The town at night felt like it was holding its breath. Like armed men were waiting outside its home, and it was hiding in the corner by a window trying not to be spotted. But maybe Dallen was just imagining it.

How many of them knew? How many knew that Hadrir and his men were coming tomorrow, and that the baron would hand them over like cattle to a butcher? For the moment, he hoped none of them did. Maybe they’d have one more good night of sleep if they didn’t know.

As if there wasn’t plenty else in this world and this town to lose sleep over.

Vanteus’ door was locked again. For the briefest moment, Dallen considered just ripping it clean out of the frame with a good tug. But he wasn’t quite drunk enough to try that, not yet. Besides, there were voices inside, muffled through the thick wood of the door. Dallen gave it a good knock with his left hand, worried that the right might dent it.

After a brief pause, and the sound of locks turning, the door swung open. Vanteus stood before him looking weighed down.

“Hadrir’s men are coming. Tomorrow.”

Vanteus did not look put off by the news. At least not any more than usual. But he turned slowly over his shoulder to look behind him. There were still sick and injured townsfolk in this bottom level, and a few that were awake and lucid clearly had their attention now turned toward Vantues and Dallen.

“We can discuss this upstairs,” Vanteus said, quiet and calm, though there was an edge to his voice. Dallen followed the request, trying not to stumble or wobble as he crossed the room to the stairs.

On the second floor, in the study, Adelaine was awake and working with vials and powder by lamplight. Her fingertips were stained a greenish-brown from whatever she was handling, but she slowed her work to watch Dallen and Vanteus over her shoulder.

“I heard confirmation that Hadrir was coming tomorrow,” Vanteus said, when the door shut. He breathed out heavily, shaking his white-haired head. “We seem to be all but out of time. The baron does not seem swayed at all?”

“Not by me,” Dallen said. “And I doubt he’ll be considering my input any time soon.”

“I didn’t think he’d be likely to bend. But the question now is, what are you going to do?”

Dallenn looked at the old man with annoyance. He didn’t try to hide it. He was too tired, and too many drinks in, to bother hiding it.

“What am I going to do? I’m going to do exactly what I said I would do, Vantues: I’m leaving. And anyone with any sense will do the same.”

Vanteus just looked at him for a long moment, face tired and flat.

“That’s it then? You’re giving up?”

The annoyance in Dallen grew.

“There’s nothing left to do but pack up and leave. People have to leave their homes all the time. Disasters strike, wells dry up, soil goes bad — but that’s the way of the world sometimes.” He shook his head. “What in the hell did I do to convince you I’d do otherwise, Vanteus? I told you this from the start.”

“Leaving a place that has been your home is easier said than done. Do you think the people of Haverren will be as quick to leave as you are?”

“That’s not my concern,” Dallen said, the words tasting bitter. “I left my home. They can do the same.”

“Forgive me, Dallen, but…these people still have Haverren. From what I heard about Callia, you did not have much of a home to leave behind, by the end.”

Dallen gave a single grim, hollow laugh.

“Well, that’s what staying and fighting gets you.”

“It also gives you a chance.”

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Dallen’s mouth twisted in frustration, but before he could respond, Adelaine was up on her feet, standing beside Vanteus.

“I can’t believe it,” she said, looking at him with a betrayed expression. “You’re actually going to just leave?”

That one cut deeper. After all he’d said, she’d still believed he would stay. Why had she believed that? What reason had he possibly given her?

“Your grit and optimism are inspiring,” Dallen said, “but they won’t save this town. My advice: take that little bit of hope you have, pack it up, and take it with you somewhere else. Somewhere that might actually have a chance.” He felt like he had to force himself to say the words, but she needed to hear them.

She just frowned at him. A sad, disappointed frown. That was worse than anger.

“I thought better of you, Dallen…all that talk, but I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

That made anger flare up a bit in him.

“Why the hell does everyone here seem to think I’m some great and noble fucking warrior? The last knight of Callia, ooh what a miracle! What a hero he must be! Follows the old ways and is good and true by the sword, he is.” He pointed to Vanteus. “Listen to your teacher for once, Adelaine — Callia fell. That was the whole bloody point. I couldn’t save it, nobody could. And I can’t save Haverren, no matter what you believe.”

“So that’s it?” Adelaine said. Her voice was quiet compared to Dallen’s, but still edged with anger. “You fail once and just give up for the rest of your life? Why even bother living anymore? Why don’t you just roll over and die if you’re so damn hopeless.”

“Adelaine,” snapped Vanteus.

“I ask myself the same question every night,” said Dallen. “A drink helps quiet it.”

Adelaine didn’t respond with more anger. She just watched him sadly. Dallen felt a pressing urge to drink something even more then, until that damn look and all the weight that came with it were nothing but blurs and smudges of color, and his thoughts were much the same.

There was a long stretch of quiet before Vanteus spoke again.

“When do you plan to be gone, then?”

Dallen looked back at him, feeling a wave of exhaustion settle upon his shoulders.

“When are Hadrir and his men arriving, exactly?”

“Some time in the evening. Just before sunset, if I were to guess.”

“Then that’s when I’ll be gone.”

There was a strange feeling twisting around in him right now. A twinge of some morbid curiosity — for all everyone in this town had talked about him, he had still not seen the Shapeless warrior Hadrir. And some part of him urged him to stay, to find out what this Hadrir fellow was.

He wanted to brush the feeling away; he wasn’t stupid enough to think he could play the hero. But it was something more than that old feeling, which had been buried and muted within him years ago. It was a newer sensation. One that he had to work at more and more to keep it pushed down.

“So you will not even see the fate you leave Haverren to,” Vanteus said. “You will not look it in the eye.”

Stay and see, a voice within him said. His voice, which was not his own. Stay and see the liar…

It sounded like the voice that told you to jump when you stood at the edge of a great drop. But stronger. More purposeful.

“I don’t have to look fate in the eye to know it will be a grim one. If your townspeople have any wits to them, they’ll do the same as me, and be gone before sunset.”

There was a strange tingling in his right shoulder. Right where the Maker’s arm met flesh. He forgot about the arm often, and the spot where it had been grafted to his body by some strange ritual. But it had never felt completely right. Like its presence was intruding on him, somehow.

Adelaine turned away from him, looking miserable. He hated to see that look, and yet somehow it hurt more to have her turn away. Like she was giving up on him.

Stop that, you stupid prick. This is good for her. She needs to learn sooner or later.

Vanteus just looked tired. He gave one more great, long sigh before speaking again.

“Do you need a room to stay the night again, Dallen? You need rest, if you mean to travel tomorrow.” It sounded like there was a bit of bite to that last comment, as if Vanteus were using it as a jab.

But jab or not, Dallen was not one to pass up a decent place to sleep for the night. Now that he’d had his little fight with the baron, the barracks were doubly a bad place to stay. So he took up the offer. Without any more words, he went to the small room, laid on his cot, and closed his eyes.

Despite the pressing fatigue and the swirling of drink in his blood, it was a long time before sleep took him.

The warrior Hadrir was coming tomorrow. He would be here, in Haverren.

Dallen fell into a shallow sleep to the sounds of wind rattling gently against the windows, and the Maker’s tough plated fingers scratching softly, absently against the wooden floor.