Ralleck was sweeping the front step of the inn when he heard the rider.

Sweeping was probably too strong a word, he was gently swishing the mould-ridden ends of a twig switch over the grimy stone to get rid of any stray bodily fluids that patrons may have emptied over the course of the night. It was nearing close, and Ralleck was weary of the stale fug of the bar, of the harsh voices and unwashed bodies. Yes, sweeping was a good excuse to get five minutes in the fresh air, away from his wife, and to stare out at the twilight landscape.

His inn (their inn, he mentally corrected himself) was situated on the outskirts of the village, far enough out to get a good view of the nearby Greenstone hills, and the wilds that were beyond. There were no lights out in the dark, save for the stars, the moon, and one small, bleary fire that burned in the window of the loneliest house in the village; nestled in the shadow of the hills, and as far away from its neighbours as possible . Ralleck turned his gaze away from it, almost automatically.

He was leaning on the broom, and mentally counting up the night’s takings, when the rhythmic beat of hooves came along the road. A big horse, he wagered, his trained ear creating a picture of a fine, strong beast ;not a cart puller or farm worker- the steps weren’t clunky- but possibly a war charger. Certainly not anything that the small, isolated village would produce, not this far from the fighting.

Curiosity, and fear mingled within him. He had left the army over thirty years previously, and had found this place, in the bowels of nowhere, to start a new life, away from the screech of metal and dying men. Was this a ghost, sent to fetch him away?

Don’t be stupid, old man. He gripped the broom tighter, feeling the rough grain of the wood, and stepped forward, just in time to see the rider emerge from the gloom of the road.

As Ralleck had guessed, it was a fine steed. A bay charger with a high, arched neck, and neatly plaited mane. The sweat on its flanks indicated a hard ride, but it held its head proudly and regarded the innkeeper with a steely eye. Yes, this beast was worth a pretty penny. The rider himself was swathed in a thick woollen coat, seemingly to protect against the cold. Like his horse, he had a rather arrogant set to his chin, as he saw Ralleck’s outright stare. His tone was friendly enough though, as he spoke a greeting:

‘Evening, sir.’

‘Good evening,’ Ralleck grumbled back, unease making him sound colder than he meant, ‘what brings you this way, ser?’

The man walked the horse forward a little, to be closer to Ralleck. He struggled not to flinch when the dingy light revealed a cross-cross of white scars and pits upon the stranger’s otherwise handsome face.

‘I’m looking for someone. A young woman. She would have come this way a few months back, she-‘

‘There.’ Ralleck interrupted him, swiftly thrusting an arm towards the lonely light below the hills.

‘She’s there… I know of whom you speak. Are you taking her away?’ Hope and eagerness coloured his voice, and the rider heard it. His expression hardened.

‘That depends on her,’ he countered evenly. ‘The road, does it lead all the way?’

Ralleck nodded tersely, and rudely turned away to re-enter the safety of the inn. The sound of fading hoofbeats echoed his thrumming heart. The boards creaked behind him, and he heard his wife take a harsh intake of breath as she prepared to -no doubt- remonstrate him.

‘Ralleck! For goodness sake man, the bar needs seeing to! Honestly, I don’t know why-‘

‘Not now.’

‘Don’t you not now me! Lazy, insufferable-‘

‘Lessa, I said NOT NOW.

Something in his tone reminded her of the man that he had been. Wisely, and for once in her life, Lessa, innkeeper’s wife, held her tongue. She waited until he had taken a swig of beer from an untended mug to open her mouth again.

‘What? What’s got you so riled up?’ she pried, in a softer tone.

By this time, the few remaining patrons of the inn had witnessed the uneasy spectacle. Silence fell on the damp little room as the old officer of the army replied.

‘Something to do with her’.

Lessa, whose scorn made her braver than most men, scoffed.

‘Good riddance,’ she spat onto the none-too-clean boards, then ‘right, everyone out! It’s time! Don’t you DARE grumble like that at me, Evan, I’ll have you barred!’ And on and on she went, until her harsh voice had emptied the bar entirely.

Ralleck stepped aside to let the customers, in various states of drunkenness, stumble home to their safe little houses, in the ordinary, safe little village. He didn’t look towards the hills, but his thoughts drifted towards the tiny, orange light of the far away house, and its unwelcome occupant for a good long while after.

‘Good riddance,’ he thought.

**********

The road had been easy, but as the rider got closer to the cottage, the ground became uneven and overgrown with brambles. He patted the neck of the horse, and dismounted gracefully a short distance away from the unfriendly windows that glared at him from underneath bushy eyebrows of ivy and climbing weed. It was better to not announce his arrival anyway, but he doubted that she would be unknowing of his approach at this stage. There was no need to tie the horse to a tree. He would wait there patiently until needed. He stroked its velvety muzzle, and felt it butt him gently on the shoulder.

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I know, old boy. He thought. I need to go in, don’t I?

He saw the woman in his mind, a memory from years ago, when they had both been novices learning their craft. She had knocked him on his arse more times than was seemly. The memory of her laughing, good-natured face bent over him, dark hair tickling his nose as she outstretched a gloved hand to pull him back up. The days had been golden then, tinged with happiness and hope for a bright future. And now, this. What had happened to them both?

The horse grumbled softly and the man sighed. There were many reasons why he shouldn’t be here, why he shouldn’t have tracked her down, and yet…

A scream, shrill and short, pierced the calm of the night. It came from inside of the cottage, but was quickly silenced, as if the screamer had stopped themselves suddenly. He left his fears aside and ran, the hidden sword drawn and other hand outstretched with arcing fingers.

The sound of a bell chime and the resulting shock that hit his body in a wave was the sign of a broken ward of guarding- she would know of his presence undoubtedly now. He pushed on regardless, reaching the door as another scream sounded, this one louder and more untamed. A kick, and it flew open, revealing a dark room, with a low ceiling and sparse, dirt floor. Empty, save for the woman that was kneeling, wild-eyed in its centre, with one hand outstretched to the guttering flame in the chimney. She looked up, and screamed once more as the man rushed forward with his hand reaching towards her. The rage of the scream hit him, lifting him forcibly and knocking him like a rag doll against the opposite wall. Dazed, he pulled himself upright and felt blood trickle from a gash above his right eye. Shit.

She stayed in her kneeling position, but turned her head to snarl at him, in anger or pain, he wasn’t sure. It was then that he noticed three things in tandem:

There was blood pooling underneath her body, mixing with the sigils that had been drawn in the packed dirt of the ground. He could feel the electric thrum of magic, more magic than he had ever felt before, in the air. It bit into his skin with an electricity and a rage that was the calling card of her power. And her belly was swollen with child. She was giving birth. A difficult birth, his brain conceded, once the shock had hit. Would there be that much blood otherwise?

They stared at each other. Two broken figures in the dirt and the gloom. It was her that spoke first, low and steady.

‘You are not wanted, or needed, knight- ’ the last word spoken with venom. ‘Get out.’

‘Nice to see you too, Sion.’

She growled, and he put his hands in the air. A truce. He gulped, not knowing what to say first. Too many things, too many things. He settled for the big one.

‘Why?’

‘Why did I leave a corrupted order? Why did I flee to safety?’ She snorted. ‘And I thought you were intelligent.’

‘No, why didn’t you tell me. About the baby. About how you felt, about, well, anything.’

Silence greeted his question, as she arched her back in a convulsion, one hand still reaching for the flame in the fireplace, as if in comfort. He wanted to touch her. To offer comfort. But he didn’t.

‘I. Owe you… nothing,’ she whispered in a ragged gasp. ‘I owe them nothing. Leave.’

He pulled himself up, checking his limbs for any injuries. She eyed him warily and flinched when he took a step closer. He stood back, hurt.

‘I’m not going to hurt you Sion. They don’t know I’ve come. It was hard, to track you… I left no trail for anyone to follow. As far as anyone knows, I’m visiting family..’

‘Then why have you come?’ She laughed, but there was no warmth in it. ‘By rights, you are a good little follower, you always have been. You should kill me where I stand for deserting.’

Silence, for a heartbeat. He sighed.

‘If you don’t know why I followed you halfway across the world, then I’m not the stupid one here.’

The woman on the floor slumped forward, as another convulsion tore through her body. Her concentration was slipping, and she would need it this night. The man before her was another complication she had not seen coming. She needed him to leave, and not to come back. The truth would harm him, but not enough to push him away. She suspected that he knew most of it, anyway.

‘I don’t love you.’

He chuckled darkly. ‘I knew that. Regardless of how I feel, you are my friend, and you need help. Hells, you’re kneeling in the dirt, in a building that looks as if it may collapse soon. The locals are terrified of you, by the looks of it. That’s an angry mob waiting to happen, Sion. And how would you cope, with a baby, on your own?’

‘Just fine, as I always have done. Don’t feel like you need to protect me, idiot. I made my choices. You weren’t included in them. Go.’

He smiled crookedly, sitting down beside her and touching the hand that was clenching the loose dirt of the ground. She was ice cold, clammy and breathing heavily.

‘I’m not him, I know,’ he whispered, noting that she shuddered. With revulsion or longing, he wasn’t sure.

‘I won’t go, you know that. Just accept it. I know you, you’re everything good. You deserve help.’

She turned, so that they were face to face. Noses almost touching. He felt the vibrations of the magic wash over him.

‘If you don’t go, I will kill you, Allten. I mean this with every fibre of my being. You stand with them, and always will. I’ve broken every rule so far, don’t make me break another by ending your sad little life. I feel nothing for you.’

His smile faltered, and hesitantly, he opened his mouth to speak, to say something, anything. His hand reached out to cup her face. She knew then, that words wouldn’t be enough.

There was a sickening crunch, and then a scream. Dimly, he registered that he was the one making the noise. The fingers of his hand were bent back unnaturally. His mind was almost detached as it analysed the wound, and a small voice reminded him that this was his sword hand. A hand that would probably now not be able to grip the weapon of his trade again. A dry retch and a heave, as the pain hit in a wave, almost blinding in its intensity.

He had no more words, and as she rose to stand above him, he felt the tears stream unchecked down his cheeks. The woman stared down at him, eyes hard and uncaring. If he had been more lucid, he would have seen that her pale form was trembling from head to toe, but he clutched his broken hand to his chest like a wounded bird and saw everything that the suspicious old innkeeper and the villagers were so afraid of.

‘Go.’

He went, cringing away from her as his feet rushed urgently across the room, to the safety of the silent woodland outside.

The woman watched, until his silhouette had melted into the gloom before she slumped back onto the ground. As sobs racked her body, an ethereal face appeared in the dying embers of the fire. It regarded her quietly for a moment, before complaining in a rather nasal, but nonetheless powerful voice:

‘You didn’t have to do that, you know’.

‘If I didn’t have to, I wouldn’t have. There was no other way.’

The face made a disbelieving noise, and muttered something about pride. She ignored it, as another wave of pain rendered her writhing in a heap. The sigils in the floor began to glow blue-green.

‘It’s close, be ready.’

*********

The rider urged his horse on relentlessly, until they felt solid, friendly road beneath the pounding hooves. Only then did he slow, one broken hand cradled against the smooth neck of the beast, as if to calm him. A shriek, long and loud, split the night with the sharpness of blade. It rang through his head, and made the mangled fingers throb with pain. A kick, a harsh word, and the steed picked up pace again, leaving the little village far behind the thundering hoofbeats.

If he had been closer, he might have heard another voice, smaller and no less angry, take its first breath and cry, her newborn tears mingling with those of her mother on the cold, empty dirt floor.