The sun was near setting by the time Dallen was packed and ready to go. He’d meant to leave much earlier — to get out well ahead of whatever cursed trouble was closing in on Haverren. But time had gotten away from him, as it often did. Gone was the rigid discipline of the Callian marching military, he supposed.

The wind was howling today. Maybe that was part of the reason Dallen was delayed. Gusts sang in harsh tones as they buffeted the distant cliffsides, sending discordant harmonies reverberating across the Heights and shaking the twisted trees nearby. The thought of traveling in winds such as these was almost as unpleasant as the thought of staying and facing whatever was coming…

Howling winds…like a poorly-tuned chorus…Hadrir would be here soon…

Dallen shook himself from his trailing thoughts. Devils, he’d just been standing there, watching the trees and grasses sway. Letting his mind wander. That had been the other half of why he was so delayed — all day, his mind had been wandering. Like it was constantly being pulled in two different directions, and got tangled up in itself trying to decide which way to go.

Well, whatever his mind was doing, he already knew what direction he had to go. Out the northern road, away from Haverren. Away from where Hadrir and his men were coming. And after that…well, he’d figure that part out when he got there. Or not. What did it matter, really? As long as he kept walking. Settling here even for as long as he did had been a mistake.

He sensed someone near him, turned over his shoulder, and saw Adelaine. The wind sent her hair and grey robes fluttering behind her. She watched him with a strange expression. Frustration. Sadness. Resentment. All wrapped up in a blanket of bitter, resigned fatigue.

“You should get inside,” Dallen said. “This wind is nothing to toy with. And if I were you…I’d want to be inside whenever they arrive.”

Adelaine’s mouth tightened, her brows furrowing slightly.

“I’m going with the others to meet Hadrir and his men outside of town. The baron is welcoming them in.” Her expression soured at that sentence, but she pushed on. “And I choose to face my troubles, rather than turn my back to them.”

Those words stung, but they stung some distant part of him. Like a needle poking into a foot numb from a tourniquet. And he didn’t feel like mustering the energy to respond to it.

“You could still leave,” he said instead. “Tag along, till you find somewhere else to settle. Somewhere with better chances.”

Dallen couldn’t tell if a flicker of uncertainty ran across Adelaine’s face, but if it had, it was quickly replaced by irritated resolution.

“I’m not running from this. I thought you wouldn’t, either…but I guess I thought too highly of you. That was my mistake.” She looked almost as if she might be sick, then turned away and stormed off, toward the southern side of town. A few others were gathering there, in the distance.

Dallen watched her go, a deep, muffled part of him hoping that nothing terrible would happen to her. But what damn good was hope? That’s what was going to get her hurt in the first place.

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He turned northward, annoyed with himself.

Stop with that sentimental drivel. This town is like any other you’ve gone through and left behind. How many from all those others are dead? Do you lose any sleep over their fates? This place is no different.

He stood there. The wind pressed against him, like a steady wave trying to force him backwards. After a long moment, Dallen commanded one foot to move. It landed before him, as if leaden, on the hard earth. Then he moved the other. Like a plow cart slowly gaining speed, he was eventually walking.

This godsforsaken wind makes it feel like I’m pulling a plow cart. But he pressed onward. Not daring to glance back. The sun was hanging low now, beginning to tint the sky a faint orange. It made the leaves and low bushes look almost alight. It was almost pretty.

Dallen pulled his cloak tight as he went. At least he’d gotten that out of this whole miserable ordeal. A new cloak, and a touch up for the edge of the Duke’s sword. Done by that blacksmith he’d seen his first day. Orram, that had been his name…he wondered what would become of him…

Dallen gritted his teeth and shook his head, pressing onward, up a hill. No use thinking like that…all that mattered was the path forward. He didn’t know what that path was, but it had to be far away from here.

Jagged rocks from the split earth rose sharply up to his right. The gnarled trees swayed and shook, leaves falling from the branches and flying high into the air.

A burst of wind cut over the crest of the hill and slammed into Dallen like a charging ox. He lost his footing, slipping on a loose stone and nearly going tumbling. By the time he caught himself, he had spun completely around, now facing down the hill from where he’d come. The wind lulled for a brief moment.

Haverren sat in the distance. Small, pitiful, with a broken wooden wall around it and a great ugly mass of grey stone jutting from within. And something twinged within him, watching it. Leaving a place was more difficult than just saying that you would.

Just turn back around, you bloody fool. Keep on walking the way that you were.

But all at once he felt a tugging in his chest. Like two forces were trying to pull at him, and yet both were pulling him back towards the town.

One force spoke in the soft tones of his mother’s voice.

Do the right thing, Dallen. A knight’s duty is not always to fight. But sometimes, he must fight for those who cannot.

The other spoke in that odd voice that sounded like his own, yet felt like a stranger’s.

We must win this fight. We must break the liar…

The two voices set Dallen’s mind jumping back and forth — froze him atop that hill overlooking Haverren. He watched the small, pitiful town. Thought of those he had come to know, and what their fates might be. Bant, and Vanteus, and Adelaine, and little Irne who had never even said a word to him. Lomund and Ernolt and dull-faced Graf. Olad, and his smug arrogance. And Hadrir at their head, an unseen enemy.

Dallen squatted down on the hill, running his hands through his long hair. His head was ringing, building up with a painful pressure. To relieve it, he jabbed his fist into the solid ground below his feet. The earth cracked beneath it, sending a ripple through the hillside. All at once, the wind and the thoughts died down. The only voice left in his head was his own.

Fine, you dumb bastard. Fine. Go back to town. Get yourself killed for this reason or that. Is staying really any worse than wandering from town to town looking for drinks? You were going to die in one of these places, one of these days. Go do what you did best back in Callia. Go kill something.

With gritted teeth, Dallen rose. He saw distant shapes moving on a hilltop, just south of the town. And he started toward them. If only to see that bastard Hadrir’s face, and knock off whatever smug look he would be wearing. And to do the same to the rest of those arrogant pricks that followed him around.

At least, that’s what he told himself to make the walk back easier.