He was dreaming. He must have been dreaming.

There was warm wind that carried the scent of earth, and golden wheat that went on forever that seemed to glow in the sunlight. It was the old farm he used to tend, he knew, the one he’d left such a short time ago, though it felt like another lifetime. And it was his now, though he couldn’t remember how. He didn’t care. It was his, and that was all that mattered.

He floated through the field of golden wheat, the finer details blurred together such that he could not discern the wheat from the sky. Floating on and on with the sound of wind to accompany him.

Behind him there was ting tong ting of windchimes, and he knew at once they dangled from the side of his house, a house he could imagine, with its white painted walls and its glass windows, but could not see. He could not turn around, but he knew it was there nonetheless. Right behind him, despite all the floating he had done.

The ting tong ting of the windchimes grew louder and louder until the sound rang loud in his ears, so loud it split his skull into two and he saw, inside his skull, that it was not windchimes at all, but an iron bell.

Uhtric awoke with a start, bleary eyed and covered in night sweat, and fumbled his way into a position that was not quite upright. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he heard the ting tong ting of the bell again, the dream lingering in his consciousness. But when the sleep was gone from his eyes he saw that his room was dark, and outside his window was not the light of day but instead the darkness of night.

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A chill ran through him, and he shivered. The flames of the fireplace on the other side of the room had dwindled, providing little heat. They would need to be fed and stoke again. An act he dreaded, knowing the cold would bite into him.

Half-naked, he stood and approached the fire, then stopped. Again he heard the ting tong ting in his ears, now so loud it seemed to shake the very room.

“Bells,” he said aloud.

His heart sank in his chest, and he felt a chill very different from the one the cold night winter air gave him.

He went to the window and searched the buildings across from him. When he found nothing he opened the window wide and poked his head out, looking up and down the street.

Down the street to his right he saw the warm glow of fires emanating from a building out of view. Ting tong ting, the sound came again from, running down the street from the lights until it passed him then, after a moment, returned as an echo. The church.

“Goddamned bells,” Uhtric said aloud, frozen at the spot. He shivered as a gust of wind struck him, cooling him down to his bones, but even then he did not retreat from the window. He could not. He was too dazed, too frightened. Ting tong ting. The sound of constant bells meant only one thing.

The Emperor was dead.