* * *

  “On second thought…” said Roskvir, “I don’t think I’m hungry anymore.”

  Decay’s stench hung heavy over the cratered battlefield, where tan-coated corpses grew bloated with rot under the midday sun. The battle had been fought some days ago, or perhaps a week, and the two armies’ fiercest clashing since moved on elsewhere.

  As Aurelia and her companions followed evidence of the shifting frontline in their quest to reach the ever-shrinking confines of friendly territory, it had become clear the Albians were cutting through Setet almost as if nobody stood in their way.

  But some still tried, Aurelia saw. And so their remains were littered across the grassland. She wondered if they’d died for nothing. From what they’d witnessed from afar, at least, the matter of Albian artillery superiority rendered the bravery of foot soldiers a pointless, pathetic joke.

  Roskvir’s stomach growled then, in spite of what he’d claimed. As if in reply, a deep rumble shuddered from the gut of He-Who-Tends-Gardens, where he sulked low in the grass, with two great feline paws covering his snout against the disgusting odor of aging death.

  Aurelia eyed the cluster of farmhouses on the horizon, beyond the battlefield.

  “Well, hungry or not…” she said. “I think we have to take our chance now, before you two grow too weak. This might be our best chance to get supplies for a long time, I think.”

  “I don’t know,” said Roskvir. “At this point, it might be better just to risk the smoke of another campfire. Cooking some meat the beast hunts for us, or something. Showing your face in a town so recently put under occupation by my people really might be more dangerous than letting up another trickle of smoke, wouldn’t it? We haven’t seen any airships hunting after us for at least a week now, and even if they come back, they won’t see our smoke any different from the town’s chimneys.”

  “We won’t have anything to cook, even if a campfire was a good idea,” said Aurelia. “Mr. Gardens says the hunting prospects have all dried up, now that we’re this close to the fighting. Both armies have scared away all the wildlife.”

  “I guess… I just don’t like the thought of sending you off on your own,” said Roskvir. “Even if it's just for a little while. Not the least when we don’t know how many Albians will still be garrisoned there…”

  “I really don’t think you have to worry. You or Mr. Gardens would definitely just make people suspicious, whoever's there. But if it's just me? Only people from a big city would even have a chance of knowing my face. Commoners out here will just think I’m another orphan of the war. And who wouldn’t have some supplies to spare for a poor starving orphan?”

  Roskvir frowned, as he studied the distant village. It seemed like her explanation hadn’t quite convinced him, perhaps for some reason even he didn’t fully understand for himself.

  “You aren’t pushing yourself to do this just because you’ve struggled to attune to your sjael, so far, are you?” he asked. “You haven’t been trying very long at all yet, really. I know you’re used to being quick at things. But taking a little to get the hang of it is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Aurelia almost said no, but stopped herself.

  She had been frustrated with her lack of progress at finding her vis, she realized, once she heard him put it that way.

  She just didn’t want anyone else to die defending her, because she couldn’t defend herself. So if she was still so weak and useless in that regard, perhaps she was hoping for the chance to be useful in some other way,

  But then she heard Roskvir’s stomach grumble once more.

  “I think we just really have to take this chance," said Aurelia. "Regardless of anything else, it’ll only ever get harder to find food, as we get closer to more recent battles.”

  “Well… fine,” said Roskvir. “But I’ll shadow you as close as I can. And if you ever have to go inside any of the buildings, don’t stay longer than five minutes without coming back out, okay? Or else I’ll have to go in after you.”

  “Can you make it ten minutes?” said Aurelia. “We have to get enough for Mr. Gardens, too, remember? That might take a bit more than just asking nicely, and putting on puppy-eyes. And these are my people, after all... really, what’s the worst that could happen?”

  But Roskvir didn't answer. He only stared at the distant village a moment longer, then cast his gaze down.

  * * *

  In contrast to the desolation of the savanna battlefield beyond — as Aurelia wandered past the first few dozen thatch-roofed structures along the outskirts of the village itself, she saw no more than two or three that had even been scratched by errant rifle rounds. And none at all had suffered serious damage from larger caliber fire. The defenders had been defeated so fast, it seemed, they hadn’t even time to retreat to more defensible positions among the buildings, before their total rout.

  Thus, as evening lengthened over the dusty streets, there were still plenty of villagers going about their days throughout the town almost as normal. If any of them were even the slightest bit frightened or dejected by the fact of the new hostile foreign military occupation, Aurelia wouldn’t have known it from their faces.

  She was glad, for the most part, those commoners seemed to have been spared the burden of too many new sufferings… but at the same time, she almost couldn’t help but feel a little bit disappointed that morale seemed so unaffected. Didn’t common people take pride in their heritage, and the history of their patrimony? Weren’t they indignant, at least a little, that some alien people sought to dominate them?

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  But she tried to resist those foolish sorts of thoughts, as she reached the village square. When she patted down her tattered dress, and made a show of some wistful pouting, the townsfolk who’d taken notice of her had looked on with plenty of the appropriate sort of pity she’d hoped to spur in them. So, Aurelia decided, surely it couldn't be that they were unbothered by the recent battle because they were simply too uncaring or self-centered. Probably, they just weren’t engaged in political matters, for whatever reason, at least not in the same way as city-folk. Aurelia wondered if it might not even be her own family’s fault — perhaps it was a sign that they should've better attended to the needs of agrarian commoners during their stewardship of the realm, if such folk didn't much care that they'd fallen from power.

  After she’d spent a few minutes kicking around little bits of dusty earth along the edge of the square, a man in a canvas jacket uniform descended from the steps of the town hall, followed by a woman wearing a trifold hat of the sort Aurelia had learned were often worn by rural administrators.

  “Hi there, little miss,” said the woman, leaning down over her knees. “I don’t think we’ve seen you around town before. What’s your name?”

  “My name's Hato,” said Aurelia. “I’m from a town over.”

  “Well, nice to meet you Hato," said the woman. "I’m Rhea, and this is constable Lambros. Do you need our help? Are you lost, perhaps?”

  “There was fighting where I lived,” said Aurelia. “I was so scared… only three of us survived, out of our whole village. Now we have no food. I’m the only one that can walk, so I went to go find help… Do you have any food you could spare us? Please… I’ll work to earn it.”

  “Only three of you? So your family needs help?” asked Rhea.

  “Not my family,” said Aurelia. “Just my friend, and my… dog. We’re all that's left. I need people-food for myself and my friend, but I could take any sort of animal offal or old bones back to my dog, if you have them to spare…”

  Rhea shared a look with the constable, then beckoned Aurelia with a gesture.

  “I think we may be able to help you,” she said. “Why don’t you follow me? The army left behind a stock of rations back in the town hall cellar, before the white coats chased them away… let's get some food in your stomach, you poor thing…”

  * * *

  We don’t have a choice, Rhea tried to tell herself once more, as constable Lambros finished binding the girl’s wrists in the darkness of the cellar. There’s no other way.

  The Albian general had made his demand clear, when their army had come through. He may have spoken with a strange accent, but his command of their grammar was perfect. There had been no possibility of some sort misunderstanding.

  And his army had been altogether merciful, otherwise, all things considered, at least for an invading force. Rhea didn’t know much of warfare, and there had never been any sort of battle anywhere near their village in hundreds of years — but she didn’t need to be a scholar of military history to guess that there was usually a lot more ransacking, destruction, and extractive levies imposed by the invaders after their success. Their village, on the other hand, had experienced essentially nothing of the sort.

  She’d even heard rumors of some terrible catastrophe a few weeks ago to the northeast, in the capital, but at that point she couldn’t help but assume those rumors had to be exaggerations. Because the Albians had been downright gentlemen, almost, as they’d come through. They’d obliterated the imperial army without the slightest mercy, of course, but any civilians or civilian possessions within Rhea’s village had been left untouched. All taxes they would’ve traditionally owed to the emperor of Setet were to be waived for the next year, and the Albians had even said they’d spare them the burden of quartering troops in their village itself, at least for the immediate future, because the military occupation of the surrounding territory was to be managed from a fort they intended to construct in the savanna further west. So Lambros was even slated to remain the local arm of law enforcement, in their place.

  And in exchange for such comfortable treatment — in exchange for what would be, in all honesty, an easier life than the one they’d lived under the emperor’s rule — the Albian general said he’d require only one simple thing, from Rhea’s village.

  A single blind orphan.

  Of course, Rhea had protested at once that there weren’t any blind orphans in town. But there were at least children, the general had replied.

  He didn’t care how she and Lambros came by the poor creature, as long as they were subtle however they went about it. And he claimed it wasn’t his first choice either to extract such an inhumane levy, but he was compelled by the orders of a superior, and thus it had to be.

  So he’d return to their village in a month, for the handover. And he’d made it clear neither Rhea nor the townsfolk would prefer the alternative, if by then they did not have for him what he required.

  That had been three weeks ago. And so for three weeks, dread had consumed Rhea and Lambros, faced with that impossible demand.

  Plenty of the townsfolk had children, of course. But how could the two of them ever live with themselves, if they murdered one such family, and blinded the surviving child? How could they even begin to choose the family that would be made their sacrifice?

  Thus indeed, that dread had ruined them, as they dithered together in tortured indecision — until Hato had wandered into town.

  And thus saved them, as if a miracle sent from the gods themselves.

  It's the only way, Rhea thought.

  She unsheathed her knife with trembling hands.

  This way… nobody has to die.

  The girl knelt in the center of the cellar’s cold stone floor. She struggled still, but to no avail, restrained by the wrist bindings as well as Lambros’ firm hand.

  “Just… one quick cut across both eyes should do it, right?” Rhea whispered, prompting a fresh round of muffled sobs from the girl. “And then you can stop her bleeding with your vis, without fully… mending everything… right?”

  But in truth, Rhea already knew what Lambros’ answer would be. Out of anxious obsession, they’d discussed what they’d do when the time came in exact detail perhaps dozens of times already,

  Rather, Rhea asked because she just wanted to hear one final full-throated reply from Lambros, reaffirming his implicit consent to the plan. As if hearing him give that go-ahead would somehow lessen her own guilt, because he’d spoken the last word on the matter.

  But he gave her no such reprieve. His shadowy features were twice unreadable in the dim light, as he replied with no more than a simple, grim shrug.

  Rhea wiped away her own tears, then stepped forward, firming the grip on her knife.

  “...Okay,” she said. “Hold— hold her still—”

  But Lambros looked up.

  There was a violent crash somewhere on the floor above, followed by the tramping of jackboots.

  The hinges of the ceiling hatch groaned, before it fell open with a heavy thud, and someone leapt down into the darkness at the far end of the cellar.

  A man’s silhouette straightened back upright, there in the shadows.

  Rhea and Lambros remained frozen in shock, as the figure seemed to process what he saw. And so for a moment, there was silence.

  Then, there was fire.