Avarice Secret Unquiet CH 38

Fight or Flight

The two muscular brothers sat close together by the pervading warmth of the smithy's furnace. It was an enduring blaze that never went out, no matter the weather. Tonight though the smith was absent. It was just Sven and Aran who sat near the forge on some rudimentary three-legged stools constructed from rough-hewn wood. The brothers had been conversing, finding a few snatched treasures of quiet time before the hectic rush of combat. Aran was carefully choosing his words this evening, he could all but feel Sven's pain. He knew the big man had poured all his love into his only son. Eirik was his brother's singular hope for a better future. Aran was unsure just how the boy's loss would affect his elder sibling, but despite that, it felt good even on the cusp of unknown violence to just talk and be family again.

"Imagine what we might have been doing if all this shit had never happened," Aran said whimsically. Hoping to lift his brother's spirits.

"I'd be pulling a good pension and be comfortable," Sven replied his tone flat.

Aran watched the dark expression wash over his elder brother's face for just a moment, and he realized that perhaps his words had been foolish, as he knew Sven was thinking of family and home. He had expected silence from this point but was surprised when Sven suddenly added with an inflection of mirth. "I damn well don't know what you would be doing though."

Aran chuckled lightly, his mouth curled in a lop-sided grin. "Time, probably."

"Too right you savage, since the war I think you have broken every law written."

"It was you that trained me," Aran lightly punched his brother affectionately on his meaty shoulder.

The tension didn't leave Sven though. Abruptly the soldier leaned forward, his significant weight dangerously creaking the small furnishing beneath him. He announced in a hush as to not be overheard by any chance passerby. "You know, these farmers don't stand a chance defending this place, yet I don't think they are truly aware of what's coming for them."

Aran nodded, he shared his brother's sentiment his expression grim. Though he didn't want what his brother said to be true. Yet an inalienable truth it was. The two sides would engage and the toll would be unspeakably high. He had decided regardless that he would stay and fight for this patch of earth fiercely. A place where he didn't have to bear the stigma of what had been done to him down south. If Aran had learned anything, freedom, and equality were worth fighting and dying for. His lively green eyes engaged the storm-gray gaze of his elder sibling. He could see the distressed concern that lay there. These were not Sven's people, and yet as always, Sven cared even though he grieved.

To further embellish his point, Sven gestured broadly at the stout wooden palisade walls that had been raised up about the township. "Would they have kept us out?"

Aran considered his brother's question for a few moments before answering. "Perhaps, for a little while, but not likely." Even he didn't like his honest answer.

Sven's reply came suddenly, not so hushed as before, but hot and passionate. "And our weapons and force though skilled were rudimentary compared to Lothar's. Their leaders may have betrayed me but I cannot do the same. It will be a slaughter! I cannot allow this to happen!" The large warrior rose abruptly, and Aran watched the old soldier walk with a purposeful stride toward Stephan's home. He shook his shaggy golden head and decided to seek out Maya and her charms. His brother had put a thought into his mind that even he was uncomfortable with.

*****

Darkness was fast descending over the green valley. The setting red orb cast its glorious cadmium reflection on the glassy surface of the river as the stars winked into life one by one. The household was readying for the hours of rest. Stephan could hear the comforting sounds of the house staff clearing away the leavings of dinner, and lighting lamps and candles. It had been a fine meal, but it was to Stephan the company and the camaraderie that made it so special. To have his family, well most of them... His pale eyes flitted toward the window and his daughter's lovely monument that stood there bathed in deep shadow. He felt the trace of tears mist his eyes as he tore his vision away. He didn't wish this fine moment to be mired in sadness.

He was not alone this evening in the library. Renard sat in the other matching wing chair, he too was looking beyond the window. His father did not have to guess where his son's eyes and thoughts lay. At the far off twinkling fires in the enemy encampment no doubt. However, tonight he would not speak of it. He would enjoy the wine as the brandy had been all drunk a long time ago, and his dear son's company.

He forced a smile to cover his burgeoning sadness and hoped that his son hadn't noticed as he took a deep taste from his wineglass. It was a good vintage. A red, the grapes thrived here in the hot summer conditions. Harvested plump and full of sugar and made the best fine-bodied vintages. Sure, they had white wines too, but the reds were his personal favorite.

As he was about to sit he was interrupted by one of the house staff, the young man looked hesitant.

"Sven to see you, Sir..."

Stephan paused momentarily, but as a man used to impromptu audiences, he answered with his usual relaxed candor. "Thank you Jordan, please see him in."

Renard looked at his Father surprised, but he did not break the silence. Sensing that this was rather a surprise even to the old man who mostly seemed to know everything that was happening in his compound.

Sven's huge frame filled the doorway, menacing. One could not be in the presence of this scarred soldier and not feel all the horror and pain of war. His presence this night was a weighty reminder of violence that Stephan did not need. Yet he did not falter, offering his unexpected guest a seat and some wine.

Sven sat, the chair though well made creaked in protest beneath him. Renard tried to stifle the unease he was clearly projecting as he shifted in his seat, and once more attempted to concentrate on his wine.

"My sincerest condolences," Stephan said quietly, and with great feeling. He knew what it was to bury a child. The man had only just interred his son, the grief must be raw. The less he said the better.

Sven nodded and drank half of his glass, his troubling gaze did not leave the old man.

Stephan had much difficulty meeting Sven's cold eyes, but he did so as he was the leader, and anything that must be said however troubling he would handle as he always had. He was well aware that not so long ago this man had been his enemy. He had openly betrayed Sven, leading to much suffering he assumed. It was a credit to the grizzled and scarred warrior who sat before him that he was even here to make this address. Stephan was sure that it had not been easy to escape Lothar's compound.

"How much do you know of Lothar's battlefield abilities.' Sven broke right into the meat of what he wished to say. Well aware of Renard's bourbon eyes on him.

"Well," the usually articulate Stephan stumbled with his reply caught off guard. He had thought Sven's unexpected appearance here in his library was in regard to the funeral of little Eirik held earlier that day. "Not a great deal I confess...." He stuttered.

"I am well aware he will easily outgun us," Renard replied to save his befuddled father.

"Yes he will," Sven replied with an icy seriousness. "Those walls you have built they won't keep him out. Perhaps they will buy you a little time but..."

"We have many more men than he does." Stephan countered rather weakly.

Sven gazed critically at the elderly man before he continued speaking. He wondered whose idea it had been to pull the double-cross? The father... or the son's? Committing many of his companions to death, and he and his fellow survivors to Lothar's hell. Regardless, even through his raw grief, he had to talk them out of the offensive they were preparing to throw their lives away on. There were so many innocents in this village. To stand and fight would condemn them all. So he let the two men have the facts as he knew them. Brutal that they were. "Your single-shot rifles and shotguns will be no match for Lothar's military-grade weapons, they fire several hundred rounds per minute you realize. Those alone could kill most of your fighting men in the opening skirmish."

Stephan was no military man. Until the war, he had never even held a gun, let alone fired one. He had never considered this new and frightening reality. He did not know how to reply. His mouth felt dry as he reached for his glass. His fingertips felt unusually cold.

But Sven was relentless in his dire assessment of the possibilities. "If you think that sounds bad, he has grenades, and unlike we had, Lothar has a good supply. Not just a few for show. I imagine he has flamethrower backpacks, and artillery or cannon..."

"But the scouts have reported seeing nothing as you describe, and I'm sure the attack destroye..." Renard interjected. Trying to railroad Sven's gloom and doom argument before it paralyzed them all.

Sven cut him off sharply. "Look I have been in that fortress. They have all the modern conveniences you can imagine. Warehouses stocked with every conceivable supply and weapon. Just because your scouts can't see cannon doesn't mean he does not have weapons with the capability. I bet he has mortars, and if they concentrate their fire on that wall it will not hold." Sven saw the effect his words were having on the old man and his son. Stephan's face became a pale shade of ashen white. Little did he know Sven was breathing life into every quiet fear that the elderly leader already possessed.

Renard didn't know what to make of the exchange. He knew that what Sven was telling them was indeed a strong possibility. But why was he here? Simply to undermine their morale, or was it something more. They had betrayed him after all. The warrior owed them no allegiance.

"Look, that river is subsiding fast, you may only have forty-eight hours at best. Sometimes the best strategy isn't to stand and fight. Sometimes one has to flee." Sven could hardly believe he was saying this, he was always one to stand his ground.

"But how... how can we flee? Where would we go? This is our life... our home, everything we have ever worked for..." Renard stuttered. He could hardly believe he had finally come home to face... this...

But Sven's stark words were relentless. "He will slaughter you where you stand, and those that survive will live as slaves. That isn't the life you wish for your people, is it?"

Stephan withered under the fierce man's scrutiny and words.

"There's a sizable city now in the south. My brother has been there, and so have the musician and his friends. Ask them, they could guide you safely to it."

"But it's almost summer... we would die of thirst surely. A vast convoy of people... women, children, the elderly... we would move too slow."

"The most experienced fighters will stay, to try and even the odds, to buy you all time to escape."

"I... I do not know." Stephan felt an acute indecisiveness slam him. Sven's bleak but honest summary had flustered the old man's mantle of leadership completely. Worse still was the raging turmoil he now felt inside. It had been unleashed and he would be unable to re-cage it. Stephan would have to change his entire rhetoric before his people, from one of positive defiance to that of running with their tails between their legs. Yet it was a comfort that Sven had spoken the words out loud that Stephan had held long within. He had foolishly allowed himself to think that perhaps there was a glimmer of hope for a victory. He felt like a doddering old fool.

Sven stood, he was tall in the room, imposing. "At least think on it, it's the best chance your people have." He placed his empty wineglass down with a deliberateness on the writing desk. There he had said it, he had made his peace. The rest was up to them.

*****

Early the following morning an urgent council was called. The river had again dropped by six inches from the proceeding day. It would not be long until the Wolf Lord made his first move.

Many individuals were invited into the large feasting hall. Every head of each household was present, as was everyone with an important wartime position. There was standing room only, and many more were crowded outside in the hope of overhearing the news or being among the first to be told the news after the meeting's conclusion.

As the first of the sun's rays began to slope through the long rectangular windows Stephan stood, his hair and beard snow white in the throng of concerned faces that crowded about him. He cleared his throat and began. "My friends, it is with a heavy heart that I have called this meeting. As you are all well aware the river is swiftly subsiding. We may have as little as forty-eight hours left before we will engage with the enemy."

There was a loud hubbub of noise as their leader made his opening remarks. Many were plainly excited about this war, yet they were untested at best. Never having tasted blood on the battlefield. Sven watched them, the clean-faced boys playing at soldier. All eager for this conflict, and he remembered half a lifetime ago he too was one such boy standing proud in his uniform shouldering his fancy rife. Now he was older and wiser, he knew the horrors of war intimately. Today if it was at all possible he would mitigate them as best he could.

Stephan continued to address his people. "I know you have all worked so very hard on this war effort. We have done the impossible, so this latest news may not be so well received..."

Voices in the crowd were again raised uncertainly. Stephan tapped his gnarled cane on the floor tiles for order and as the cacophony of frightened whispers died down he continued. "I do not intend to do the speaking today. I would instead like this man to explain the situation to you all..." He gestured to Sven who made his way forward to stand by Stephan's side dwarfing him.

Aran smirked at his brother's entrance and felt an inner happiness that warmed him. Even after little Eirik's untimely passing his brother had almost instantly found renewed purpose as a leader of men. Of that he was glad.

Sven spoke candidly, firstly introducing himself and speaking of his professional military career and wartime experiences. Well aware that Stephan's people did not trust him. He then went on to describe the enemy, informing the citizens of what was possibly coming for them. Countering their questions and sometimes rabid arguments with undeniable logic. Letting them know with certainty that they would essentially be outgunned and outmaneuvered, and if they stood their ground as they had planned it would be a slaughter.

There were some that initially attempted to argue, full of bravado and bluster. Many though were openly afraid, and they remained silent. There were even fewer that stood with arms crossed over their chests and nodded knowingly at the old soldier's points. However, by the conclusion of that troubled meeting, there was not one soul present who did not realize the terrible situation that was possibly only a few hours distant. Their plans of many long months were now in complete disarray and must be hastily remade.

Stephan again addressed the meeting, doing his best to be reassuring. He had now regained his former calm composure and returned to take the reigns of leadership. His people needed his guidance as they had never needed it before. Many were talking again, and the elderly leader tapped his cane for silence. Slowly they quieted. "I would now like to introduce your guide south Mr Jhary Brannon."

Jhary stepped through the crowd and took his place on the podium. Fortunately, he was used to many eyes on him, he relished it even. If only it had been under better circumstances. "Thank you all," he said. "As Stephan has told you I am to be your guide south. I have frequently traveled the desert and know where most things are." Jhary could already tell that he wasn't what they were expecting, undaunted he continued even over the din. "There truly is a very large settlement that has been rebuilt in the south. Some of you may know of it, it used to be called Murray Bridge before the war."

Jhary clearly heard the dreaded words 'ground zero' spoken. But he continued. "It is now a sizable and thriving city where I am sure all of you could make a new life. It has farms and craftsmen and much that will be familiar." He felt some guilt at that moment as he really didn't know what would happen when a column of refugees from the desert tried to gain entry. He also omitted that there was legal slavery there. He didn't mean to deceive, but these people if they wished to live didn't have much alternative. So he added his next statement to further ease his sense of guilt. "There are also many smaller settlements along the way where some of you may wish to begin anew." He felt like he was trying to sell outdated encyclopedias with the reception his speech was getting from the crowd.

After Jhary was finished Stephan again took the floor. "Thank you, Mr Brannon. We will leave after sunset is that clear." The elderly leader gazed at the distraught faces in the crowd, they had gone in a moment from dreaming of a decisive victory to staring at defeat. Fleeing like wounded animals. "One more point I would like to make before we organize our departure. It will be most important that we all travel as lightly as possible and only bring the essentials. The elderly, infirm, and small children shall ride in the carts. We must ensure we bring as much water and food as we can carry. There is some to be found along the way according to our guide, but it pays to be cautious."

There was movement in the crowd, someone was coming through the press of listeners. The front row parted and Bryn Frazer strode out from the gathering. "May I have a word to these kind folk?" Stephan nodded and the black-bearded Bryn began to speak in his deep baritone. "Fear not good people, I have fought this treacherous enemy before. Ye be doin the right thing by yer leavin. That bein said myself and my band of warriors will pledge ourselves to stay till the last to buy ye all time." As he said this Bryn's men let out a loud whoop of delight. The crowd looked about them to see many in the gathering saluting their leader. Bryn made a bow to the crowd and again let Stephan conclude the meeting.

"Thank you Bryn and your brave men, you have our heartfelt thank you. Now please everyone hurry, we need to be gone from here by sunset."

*****

Maya sat on the floor surrounded by her plethora of colorful sewing supplies that Raissa and Lucy had kindly retrieved from David's home. She was grateful, as she still had not finished that promised wedding dress. Although she was a carefree spirit rarely noticing or adhering to timelines. She prided herself on the fact that when she had promised something she delivered.

There were many well-made furnishings in this home, however, Maya was used to their absence in her life. Growing up her father had crafted some rudimentary wooden furniture for the hut they had lived in. She could still remember her childhood home in every minute detail. From the hard-packed earth floor that her mother would sweep with a broom made of brush each day. To the small square table with the two chairs that her parents occupied. All the small children would sit cross-legged on the floors even in her friend's homes. That was simply how things were done. So here today she still had floor sitting as a habit.

She then recalled the most significant structure in the small building. The stone hearth and the fireplace, the center of every home. Her mind drifted then to that morning, the morning her life was forever changed. She could still remember that after the fire, the stone hearths and chimneys marked each of her village's homes like blackened gravestones.

Maya shuddered refocusing on her work. It was a stark memory she would rather forget. So she looked about her re-centering her thoughts. This cottage was much larger and more homely than the residence she had shared with David. That of a family not the rather rudimentary digs of a single soldier. It was comfortable here she had to admit as she spread her work before her and began to apply the faux pearls to the bodice of the ivory gown.

From time to time she would relieve her eyes of the close work and gaze out of the window. As the morning progressed Maya found that it was getting ever harder to become lost in her task. As the bustle of carts and beasts going down the laneway in between the densely packed homes intensified. All this activity to the young woman's mind was unusual.

She thought to perhaps ask Raissa or Lucy if they knew what was going on, but decided against it. The grieving woman was distraught over the loss of her child and slept late, and Lucy had not left her side. Maya knew sleep would not heal the poor woman, but perhaps it could offer a small comfort. So she continued with her work humming a half-forgotten tune that she remembered her mother singing.

It was then the heavy planked wooden door swung abruptly open. Maya deep in concentration jumped and pricked her finger as the doorknob hit the plaster wall with a loud thud shaking the entire house. The noisome intruder was none other than Aran. "Come, you must be ready to leave by sunset girl." His large scarred hand was on her immediately pulling her up.

"We are leav..." But she was instantly cut off with her questions.

"Come on there is no time, get ready now." He growled.

Maya could hear and feel that growl reverberate right down deep in her man's chest as she leaned on him, attempting to put her arms around him seeking a kiss. He deftly disentangled his solid body from her embrace. "Bring only what you need girl, hurry, now!"

She watched as the powerful warrior took the stairs to the top story two at a time. His sword slapped against this broad thigh in its leather scabbard. Maya sighed heavily and began to scoop all her precious sewing materials into a bag. She guessed something bad had happened and they were being expelled. But as long as she was with her man she didn't mind.

It was not long before Aran came back downstairs. Maya had already gathered her sewing materials into a large purple crushed velvet bag. Lamenting the interruption as she was so tantalizingly close to the dress's completion. Aran took her into his warm embrace then. Maya nestled against him her hands roaming over his impossibly hard body. She never failed to feel a sense of heightened excitement when he was in her close vicinity, and she squirmed against him and moaned. Hoping he might take her lead. However, today her lust was to be denied.

Aran again cut her short. "No Maya there is no time. Now, I want you to listen carefully. You along with Lucy and Raissa are to leave here at sunset."

"You are not coming?" She questioned rather hesitantly.

"No."

"But, but..." Maya wheedled, her fingers thrumming softly on his chest as she looked up into his stern visage. Her light aqua eyes pleading.

But Aran's return stare was hard. "Maya you are leaving at sunset don't make me say it again." He growled the command this time. "Help Raissa and Lucy."

Maya looked away across the room and bit her lower lip. She didn't wish to be parted from her man again. Yet she was afraid to push him too. Aran could be very explosive if he sensed she was not going to do as he said. She sighed heavily turning away before saying quietly, "I hope you will be catching up with us soon..."

"Yes, girl I will. But there are matters I must settle first." His warm hand alighted heavily on her narrow shoulder. His voice was troubled, yet confident.

"Dangerous things?" Maya dared ask.

Aran nodded in affirmation.

Maya turned and gave him a wry smile. Her man had decided and that was that.

*****

Aurianne had spent most of the morning and the early afternoon helping organize the caravan. There were carts to be loaded and frightened families to be reassured. As the afternoon shadows lengthened she excused herself from the evacuation effort. Walking in a measured stride to the stables despite the chaos that surrounded her in the streets and open spaces. She wondered if the enemy already knew that the settlement was planning an evacuation. They had tried to instruct the population to prepare quietly, but as much as it had been stressed not to tip off the enemy. People will always be people.

She would deal with whatever came she had already decided. She would do her best and lead Stephan's people to safety. Darius, Jhary, and Kario would be by her side, and that was a great comfort.

She entered the stables. The sight and the scent of the horses at once put her frayed nerves at ease. This place was all that was good and familiar. She heard Isabou nicker in greeting as the mare placed her large head over the stall door. A smile played across the redhead's lips as it always did on seeing her old friend.

She took up the currying brushes from the shelf and walked into Isabou's stall. Taking a few moments to brush and love on her ever-willing mare. Isabou nudged her mistress with affection as Aurianne began to rhythmically brush her sparkling chestnut hide. The activity was calming. Just the tonic she needed before she set forth on this very difficult mission.

*****

Raissa had never felt this numb, and that was saying something. For her life had not been easy. She had survived the apocalypse, lost her entire family along the way, been captured, and made a slave by a brutal band of desert-dwelling raiders, who cared nothing for her comfort or welfare. Somehow she had survived, grown stronger even. Still capable of showing compassion and love. And she had loved, deeply. However, this love, this loss, it felt as though it had torn the very fabric of her being asunder. Inexplicable, so terrible to lose a child.

She had not risen from bed since the funeral of her son. She closed her honey-colored eyes until the endless tears dried up, hoping for sleep and forgiveness that would not come. Now and then she would feel Lucy's reassuring touch. Lucy knew what it was like to lose an infant. That touch gave Raissa some solace that there was at least one who understood. How did Lucy do it? Forge on through this terrible pain? It didn't make the pain less but it was a shared kinship.

Then her husband had come to her that dawn, and instead of holding her in an act of comfort and shared sadness he was once again all business. He was going to stay and fight this damned stupid war! Raissa felt cheated, and deep inside angry too. It was as though little Eirik had never existed for Sven. Then to add insult to injury Aran had calmly and coldly told her she must make ready to leave at sunset. Yet the bereaved mother didn't care if she lay in this bed until the settlement was overrun and she was raped and slain. Good. It would be a rest, a way out of this terrible life that took every joy away.

Lucy though would not let her friend wallow in grief. She gently motivated Raissa to pack and urged her to eat and drink at least a little something before they left. Raissa didn't want to leave the place of her boy's grave. She wanted to be by him even in death, to be someplace comfortable. To live and eat well, to know joy, and not have to continuously run in fear. In a heartbeat, it was all taken away, back to wandering in the desert toward some uncertain, and potentially hostile future.

*****

Jormugar paced the confines of the small cell. He could if he stood on tiptoe see just enough of the street outside through the small barred window to know it was late in the afternoon. The streets were full of frenzied chaos. People ran pell-mell between the houses carrying their lives bundled in their arms. Babes cried and children babbled their mostly unanswered questions to the adults who supervised them. He was alone in the jailhouse, there were no other prisoners and no jailer.

He glanced at the imprisoning bars his fingers finding and once more attempting to flex the resolute steel to no avail. He looked across at the warden's desk and he wondered where the keys might be. He was once more angry with himself for ever entering this settlement. His instincts had told him not to venture here, but his need had made him blind to the peril. He could have been heading north right now, not mired in troubles which were not his. Instead here he was languishing, awaiting his fate. He was one who chose his own destiny, not having it bestowed on him by others and the thought burned him like acid.

All the bounty hunter could hope was that the big oaf fell in battle. Jormugar instinctively knew a warrior like that would be on the front lines. If Aran died then hopefully he could persuade someone to set him free, and he could merely continue north away from all this undesired chaos. His usually calm thoughts this afternoon were headed in many directions that he disliked. He was worried this mostly wooden town would be torched and he may be imprisoned here in trapped in the flames.

With this grim reality he sat and rubbed his face in his hands as the world hurtled on by and tried to maintain that sense of stoic calm. An opportunity would come he reassured himself, this was not the first time in life that he had faced a terrible situation.

*****

Aurianne had reconvened With Darius and Jhary after harnessing her mare to the heaviest cart. Isabou though an inexperienced cart horse had born her new task well and waited patiently in her traces while the last touches of the departure plan were being finalized. It was by now almost dark and time to face the desert.

"Where is Kario?" Aurianne questioned Jhary.

"I don't know. I haven't seen him for a while but I'm sure he will be along any moment. The blond-headed musician answered.

Her dark friend's absence made her nervous, there had been so much unexplained strangeness of late that she found that she needed the reassurance his presence offered. She would not wish to make this southerly journey without him that was for sure. The athletic redhead watched the men who were preparing to open the stout wooden gates, she wished perhaps she could have lingered here a trifle longer before facing the heat and the hardship again. She felt a sense of great loss that in a few hours unless something untoward happened this beautiful and thriving community would be devastated beyond repair, and for what. One selfish buffoon's ego and greed. Sometimes she didn't understand men at all.

*****

Renard clasped Lissa's delicate pale fingers in his hands as they stood off to the side in an alleyway behind a group of homes. Even there they were still jostled by frightened passersby, all eager to flee before the battle began.

"I'm so sorry my love," Renard said with great contrition. "I had really wanted us to be wed before all this mess began."

Lissa smiled a sad lopsided smile and squeezed her lover's hand in silent response with affection. She didn't trust herself to be strong in this moment. She was afraid, afraid of the unknown, and afraid for Renard. She understood why he had to stay, however, that didn't mean she wanted him to. She was deathly afraid she would never see him again. So she willed the fear and the tears away as best she could.

Renard stroked her under the chin and ran his fingers through her unruly nest of bright auburn curls. "As soon as I return we will be married I promise. His hand returned to hers fingering the square-cut sapphire engagement ring he had bestowed on her some days prior. He pulled her hand to his lips and lightly kissed her elegant fingers. "Look after my parents, they will need your help and I will be with you soon."

"Do you think you can persuade them to leave..."

"I must," Renard said with sadness etched into his handsome features.

Lissa looked down at the dusty alleyway, it was too difficult at that moment to meet her lover's eyes. "I will look after them I promise..." Her words trailed off as Renard's lips met hers in a long and passionate farewell kiss.

*****

Renard knew that this was going to be a very difficult conversation. But one that must be had nonetheless. He had tried to be as calm and pragmatic about it as possible, however, try as he might his stubborn parents had their own ideas on where they wished to be.

"My place is by your Father's side," his mother stated firmly. We have spent all our lives together and we will not be parted now." Renard's insides twisted with the thought of losing either of them, they were aged and his father was somewhat infirm leaning heavily on his cane. The chaos of the battlefield was no place for the elderly.

Renard gripped his father's frail arm in earnestness. He could feel the thin underlying bone through the man's papery thin skin and the plush velvet fabric of his robe. Renard's dark eyes shone, were they wet with tears or simply sparkled from the intensity of his speech. The words impassioned poured forth. "Your people need you Father more now than ever. You must help lead them and guide them to this new place. We will handle things here and rejoin you. You have my word."

The elderly white-haired man was shaking his head, his pale blue eyes resolute locked on those of his son. "One's word cannot be given on the battlefield son."

"Father you must," Renard counted with exasperation. "They don't know this Jhary, but they will listen to you. Please Father, and Mother we are running out of time."

The old man's shoulders slumped, and he took one long look about the large room all set to receive casualties. A room that he had helped build with his own hands in a time so long distant. This place was to be a sanctuary, a forever haven. If it hadn't been for their war-like neighbor and his extortionate treaties it would have been. Stephan's eyes were then drawn to the chaos unfolding outside as carts lined up and were loaded with possessions and supplies and people boarded sitting where they could.

He thought then of his beautiful daughter. What would Frances have wished us to do? Recalling all the past conversations they had, about leadership and self-sacrifice, and in his mind, her softly spoken words of advice drifted to him. He knew she would have said just as Renard had, that he needed to leave and direct his people.

'I miss you so my dear daughter. I don't want to leave you here alone and yet...' "Very well," Stephan said resignedly, "you are right of course. They need me." He made a move toward the doorway. Anna close by his side.

Renard let out an audible sigh of relief, he hugged them both. Memorizing everything about his beloved parents that the memory could keep him strong until he saw them again. They said their goodbyes and I love yous, and Renard departed for the wall.

*****

Stephan stepped over the well-worn wooden threshold of his front door and as he did so an emotion so powerful washed over him gripping him entirely. His gnarled fingers grasped the handle of his cane tightly as he fought to propel himself forward. He saw Anna look at him with concern. She was saying something, which the elderly man did not hear such were the tumult of his inner thoughts. He squeezed her tightly with his free arm to be rest assured she was real. She was after all his anchor and life mate, and at this moment he needed her acutely. For so long he had led, carried the burdens of others on his shoulders. He had maintained a stoic sense of calm in every crisis, and been nothing but diplomatic in every situation. This evening he felt he would break, all the long years of leadership pressed down on his frail frame and he wondered how he could continue.

Yet he must continue, he must set a good example to his people right up to the end. He could hardly believe he was leaving possibly to never see his beloved home again. Everything they had endured, and all they had given, and now they must flee. He nodded some form of reassurance that he was fine to his wife and continued toward the awaiting cart. He longed to stay to assist in the defense, as the leader it was his duty. Yet he understood his son's sentiment and plea. He needed to be there for his people to help them start a new life.

He looked over his shoulder into the looming darkness, his old eyes could vaguely make out the fires of his enemy's camp, the enemy he was fleeing from. It felt wrong. He felt beaten, crushed. He couldn't see much of the surrounding landscape in the darkness, but Stephan knew that valley vista by heart, the lush plains garnered in green crops, and burgeoning pastures. Sprinkled with fruit orchards and newly turned vegetable plots. All the hard work of his people gone to waste, heartbreaking. He tore his eyes away and held his wife's hand, drawing on Anna's quiet strength because by Lord he needed it now as he boarded the awaiting cart.