“Last night I dreamed of my Hallie

Of my Hallie, my sweet Hallie

Last night I dreamed of my Hallie

For the thought of her is one that never dies.”

Preston Lynch marched down the road, head held high and feet light. The mud of the day past had dried, and the road was firm beneath his boots. Good marching ground. He could see the birds erupting from the distant trees as his voice filled the air, echoing off the mountains rising around him. Good to keep the predators away and let any hunters in the area know he wasn’t a deer.

“She's sleeping in the valley,

The valley, the valley

She's sleeping in the valley,

And the mockingbird singing where she lies.”

He frowned. His Hallie, his Sophie, was ten years in the ground. There was no reason to be singing this song, except what else was there to do when marching through empty countryside. He could almost hear the rest of his brigade join in, singing to fill the endless monotony of setting one foot in front of the other.

“Listen to the mockingbird,

Listen to the mockingbird

The mockingbird is singing

O'er her grave.”

He wouldn’t have to be marching if the rail tracks had been intact. Had he been half a day faster, he could have left the station before the Gigante went berserk. Had the railroad tracks not been destroyed before he got to them, he would have been well on his way to Dubjuk. Corn should be coming in strong this year. His son’s letters said it had been a hot one in the north. John and Falliah would need all the help they could get for the harvest.

“Listen to the mockingbird,

Listen to the mockingbird

Still singing where

The weeping willows wave.”

Yet as hot as the north got, it couldn’t compare to the heat Preston had dealt with for the last four years. Humidity was a killer. He was happy to turn his back on the south for good. Too many miseries there. Damn rebels couldn’t leave well enough alone, and gotten him dragged into the whole mess. Preston could only be grateful they wouldn’t be a problem in the future.

Water splashed to his left, and he paused. His canteen was low, and there was no telling how far the next town might be. The water should be good and fresh, way out in the mountains as it was. Mind made, he licked his lips and headed towards the sound.

The river was not a large river, but it was enough to deserve the name. The banks were steep, and the current looked strong, if not swift. The shadows of the branches overhead played across the clear waters in a pleasant way. If Preston had the time, he would have liked to carve up a fishing pole and spend a day or two liberating the waters of their bounty. But he did not have time and was late.

A taste revealed the water was indeed clear, and cool. Safe enough to drink. Preston dumped the rest of the water, grown a little sour from his three day travel, into the grass. He rinsed and filled his canteen. As he capped it, he noticed the sandbar further upriver had the signs of a fire.

Preston shook his head. What moron lit a fire on a sandbar? The water soaked sand would extinguish it, and the river might rise at any time to flood the whole surface. Still, a fire meant there was at least one person in the area. Maybe there was a town close by where he could get his bearings and better directions to Gryndton. The miller he’d first talked to seemed like the type to light a fire in the middle of a river, and Preston didn’t trust his directions.

At the least, he hoped for an end to the damn mountains. He was used to the bluffs and hills of eastern Aewe, but they were wide, rolling affairs. These mountains were dark and twisted, looming over him like circling ravens. These Ebbolochians were not a place he wished to stay.

The land did not make sense to him, high peaks and low valleys, woods old when Yeshas walked the world. The air was wrong, and the days darkened faster than they should be. Deep in the mountains, the sun shone for only hours before casting the land back into darkness.

Preston hated it. The open rolling hills of Aewa were his home. Things made sense there. There, he didn’t have to worry about dying to a sudden rockslide, thunderstorm, or maddened boar. Even the gigantes were wild in the Ebbolachians, the gentle creatures driven mad by whatever gripped these lands.

As if the mountains could read his mind, a rattle came from the brush to his left. With the instincts instilled in him by the last four years in the South, Preston danced to the right, swinging his legs at random. Timber snakes couldn’t kill you if they couldn’t bite you. Sure enough, there was a distinct black spotted gray snake coiled under the dense arrowwood shrub, rattle lifted high. He gave the snake a wide berth and continued on his path.

“I’m coming for you, Sophie, but I don’t want to go that way.” A glorious battlefield death hadn’t come for him, for all the fierceness of the fighting, and Preston would be damned if he died to something as shameful as a snake bite. Almost as shameful as by his own hand. He made the sign of the star at the thought and offered a quick prayer for survival and guidance.

His prayers were answered a couple hours walk from the river. A valley opened between the peaks, a broad green bowl carved by the hand of God. Farms, roads, a town. Civilization. Preston wasted no time descending the steep slope out of the mountains to the main route into the distant town. The day was growing long and he would appreciate a roof over his head when he slept.

The fields were full of crops, ripe for harvest. But the farms were empty, no workers moving among the plants. A few dogs and cats, but not a single human. This close to the battle lines, it was not surprising. The inhabitants had likely either joined with one of the fighting forces or fled further north or west, away from the fighting. A pity the crops would go to waste, feeding only the pests.

Preston noted with detachment the soil quality was fair to middling. A decent crop yield, but nothing like he expected to find at home. Aewa soil was good black soil, rich from the crushed bones of the earth and gathered by the great ice flows. Ninnesaw soil couldn’t compare.

When he passed under the gates into the town proper, he noticed the buildings were all new. Strange, for a town so close to the warzones and with so few people. But people in the South did things different than up North, so he shrugged and moved on. Some of the new stone construction was odd, with a soapy green black stone he’d never seen before. Some stone native to the Ebbolochians, no doubt. Another reason to be gone from this land. Even the stone was wrong.

The town was sparsely populated, but there were at least people here he could ask for directions. He stopped a thin fellow with an upraised hand and a lifted hat. The man stared up at Preston with narrow eyebrows pulled tight over his eyes.

“Hello there friend, could you direct me to a General Store, or grocery?”

The man curled his thin lips and spat to the side. “What’s it wit’ ye Feds an' askin’ fer the general store. Can ye no read? Sign feckin’ says right there ‘Beckman’s General Goods’.”

Before Preston could respond or call the man down for his rude tone, the man turned on his heels and walked away, near running with the speed he put distance between Preston and himself. Preston watched the man disappear into the space between two buildings, the gap too small for Preston to pursue him even if he wanted.

As it was, Preston shook his head and ducked into the general store. A woman sat behind the counter, long brown hair framing her pretty face. Too young for Preston, else he might have looked closer. Not that he’d been with a woman since the fever took Sophie. It still felt like he’d be cheating if he did. The woman behind the counter held a wooden carving in her hand and a tiny paintbrush in the other. The corner of her tongue poked out in concentration.

Not wanting to startle her and cause her to mistroke, he waited until she lifted the paintbrush from the carving to clear his throat. She ignored him, and dipped the paintbrush for fresh red paint.

“I heard ye come in. What ye need?” Now he thought about it, the hinges had been loud. A bell above the door might have been a less annoying signal.

“Trail rations and coffee. Cheapest you’ve got.” The woman nodded as he spoke and put her carving down. Preston could almost mistake it as a real robin, if the vibrant red paint didn’t glisten on its chest. “And directions to an inn or hotel. Been on the road and a bed and hot meal would be nice.”

“Myrtle gots a room to rent, but we ain’t got a hotel or nuthin. Horse feed?” The woman gathered packets and bundles in quick practiced motions.

“No horse.” Preston couldn’t afford to waste money on one, but he wasn’t going to tell the shopkeeper his money woes. “No hotel, in a town this size?”

“Myrtle’s got all we need.” She paused in her package pulling.. “They no teach ye Fed boys to ride? Ain’t ye got cavalry?”

“Who says I’m a Fed?” Ninnesaw hadn’t joined the Kindale War with the rebels, but a good many people had drifted south to join the fight against the “Brute Government of the North”. Of course, many had fled once they knew what Kindale was doing to deserve the assault. There was no telling how the sentiments of a backwoods town might run. He didn’t want to find himself hung by a branch for fighting to preserve the union of his country. He’d even hidden his blue uniform deep at the bottom of his pack.

“Ye’re the third soldier to walk through in five days. No hard to figure with the direction y’all’re comin’. Kindale’s been done five months, time fer the soldiers to go home.” She turned around and looked up at him. And up. “Ye’re a big one.”

Preston shrugged. Recently his size had been more hindrance than boon. “Corn’ll do that to you.”

“Hmm. What’s yer name, big fella? If it’s only fer the night, ye’re welcome to stay upstairs instead o' Myrtle’s place.” The glint in her eye told Preston there was only one bed upstairs. He coughed and heat flushed his cheeks.

“Preston, ma’am. And, uh, I thank you for the offer. But, uh,-”

She clicked her tongue.

“Shame. An’ ma’am too. What a gentleman.” She gave him a quick look up and down, coupled with a wicked smile. Then she dropped a pile of goods on the counter and her face returned to all business. “Four dollars even fer the lot.”

She reached under the counter and put a packet of caramels on top of the pile. “Sugar, ye can have fer free. More where that came from.”

She winked as she did so! The woman was shameless, nothing like he had experienced in the South before. He put down four dollars and pulled the supplies to himself before she could hold them hostage. “Ma’am, with due respect, I’m old enough to be your father. My daughter-in-law might be older than you are.”

“The name is Laura, stranger. I do no mind an experienced man. What do ye say, one night?”

“I am afraid I must, regretfully, decline.” Preston tipped his hat to her. “But thank you kindly for the offer, and the caramels.”

Laura sighed, the regret plain on her face. “Can no say I’ve had many turn me down, stranger. First time fer everything, I guess. Myrtle’s a block north and down the left street. Can no miss it.”

Giving his thanks again, Preston gathered his armful of supplies and left the store, hinges creaking his exit. He was grateful Laura had told him where to go even after he had turned her down. He didn’t want to have to find another local to give him directions. The first he’d met had fled like he was a demon and the other had propositioned him within five minutes of meeting.

When he turned at the appropriate left street, Preston was greeted with the sight of a bright colored house set among the simple pale colors of the rest. Blue painted shingles, pink shutters, red pillars on the porch. Here was Myrtle’s. He couldn’t miss it.

A pair of men sat at a table outside the wide front window, mugs set before them and playing cards scattered in the space between, but no one else was in view. So few people for a town this size. The war must have drained the region more than Preston had thought. The men, grizzled and weathered from decades of hard labor, watched Preston carefully as he approached the broad porch.

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“Evening, fellas.” Preston lifted his hat to the pair. “This must be Myrtle’s?”

“Ayup,” the man on the left said. He held a mug of dark foamy liquid in a hand missing the second and third fingers and a hard glint in his brown eyes. The man next to him mirrored the glint with blue. Best to be suspicious of a man who looked like Preston. Didn’t make it any easier to deal with, the same attitude no matter where he went.

“Thanks,” Preston said and walked in without another word. The two men shared a look but Preston ignored it. No reason to start things when he was leaving the next day.

Myrtle turned out to be a cousin of Laura’s, with the same brown hair and pretty face, if with a few more lines. The price for the room was enough to make him wince and consider taking Laura up on her offer of lodging for the night. But it was only for the one night, and he had plenty left in his contingency funds. Plus, the room came with a hot meal this evening, and in the morning. It had been long enough since his last hot meal that Preston paid the bill immediately.

With the sun already low on the horizon, dinner was already near cooked. A steaming plate was ready for Preston when he walked down after stowing his bag and washing up. A thick cut of beef, green beans, and mashed potatoes, the perfect meal after his long travels. There was apple pie for the finish, and Preston could have kissed Laura for introducing him to Myrtle.

When a yawn unexpectedly cracked his jaw after the last crumb of crust, Preston gave his thanks and compliments to Myrtle before making his way to his rented bed and collapsing into it. Perhaps he could have forced himself to stay awake and play a round or two of cards with the men at the table, but sleep called like a siren. He could get an early start on the day tomorrow.

Kindale lay below, gates broken by the Federation cannons. Bodies filled the gaps, refusing entry. No one expected the Kinds to surrender, not even if the walls shattered. The taste of under salted biscuit flooded his mouth. Artillery spells fell like rain, splashing against the mage shields.

Half his battalion was gone, dead to the golems. Stone men, filled with the tortured souls of the damned. Fancy priest talk for dead children. Bullets, knives, axes. Useless unless in numbers. Ten men for a golem, so his battalion died for fifty rock piles.

The Kinds would not stop. Golems came in waves, fire spread through the air, men died. Command said attack, so attack it was. Blue crashed into green, crimson came from both. Blue had more crimson to spill, and so spilled most.

The sky turned red, and the sun went out. Magicians and their grand work. The sun opened. The world flashed white. The sun closed. The sky turned blue, and Kindale was gone.

The place-that-no-longer-was filled Preston’s mind as he opened his eyes. He’d fallen asleep in his boots. Sophie would have beat him over the head with them if she’d been there. But it wasn’t his bed, and she wasn’t here. He sat upright with a groan, limbs sore from curling up in a bed too small for his frame.

A glance at the window showed the barest hint of sun still left on the western horizon. His exhaustion remained, but the memories of Kindale set Preston’s heart thudding in his chest. He wouldn’t be falling back asleep any time soon. He rolled out of the bed and descended the stairs.

The pair of men drinking outside had moved inside to the common room, such as it was, and been joined by another at the only table. The newcomer was as grizzled as his compatriots, but had a slender build to contrast their burly frames. Preston walked over.

“Any chance you’d be willing to let a stranger in?” He nodded at the cards. As weathered as the men playing, the cards weren’t of a design Preston recognized. Didn’t take a genius to work out how cards played though.

The men gave him blank stares, bushy eyebrows drawn over narrow eyes.

“I’ll get a round or two?” Preston offered. Free drinks softened many men.

It seemed these three were no exception.

“‘Spose we gots room fer one more,” the man with missing fingers said. “Mrytle! Round fer the table, per this here fine gent’n.”

Preston sat at the sturdiest looking of the two open chairs, and even still it creaked alarmingly. Finding things sized to him was a never ending task.

“Evening, gents. How is everyone?”

“Can no complain,” said the man Preston hadn’t seen before. He had a hooked nose, and a full beard of dark hair. Preston didn’t think the man was a farmer. Perhaps a blacksmith or farrier. The others were farmers. Preston could recognize kindred spirits. “What’s yer name, stranger? Ain’t see ye ‘bout afore.”

“Preston,” the soldier replied. “I’m just passing through.”

“Name’s Dak,” the hooked nose man. He gestured at the man lacking fingers and the blue eyed man next to him. “Ron an' Keil. Ye play Serpent's Pass?”

“Can’t say I have. Haven’t seen a game I couldn’t pick up after a few rounds, though.”

“That’s the spirit.” The other two men didn’t seem to share Dak’s friendliness, but their silence was fine with Preston. Talking with too many people at once hurt his head. They didn’t act suspicious, only wary. “Played Yearly? Serpent’s similar.”

“I have played Yearly, yes.” He wasn’t the best at it, but Preston wasn’t here to win card games. Dak nodded and dealt out six cards to each player, splitting the rest into three equal piles.

“Drinks fer ye,” Myrtle’s voice came from behind Preston, and he stopped himself from jumping. At his size, a startled flinch could break things. A tall mug was set in front of Preston, a drink he hadn’t had with his dinner. A swallow revealed a bitter ale, with strong earth flavors. He’d take it for now.

“So where in the North ye from?” Dak asked. Preston looked up from his cards.

“Never said where I was from.”

“Ain’t no spoke like ye,” Keil, the man with hard blue eyes and sandy blond hair, spoke for the first time since Preston had met him. “Dunna let it bother ye. We ain’t Kinds here.”

“They is up the way in Lander’s Crossing, though. Best not open yer mouth there.” Ron had a surprisingly high voice for his frame.

“No Kinds here? You’re so close.”

“No Kinds. Mayor dinna like ‘em. ‘Em’n their stone men.” Dak laid his first two cards on the table, the leading pair. A Lord and a Seven of Chalices. Not a bad start, if this was Yearly. No one had explained the rules to Preston, so he treated this as Yearly.

“Didn’t like them either.” Preston countered the Lord and Seven with a pair of Tens from Rods and Stones. Not as good, but the game was early still. Ron and Keil laid out their openings, both of lesser values.

“‘spect no,” Ron piped. “Evil things. Best fer the world they’re gone.”

“I’ll drink to that.” All four men tipped their mugs back and took a long pull.

“Still,” Preston said, “Wonder how it’ll be without the elymis mines.”

The source of Kindale’s vast wealth and power, the elymis mines were destroyed along with the city. So much of the world ran on the magical blue stone, Preston hated to think what would happen in the coming years as the supply halved.

“Good riddance, I says. Too much trouble.”

Ron nodded in agreement with Dak’s words. “Give a man too much elymis an' he stops fearing God.”

“Ye ain’t got no elymis on ye, do ye mister?” Ron’s narrowed eyes told Preston the answer he was expecting.

“Haven’t a dusting. You think I’d be walking through here if I did?”

Dak snorted. “Fair ‘nuff. World so rough out there, man can no find himself a horse?”

“Any news from outside?” Myrtle said from behind Preston. He had to stop himself from jumping from his chair. He hadn’t heard her come up. “They caught that guy who shot the president yet?”

“Hutch? He got captured a week or so after he shot Laketon, God rest his soul.” Preston was surprised they hadn’t gotten news here, even as isolated as they seemed to be. News of a presidential assassination should have traveled like wildfire.

“He ain’t the one what shot Laketon,” Ron said. “Were the Lightbringers.”

“No, he were part o’ the Lightbringers,” Keil said. Myrtle and Dak rolled their eyes at the pair. He took his cue from them and didn’t comment on the conspiracy theorists.

“How often’s the mail carrier come through here, if you hadn’t heard about Hutch?”

“Pony man ain’t been here since Kindale poofed, right Dak?” Myrtle asked.

“Naw, he came 'bouts after Reverend Parker died.”

“Real? That recent, huh. Figured he’d’a brought somea-thin' fer the mail.” Preston glanced at the cards in his hand and had the distinct understanding he would not be playing any more.

“He musta brought it to Raven House. I seen him there,” Dak said. “With the Lady.”

“The Lady?” Preston asked. “There are still Nobles in Ninnesaw?”

“Lord Mayor died a while back. Dunno ‘bout any else.” Dak tapped his mug on the table for a refill. Preston tapped his in turn. Myrtle sighed but collected the mugs and carried them to the next room. Ron and Kiel were still discussing the ever deeper connections between the Lightbringers and the upper levels of government, the Iron Order, and the… pigeons? Preston wanted to ask more, but he knew he would regret asking.

“Raven House?” he asked Dak instead. “What’s that?”

“The Mayor’s manor, o’ course.”

“Big dark one on the hill, hard to miss?” The black structure was visible for miles, and dominated the town from any vantage point. Preston had avoided it because he didn’t like the dark anger the building brought to mind.

“Ayup.”

Myrtle brought the mugs back, and a larger tankard besides. Preston was about to ask what the tankard was for when Myrtle pulled out the last chair and took a long swallow from the tankard.

“Strange stone the mayor’s house built from. What is it?”

Dak shrugged. “Dunno. Mayor found a pile of it when he came to the valley.”

“Natives done it,” Myrtle said over the lip of her tankard. “Dug it from the mountains. Awful stuff.”

Dak shrugged. “Weird stuff. Where ye headed, Preston, an' how’s come ye ended up in our little valley?”

“I’m headed home. Meant to go by rail, but a damn gigante blocked the tracks. Smashed an engine to bits. A gigante of all things.” Preston shook his head. It was the latest in a long series of events to keep him from getting home.

“A Gentle Giant? Guess anythin’ll attack if’n provoked enough.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Preston said. He pulled another mouthful from his mug. The beer tasted better the more you drank. Preston hadn’t encountered a beer that didn’t. If he did, he’d take it as a sign to stop drinking. “Say, I noticed some cropland all sprouted, but unweeded. You folks lost some labor recently?”

Myrtle rubbed her chin. “Can no say we have. Ron an' Kiel’d know best.”

At the sound of their names, the two stopped their arguments about the Lightbringers and looked over. “Ye’ve got questions about the soil?”

Preston smiled. These were his folk, in truth. Even if they did hold peculiar beliefs.

The night passed in gentle conversation and amble drinks, until one by one the card players, cards long forgotten, retired to their homes. Preston climbed his unsteady way back up the stairs, heart lighter than it had been in what felt like years. This time when Preston fell onto his bed, he did not wake before dawn.

When he did, the drinks he had last night reminded him he was not the young man he used to be. He groaned and rubbed at his eyes, the sand of sleep digging into his eyelids. When he put his hands down, there was a woman standing in the shadows at the foot of his bed.

“Kind of you to awaken.”

“Yeshas, lady! You can’t sneak into a man’s room.” Preston set down the knife he’d pulled from under his pillow. Old habits died hard. “Some might not take too kindly and do something rash.”

“Oh, I do not think I would have such trouble.” The woman stepped forward into the early morning light piercing through the curtains. She was beautiful.

The details did not matter to Preston, the red hair, porcelain white skin, the sway of her hips, the clawed tips of her fingers. The sheer presence blanketed his mind and shoved everything else to the periphery. He watched as her chest swelled, an angry red splash across her collarbone, before her presence overcame him again and he lost himself in her eyes. It was very distracting.

“I have a task for you, Preston.” Her voice was soft, and compelling. It filled his ears and his mind. She wanted him to listen, and he wanted to listen.

“I was hoping to have breakfast first.”

Her smile lit the room more than any flame could have. The way the sun reflected from the razor edged teeth was mesmerizing.

“You have a stronger will than I had thought. No matter.”

Preston didn’t move as her hand reached out and touched his cheek. “Whoa. That’s cold. Are you alright?”

A flicker of irritation showed on the woman’s face and Preston’s stomach knotted in turn. Had he upset her? He couldn’t upset the Lady, she was- Heat blazed where her fingers rested on his chin. Pain, then numbness.

“I cannot do as I would like, you still need your faculties for the task ahead,” she said.

“Task, my Lady?” What did this wonderful creature have for him? He would do as she asked.

“I need your skills as a soldier. There are many helpers here, but no one with your experience. I need you to find and kill the Knight of Ordis Ferrum who is hiding in the woods around this town. He is dangerous. To that end, I have gathered the best I have, and I want you to lead them.” She looked up at Preston, her liquid eyes wide and a small frown on her lips. “He tried to kill me. I need you to kill him, to keep me safe."

A rage burned in Preston’s core, fury at the man who would have hurt his Lady. His fists clenched with enough force to crack his knuckles, the sound reverberating through the small room.

“I will put him down like the dog he is, my Lady.”

The last thing he saw before sprinting out the door was the smile full of razors, blood dripping to the floor.