In the aftermath of the raid, an eerie quiet descended. Kendrell stood in the midst of a loose and frightened crowd of Vorckian peasants, all silent in shock and confusion. People who had, half an hour ago, been peacefully browsing or staffing shops, or going about their business, now milled about in a sort of communal daze. It wasn't until several minutes had passed that Kendrell began to breathe a bit more easily, and his heart rate calmed. Through the haze and shock, he forced himself to think.

What in Falnwirth's name had that been? What could possibly possess the Lord of Vorck to abandon his own people? Was he really just afraid?

For that matter, where were the Malachite Mizer's soldiers? The Mizers' single most crucial task was to protect their people from external threats. How could he have installed such a coward as Lord of Vorck?

People in the fiefs of Faeos respected magic. It kept them alive, kept them safe, the great mages of Denlare and the Spellmizers of the Councile Iridesse trading the promise of protection in exchange for service and tithe. Mizers hoarded their magic, costly as it was, using the bare minimum to resolve any crisis. But they swore to use it on behalf of their people, to keep them safe when the time came. This arrangement had carried them through hundreds of years of history, preserved the fiefs through countless wars and invasions. It kept the balance of power in the land. This much of politics, Kendrell knew by rote. Every Faeosigan did.

Had the Malachite Mizer forgotten his duties?

Perhaps there was another explanation, mused Kendrell, checking his assumptions. He was no stranger to corruption - Red Sands was rife with it , despite the Ruby Mizer's best efforts - and it could well be that the Lord of Vorck had some kind of arrangement with the bandits. That could explain how such robbery could go on under the Malachite Mizer's nose.

Kendrell frowned. That possibility was tempting to consider, but the idea leaked like a grass bucket. The point of such corrupt arrangements was usually that they were secret, or at least only known to those who paid the bribes. Plausibly deniable. The robbery at Vorck was the most blatant sign of incompetence Kendrell had ever seen. Even the overseer in Down Town wouldn't plan such an obvious failure, and he would sell his firstborn child for half a copper piece.

The erstwhile farmhand snuck a sideways glance at Thoros and Mel. Perhaps the warriors-turned-caravan-guards would have a better grasp of the situation?

"What in the nether end of the Seventeen Gates was that?" he heard Mel utter. Well, so much for that theory.

Thoros shook his head. "I dunno, but it sure wasn't good. You think the guards could have taken the bandits?"

Mel pondered. "Probably. Even with that little surprise at the gate, they had the walls, and the gate's a chokepoint. Ladrark himself looked tough, but I've seen a lot worse." The mercenary thumbed a long scar on his chin thoughtfully. "The keep's more defensible, but shrubbed if I know why they didn't even try to protect the town. The whole point of a lord 'round here is to protect people."

At least this man gets it, thought Kendrell bitterly. Then: shrubbed?

"Well, this one isn't doing his job," growled Thoros. "And I say we go find out why."

Mel nodded slowly, a glint of something angry in his eye. "Yes, son. Let's."

"Wherever you're going, I want in," Kendrell spoke up.

Mel gave him a searching look, and Kendrell met his gaze with a challenging stare. Kendrell's fear had died down with the departure of the bandits, and the void it left was slowly filling with a tense and buzzing rage. "Something is so wrong here, I don't even have words for it. This isn't how it's supposed to work. The people pay their lords for protection. The lords pay the Mizer for the promise of strength. And where was the lord's protection just now? Where was the Mizer's strength?" Kendrell practically snarled the last. To his shock, he heard cheering. Several of the peasants of Vorck had heard his little speech, and evidently it had roused them from their collective stupor.

To an observer, it might have had the makings of a mob, though it hadn't quite gotten there yet. A quiet voice warned Kendrell that maybe he shouldn't stoke the flames, or things could get ugly; but the rage only crackled more intensely. This town needed a little ugliness, right now.

"Sounds like we'll be bringing quite the party," grunted Mel.

"Let's go," replied Thoros, eyes narrow.

At the head of a group of perhaps three dozen residents of Vorck, the trio marched down the alley leading to the keep. They weren't sure what to expect once they arrived.

But what they didn't expect was to be the second ones there.

"Please let us speak to Lord Vergus," the white-bearded man was saying. His voice was soft, but his hands were clenched in trembling fists. He carried no walking stick, but looked like perhaps he ought to. Beside him stood the blacksmith, Tallorn, looking grim.

The elder was speaking to one of two heavily armed and armored guards flanking the closed gates of the keep. "The Lord is seeing no one at this time," replied one of them. Beneath his iron helm, the man looked uneasy; Kendrell could see sweat beading on his brow.

"I'll just bet," growled the blacksmith. "He just watched a bandit raid his town."

"What the bramble-dance was that?" spat Mel. "Captain of the guard, holing up in his keep?"

"That's Captain Elune you're talkin' about," growled the blacksmith, steadying the elder with one thick arm. "He got his reasons, I bet."

"Sure he did," chuckled the barbarian. "Not wanting to die, for one." This statement was greeted by angry murmurs from the just-barely-not-a-mob behind them. The crowd appeared to have grown. By rather a lot. Kendrell could feel the tension in the air. It crackled on his skin and buzzed in his mind; the sensation made his hair stand on end.

"If you call that man a coward..." warned Tallorn. More angry muttering punctuated his statement, though it was hard to tell whose side they supported.

Kendrell's instinct to self-preservation warred briefly with his desire to set the record straight and get at Vergus Schist. Anger at the Lord of Vorck won handily, and he spoke up. "I saw Captain Elune on the wall before the raid," he said, trying to keep the quaver out of his voice. "He looked ready to fight, and he was setting up the guard at first. But then he got the order to withdraw, and he looked furious. Whatever's up, I don't think it's the captain's fault."

"Damn straight." Heads turned to see a squat armored man approaching from the inner keep, panting slightly as though he'd been running. The newcomer's face bristled with an enormous brown beard, individual hairs looking as though they could puncture a leather satchel. His purple-and-black cloak, and the chalice engraved on his helm, identified him as a follower of Ploth Koon Eidrex.

(Koon, as his friends call him, is formally identified as the god of order, honor, courage, and devotion. Informally, he is the god of Get Off My Lawn. His stance as a staunch supporter of the Don't-You-Dare-Eat-the-Mortals faction during the Second Godsquabbles earned him a place of influence among his celestial colleagues, insufferable as they may find him on certain matters.)

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

By this sigilry, Kendrell recognized one of the rare few divine mages in Faeos who survived the War of Seventeen Gates. A heavy steel mace hung at the newcomer's side, as blunt and battle-worn as its owner.

In short, he practically screamed grizzled veteran. His arrival quieted the murmurs...somewhat.

"Warpriest Thorne," the elder, still leaning on the blacksmith, inclined his head. "I'm glad to see you. Perhaps you can tell us what happened?"

The new arrival paused, ostensibly to catch his breath, but Kendrell could see the concern on his hairy face. Soon, though, he ground out, "Lord Vergus ordered a retreat to the keep."

"Why'd he do that, Thorne?" the blacksmith demanded, ignoring a warning look from the elder. "Seeing as the guards are supposed to, you know, guard."

"You don't think I don't know that?" snapped Thorne. He breathed deeply, visibly controlling himself; the crowd was still growing. "The Lord's reasons are his own, I'm sure."

Shouts went up among the crowd. Kendrell thought he heard one "kill the coward" and he could sense the anger and fear in their voices. He knew it wouldn't be long before the grumblings escalated into a full-blown riot; he'd seen it in Red Sands. This could get very ugly, very fast.

Kendrell was suddenly having second thoughts about his "march to the keep" plan.

Evidently, the elder noticed it too. He raised his voice. "Everyone, please, I cannot hear the good master Thorne. We are trying to learn what happened."

"We know damn well what happened -" began one voice angrily. But it cut off when the elder raised a hand in warning.

"I am sorry," said the elder, more softly, turning to Kendrell. "I did not catch your name, young sir."

"Kendrell," responded Kendrell, entirely forgetting to lie. He would later, when cooler in the head, realize this and kick himself. Behind his back, Thoros raised an eyebrow.

"I am Bram Tallorn, and this is my brother Miri," he nods to the blacksmith. "And Warpriest Hadrok Thorne of Vorck, second-in-command. Melchior Spelloyal, your name precedes you -" he paused, frowning, at the grimace on Mel's face. "- I apologize? I meant no offense."

"None taken," grunted the Makspool. "Just don't like the full name. Call me Mel."

"Of course," Bram agreed. "Warpriest Thorne, please continue."

The warpriest took a deep breath. "Captain Elune was preparing the defense of the town; the Lord Protector sent a messenger to order a retreat to the Keep. Captain Elune was...not pleased with this order, but his oath of service compelled him to obey." His voice dropped lower, and he spoke to the elder directly. Kendrell barely caught the next part. "I'm oathbound too, Bram. Everyone's rightly angered, I know, but they can't take a fortified keep - and even if they could, the Malachite Mizer would come down on a rebellion with the fury of the Gates themselves. You've got to find a way to fend off this crowd, or a lot of people are going to die."

Bram nodded solemnly. His brother looked furious, but held his tongue. "What of Captain Elune?" he inquired softly.

Thorne sighed. "When the immediate danger had passed, he...spoke with the Lord Protector. Rather bluntly. Lord Vergus was not pleased, and ordered him detained. I'm now charged with the defense."

The warpriest was right, Kendrell realized with dawning horror. His scalp prickled. The residents of Vorck were working themselves up to a genuine riot, now. If not stopped, this day would end with an attack on the keep by unarmed peasants. It would be a slaughter.

Bram, evidently coming to the same conclusion, turned to placate the townsfolk, his brother beside him looking as grim and imposing as he could. "People of Vorck," he began, voice quavering with age but determined, "today was a grave tragedy, and we must support each other in our time of need -"

"Easy for you to say!" someone yelled. That triggered a chorus of shouts and jeers. Some accused Tallorn of being in the Lord Protector's pocket. The elder stuttered, desperately trying to salvage the situation.

It wasn't working, Kendrell saw. The crowd only grew more agitated, their shouts blurring to a buzz in his ears. His muscles tensed with fear and anticipation.

"Everyone, please! Remain calm!" Bram pleaded.

Kendrell winced. Bram had shown definite initiative and wisdom thus far, but he lacked the presence to calm an already-riled crowd. And if there was one way to push someone from angry to angrier, it was telling them to calm down.

Someone threw a rock.

A shout. Bare blades glinted.

He had to do something, all these people were going to die - he racked his brain for something, anything to forestall the coming massacre. But he couldn't think, he couldn't think with all this fear and with the tension in his heart building and buzzing and crackling and -

"Stop!" he shouted at last, the noise of his shout booming out over the din. Sunlight flashed over the assembled crowd. To Kendrell's surprise, the townsfolk fell silent. Even the Tallorns and the former Makspool turned to stare.

Why did Kendrell smell burning dust?

Kendrell looked down. The paving stones beneath his feet were scorched and blackened.

That had been an awfully loud boom, now he thought about it. And not really his voice.

And sunlight didn't flash.

Kendrell looked back up at the crowd, who now eyed him with a mixture of respect and outright fear. He took a deep breath. Then another, to be sure.

Amazing, how a lightning bolt calms the nerves.

The tension was gone, now, as though it had drained into the blackened ground. This was just another market-day, just another crowd of eager buyers for this week's produce, waiting to be convinced. Kendrell had the crowd's attention, now, and he seized on it with all the desperation of a drowning man clinging to a log.

"We can't win today," Kendrell called, blunt but firm. That's right. We, not you. I want this as much as you do. Buy it, please. "Not now, and not like this. We've been dealt a horrible wrong, and we've got every right to be angry. But the people in that tower, including our people, kin and kindred -" he gestured back and up,"swore an oath to defend it and obey its master. If we go charging up there and try to vent our anger now, we're just forcing Warpriest Thorne and his men to choose between betraying their oaths or murdering their friends and families. Because that's what it would be, you know that, they have weapons and we don't, they have big stone walls and bows and we have flesh and righteous indignation. We can't and won't stand for this, people of Vorck, but we have to pick our battles and this one we'll lose."

Kendrell risked a sidelong glance. He saw grudging admiration in the eyes of Miri and the Makspool warriors. Captain Thorne and his guards were looking at him more grimly - as if, in fact, he had just suggested the town postpone their treason for a more opportune moment. What the heck, he worked with what he had. For now, at least, it looked like they had the sense to let him talk.

"What we need to do right now is get back to town and fix the damage - find out who was worst hurt, treat their injuries. The Lord Protector's not gonna interfere while he's holed up there. Now's the chance to take stock of what was lost." And possibly embellish it a little, since the Lord Protector sure can't audit from up there. Take the hint. These people were going to need every scrap they could hide if their lord tried to tax them on top of the robbery. But he didn't dare say that in front of a warpriest of Koon, riot or no riot.

People were listening, at least.

"Come on," he finished, "let's get to work." And he marched straight down the road, towards the mass of angry townsfolk, head held high. They parted, letting him pass. (Kendrell did not notice at the time, but the faint sparking from his feet to the stone may have helped).

And - slowly, grudgingly - people followed.

------

Some time later, as daylight faded, the brothers Tallorn and Hadrok Thorne, the warpriest from the gate, quietly approached Kendrell, Thoros, and Mel. The older barbarian spotted them first. Tapping Thoros on the shoulder, he nodded towards their guests. He and Kendrell set aside their cleanup work, and straightened to listen as the trio arrived.

"Thank you," began Hadrok without preamble. "You saved a lot of lives today, boy."

Kendrell frowned slightly - boy? - but he nodded acknowledgment.

"So, who gets to tell the Malachite Mizer he needs to come hang his nephew?" asked Thoros wryly.

Bram Tallorn shook his head. "It will take all our hands just to repair the damage that these raiders did. We can't spare anyone to petition the Malachite Mizer. He'll likely just ask why we haven't paid the tithe."

Hadrok opened his mouth. Miri Tallorn shot a glare his way. "Say he wouldn't," the blacksmith dared. Hadrok closed his mouth again, looking troubled.

"Well, Vail won't be leaving town for a bit," observed Thoros. "We don't have anywhere in particular to be. You want we should go trouble the Mizer for you?"

Miri looked at Bram. Bram looked at Miri. Hadrok looked at both. There was much raising of eyebrows. "Now there's an idea," said Hadrok. "There's an idea indeed. If the Malachite Mizer will respect anyone, he'll respect the hero of Half-"

"Don't finish that sentence, Thorne," warned Mel suddenly. Thoros put a hand on his father's shoulder - whether in solidarity or warning, Kendrell couldn't tell. The warpriest met the squat hill warrior's gaze with a level stare of his own, but nodded and left it at that.

"Let's leave in the morning?" suggested Kendrell. He was exhausted. He wouldn't be surprised if his knees were wobbling. (As it happens, they were).

"Try the Feisty Snail," suggested Bram. "Best inn we have in Vorck, at least since the Vixen closed."

Kendrell frowned. "I don't have a lot of coin handy -"

Bram waved his concerns aside. "You just saved half the town. Faber's a good heart, she'll let you stay free. If not, just tell her it's for old Bram's sake." He grinned.

Thank heavens. A real bed. Kendrell suspected he would sleep like a log.

He was right.