What were so many soldiers doing there? And what were they wearing? Brown and bulky, it wasn’t like any armor I had ever seen.

Constipated cow! appeared written on the letter as Mathew took several steps back so he wouldn’t be visible from the window. How did they find me? Alright, think, Mathew. What to do? What to do?

Brinn’s hands flared. “We saved your life, and you forgot to mention that the army is after you?”

Mathew paced to and fro, pinching his chin. He muttered, barely moving his lips, but his words still showed on the letter. I shouldn’t fight them. Why are these barbecue lobsters so eager to die?

“Mathew!” I shouted before Heimee’s patience ran out.

Mathew shot me a look as if seeing me for the first time. “You have to understand. I’m new here. I didn’t think they knew who I was. I walked up to the fort to tell them I was a weary traveler on my way to Algirin, and they attacked me. They didn’t even let me talk. Arrows started raining; men ran after me with spears. I had to fight back. Then Laser-Pointer Girl got all hot and bothered as well, and, uh, well, it was a mess. Complete mess. Barely got away.”

“Kelmir fell because of you?” I was in disbelief. But in hindsight, what was I expecting? The fort fell mere hours before I got a magic flying letter from a fire mage.

“No, no, no. Not because of me. The Erosomites saw the commotion and decided to take advantage of the situation. I swear it wasn’t my fault. I was just passing.”

Mathew produced the book from his bag. Leather-bound, tinged red, though the color had noticeably faded from years of use. On the cover, large serif letters read New and Old Worlds and How to Get There. He opened it at random, then as if remembering something, his eyes shot to Brinn and me. “They saw me?”

We shared a look.

“Oh, this is bad. For all that is holy and covered in Nutella, this is bad. They’ll think you’re with me.”

“We crossed some soldiers,” Brinn explained. “It’s not like there are many roads out there. We told them we ran from Small Butter.”

“And they saw me?” Mathew asked.

“We covered you with a blanket.”

“All of me?”

“I covered your head. He could only have seen your hand, but it was dark.”

“This hand?” Mathew showed his hand. “Tell me, Brinn, does this hand look like other hands around here?”

Brinn covered her mouth with her fingers. “Do you think that tipped them off?”

“Could you do me a favor and have a look outside?” Mathew said. “What do you think, Frisky Freckles?”

“This isn’t their fault,” Heimee said. “This is your fault.” He turned to me and shot me a this is your fault glare.

“I didn’t know,” I protested.

“You ought to have known.”

There had to be more than a hundred soldiers nearing the distillery. Some held long wood spears, some brought bags over their shoulders, and some carried bows and quivers. On a closer look, I realized their armor had no metal; it was all wood and thick blankets.

“What are they wearing?” I asked.

“Fireproof armor,” Mathew explained. “I know, right? It caught me off-guard, too, the first time I saw it. It’s like they knew a fyr was coming.”

I mulled the word “fyr” in my head, but before I could ask anything more, Heimee said, “If you have any decency, you’ll tell them the kids have nothing to do with you.”

“Hold on, pops,” Mathew said. “It’s not that simple. I can’t allow Munika to capture me. Imagine the horrors that would follow if that megalomaniac easter bunny got hold of my power. Yeah, I know about him. And I don’t think that’s in anyone’s best interest.”

“You seem to know a lot about Aviz for someone who’s only passing through.” Heimee loomed over Mathew. “Traveler, my ass.” Heimee stared him squarely and then glanced at the soldiers gathering outside. “To the Ordeal with you, Mathew Doller.”

“Is that like ‘go to hell’ or something? Never mind. Ludik, don’t lose the letter I gave you. We can talk through it. And I’m really sorry about this all, Pops.” Mathew stuffed his book back in his bag, wang-jangled the kitchen window open, and hopped out.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Heimee regarded the soldiers as they divided into two groups; one surrounding the distillery while the other half approached the house fast.

What were they doing?

“Wait here. I’ll talk to them,” Heimee said and walked out.

We followed suit.

Heimee greeted the soldiers; though I could not see what he said, I read the letter, I’m very sorry, but we don’t sell whisky on Cifesbordin, nor tomorrow, but you are more than welcome to come Leohdin.

A couple of soldiers walked forward, chests in the air.

“Are you the owner of this house?” one said. His armor was no different from the rest, except for a red band around his arm, which probably indicated his rank.

Heimee nodded.

The man next to the commander whispered in his ear, and I saw the deep scar on his chin.

“Seize them,” the commander said placidly.

“What? No!” I said. “You can’t do that!”

Two soldiers marched straight to Heimee and jabbed the butt of their spears into his stomach. Heimee curled and fell to his knees, wincing in pain.

“Leave him alone!” I dashed toward Heimee, but a soldier caught me by the arm, threw me to the ground, and pinned me down with his heavy foot.

Brinn tried to fight back, but they slapped her so hard she flew backward, sprawling on the shallow grass.

“Stop,” I pleaded. “Mathew left. He’s not here anymore!”

The man in command twirled his hand signaling something to his troops. The soldiers by the distillery began to shuffle. Sparks flashed under their hunched bodies then tiny flames came to life. Were they lighting candles?

Heimee rolled on his back and onto his feet in one smooth motion, jammed a shoulder in the soldier’s ribs, spun on his feet, and punched the other’s throat. The second soldier staggered backward, hands clutching his neck. Heimee, mouth open like a roaring beast, kicked the first soldier in the solar plexus.

His defiance was short-lived. The second soldier regained his stance quickly and whacked Heimee across the back with such force the spear snapped in two. Then both soldiers ganged on him, punching, kicking, and hitting until Heimee was back on the ground, curled into a ball.

The men beside the distillery tossed their candles against the windows. But those were no candles—they were bottles. The bottles broke through the glass and exploded, setting the malting barley on fire. Flames erupted and spread fast. In moments, the malting floors were all ablaze.

“No!” I yelled. “You can’t do this! He’s not here! Why are you doing this? He is gone. Can’t you hear me? Stop! He is not here!”

The man in command glanced at me as if I were but a bug. “You might be right,” he said. “But how else are we to lure him back? He has a heart; he’ll try to save you. Personally, I hope he’s hiding inside. He may not be so easily burned, but my guess is he still needs to breathe.”

“And what if he doesn’t return?”

The man smiled hauntingly, “Don’t worry. One day, I’ll face the Bastard for all my crimes.”

A coldness grew in me like winter from within, my breath condensing and visible. Why were we being punished? All I did was help someone.

Heimee was back on his knees. Spearheads pointing at his torso. His head hung low, averting his eyes from the fires consuming his life’s work. No. Not his life’s work. His life.

I glared at the man in command. “If Mathew returns, I hope he burns you all to ash.”

But why would he? He was in the clear and away from danger. Did he really need me to find the mountain? Sure, I would make it quicker, but that was all. He could probably find it all on his own.

The man stared at me with an infuriating calmness while flames spewed from every window in the distillery behind him. “Burn the house, too,” he commanded.

I held my breath.

The soldiers behind him produced the same clear glass bottles with a rag stuffed into the bottleneck, a clear liquid slushing inside. They set the rag on fire with flints and swung the bottles at the house. Another home I would have to see destroyed. I thought of my bed and clothes, the Tales of Salamorin, of Heimee, and what was left of his possessions, all about to be consumed by greedy flames.

The bottles smashed through the windows, but apart from broken glass and the stench of alcohol, nothing happened.

The soldiers shared puzzled glances and tried again. And again, no fire.

That’s when a shadow moved across the rooftop. Mathew stood on the frigate, hands on his hips, a broad grin stamped on his face.

Did you miss me? the letter read.

The commander called his archers. But nimbly, Mathew slid down the frigate and out of sight. He reemerged from behind the house, shooting fireballs from his hands indiscriminately.

Covering their faces as the flames licked their skin and charred their hair, the soldiers fled, leaving their bags of fiery spirit behind. Mathew stopped, bent his knees, and engulfed the meadow in flames. I couldn’t see past the fire, the heat biting my face.

Sweat formed on Mathew’s brow as he gritted his teeth. With a flourish of his hands, men burst into human torches, scampering in every direction, trying to extinguish the fire clinging to their armor. Mathew fell to one knee, panting. “What are you waiting for?” he said. “Get to cover!”

Arrows missed him by no more than an inch, breaking apart against the house wall and the frigate, some getting stuck in the gaps between stones. “Alright. Time to return all the fire you gave us.”

I helped Brinn up, and we, in turn, helped Heimee. Bruises and swelling sprouted across his face and neck, even his hands.

Mathew sprinted past us, mouth open as he shouted, but I had no time to read the letter. I had other things to worry about. The sea of fire vanished in a heartbeat, revealing scorched grass, ash, and smoldering bodies.

Then a dazing light, like yellow lightning, flashed on the gray stone.

I turned around. Fire poured out of the distillery and malting building like giant snakes slithering across the field of fleeing men. No one cared about us anymore—only survival. The meadow filled again with flames and fiery monsters, consuming everything it touched. No amount of fireproof armor could save them from that.

Another flash. The distillery’s roof exploded, sending the mushroom chimney and thousands of incandescent orbs flying in every direction like a blossoming flower. The chimney landed on the side of the structure, pulling down the wall with it, revealing the flaming stills and tanks inside.

The remaining survivors fled across the fields aimlessly, some partially on fire, some completely on fire, until all those that could still run ran out of sight.

Once he felt satisfied that the fray was indeed over, Mathew put out the fires one by one, pushing them toward the sky, where they dissipated into whirling clouds of black smoke.

We observed him despondently, and I nearly jumped at his throat when he approached, wiping his brow with the back of his sleeve, and said, “Phew, didn’t think this was gonna be such a hot day.”