out the problems quickly and efficiently.

The clusters of traffic that blocked the roads were broken apart. The soldiers under Welliso's command pushed carts from the road and ushered people and their draft horses out of the city, often insisting that the ruined wagons be left behind. A few fools tried to grab at the remaining supplies and the soldiers put an end to that action as soon as it started. The damaged wagons were confiscated, either dragged off the road completely or rolled far enough away to allow more evacuees through the rough openings left behind.

A few of the first people who encountered troubles tried to protest the rough treatment, but Welliso had his orders and he intended to keep them. The first time he whipped a man in public was enough to stop most of the protests. He took no satisfaction from his task, but he did it.

He would do all that he could to see Tyrne cleared of people as effectively and quickly as possible, regardless of how that made him look in the eyes of the people. The City Guard had been feared and loathed by a good number of people over the years and some things simply did not change.

Of course some reputations are earned, even if they are earned for all of the right reasons.