Gentian walked through Cold Garden. It was a longish walk tonight. They left the mansion a little after sunset. The cold was more than just bitter, they were in the heart of winter now. The cobblestones were kept clear of snow, but somehow the absorbed cold made them menacing. The city was deeply dark, as clouds covered the stars that should have been the night’s glory. A gloomy sort of feeling. And though she had been doing it for a week now, carrying the spear never felt right. Nor did traveling with guards.

She hated that she understood why she needed the guards. She hated that she had seen why, when people tried to spit on her, screamed at her, called her a traitor, a betrayer of the faith and the people. The guards were a great comfort then. They kept their heavy cutlasses sheathed and their collapsable crossbows slung on their back. A loud voice and a stern presence… and a timely exit… had been enough. They were a comfort tonight too- two extra guards meant that there were now two extra light cores, brightening up the night around them.

She imagined the city dotted with big light cores, making the streets bright at night. Gentian silently giggled at the thought. Of all the crazy excesses! She was becoming more and more a princess by the day!

Ah. Missed opportunity. She should have worn the tiara.

The houses were densely packed together, sometimes touching each other without interruption running the length of a block. Wattle and daub, mixed with brick, mixed with shingles or clapboard. The sloped roofs were sometimes shingled in wood, for the poor, or with terracotta for the reasonably well to do. The very well to do used slate. Not much wood. Not much slate. The rich found it unwise to display their wealth, and the neighborhoods would be ashamed to let someone suffer a leaky roof. Tiles didn’t cost much, and even a laborer could afford to buy a few.

Gentian walked past the little grocery stores, the taverns, the tea houses and tailor shops. Her maid and secretary trailed behind her. Presumably, they knew all these places. All the small crafts that made the city come alive. The bakers were firmly closed, getting some desperately needed sleep. They started baking long before dawn. Her wooden heels snap-snap-snaped across the cobblestones, bouncing off the walls of the houses and shops. People made a path as she went past. She looked straight ahead, and pressed on.

They were headed north and east, out of the city center and towards the wall. Away from home. Which was now a damn mansion. Gentian kept thinking about that, and how Xiatoktok and Xiatokja grumbled about how small it was. What were they used to, exactly? How big were the homes out east?!

Her new family used slabs of heat stones big enough to double as a restaurant’s cooking range as heaters. Just to heat their “little” house. The cook had another heat stone in the kitchen. The finish on it was different, you could actually cook directly on the stone if you wanted to. Apparently. She had never seen it, and got scandalized looks when she asked if she could.

Whereas in these houses, decent, snug, houses people just wore more clothes and trusted their one little heat stone to be both cooker and heater. Heavy bricks would sit on the heat stone throughout the day, only coming off when it was time to cook meals. At night, the bricks would go under the bed, letting the extra heat take the chill out of the mattress. With a little luck, your feet wouldn’t freeze as you got out of bed in the morning.

Happy homes, though. Filled with light, laughter and song. Joyful homes, for the Joyful Throng. She imagined her faith as a little dancing light, spinning and twisting inside her. Just a tiny little spark, like the stars in the sky. And like the stars, clouds might cover it, but nothing could extinguish it. She was proud to be one of the Throng. And, wrapped in her fine wool coat, with her very fine worsted wool dress and beautifully embroidered felt boots with their snap-snap-snapping wooden heels and her genuine antique spear, she was pretty proud of being a Xia too.

“They… more than just like me.” The thought warmed her right through. “They really do. Which… I don’t know if I feel exactly the same way, but it feels damn good. I think I am coming to truly care for them. I wasn’t expecting that. But it feels damn good. Joyful, even.” She grinned, and let the words bounce around inside her.

It was a long walk in the cold, but not endless. Soon they gathered with everyone outside the Dillwater School. There was lots of hugging and a few jokes about bringing a spear to a sing along. Her secretary and maid separated to make sure everything was ready for the rally. The school was nothing special, a former shop that Dillwater had turned into a local school. There were rows of benches and long, narrow tables for the students, the rows arranged in a square U shape around a central heat stone. There was a little raised dais along the back wall, where Dillwater stood and taught. That was it, really. Dillwater collected a few rads a week from the students, and was often paid in food or clothes. It was not a materially rich life, but Dilllwater swore that it was the best sort of life in the world.

Dillwater was too sick to leave bed. No matter. The teacher lived above their school. The whole neighborhood intended to get loud. The Chanticleer led them in a quick hymn, just to get everyone warmed up. Then one of the great rounds started- the crowd formed a circle and each quadrant took turns singing and building up the holy sound. In the middle of the circle, those who felt called to dance, danced. The young and athletic would crouch low, and spin, then leap, and crouch and spin and LEAP again! The older folk, the ones with knees that ache or backs that twinged, might do reels or little jigs or whatever they were called to do in time with the music.

The Throng could keep a round going for more than ten minutes, before moving on to the next. There were impromptu speeches, given as trays of steaming buns and hot cider going around. Prayer after prayer was offered for the swift recovery of Dillwater. Some folk took the opportunity to clean up around the school, looking at what repairs or improvements they could make in the morning. It was pitch black out, well below freezing, and getting late, but the rushlights and torches lit things well enough, and the dancing kept them warm.

From the east, towards one of the city gates, a false dawn rose. People asked each other “Do you smell smoke?” “Do you hear cheves?”

“Are those… screams?”

The Throng stopped singing. All along the roads leading east, they could hear the sound of breaking glass, smashed wood and the whoosh of fires starting. They could hear screams. The Throng started raising their own voices, demanding answers as a couple of young men picked up torches and started jogging towards the noise.

“Madam, it’s time for us to go. Right now, please.” One of the guards whispered in Gentian’s ear.

“Yes. Make sure to find out what went on later.” They started backing out of the crowd.

They had barely moved before arrows came out of the darkness and thudded into the chests of the two young men. The crowd started screaming, fear turning into panic as cavalry came thundering through the streets. There seemed to be hundreds of them, some with lances, some with bows, or axes or sabers. All cutting down without mercy. Throwing bombs through windows and setting fires. When people ran out, they were cut down too.

“Back, BACK! Into the school!” Her little cluster fell back into the school house, pulling a milling group of kids and parents in with them.

“Block the windows with tables! Make sure the upstairs windows are blocked too! Move, MOVE! Come on people, get in!”

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The raiders had seen the crowd and started sweeping it with arrows. Some clever bastard thought to throw one of the flame bombs. Gentian watched it through the door- a canister on a wooden stick. Pull the string, wait a moment, then toss it using the handle. It burst in mid air, a sheet of white hot flame sweeping out, blinding and burning. Those with cotton stuffed jackets, all puffed up with pride, burst into flames. They became screaming torches as they ran into the crowd, causing more panic and despair. Those with more humble wool had their faces run off like wax as the fat under their skin ignited and their eyes boiled in their sockets for standing too close to the heat. Someone else thought it was a grand idea, and threw another bomb.

Gentian grabbed one of her guards. “You get upstairs right now! Get your crossbow and keep an eye on the bomb throwers. Second one pulls the string, shoot the fucker!”

“Madam, my duty is to guard you!”

“You going to do a lot of guarding in a burning building? GET UP THERE AND SHOOT THEM!”

He went. Gentian glared around. “Build up the barricade! Make a smaller one by the back door, so they can't come in, but we have a way to escape if the building catches fire. You, you, you. Look after the kids. Kids, right now I need you to be brave. It’s scary, you are confused, but this isn’t a kids problem. It’s a grownup problem. So sit on the floor and let us take care of it, ok?”

Her voice dropped to as soothing a register as she could manage. The kids didn’t seem sold on the idea, but the people she detailed sat them down and tried to keep them calm. They dragged a few desks around and made a little interior fort, just in case any arrows made it through.

It wasn’t a dumb idea- arrows started slamming into the shutters as the screams started moving west. The crowd was running, and from the sound of the hoofs, the raiders were running after them. But not all of them.

An ax bit into the door, splintering it. Another. The guards started shooting blindly through the door, the heavy crossbow bolts punching neat holes through the wood. There was swearing from outside, then quiet. A woosh broke out, followed by screams and swears.

“Guess they tried to throw a bomb.” Gentian gripped the spear so hard her knuckles turned white. Her guards nodded.

Bells were ringing across the city now, coming in over the sounds of burning buildings. Clang-Clang, Clang-Clang, Clang-Clang. Something twisted inside Gentian, she could see everyone looking how she felt.

The call to arms. To put down joy and draw the irons.

“Militia will be forming up.” One of the huddled people said.

“Yeah.” Gentian nodded.

“The Vault of Tears will open today. To think it would happen in my lifetime.” Gentian didn’t see who whispered, but they all nodded.

More axes bit into the door. The guards tried firing a few more rounds, but it didn’t slow the axes. They must have brought up shields. The smell of smoke was getting worse.

“Check our escape route. See if you can get eyes on what’s outside.” The leader of her guards gave orders to the others.

“Clear out back, but the alley is on fire. If we are going, we got to go now.”

“We have about five raiders outside, but it looks like there are bravos riding up and down the straights.”

“Alright, we pull out through the back. Nearest Clan building is the apartment block off Salbor Square. The militia will be rallying there too.”

“Alright. Who’s got Teacher Dillwater?” Gentian asked. Two men volunteered. The teacher would need to be carried in a stretcher, they were too sick to walk. The guard from upstairs came down. He hadn’t carried many bolts in the first place, and had shot them all.

“Dropped three of them, more died when they dropped their grenades, but the whole street is catching fire and I could see some bandits keeping an eye on this place. They are looting, and they are taking women.”

Gentian took a deep breath. She couldn’t consider that right now. And Xiatokja had given her a way out, if she was taken. She didn’t know if she would have the guts to use it, for all that Xiatokja swore it was painless.

“Alright. My guards will lead the way. Form up behind us, kids in the middle, then the stretcher. Anything you can use as a club or a pole, grab. We are leaving-” The door started to come apart. “Right now!”

They burst though the back door, moving as fast and low as they could. The houses on either side were on fire, the flames licking up and around the school house. Creeping up under the eaves. There were more people in the alley, more kids and people stumbling through the frigid, frozen air in their nightclothes. The alley was too small for cheves, which meant that it was pretty crowded for people too.

“Move, move! Everyone move, down the alley! Get to Salbor Square!”

“Go, GO!”

“Janie? Has anyone seen Janie? JANIE!”

“Come on, move, move, damn you!”

“JANIE! MOMMY IS CALLING YOU! JANIE!”

The fires were so loud that it was hard to hear over them. Gentian’s heart tore, but some little kernel of her stayed focused. She had to live. To get back to her new family. That meant she had to move forward.

“Guards. Clear a path.”

With swearing, shoving, and the occasional blow, they did. The little procession moved forward, shoving a bow wave of refugees ahead of them.

Three blocks from Salbor square, they had to cross a major road. The raiders, whoever they were, were cantering up and down, lances bloodied, searching for victims and plunder. Only a half dozen or so in sight, but that’s the thing with cheves- they come up really fast.

“Everyone armed, get ready to defend yourself. Form up around the stretcher and the kids. Guards, lead us across.”

Later, Gentian wouldn’t believe how steady her voice sounded. She raised up her spear with both hands, as she had been taught.

“Form up on me. Ready? Ready? GO!”

They burst out of the alley. The heavy cutlasses were out, chopping at anyone that came too close. A raider drove at the middle of the group, lance down. Gentian stabbed her spear at the cheve’s face. It reared back and tried to turn. Its legs slid out from under it, falling over into a screaming heap as its legs and ribs broke on frozen cobbles. The rider was swearing too, trapped under the cheve. Gentian pounced, stabbing into the man’s face. Once, twice, three times before she was pulled back into line by her guards. She had been out with a maid and a secretary, right? She hadn’t seen them since the fires started.

Right now, she couldn’t even remember their names. Another lancer was closing in. She screamed and stabbed out again. The cheve veered off, but didn’t lose its footing. The lance went through a screaming man, dropping him before his club could be of any use. His brothers in faith didn’t waste his death. They leaped forward, grabbing the lance and pulling. Yanking the raider off his cheve, and on to the ground. The clubs rose and fell, then rose again, red blood turned black in the night.

Then she was across the street and into the next side street. There were bandits on foot here, stealing and raping, and the guards showed their mettle. White blades went in, red blades came out. One bandit thought he was clever and went for a clinch. The Xia guard practiced their draw cuts, and proved their diligence on his flesh. Screaming, the bandit reeled back, clutching his guts to keep them from spilling out. Another blow hacked down on his neck. A boot kicked him into a doorway. They pressed on. Hacking their way towards Salbor Square.

More buildings were on fire. Whole neighborhoods had to be on fire, as the flames jumped from roof to roof in the densely packed city. Smoke was making it hard to see, and bodies were starting to clog the alleys. Gentian had to keep waving her spear and yelling “Forward! Forward!”

They were almost to the square when a door burst open and bandits poured out into the middle of their line. Gentian fought desperately, choking up on her spear and stabbing at the shapes moving through the smoke. Feeling the resistance when she hit, hoping that they would go down and stay down. One shoved past her spearpoint and hacked at her with a long knife. She tried to jump back, but the blade still caught her across the chest, slicing open her thick wool jacket and fine dress. Gentian slammed her weight to the side, smashing the bandit in the head with her spear shaft. He reeled back, stunned. She stabbed him in the face, trying not to think about how it shattered around the heavy spear head. Then she stabbed him again in the heart.

She was cold. She looked down. Her jacket was cut open, and her dress was ruined, but she only had a long scratch running along her sternum.

“Forward! Forward! For Cold Garden, Xia and the Throng!” She screamed herself hoarse, trying to whip along the refugees. Somehow they still had Teacher Dillwater. She didn’t think they had lost any children, though there were fewer menfolk. “Forward! Forward!”

The guards slammed into a small knot of bandits, pushing them back out of the alley and into the square. Out of the boiling smoke, bloody spearpoint leading, strode Xia Gentian, leading the wounded, the children, the sick and the lost. Before the assembled militia and watching Xia, she waved her spear and screamed again- “Forward! Forward! For Cold Garden, Xia and the Throng!”