The first thing Storm saw upon exiting the cutler’s shop was Koli the man, and both brought up short.

“The scent says it’s you, Tairn, but the eyes deceive,” the trader eyed him up and down conspicuously.

“Well,” Storm’s eye twinkled merrily, “we can’t all be born into our coats of finery, now can we? Speaking of which....”

“Well, it’s not as though I’m incapable of maintaining this form without the sun upon my back,” the trader groused. “Merely that contesting the change becomes ever more difficult the longer I’m clear of it.

“As to this moment, however,” he continued. “I’ve a bit of sunshine in my pocket.” He pulled from beneath his jerkin a small jar from which a bright light issued.. “Don’t know why I never thought of it before,” he smiled. “So long as I keep it where it can see me, I’m a man and may move about freely and without undue effort even in this shadowed place.”

“How long will it last?”

“The mage says he’ll have to touch it up every five or six span or it’ll close. Or I can shield it from my body and make the change when I will. And how long will yours last?”

A snort of laughter. “Until the next fight, I’d imagine. Although, believe it or not, it all serves a practical purpose.”

“I see,” the were fell in beside him as he walked. “And the practical purpose of the plume?”

“Matches Swallow’s eyes.”

“Ah.”the trader’s eyes flickered as he tried yet again to fathom the man’s affection for the forest people, yet again falling short of understanding. “And what,” he changed the subject, "were you doing in the cutler’s shop? Commissioning a fine sword with our fabulous lack of gold?”

“Y’know,” Storm remarked out the side of his mouth. “I think I like you better on four legs, even with the smell.”

“Smell?” Koli bristled. “What would a round-ear know about smells? I’ll have you know that my scent is considered quite the draw among the ladies.”

“Lady whats?” Storm was starting to have good a time.

“Lady—” Koli spluttered, beside himself. “Why, the only ladies in the world worth having!”

“And they’d be...?”

That did it. Koli caught an arm and spun The Tairn about to face him, only then seeing the wide grin and twinkling eye. He let his arm drop and his rage climb. “You mock me!”

A shrug. “Somebody has to or your head would swell up so big you’d float away. And we need you down here, not floating about in the clouds marveling at the wonder that is you. You want a beer?” he chucked a thumb over his shoulder at a doorway belonging to one of the many taverns lining the rutted path.

Koli squeezed his eyes shut, struggling for control. The man was completely out of his mind. You didn’t insult a man’s race and his vanity and then offer him a beer! Such insults deserved nothing less than tooth and claw!

On the other hand, rationality intruded, he’d seen Storm’s teeth and claws once or twice already, and once was more than enough. And with caution came the room to look inward. Not clearly, of course, for the first look is never easy. Perhaps a beer would help.

“After you,”

They were on their second beer and discussing the physical merits of the females of various species, with Storm explaining how the Lyrran females were judged by the translucence and slenderness of their two rear pairs of legs above all other traits, when a trooper, shy his breastplate, stumbled in from the street.

Spying Storm he called out, “There’s a bit of a row at the inn, sor! The birds is after havin’ ye back now if it please ye?”

Right. Turning to Koli, Storm pressed a heavy leather bag into his hands. “Sounds like trouble. Take this and see about supplying us for a month or more in the high mountains. You’ll know what’s needed better than I. I suspect we might be leaving sooner than planned.” Even as he finished speaking, he was following the frightened trooper out the door.

Koli opened the bag and his eyes grew very round, jaw dropping. He jerked his head toward the door, but it was already empty. Bolting the dregs of his beer, he hustled for the street himself. They’d need more horses and some pack saddles as well as provisions for twice the time given at the least, if what the man had meant had been turns.

The Tairn might be an unsurpassed warrior, but he was yet from another world than this, and woefully ignorant of its needs. And since he wouldn’t tell anyone where they were going, it were better to err on the side of caution, since they could now afford to purchase higher quality supplies and more of them without beggaring themselves or resorting to brigandry.

* * *

A noisy crowd had gathered about the entrance to the Dragon’s Pizzle, spilling out halfway across the clearing. Most waved weapons of one sort or another, giving them more the look of a lynch mob than of onlookers. Nor did they part for The Tairn as they had earlier, forcing him to make his own path. Squaring his shoulders, he waded in, the trooper falling in behind as bodies began to give way.

Picking a smaller mobster at the edge of the crowd, Storm simply caught it up and pitched it into its neighbor. A fight broke out instantly as the aggrieved party clobbered its supposed attacker. The next obstruction was larger, and Storm gave him a heel to the back of a knee, stepping over the collapsing body. A rabbit punch to a kidney moved the opening another pace closer to the doorway, and the going got easier as those before the rapidly moving man with the steel face realized that it were safer to simply let him pass.

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The doorway itself was clogged solid, and Storm was feeling the first stirrings of real anger. Turning to the trooper, his voice ringing out clear and loud, he demanded, “give me your sword.”

The doorway writhed as the four or five beings clogging it attempted to turn and fight or duck and flee as their natures dictated. Neither group was altogether successful although one or two did manage to fall clear of the door, allowing Storm to use his boots to accomplish entry, ignoring the trooper‘s proffered sword.

The remaining troopers were clustered at the top of the stair and along the narrow balcony, the telltale columns of smoke drifting from their musket matches informing any passersby of the seriousness of the situation. The sylvans stood halfway between the two floors, arrows nocked, standing straight and regal, daring any to attempt closure. Back in the doorway to the corporal’s room, Keeli the wolf could barely be seen, standing square in the portal, head lowered, golden eyes blazing.

Fully half the room was filled to bursting with station rowdies congregating in their little knots and bunches, all trying to work up the nerve to rush the stair, even as they gave it wide berth. At its base lay several bodies of various sort; testament that at least a few had gathered the necessary courage already.

Atop the bar a sphere set into a brass base glowed brightly with a cold white light. Beside it stood the owner and barkeep, whom Storm had learned was a dealicus — a type of goblinoid from the southern reaches of the old empire. He was loudly haranguing both the crowd and those upon the stair, but to no real purpose and without any obvious response.

Thrush Dancing spied The Tairn as he kicked his way into the room, and she smiled warmly in welcome, the smile faltering as he took in the room and ventured the first step to the cold place.

The barkeep saw the sphere flash brighter, beginning a counterpoint flicker. His wild eye searched the room, coming to rest upon the big one at the doorway and the way the station people were falling back from him.

The trooper at The Tairn’s back felt the air go cold and his heart squeezed. Did he flee or did he get within the shadow of the death that was drawing near, hoping to be protected rather than squashed?

But the cold stabilized and The Tairn turned his eye to the innkeeper, calling out over the rumble of the crowd. “What’s going on here, barkeep?”

“‘E’s doin’ magic in me bloody rooms is what!” the dealicus screeched into the sudden silence. “Look ‘ere if ye would deny it!” he gestured wildly at the sphere. “And atop o’ that, ye’ve brought the king’s men into me ‘ome, you ‘ave! What the ‘ells are ye tryin’ t’do t’me?”

All eyes were now on The Tairn. He stood straight and let his eyes wander the crowd, striving to make each think himself the target of any mayhem coming. “The magic is needful and the men are no longer the king’s”

“Oh, aye, tis arright fer you t’say, innit?” The dealicus cried. “But tis my place the king’s mages will find when they seek out the loose magic. My place that’ll be the end o’ th’ station! And what d’ye suppose these folk’ll do t’me then, eh?”

“The king’s mages have other things on their minds than some small healing magics,” a new voice introduced itself upon the scene.

Turning, The Tairn beheld a strange female standing alone in the doorway, a solid phalanx of heavily armed warriors behind her clearing the mob from the streets. She was very tall, near as tall as he, and built like the proverbial masonry water closet, covered in fine fur of fawn and white. She wore a robe of feathers and little else and looked out upon the room with calm eyes set within a dingo’s face.

“And what know you of the king’s mages, dall?” the dealicus demanded, voice quavering.

She turned her gaze full upon him and he flinched. “I know that change is upon the land, Jelía One-eye. I know that Bayel stirs. I know that omens have been seen across the breadth of the world and that the powers that be are frightened. The king’s mages know these things also. They will be far too worried about the great things to watch over-hard for the small.”

She swept the crowd. “I know also that this Tairn walks within the heart of the change and that none in this room may stand against him.”

“Fine words, bitch,” a man child within the crowd spat. “But why would we give credit to anything a dall would say?”

Storm turned again, finding the troublemaker. There. That was where the battle would start. He marked him, his mind dropping further into combat mode. The troublemaker felt chill fingers caress his spine and he jerked around searching for the cause.

“You need not credit me,” the priestess told the troublemaker levelly. “You need only wait or contest him. Either will show you the truth. For myself and my people, we will wait, for I have seen his slaughter of the slaver Torble and his entire band and the making of them into stone with but a single thought. Any of you who would doubt may simply journey north to the king’s road where they await.”

Only half listening to the priestess, Storm had already chosen the first three to die and was deciding on the fourth Ah, he had the fourth.

The Tairn’s latest target felt the caress of the cold and shivered, suddenly doubting the dall not a whit. He shifted aside, allowing another to fill his place in the crowd, edging toward the bar and the side entrance he knew to be there.

Like the first drop from the center of an imperfect dam, that initial deserter caused the force of the crowd to redirect itself. In ones and twos at first, and then in a rush, the mob fled the sapphire-eyed demon and his impossible band. Within moments, the room was empty except for Storm, his people, and the innkeeper.

Sighing and struggling up out of the combat mindset, Storm turned back to the doorway to thank the dall, but she’d gone with the rest. The street outside was empty.

The little birds were racing down the stairs and across the floor to throw themselves into his arms, covering him wantonly with kisses. He swept them up, eagerly accepting their affection

The troopers, unordered, were clearing the inn, trailing acrid smoke from their weapons. Even the cook had evacuated. The inn was theirs. Satisfied, they gathered along the bar, pinching the fire from the ends of their cotton musket matches with spit dampened fingers, leaning the firearms against the wooden bar top.

The dealicus, still atop the bar and frozen in place, glared dumbly down at them.

“Well,” one finally demanded. “Have ye any beer aboot, or are we t’search on our own?”

Numbly, the dealicus climbed down behind the bar, his single eye never allowing the glowing sphere to completely leave his field of vision. His shoulders drooped as he drew mugs of fine beer from the barrels lining the back wall. He was a dead dealicus, he knew. The rowdies would kill him and level the Pizzle the instant it was safe to do so, which meant the instant his unwelcome guests had cleared the doorway. That was if the king’s mages didn’t simply blast it to nothingness before then.

Storm paused at the top of the stairs, smiling as the birds scurried into the room ahead of him. A few steps down the hall and a quick glance into the corporal’s room showed that Keeli was being a girl again, and that Belius was hard at work, the energies of his summoning bathing the corporal in a carnelian glow. Nothing he could do here, so he turned back for his own room.

The little birds were waiting for him, naked again and flushed again. They’d noticed his new finery, and Swallow Courting clapped merrily at it. Thrush Dancing was too busy peeling him out of it to clap, but he got the message.