Off in the distance, bells were ringing.
Vhaki growled. The Horde-Mother will have my bones, she thought. Best to send word then. She shuffled deeper into the pines until she reached the spot where her wolfling lay patiently in the snow.
"Patience. Vhaki need squawker." she murmured, petting his muzzle. "Ori in trouble."
The wolf's ears pricked up at the sound of the boy's name. Vhaki suspected he preferred the boy over her. But he was her wolf. She smacked his nose with her leather glove to remind him. "Be good. No noise. Send word to Mother."
Vhaki reached into her satchel and withdrew a small cage. Most scouts carried birds like this, but hers was a special, her favorite: a white raven. The bird gave a strangled chortle as she lifted it out, but it moved to her arm calmly enough.
"Mother. Warn mother. Town awake. Town awake."
"Town awake," the bird agreed, "town awake."
Vhaki flung her arm, startling the bird into flight. "Town awake," it called one final time, circling into the moonlight.
Vhaki returned her attention to the town, which was bustling with confusion. She ought to leave the boy to their wrath. But she had paid good coppers for him, and training another would take time.
Vhaki sighed in resignation. "Come, Gruggi," she said to the wolf, "we find boy."
***
Ori stepped back. Behind him the sound of the bells continued. The soldiers looked at him, then to the distance source of the tolling.
One of the soldiers tottered slightly, then belched. "Boy, you had best get inside. Sounds like trouble." He gestured towards the open barracks door. "C'mon, get..."
The other guard grabbed his upper arm and dragged him towards the open door; he could see shadows rousing within. "What's the matter with you, boy - you touched, or somethin'?"
Ori's mind whirled. It had been so long since he had spoken Common that he feared he had forgotten it. "Nossir," he stammered finally, then truthfully: "Just scared."
The guard chuckled. "You ought to be. Most like as not, it's just the wolves again. Maybe the scritchers." The two soldiers laughed as if this was some great joke.
With one last thrust, Ori was inside. A handful of the men pushed past him to go outside; he noted, with some horror, that they were sealing the door behind them.
"Wait!" he called out, but they were gone. He turned back to the group of men and boys who remained in the room. He felt an icy trickle of fear down his back.
***
"Drums," Shae groaned hoarsely as the priests carried her on a litter towards the apothecary's house, an old fat friar named Mylmo.
"Mylmo!" the lead priest shouted. When there was no immediate answer, he strode up to the door of the house and angrily pounded on its frame. "Mylmo, wake your besotted arse up!"
There was a loud groan overhead, followed by a thunderous fart. A strong, slurred voiced drifted down from an open window. "Tha' you, Emmit? Wha' you wan?"
Emmit seethed. "Get. down. here." he growled. "There's a hurt woman."
Above them, the rafters creaked. There was a phlegmatic cough. Then a golden stream arced out of the window into the moonlight. Emmit stepped back hastily, his face almost purple with rage. "Mylmo!"
"Coming; don't get yer cassock in a twist, ya twat." The rafters shuddered as Mylmo moved from one side of the house to the other. It moved rhythmically as Mylmo descended the stairs.
Emmit had not seen his brother since he had moved into town nearly a year before; unlike Mylmo, he had been a serious enough student to earn the right to explore the monastery, he had been chosen to lead them when Orm Tullim had gone away.
When Mylmo threw open the door, Emmit was relieved to see he had at least stopped to throw his robes on this time, and though sleep still lingered at the edges, his eyes were clear and sharp. Mylmo had grown a bit; he looked as if he weighed about twenty-five stone.
"Let me see her," Mylmo commanded. The acolytes stepped aside. He looked at her briskly. "Shae." One of the benefits of having Mylmo live in the city was that he knew all of the townspeople by sight.
He turned to a young female acolyte. "You there. Sixth house on the left; ask for Urmilla. Bony wench with little cushion or humor. Fetch her here straight-away."
The young woman moved quickly. Good, Mylmo thought, Emmit brought the right ones with him, at least. "Did she say anything?"
"Only some nonsense about drums, Myl." Emmit said.
Mylmo looked up sharply. "Drums? And nothing else?" He looked at the young woman. "Well, she'll survive. Though she won't we walking anywhere for a while." Emmit was surprised how quickly his brother got to his feet.
Mylmo didn't say anything for a minute; he listened to the wind. "Drums," he said finally. "This is bad business, Emm. I want you to rouse every man - all the women too - and get the children up to the monastery. Don't," he warned, when it looked like Emmit was about to object, "I know the ruins are cold, but the walls are thicker than anything we have down here. Make sure they load the food, and the ale, and blankets and a bit of the dry timber. We may need to stay there for a few days."
"Mylmo..." Emmit said, "What are you thinking?"
Mylmo spat onto the frostbitten earth. He looked out arcross the valley and the mountain to where he knew other cities lay.
"I think they're coming back, Emm. I think they are coming to take their land back."
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