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rose and came down, its sharp edge slicing through the restraining rope. He waved his arms and spooked the horses.
    As they ran off, the men in camp realized something was seriously wrong. They drew swords and reached for bows.
    Rorr laughed at the archers’ impotence, but the swordsmen came for him, yelling to be sure all their companions were awake and alert to the danger.
    He swung, used his buckler to deflect the nearest soldier’s thrust, then stepped close and drove his blade up under the lowest rib and into a beating heart. Before he yanked the blade free, that heart ceased throbbing. The warrior fell to the ground.
    He saw the other five note his expertise, coming to the realization that only through united action might they continue to live.
    “To his flanks! Move, damn your eyes!” The soldier bellowing orders from the center was either an officer or someone the others obeyed without question.
    Rorr reached into the quiver and used the edge of his blade to peel away the skin sheath around the fire arrow. He waved it around above his head until it ignited. For a moment, the fighters retreated.
    He laughed loudly. The light from the fire arrow cast shadows on his face, turning him into something less than human. The instant of their hesitation would be short. He flung the arrow directly at the officer, forcing him to dance back.
    In the confusion, Rorr stepped into the forest, found a trail, and fell into a ground-devouring stride. The brigands were slower following, giving him the chance to pop into a clearing, get his bearings off the rising sun, then strike out directly for his own horse.
    He stepped up into the saddle and wheeled the mount around just as three pursuers burst out of the woods after him. Rorr had no reason to fight them. They were without horses, at least until they tracked them down.
    His heels raked the horse’s flanks and set it galloping in the direction of his farm.
    This skirmish was not a battle. The true battle would come when Lord Suvarian learned of his men’s failure. Rorr had to prepare his family for the final fracas. Either they would defeat Suvarian, or Rorr and his family would die.
    He put his head down and rode faster for his farm.

Chapter Four: Last Stands
    “We should leave,” Beeah said, tears in her eyes. “If what you say is true, we can’t fight Lord Suvarian.”
    “Who is he?” piped up young Rayallan. The boy looked around curiously. Rorr caught his breath looking into the boy’s face. He saw Ulane there, never quite sure what was going on but interested all the same. And usually wrong when he decided.
    “He thinks he’s got the right to take our property,” Fren said.
    Rorr wasn’t sure about his older stepson. Some of Beeah shone through, but none of her fearfulness. And Fren lacked the wide-eyed wonder Rayallan showed. He wished the boy were older. He could use a strong arm protecting his back.
    “He is a petty lord, like—” He bit off the rest. There was no point describing Suvarian in terms they wouldn’t understand. “I’ve seen men like him. Thievery is always their first move.”
    “He’s got a lot of armed men,” Rayallan said. “Fren said there were half-orcs. I’ve never seen one.” The longing in the boy’s voice also reminded Rorr of his brother. Never quite brave enough to explore his world, but always certain something lay just beyond the horizon. Ulane had died unfulfilled in so many ways.
    But he’d had a loving wife and two fine sons. Rorr let out breath he hadn’t realized he held.
    “If we run, we will have nothing. The harvest will be lost. The house and everything in it will be destroyed.”
    “We can take some things…” Beeah looked around in despair.
    “The Torvans probably thought the same. If they got away, it was with little more than what they wore.”
    “That was a lot of grain that burned,” Fren said. A wild light came to his eyes. “You should have seen it blow up. It was like—”
    “Like what will