The gates of Brunholm were closed and barred tight for the night when the group of travellers finally made their way out of the mountains. From behind Mother’s coat, Liandra watched the captain squelch through the mud, the hood of his raincoat low on his face, and beat a fist against the great, wooden door. The rain drummed in her ears as it fell against her own hood. She didn't mind the rain, but Mother had insisted, of course, and never in her twelve years had any objection to Mother’s way been heeded. The cold, though, that was another story. It leeched its way into her bones, drained her of all energy and made her so damned tired, so irritable. What she wouldn't give to be out of it, in front of a fire or slipping into a hot bath.

'In the name of Emperor Vallendred the first, I demand you open this gate.' The captain shouted the words then turned his head up expectantly, though in truth he can’t have even known if there was anyone on the other side to hear him.

They waited, all seven of the road-weary bunch, and what a motley bunch they were. The other two soldiers, the captain’s men, looked barely old enough to be called men. The simple fact that they were soldiers was apparently enough to snuff out the last of their childhoods. They looked about, not sure what to do, as they held the chains of their prisoner-cargo. Stroud, Liandra had overheard the soldiers call him, a great brute of a man, all muscle, long hair and short temper. The kind of man you had to wonder if shackles even worked on, as if at any moment he would burst free of them like a bull breaking through a rotten fence. So far, however, he had not managed any such superhuman feats. Father Fairwell, muttered a quiet prayer, electing not to speak to the others unless first spoken too, as usual. His thin robes whipped about him in the stormy winds. Liandra wasn’t sure how he managed not to freeze. Perhaps his faith kept him warm. And that just left her and mother.

The captain beat against the gate once again, harder this time. Liandra had to think his hand must be getting awfully tender. 'For mercy's sake, open this gate.'

As Liandra stood shivering from the night-cold and the wetness, there came a clattering from behind the gate. Metal scraped against metal and a small panel slid open. An old man's face, deeply wrinkled and dusted with white stubble, appeared on the other side, illuminated by candlelight.

'What be all this, then?' the old man said.

'I am a captain in the Emperor's fifth divisional army. I am delivering this prisoner,' he gestured towards Stroud, 'to your capital, so that he may face judgement for his crimes. I demand you open this gate and give us shelter, at once.’ A note of exasperation had crept into the captain's voice.

'Wh…what ya…would you slow down with all that? And speak up. I'm hard of hearing, don't you know? Who you say you were?'

The captain ground his teeth and took a slow breath. 'I am Captain Arlon Caldwell, and this man,' he thrust a finger at Stroud, the big man's long, black hair now hanging in wet ribbons, 'is wanted for crimes against the empire. We are soldiers, Emperor's men, operating under his authority. Now, open this gate immediately.'

The old man held up a torch to the slot, peering into the captain's face, then looking about the rest of the group. 'What about the woman, the girl and that one in the priest robes? They Emperor's men too?'

'They are subjects of the Emperor, travelling with my men and I, and they are under my protection. You do not need to know more than that.'

Liandra could hear the frustration bubbling under the captain's forced calm, could feel the man's tension, bubbling just under the surface. She would not have called the captain an angry man, not from what she had seen of him in the last few weeks anyway, but she knew he could be forceful when the situation called for it. Come to think of it, she had never known a soldier not to employ force once all other options had run dry. It was what they were trained for, after all.

'You’ll be carrying the Emperor’s mark, then?’ the old man said, after a pause.

The captain sighed, reached under his coat and pulled out a silver medallion on a chain. It glistened for a moment in the candlelight, raindrops splashing off it. The image of a skull with bleeding eye sockets had been stamped into the metal. The old man looked at the Emperor's mark for a moment, his jaw working back and forth. Without another word, the panel slid shut and the old man disappeared. The captain tucked the medallion back under his cloak and turned to the others, shrugged. They looked around, frowning, each one equally lost as the others. There came a clank from behind the gate, then the clattering of gears. A heavy bar lifted, and the whole thing split at the middle and swung inward with a drawn-out, reverberating creak.

'Fucking back-woods towns,' the captain said, before ushering the rest of them through the gates.

Mother reached down, grabbed Liandra’s hand, squeezed it tight, then stepped forward. She was worried. She was thinking of Liandra's father.

’Right,’ the captain said. ‘Let’s get you lot to the inn. Follow me.’

The old man stood on the other side of the gate a torch held high, though it hissed and spat with the rain, and probably would go out at any moment. He had his bottom lip pulled up high over the other, almost like a child caught in the act of some guilty mischief, but he nodded towards Mother and Liandra as they entered the town.

'It's a gruesome thing, don't you think,' the old man piped up, turning his attention to the captain.

The captain regarded him for a second, perhaps considering whether to ignore the remark. 'What is?'

The old man tapped at his chest, just below the neck. 'Your emperor's mark. Skulls and blood and that. A bit much, isn’t it? Seems unnecessarily…vulgar.'

Without warning, the captain's hand snapped out, grabbed the old man by the collar, held him up on tiptoes. 'Many men, many of my friends, died under that mark.'

Even in the dim light and the rain, Liandra saw the old man's face go white, smelled the telltale tang of urine as the old man wet himself. Mother pulled Liandra in to her arms, until she was almost inside the woman's coat, wrapped her up like armour.

The captain pulled the old man close. Their noses almost touched. 'I hear you question the Emperor's authority again, and you'll find yourself walking in front of Stroud over there. Catch my meaning? I don't care how old you are.'

The old man's lip quivered. Liandra thought he might have been about to cry.

'I…I…would never question the Emperor’s authority. My deepest apologies, sir. I am a loyalist, I assure you.' the old man stammered. 'I…meant no offence.'

The captain regarded the old man for a moment longer, then released him with a shove. He fell backward, dropping the torch and landing awkwardly on his wrists. The torch sputtered out as it fell in the mud, and the old man’s coat and face were splashed with the dirty stuff. This time he did cry, whimpering like a babe. He tried to wipe the mud off his face, only succeeded in spreading more around.

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The captain turned away with the barest of grunts and stomped off farther into town.

Mother pulled at Liandra's arm. 'Come on, dear. It's time to go.'

Liandra stared towards the old man. She felt her chest clench as she watched his eyes turn red with tears. She twisted out of her Mother's grasp and darted towards the old gateman.

'Hold still,' she said. ‘Let me help you.’

The old man's arms fell into his lap. His shoulders quivered a little, with the effort of his weeping. Liandra grabbed the bottom of her travelling shirt, leaned forwards and stretched it out to wipe the man's eyes and brow.

'You didn't deserve that. I apologise for what he did to you. Not all the Emperor's people are so vile.'

The old man looked up at her wordlessly. She knew he was conflicted. On the one hand, she was being nice to him, on the other she was just another one of the invaders, imperial scum playing their games of stewardship over a land they never belonged in. Not such a loyalist, after all. He couldn't wait for them all to move on. He might not have said it, but he was thinking it.

Liandra reached into the purse tied to her hip, grasped a coin and placed a silver talon into the man's hand. He looked up at her with shining eyes and mouthed a reluctant, Thank you.

Liandra ran back to her mother, who took her hand and pulled her close, jerking her arm in a way Liandra was not expecting, it almost hurt.

'What are you doing?’ Mother said out loud. ‘That was very unwise.'

'I'm sorry, Mother. I…pitied him,' Liandra said, feeling small.

'This country is full of pitiable men. If we were to shed a tear for every one we came across, we would find ourselves waist-deep in brine. You're going to have to learn which one's you can help and which ones you can't.'

Liandra frowned, not fully grasping Mother's point. 'But I can help him. I did help him.'

Mother looked down her short nose at Liandra. Her lip curled in that teacherly way of hers. 'What happens when you run out of coins, hmm? That little purse of yours is not a bottomless well. Perhaps in a few weeks time you will see someone else you feel sorry for, another man or a child, maybe, and you will have no more coins to give. Will you be wishing you had saved today's coin for them?' Mother nodded towards the old gatekeeper, who had now climbed out of the mud and was hobbling back towards the gatehouse. He had the silver coin pinched between two of his remaining teeth so that it jutted out like a biscuit.

'You're saying I have to judge people, weigh the value of one person against another?'

'I'm saying you have to be more careful, especially with how close you get to strangers. But yes. Eventually, you will have to judge them all.'

'Alessa,' the captain's voice called from ahead.

The rest of the group had made their way farther up the muddy street, the rain still falling heavily about them.

'Don't dawdle,' the captain continued. 'Have you not had enough of rain for one night? I know I have.'

Liandra and Mother squelched their way towards the men, contending with the rivulets of dark water streaming down mud channels in the road. Their boots sank into the sticky stuff and rose out with a sucking sound. They had to fight to pull their feet up with each slow step, as if the ground itself were grasping onto their feet with earthly fingers.

'You know,' Stroud was saying, when they finally caught up, 'there would be far fewer calling you lot invaders if you didn't treat them the way you just did, eh? A little kindness goes a long way. Perhaps then they would think more fondly of your so-called "great unifier."'

The captain did not turn to face the captive, only continued trekking onward into the town, then after a moment said, 'Shut it, Stroud, or I will shut it for you. I have not the patience tonight.'

Stroud held up his hands in peace, a gesture that lost some of its weight due to the chains clanking at his wrists. They all knew he was right, of course. The captain hadn't done the Emperor's image any favours tonight. But what was an image in the face of overwhelming strength, anyway? Far simpler to just bully the people into doing what you wanted. That was the way Liandra had seen it go, anyway, more often than not. If she were in charge, she would have done things differently.

They continued on, through the pouring rain and the mud, until they came to the town inn. The captain awoke the innkeeper with more banging and shouting. There was scuffling and grumbling from inside the two-storey building, and a portly man threw the front door open, frowning out at them all. He had come down in a dressing gown and a comical little cap, something that Liandra had only heard about in stories and didn't think people actually wore. His face was red. He was near blowing with exhaustion. Must've been a long walk from his bed.

'What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? You'll wake everyone up long past the devil's hour.'

The captain simply held up his medallion. Realisation crept across the innkeepers face, and he took several measured breaths, deflated like a windbag with a hole in it.

'You can come in,' he said. 'But keep your voices down, flog ya. We've got a full house, and I've got an early morning tomorrow.'

'We'd like somewhere to sleep,' the captain said.

The innkeeper looked over the lot of them, his gaze lingering on Stroud, then he turned to the captain with red-rimmed eyes. 'Did you not hear what I just said? I've got no rooms. Now, I'm happy to pay my respects to the Emperor, I got no problems there. I pay my taxes, and I pay them on time. But I'm not about to kick paying customers out of their beds in the middle of the night, especially not with this rain.'

'Never said it had to be a bed,' the captain responded. 'We can sleep on the floor.'

The innkeeper sighed. He looked at Liandra and Mother, and Liandra saw compassion in his eyes. She wanted desperately to put a hand on his arm.

'You're better off in the stables,' the innkeeper said, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. It'll be just as warm, and there won't be people trampling all over you in a few hours.'

The captain didn't even check with the others. He just clapped his hands together and said, 'We'll take it.' It was the best offer of lodging they had had in weeks, and the only one in six days.

The innkeeper led them back out the front door, through the rain once more and around the side of the inn, to the stables at the back. It was dry enough, and warm, despite the lack of proper walls. Horses were sleeping in most of the stalls, and Liandra could feel the body heat steaming off them. There was hay as well, plenty enough to make beds for the lot of them. The only downside was the smell. It was hard to escape the raw stench of manure, and Liandra was sure it would find its way into her dreams.

'Well, it's not much, but you're welcome to it,' the innkeeper said. 'I hope you've already had your evening meals, as I'm afraid the kitchen's closed, though I can bring you bread in the morning.'

Mother stepped forward and took the innkeeper's hands in hers. 'I thank you, most kindly, good sir. We owe you our deepest debt of gratitude.'

The innkeeper looked taken aback. 'No, no. It is nothing, really.' He gave a peculiar smile. 'As long as I am back in my bed in the next five minutes, I'll consider the debt repaid.'

Mother released the man's hands, and he turned to go, but stopped as if he had just remembered some forgotten detail. He approached the captain, leaned in close. Though he lowered his voice, Liandra heard him say, 'Those posts go deep into the ground. Very solid.'

The captain nodded, and the innkeeper scurried away. The soldiers took Stroud over to a post, looped his chains around it and secured it all with bolt and shackle. Stroud endured this with little more than an occasional wince. It was routine by this point. The soldiers always chained their prize to something he could not carry away or pull apart. The chain gave the man enough room to lie down, but little else, and he would still have to sleep with his wrists together. It can't have been very comfortable, but Liandra had never heard the man complain. Probably, he knew there was no point.

The others made their beds in the hay. Mother used a rake to bunch up a pile of the scratchy stuff for her and Liandra. With everyone else busy, Liandra reached out to touch one of the horses which had awoken during their entrance. Mother was upon her in a second, pulling her hand away from the wooden slats of the stall.

'Don't. Let it be,' she said. 'There is too much at stake for you to be playing with these creatures.'

Liandra reluctantly moved away from the animal and let her mother guide her to bed. The horse gave a little shake of its head. It seemed a magnificent animal, with kind, deep eyes. But Liandra let herself be led to the pile of hay.

Despite her exhaustion, Liandra lay awake for a long while. When she was sure the others were asleep, and the stable had filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, Liandra eased herself up, crept across the stable and back to the stall with the horse in it. The horse lay down, dreaming, Liandra knew, so she climbed over the railings, careful not to make a sound, and dropped beside the big animal. She crouched down and put her hands on the horse's head. Its eyes opened, went wide in shock, then slowly relaxed. Liandra sat down and let the horse's head fall into her lap.

What is your name? she said, inside of her mind.

The horse's big eyes met with hers. Agrafell, it replied. Would you like to hear my tale?

Liandra looked about the stable once more, checking the others were still asleep. She could just make out Mother's chest slowly rising and falling.

Yes, she said.