The militiamen were exhausted and frightened, and they entered the thatched cottage with clumsy haste. To feed the small fire that had been lit in the hearth, one man attacked the table with an axe, grunting with the effort. Meanwhile, three wounded men slumped in a corner to dress their wounds, swearing and gasping loudly. The smell of vinegar and burnt pitch permeated the air. I noticed the end of the ladder lying at my side, its two round legs sticking out of the attic a few inches. The building was quite high. I didn't think anyone would be able to grab the ladder, but I also feared that the soldiers might see it, and imagine that there might be something left to loot under the rafters. The faces of my companions were tense in the gloom. Mine must have been as well. I tried to breathe slowly, my ears wide open, my eyes screwed to the gap to watch the shadows below. The door swung open as men came in and out, their arms laden with blankets or rations. It seemed to me that daylight was just around the corner, yet it was still dark outside. When some semblance of quiet returned, the sergeant's raspy voice rose above the remaining hubbub:

"Come on, let's settle down and stop spinning around like horseflies. The Peeled, you're gonna go watch the horses and the road. If you fall asleep I'll gut you, if the Waddans don't do it for me. The rest of you, take a nap, you'll need it."

There were murmurs of assent, the unfortunate man who had been appointed to keep watch slipped away with hunched shoulders. I could have had a good view of the entrance by raising my head a few inches, but as a precaution I preferred to keep my nose flush with the boards. "It hurts like hell, guys, they got me good those bastards," whined one of the wounded. "Shut up", grumbled the sergeant. "Tomorrow we'll go further east, see if we can get through. We'll find a way back eventually. In the meantime we'll have to clench our teeth." "Maybe we should surrender, sergeant," another voice said. "Shut up, I said. And the next person I hear talking about this, I'll have him hanged." Against me, I felt Aiden stir, reaching out to whisper something in my ear, but I gently pushed him away, shaking my head. Silence fell on the hut like a stone in a well. Soon there was only the heavy breathing and the crackling of the fire.

I let a few more minutes pass before turning to my companions, praying that I wouldn't make anything creak. We looked at each other, our eyes swollen with anxiety and exhaustion. With gestures, I made them understand that we would have to be patient. My eyelids were closing on their own and my mind was buzzing with fatigue, but I was still thinking. If the soldiers down there couldn't make it back north, then there was a good chance that the Waddans had won their battle, which meant that sooner or later they would try to secure the road to Rost. We could hope to come across a friendly patrol during the next day; but for the moment we were cornered, and indeed, very easy to kill. Perhaps we should have revealed ourselves from the start, tried to fool them - in which case we would have had to explain the next day why we weren't going back with them - but now it was too late.

Hours ticked by, carrying with them an uneven tension. We barely dared to stir, even to scratch, as fleas abounded on the attic floor. We took turns dozing, jolting Connor when his snoring mixed with that of the soldiers. An irrepressible urge to urinate overcame me. At one point there were whispers in the night, then the hasty rustling of cloth. Two of the soldiers quietly left their blankets. The door creaked and they went off into the darkness, leaving their equipment where it lay. Their departure could not have gone unnoticed, but no one called out to them. As these two would have to hang, it would have been a fight to hold them back, four or five able-bodied men against two, and in the sergeant's place I wouldn't have taken the risk of carrying more wounded. As there wasn't a sound outside, not even the noise of the horses, I figured that the man on watch must have been dozing, or else he had gone with the deserters. Finally, the darkness began to turn blue, and then suddenly the light oozed from all sides, under the thatch, in the doorframe, through the smallest of cracks in the cob. Uneven lines set the building ablaze. The Hillians stirred. I could hear the boots moving and the fiber of the gambesons cracking. Some were repressing yawns or grumbling from lack of sleep, snapping their tongues and jaws nervously.

The fire was rekindled. From the clanking of the iron I figured it was the work of the sergeant, because he was the only one with a haubergeon. Next to me, Aiden awkwardly stifled a sneeze. I froze. A cold sweat ran down my spine as Connor slowly handed me the knife. Someone coughed. The greasy debris on the table crackled and sputtered in the fireplace, withering in the flames. I breathed out when I was sure we hadn't been discovered. Downstairs, I heard sniffing with a regularity that sounded like sobbing. These were young men, most of them fifteen or sixteen years old. They had joined the militia out of glory or need. They had been taught to form a line and march during winter, then they had tasted war and they didn't want more.

As the sergeant began to wake them up, I couldn't help but empathize with them. Sleep and daydreams were a refuge I knew all too well, a place of oblivion and warmth that never lasted long enough, but after which you ran anyway, hoping to get away at least a little. "Get up!" the sergeant scolded, and he went at it mercilessly with his spear's shaft. The wounded were panting and grinding their teeth to tame the pain. There was no remark about the missing men. The officer walked away while the others gobbled up their rations in a hurry, and returned accompanied. Obviously, the guard had not followed the deserters. Someone was sent to fetch water from the well, the two lightly wounded men left to help groom the horses. I crossed my fingers, and without thinking, performed the clan sign that was supposed to bring luck. Downstairs, the blankets had been rolled up, the equipment gathered, and the door was wide open. The men were about to leave, when the sergeant spoke again:

"Before we go, someone should take a look up there, see if there's anything to eat. You, the Peeled. There was a ladder outside."

Blood rushed back from my face. Connor hurriedly handed me the dagger and this time I grabbed it. If I could kill the one who would climb up, maybe the others would leave without looking back. Maybe they would fight to avenge the dead man. If they were smart, they'd just block the door and set the house on fire. "That ladder's broken, sergeant," said the Peeled. "And too short too." There was a contemptuous snort. "Then climb up on the table, you idiot," hissed the officer. I heard stirring. "It's only got one foot, sergeant, it won't hold." "There's the shelf we could put against the wall," suggested another voice. At my side, Aiden had grabbed the studded club and his chest was heaving like forge bellows. On the first floor, something heavy scraped the packed earth. I heard a grunt of effort and tensed up, ready to pounce.

A head appeared in profile along the wall, capped with a cervelliere. Leather-gloved hands ripped on the rubble, then there was a resounding crack, a cry of surprise, and swearing. The soldier disappeared without having had time to lean on the platform, nor to turn towards us. The dust danced in the sunlight. "You incompetent little shit," the sergeant spat angrily. "Morton, boost him up." I wiped the sweat from my eyes and tightened my grip on the knife. "Sergeant!" shouted one of the men outside. "It's moving over there, under the trees." Immediately, the three soldiers rushed outside. Moments later we heard authoritative shouts, then the drumming of horses galloping away. It was over. Aiden wordlessly rose to his feet, and stood bent over the void, looking at the door. I took the opportunity to piss hastily against the wall. "Gods!" shouted Connor, and I didn't know if he was expressing relief at being alive or disgust at seeing my urine dripping onto the cob.

When we stepped outside, to my great disappointment, there was no sign of what had frightened the Hillians. No matter how much I looked around the edge of the small beech wood that took root farther north, no waddan banner was waving. I went to inspect the well before filling my wineskin, then we ate some food, prostrate on the stoop of the thatched cottage. The air was still and heavy with the sweet smell of fresh manure and the bitter memory of the fires. Blinking and stumbling, we dragged ourselves westward. Lack of sleep made us restless and wary. I kept my cocked crossbow within reach, and our hollow eyes darted at the slightest movement.

The two villages we passed through before noon had been abandoned and looted. From the ruined buildings, wicked beings were watching us, their hands and faces stained with soot. Many were the tramps and beggars who had come to rummage through the rubble and rob the dead. Most were armed with sticks and clubs, and I had no doubt that some would have tried their luck, had they known about the gold purse I carried in my haversack. As it was, we looked just as helpless as they did. Aiden tried to call out to the first looters we came across for news, but I quickly told him to keep his mouth shut. He was talking with the rich accent of the castles, and I didn't want him to give anyone any ideas. Connor agreed, and we continued on our way in silence.

Dusk fell, covering the land in glowing shadows. We still hadn't met a waddan patrol, nor anyone who hadn't stared at us with terror or greed. With a heavy heart, I prepared myself for another night. We would have to set up guard shifts despite the exhaustion. Dark prisoners of the fading light, the disparate plumes of smoke reminded us, if need be, that war wasn't far off. "In Rost, I'll give you a horse," Aiden said as we set up camp in an orchard that overlooked the road. I had chosen this place because it was steep and surrounded by a low wall, which made it easier to defend. "No thanks," I said politely as I hoisted an armful of dead apple tree. "You'd go faster," he said, as if the obvious had escaped me. "I have enough gold to buy twenty horses, Aiden Corju, but I prefer to walk. I'll be left alone that way." Wadd's heir turned away, chewing his lip. I read the confusion on his face, and I was amused. Men had been begging at him all his life, and now he sincerely wanted to be generous and the object of his attentions refused them all. Our fire soon lit up the night, a bright roaring fire fed by dry branches. There was no shortage of fires around here, and it seemed to me that it was reasonable to take the risk.

Connor was stirring cereal broth in my pan while to the south a cluster of threatening clouds rolled across the horizon. Aiden fiddled with his bedding, shaking his head. "So you want nothing from me, Fyss?" he finally exhaled plaintively. "That's right," I replied at once. "Nothing at all." I saw the lord stammer for a question that didn't come, but it was the counselor Goodarm who broke the silence. "Perhaps it's best, my lord. Besides being ungrateful, this man doesn't know how to use his gold. It would be a waste." "The Vals taught me that it's gold that uses men, not the other way around," I retorted sharply. "That's a nice compliment you give me, counselor." He smiled thinly, but his glistening eyes didn't leave the rustling contents of the pan. "No, it's an ode to your ignorance. You should have taken armor, a steed, and hired a troop to accompany you to your destination. Your obsession with sobriety is grotesque. Do you think the cutpurses we met earlier would not have robbed you, if you had been alone? You don't inspire respect, Fyss. Don't be surprised if you have to conquer it day after day."

I bowed my head and pondered for a while, because Connor had given me something to think about. "Counselor, it seems to me that men like you are deluded," I said at last. "You surround yourself with people who owe you something, you take their flattery for respect, and you take that respect for granted. Go and question the peasants in your villages. It's only fear of your soldiers that holds them, that and their lack of imagination." "Yes, fear," replied Connor. "I know this already. It's from fear that respect is born." I squinted as I looked at the flames. "The Ifos wardens had a similar philosophy," I said without masking the venom in my voice. Connor grumbled something derogatory, but he did so quietly and to himself. The discussion seemed to have put Aiden into deep thought, and he said nothing more that evening. Around midnight, a pack of dogs came prowling near the low wall. I went to chase them away with sticks and stones. Having spoken about Ifos, I was reminded of the hounds and the cracking of human bones. I wasn't kind to them, and they didn't come back.

Our rescue came the next morning. Past the orchard, the road looped loosely around the wooded hills through which Connor had wanted us to pass the day before. The terrain was flat and the view unobstructed over the green plains and pastures that undulated to the west, a bucolic web of paths and villages. We saw the troop in the distance, and let them approach from the cover of the trees. Four horsemen escorted them. Behind them came two dehorned oxen pulling a cart, and then about thirty militiamen singing to the rhythm of their march. This wasn't the attitude of a defeated army, and it also seemed to me that men in a hurry to flee wouldn't have bothered with a cart. Connor smiled at their approach. The shadow of the branches played over his face as he repeated in a low voice the bold refrain that rang out on the main road. "They're ours," he announced confidently. We left the shelter of the woods to meet them. With each step, I felt a great weight lift from my shoulders.

We were met by an enthusiastic captain, who had one of the longest noses I've ever seen on a man's face. There was some initial roughness, of course, but he was quite obsequious once Aiden had introduced himself and told him his story. He gave us two horses and three lancers to escort us to Rost and apologized that he couldn't do more. As we moved forward, Connor and Aiden were talking to the troopers. Wadd had won a victory on the fertile plains north of Rost. The blood of the Hillians had flowed so much that it stained the river, they said with a smile. Nawd Corju had been wounded, but his army continued the offensive in the canton of Garnear. I listened with a distracted ear, withdrawn into my shell and my thoughts, satisfied with the respite and grateful that I was no longer subject to the deadening whip of vigilance. There would be no more obstacles until Vaw. The memory of Brindy floated before me, a ghost waiting to be resurrected. Sometimes I would give her a smile or a comforting word, because fatigue and relaxation had put me in a strange state, and I wasn't quite myself.

At the end of the day, I came to my senses as we approached Rost through a network of villages where life was returning. There had been no devastation here, and fear was erased by relief. I quickened my pace as we exited the last village to pat on Aiden's thigh as he pulled on the reins of his mare. "This is where we part ways," I said, my eyes squinting in the sun. I had made my decision the night before, by the fire in the orchard. I didn't want to go with them to the city, where the roles would be reversed, where I would have been subject to the goodwill of the two nobles I had assisted until then. Wadd's heir stared at me, looking down and helpless. "I have learned many things from you," he said after a moment. "I'm glad to have met you. We will meet again, I think." I had a sincere smile. "I hope not," I replied facetiously. Aiden suppressed a laugh and his face lit up.

"I want to give you something," he said cheerfully. He stepped down and handed the halter to one of the soldiers. The troopers didn't really know what to think of me, so they had ignored me for most of the day, which was fine with me. "You turned down everything else," Aiden continued. "Please, at least accept this." The young nobleman handed me a lustrous bronze ring. "This ring is marked with the seal of Wadd. It belongs to me, and my father's liegemen know it. If you ever need assistance, show it to one of them. Better yet, come see me in person. I owe you a lot." I hesitated before stretching out my hand to accept the gift. Aiden gave me a hug, and Connor Goodarm a nod. I hastily retrieved my belongings and, after a final farewell, set off towards the sunset along a bumpy path. All around, the green wheat was ripening, rustling in the wind.

Somewhere in the distance, Spinel was waiting for me.

- End of Part 6 -