Alana and Irema strode down the rocky path, passing next to the wide pastures, property of Imperial General Marius and his son, Kassius. The gate of the property was open, with its unique red roofed villa in the center, like an embassy from another world in the midst of the austere Gadalian houses. Kassius happened to be outside, sitting on a boulder under a naked tree, holding a carbon crayon and a piece of papyrus. A dozen goats pastured behind him, and the targets his father and him would use to practice archery stood in the distance. Arcturus, his Alanut dog rested, with his huge grey head buried between strong furry wrists. When Arcturus saw the girls, he lifted his head, his long tail wagged expectantly, but his master kept his attention fixed on his papyrus.

Alana shook her head, astonished at Kassius’ concentration on something so boring as paper and carbon. She lifted a blunt earthy stone from the road and threw it at him. It bounced next to his feet, and he lifted his smiling face, first looking around. Then, he saw them and smiled.

“Hello, queens of the steppe. What brings you to my realm?” Kassius stood up; his hemp tunic was open, revealing his bony chest and the folds of his ribs. His skin was deeply tanned, and his brown hair was unruly like a cuckoo’s nest.

“Hello, warlock supreme,” Alana said, kneeling down and calling the massive Alanut to her side. It approached with its ears forward and tongue out.

“What is that?” Irema said, jumping over the boulder, and taking a look at what Kassius was doing. Alana raised her head in curiosity.

“He does it all the time,” Alana said. “It’s magic.”

“Ah. It’s a sigil,” he said, proudly displaying the drawing to the bewildered girl. Alana caught a glimpse, it looked like a compass or a wheel, with a big sickle coming up from on top, and below, a small spiral. Hellenic letters filled the spaces in between.

“What is it for?” Irema asked.

“Eh… That, you shouldn’t ask,” he said, folding the scroll and putting the carbon pen inside his pocket.

“Come on. Is it a love spell?” Irema put her hands together, her round face took a playful expression.

Kassius’ face turned red.

“No! How could you think I would be wasting my time on something like that?” he said, hiding his deep green eyes.

“Then what is it, genius?” Alana asked, raising her head again, then turning again toward the dog. Arcturus licked her hand. “Who’s a good boy?” She said to Arcturus, dropping to her knees and petting its neck again.

“To protect my goats and sheep,” Kassius responded.

“Do you think a drawing will scare wolves away? I think you have enough with a dog like that,” Irema said, raising an eyebrow.

“The drawing? It’s a sigil. Of course it works!” Alana said.

“I mean.” Irema cleared her throat. “Wolves cannot read. Not even Alana and I can. Why would a piece of papyrus scare them?”

Kassius jumped down from the boulder and wiped his trousers.

“That’s the point of magic!” he said, lifting his chin. “Power and will charge images and geometric constructions.”

“If you say so,” Irema said, her eyebrows up. She cleared her throat.

“So…” Alana stood up and smiled at him. “We’re here for a reason, Kassius the Sage.”

“What reason, Alana the Brave.”

“A fair is coming to town. Now. Put on your boots and let’s go.”

“Fair?” Kassius scratched his messy hair and narrowed his eyes. “It’s almost winter. Bad timing. Are you sure it’s a fair?”

“Yes, people have seen them riding up from the provincial capital. I wonder what they will bring this year. And come on, it’s not even cold.”

“By Jupiter, everybody’s gonna be there then,” Kassius said, rubbing his chin, where a sparse beard was already forming.

“Yes. Are you coming with us?” Alana asked with her eyes open wide.

He looked around for an instant.

“Nay, I cannot. Father is still with his Legion up north, and the stable boy, Badratz, has his day off. You know, everybody’s free today. I guess I’m the man of the house and I’ve got to take care of the flock.”

“Ah. Nice excuse. Who would steal your cattle here? You’re too lazy to move that skinny butt of yours, as always.”

“Eh, not so fast, blondie. This is my duty here.”

“Come on. Better excuse next time.”

“Well, see you around. Thanks for passing by, anyway,” he said, climbing the boulder and taking out his carbon pen.

“Fine, see you whenever you deign yourself to spend time with the only people who can stand you. Bye, loner,” Alana said, giggling and turning her back on him.

“He’s a little strange,” Irema said when they were back on the road.

“Of course he is,” Alana said. “He is half Itruschian.”

And yet, he was her best friend.

The northern part of the village was stiller than ever. Groups of trees surrounded the round houses, most of them with small stables, at least to hold each family's horses, if they could afford them or if the ones they had brought from the steppe were still alive. As they approached the valley, they encountered more people walking in the same direction. Alana noticed the long-haired men, already wearing wool coats over their naked and tanned backs and belts with intricate buckles of gold and glittering collars of the same material. Many of them carried their little children over their shoulders, as their elder sons and daughters followed close.

The town square was lit by the sun above. A chill breeze passed through the round houses, coming from the nearby hills. The square was full, around five hundred people stood gathered at the center, young and old.

But something drew her attention more than anything else. The cadets, who would soon be legionaries. Tall, except for a few who compensated for it with their broad shoulders and backs as wide as chariots. One of them towered above the others,

“Alana, you're drooling,” Irema said, giggling.

“Cut it out,” she said. “By Ares. He’s amazing.”

Alana stared at Atila of Lak, who happily joked with his friends. How tall was he? Maybe six and a half feet. His shoulders were round, his arms wide as tree trunks, with bulging triceps. His veins stretched through his forearms. His eyes were wide and brown, matching with his short beard and short hair, and even though he was so impressive, his face and smile were tender, like those of a baby.

What a man.

As he jested with his comrades, he looked where Alana was standing. Maybe she was staring too hard. Their glances fixed for an instant. Alana felt blood rush violently to her cheeks. She smiled, shyly.

And his eyes remained fixed on hers.

It was happening.

He was looking at her.

His eyesight shifted very slowly.

Now, it was her time to dream. She felt as if she was drifting through the clouds above. What if… He really wanted to talk to her.

“Irema… Did you see that? He was looking at me. Staring.”

“No way!”

“He was! Irema… What if…!”

A thousand images rushed through her mind. She calculated the scene to the smallest detail. Atila would walk by her and ask for her opinion on the quality of Gadalian blades and how much better they were when compared to Kaltanian ones. Or, maybe they would bump into each other at the market, he would help her to her feet, and everything would flow from them. Up to their marriage, journey to the east, where she would forge the most amazing sword for him, with emblazoned gold spirals and animal designs, and maybe she would make a sword for herself. And they would ride toward the endless steppe, as the sun would cast its rays upon the great…

“Alana, are you okay? You’re drooling again.”

“Ah… Sorry.” She blinked, then Irema grasped her hand tightly and ran through the crowd, dragging her along.

“Let’s find a better spot,” Irema said. Alana tried to keep up with her pace.

“Excuse us,” Alana said, as she pushed through the people; old ladies from the Southern clan, the usual gossipers, some young boys who used to fish and play war games close to Kassius’ farm; and people who she knew by looks and not by name.

“Hey! Uncle!” Alana caught a glimpse of Uncle Jovus. He was a bit younger than her father, and bred Alanut dogs, selling them to anyone except Itruschian citizens. Uncle Jovus did not hear her, and she soon lost track of him in the crowd.

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Soon, Irema stopped, and Alana looked up and caught a glimpse of Atila towering over her and everyone else. Alana’s heart seemed to stop for a minute, and she felt her stomach turn. There stood Atila, his back wide as a table, a white fur vest over his shoulders, and no shirt underneath. He was wearing leather pants. His muscular legs arched a bit, common for the people who rode horses all day long.

A hero, like those of legend.

Irema elbowed Alana lightly. She blinked.

Now what?

No. Alana knew what Irema was thinking. Maybe she was planning on getting payback for the jump scare and the broken vessel.

She prepared, shaking her head, and looking at Irema in the eye.

Please don’t…

Irema pushed her, not too hard, not too lightly, and Alana lost her balance, bumping forward into Atila’s back.

Atila fell forward, trying to hold himself up and failing. He fell on one hand and a knee, and Alana fell on his back.

“Oh, my gods!” Irema shouted.

Alana wished to stay there for longer, but she slid down to the floor, ending up beside him, lying face down. Atila jumped back to his feet.

Alana’s gaze met the gray rocks of the paved road and people’s boots. She blinked, and under the blazing sun above, she saw a rugged hand extending toward her. Atila’s face emerged from the light, like a titan descending from heaven.

She did not make a sound.

The thoughts came back delayed, she reacted, grabbing his hand. His palm was rugged like leather, but its warmth made Alana’s stomach feel like it had been invaded by lightbugs. Atila sweetly helped her to her feet, and she instinctively moaned when their hands separated.

“Are you okay?” Atila asked, wiping the dust off his vest.

“Thank you,” Alana said, arranging her hair, and smiling awkwardly.

“Be careful,” his honey coloured eyes fixed on her. “People are not considerate these days. Pushing people around like that.” He revealed a crooked smile and perfect teeth.

“Right,” she said, blinking.

An awkward silence ensued on her part because he immediately turned to his comrades and kept talking about a peculiar experience at bootcamp.

Notice me, please.

If not. Who cares?

“Hey, you,” she heard a male voice behind her. Someone tapped on her shoulder. “Ala, good to see you!” the voice said.

Who was calling her Ala? She hated it when people other than her close friends did.

Badratz, the stable boy, was pushing through the crowd and walking toward her. He had a wide face, a giant chin and disheveled blond hair that dropped on his shoulders. His face was strangely big for his skinny body. Not a good looking fellow.

“Ah… It’s you,” she muttered, then turned her back on him and looked for Atila, but he had disappeared into the crowd.

“Yes! Good to see you here!” the boy said. “I’m surprised I found you. How have you been?”

“Yeah, good to see you too,” she said, stretching her neck to spot Atila’s perfectness again.

“That was your chance,” Irema said, rubbing Alana’s shoulders.

“I don’t know if I should thank you for that,” Alana said, biting her lip.

“Sorry I pushed you too hard,” Irema whispered.

But Alana would not have changed anything in the world for that closeness. As grandmother used to say, she should be with someone who would appreciate her. She had to find someone ideal before they forced her into an arranged marriage. And Atila was more than ideal.

One more year, and pressure would be on her.

“And then… I think I’m going to buy my own horse,” said a voice behind her.

Alana remembered Badratz was still talking to her.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked.

“Yes… I’m going to have my own horse!” he exclaimed, chin up and hands on his hips.

“Oh, yes. That’s amazing!”

But she did not want to settle for Badratz. How many people were there in the village? Okay, she could not count that high, but… A couple hundred to choose from, at least.

Suddenly, Irema sighed in surprise.

“Ala,” Irema whispered in her ear. “Karus is there.”

“Your fiancé?”

“Yes. I’m going to surprise him,” Irema said with a wide smile and light in her eyes.

“Oh, sure. Have fun.”

“Good luck with Atila.” Irema winked at her.

Badratz kept talking to her. Poor guy, she thought. Hopefully he could find someone or stop being weird.

Then she heard wheels moving slowly, coming from the road below. The multitude made way, splitting into two factions against the street. It was three carriages made of wood, of about ten feet in length each and small windows on the side, guided by half a dozen horses. Jesters dressed in their red and white costumes, with furry hats painted blue, whipped the horses sporadically.

“Wait, Badratz.” Alana lightly tapped on the stable boy’s shoulder. “The fair is coming.”

“I wonder what kind of a show they will put on today. Interesting, huh? I bet they will do the sword dance they did last year. You know, the one with the fiery swords. I liked that one, and what about the one...”

Then, her eyes were overshadowed by a wide figure. She turned and found Atila looking at her. She blinked, startled. He held two brioches of grilled lamb, charred onions on top and bell peppers in between the lamb slices.

“Hope you didn’t get hurt,” he said, his voice was deep and pleasant like a war trumpet. He slowly handed her the treat. The aroma of melted fat and spices made her drool as much as Atila’s presence. “Here you go. Hope you like it.”

Alana felt like her soul was shot up toward the clouds, and slowly, perhaps a minute later, she nodded.

“Thank you,” she muttered so softly she could not hear herself, and a wide smile formed on her lips.

“Enjoy it,” Atila said.

Alana’s mouth had dropped and kept smiling like a fool. She noticed Atila’s eyes had dilated a bit. They fixed on her and did not flinch. She did flinch.

“It’s my favourite. How did you know?” she asked.

“Well, it’s my favourite too,” Atila declared. His smile, so crooked, his teeth, sparkling white, that square chin and those chiselled cheekbones. He was just perfect.

“Alana, it’s coming!” Badratz was pulling the sleeves of Alana’s cloak. She turned slowly, almost bitterly. As she did, she noticed something raise in the hills around the village. She narrowed her eyes. Yes, there were men rushing out of the bushes, wearing dark hoods. There was about a hundred of them. What was that? Some kind of new protective squad?

What if it was the local legionaries coming back? Now that would make for a sweet surprise.

“What the Hades…?” Atila said, looking through the houses, as bewildered by the vision as she was.

Half a second later, a sentinel blew the horn of alarm. A few of the men looked around, confused, as some reached for their swords.

Alana overheard Atila talking to a comrade beside him.

“Blast! Do you have your sword with you?” he asked his fellow cadet.

“No. Do you?” Atila’s comrade said, his eyes narrow with suspicion and fists clenched.

“What the devil could this be?” Atila looked around and grasped the handle of the small knife he carried on his belt.

The carriage stopped a few feet away from them. It stopped, as if freezing in time. After a few seconds, its upper door flew open with an explosion of fireworks and…

Alana blinked in disbelief.

Her stomach turned.

A dozen arrows pierced out of the window’s holes. And they broke loose, penetrating bodies of men, women, and children who stood in the way. A few of them fell to their knees, arrows piercing through their necks.

The people who stood in front of it, wounded or unharmed, stepped back in a fright, and turned around to run to the hills. The archers shot again, and more people dropped down, including a woman and an old man, both with arrows stuck in their bodies, panting, as their relatives screamed in horror.

“They’re imperial soldiers!” Atila said, as he rushed opposite of the crowd.

Alana stood paralyzed. A dozen men jumped out of the carriages. They carried long spears and dashed into the crowd. The crowd scrambled through, and Alana saw them pushing the women as they ran and targeting the unarmed men. The men ran towards their homes in search of their weapons.

Her heart pounded like a war drum.

“Let’s get out of here!” Badratz said as he grabbed her by the arm.

She reacted. She nodded lightly and ran by his side into the crowd, feeling a slight melancholy for leaving the brave and strong Atila behind, he could surely protect her.

But the wisest thing was to hide.

She felt a quick gust of air buzz next to her head, and she realized an arrow had flown by her. She swallowed.

As she ran, she tripped over a man’s body, and she fell forward and put out her hand, which crashed roughly against the rocks, and lost contact with Badratz. She turned back. It was someone she knew. Uncle Jovus’ brown hair and beard, his aquiline nose and the bandana on his forehead. He agonized in pain, narrowing his eyes and gasping. An arrow pierced through his belly.

“Uncle...”

Alana felt a scream escape her mouth, as if she had lost control of herself.

Was that really happening?

Her stomach lurched, what little of the lamb she’d eaten threatening to come back up.

“Alcha...” Uncle Jovus said. “Tell your father to run… I was right… They… They...”

“Uncle,” she said, dropping down. She grasped the man’s calloused hands.

“Run...”

“Uncle, don’t...”

As she got up, she noticed Badratz’s weight had disappeared. She turned around slowly and saw the boy’s wide body on the ground and a lance stuck in his lower back.

He moaned in agony, as a pale faced soldier removed the lance from his body and blood sprinkled around.

She stared at him from below. It was an Itruschian man; a man from the Empire, it seemed, with dark hair, a pale face, and a segmented bronze armour under a coat of fur. He looked at her with wide eyes and a hungry glance.

She swallowed.

Then, she saw a tall figure approaching from behind. It was Atila. Blood gushed down his shoulder descending from an open cut. That did not stop him from wielding his knife and lunging against the legionnaire. The Imperial soldier dodged, swinging his lance against him.

Atila ducked, jumping and passing the knife to his left hand. He moved swiftly, hitting the soldier in the neck.

The soldier stepped back, touching the blood on his neck. He clenched his teeth as Atila tackled him and took him to the ground. Atila struck the knife on the man’s heart, then pulled the knife out. Blood dripped from it onto the dusty rocky ground.

Suddenly, an arrow flew hitting Atila in the back. His body tensed immediately, and he opened his eyes in horror.

“Atila!” she screamed.

Alana was still paralyzed. Atila panted, and his eyes slid upward until his gaze was fixed on her.

Another arrow rang through the air, among a hundred others. Buzzing left and right, but that one echoed in Alana’s head. Atila rose on his hands and knees, locking his gaze with her as the arrow went through his neck, and blood started pouring out.

“No!” she screamed again, until she felt like her vocal chords were tearing. Atila stopped moving. Her mind raced and sensed every dream and desire she held collapse in two.

A dry shriek escaped from her mouth.

She tried hard not to faint.

Alana struggled to her feet, looking around. Father, what about Father? She had to find him. But where was Irema?

Around her, the crowd had dispersed, valiant fathers and husbands, no armours on their bodies, swung their woodcutting axes and tools against the soldiers. They resisted bravely, until the soldiers from the hills reached the village, surrounding and locking the struggling men, pushing the women aside or guarding them around the walls, as the men were executed. Horses’ hooves rumbled and made the ground shake, arriving from the forest and fields around the village, wielding lances and swords, entering and killing.

“You, get over here!” A lance wielding soldier pointed at her, as she scrambled through the fighting, and she ran again. She then looked at the upward rocky path and the hill above, where Alan of Vharzia’s housetop still emitted black smoke.

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