"Fire-Heart: Food and Water" by A.R. George

Dawn could not come quickly enough. This time few of the initiates slept – the free-flowing night air had lowered the frigid temperature of the chapel even further, and thoughts of the Dark Elf's horrible last words were difficult to banish. Master Athelwych reassured all the initiates that the demons would have made good their threat if they'd already had the means to do so, but it was a bleak reassurance. How long before the Dark Elves found enough oil or suchlike in Lyffes?

When the first grey light of earliest morning began to seep through the windows, broken and unbroken alike, the real reason for the Paladins' warnings about the ardures to come became very apparent. There was no more idle waiting. Everyone was given a task to do, and even Lórannon, the least sympathetic towards protracted labour, appreciated the chance to take his mind off the demons outside.

Some of the initiates were instructed to carefully clear away all the glass, which they did with the aid of the three Paladins' broad, white cloaks. The rest of the initiates, Lórannon among them, set about shifting all the pews down one end of the room, towards the doors. It was backbreaking work – the pews were heavy pine, each eight or nine feet in length – and tempers flared frequently during the manoeuvring, particularly when toes were stepped on or bystanders were backed into.

Master Oweyn even had a brief argument with Master Athelwych over whether the pews were likely to catch fire or not, but was forced to back down when asked to compare the likelihood of burning lightly varnished pine to burning an empty stone floor.

It was midday, or close to it, by the time all of the pews had been moved down towards the chapel doors. Open space yawned before the Elementals' murals and pillars, smudged and patterned in dust with the marks of the old pew arrangement. The tired initiates stretched out there on the cold floor, exhausted. Standing up was starting to leave several of them a little dizzy, and Lórannon's tongue felt thick and dry in his mouth, so it was a relief when Master Oweyn started passing around what was left in the water-pitchers they'd brought in the first retreat to the chapel.

I wish they'd thought of food, Lórannon groaned inwardly, prodding at his snarling stomach. I bet there's something left on one of the tables in the masters' offices ... so close ...

While the initiates drank up the last of the water and fought over who was taking larger swallows, the three Paladins carried on discussing their defences.

"There's no question that the offices will burn, if it comes to that," Master Trebeld said with a grim nod towards the little door on the far right of the murals, which led right through into the adjoining building. "And there's every chance that it will bring part of the chapel down on us, if not all. Is it really wise that we've cluttered up the way to the main chapel doors?"

"Cluttered, but not blocked," replied Master Athelwych briskly.

"If the pews do catch fire – as you seem to think they could, Athelwych – they'll make for quite an obstacle in our escape," Master Oweyn put in. "Any full blaze feeding on the whole cluster of them like that would be virtually impassable."

Master Athelwych shrugged his reclaimed cloak back on irritably as he spoke, fastening the clasp-pin at his throat. "You think that demon-woman will fire both our routes of escape? I can't picture it. It'll be one or the other, and if she leaves the offices be, that's a far better thing for us with so many doors and windows ... and so less likely to happen."

"True enough," muttered Master Trebeld. "She will try to smoke us out of the chapel, won't she?"

"I doubt she'll want to let us die out of her sight. At least at first. She may lose patience for a finer revenge later, but we'll hope that help comes before that." Master Athelwych shook out his dust-smeared, silver-lined cloak and turned around. "And on that note, we'd better not delay any longer and risk a return by night."

"You're leaving again?" Llias asked anxiously, speaking for all the frightened initiates as the three Paladins moved towards the doors.

"Only two of us today, Llias," replied Master Oweyn in a calming tone. "Athelwych and I are going to check in quickly on the town – to make sure they're all prepared to hide – and send the call for help out again. Trebeld will be staying with you. But we'll all need to work together to get out of these grounds."

All of the initiates started to stand up, intrigued, but Master Oweyn fixed a forbidding scowl on them, or what he seemed to think was a forbidding scowl. "You'll stay right back and mind yourselves, boys! When these doors open, arrows will fly if anyone is standing in sight!"

"Then how are you going to get out?" asked Lórannon pointedly, but the Paladins were no longer listening. Once the initiates had been safely shooed away to the far corners of the chapel, the three masters lifted away the beam bracing the chapel doors, flanked the doors, and then slowly drew them open, keeping behind them and standing well out of the doorway as they did so.

"I can feel a strong group moving in quickly from the further gates," said Master Oweyn tersely. "At least one on the nearest dormitory roof. A few more already in front of the chapel."

The other two Paladins nodded, confirming what they all 'felt'. "Maiya must be with the group from the gates, or absent altogether," Master Athelwych mused. "The presences from the roof and the chapel front aren't strong enough."

"She's not absent," said Master Trebeld in a bleak voice. "Quick, she's moving, you can feel it. Are we ready?"

Lórannon was not the only initiate now sneaking a little closer, straining for a glimpse through the doorway at the Dark Elves beyond and the action to come. The three masters looked to each other soberly for a moment more, nodded sharply and then drew their swords.

White radiance flared in the chapel, blazing down the lengths of the Paladins' white swords. The whole front of the chapel was aglow, not brilliantly but still quite brightly, sending the nearer shadows in the rafters shrinking away. Lórannon felt his heart thump a little harder in what was almost but not quite excitement; it was more like a fierce, joyful hope, the little flare in the soul that cried 'get up!'.

"Shoaid i teraphín!" the three Paladins roared out, leaping out through the doors in the same wash of Light. That feeling of steely joy began to fade a little as the glow in the chapel died, and Lórannon grimaced, half-waiting for the sound of flying arrows. But any bowstrings outside were silent, and the Paladins struck up a loud, clear chant Lórannon couldn't entirely follow.

"The power of Télauéan be upon thee! The song of the Silver Maiden bind thy will! The wrath of the First Flame confound thee! The power of Télauéan be upon thee! The song of the Silver Maiden bind thy will! The wrath of the First Flame confound thee! ..."

Elbow over elbow, Lórannon began to crawl out of his corner along the wall, straining for a proper look at what was going on outside. Unfortunately he was nowhere near a good vantage when an iron grip fastened around his ankle.

"We've really got to explain the concept of 'the masters' instructions' to you, Goldenlocks," Llias told him as he glared back.

"It is fine for you," snapped Lórannon. "You can understand what they're saying and what is happening. Now let go of me – only a careless human would get shot!"

"I've seen plenty of dead Wood Elves as well as humans, Lórannon," Llias snapped back, "so just you stay put!"

There was that dark memory-reflection in Llias's hazel eyes again. Lórannon paused in mid-twist of his leg, studying Llias's deep-browed face, already so deeply lined. The Elf knew that humans tended to wrinkle and shrivel up awfully fast, but Llias seemed a bit too young for that. Those were care-lines, not age-lines.

"I'm sorry, Llias," Lórannon said contritely.

Llias blinked, surprised, and then smiled a little, slowly relaxing his grip. "That's all right, Lórannon. I know it must be frustra- hey! Get back here!"

Lórannon scuttled along the wall like a rock-skink to the position he'd already been eyeing off. He knew he was only going to have a few moments before Llias hauled him back, so he wasted no time in staring out the slightly opened chapel doors.

Master Trebeld stood just outside, well within easy leaping-distance back through the doors. Master Athelwych and Master Oweyn were both striding away from the chapel towards the further gates – though not at their usual brisk pace, Lórannon noted; it was more as if the Paladins were dragging some heavy chain behind them. All three of the Paladins were still uttering that strange chant: the power of Télauéan be upon thee, the song of the Silver Maiden bind thy will, the wrath of the First Flame confound thee ...

It was difficult to see the Dark Elves beyond the Paladin standing in the doorway, but luckily the leanness of Master Trebeld's frame afforded an occasional glimpse. There were Dark Elves standing in front of the chapel – the closest one was holding a drawn bow – but they all stood like shrouded statues in their black cloaks, frozen in place where they stood.

Hearing Llias angrily crawling up behind him, Lórannon scuttled just a little bit further, looking out through the door at a different angle. Master Trebeld's back took up most of the view, but one of the Dark Elves was standing almost within arm's reach on the Paladin's left, fully a head taller.

Lórannon could see a curtain of grey hair and a scouring blaze of green eyes, but the face, her face, was so deeply shrouded in Darkness that its features remained vague, failing to take on real shape even if he stared. He knew only that it was winter-pale ... and soul-searingly angry.

"It's her! The noble is there!" exclaimed Lórannon as he began to slide backwards, hauled by both ankles this time. "I think she – aiya! Ya yale! Yale! Get off!"

"Not on your life," Llias replied grimly, seated square on Lórannon's back.

"It is my life!" panted Lórannon, huffing for breath under the bigger boy's weight. "Get off!"

"Blame's yours when you fool me once, but mine if you fool me twice."

"His face is a bit red, Llias," Rian's voice observed from behind. "And he's just a scrawny little Elf. Sit on his legs, maybe."

"You three reckon you can stop horsing around?" growled Thelyd. "We're distracting Master Trebeld. Listen!"

They all listened. Lórannon could still faintly hear Master Athelwych and Master Oweyn's chanting voices, though he suspected the others couldn't; they sounded thin and tired as they struggled on, slowly but surely escaping the compound. The voice of Master Trebeld just outside the door was much, much worse. He was stumbling over the verses now, panting and gasping.

"... The power ... of ... Télauéan ... be upon thee ... the song ... the song of the Silver Maiden ... bind ... thy will ..."

There was another voice, too. Lórannon couldn't hear what it was saying – it was just a dark whisper – but each hissed sibilant hinted at softly raging threats.

"He sounds tired," said Gwyll in an anxious voice, sneaking a little further along the wall for a peek like Lórannon's.

"He sounds like he's in pain," Thelyd said more bleakly. "We should do something."

"Like what?" countered Llias, still pinning Lórannon's legs. "If we interrupt the maduigh now, he's dead."

Lórannon craned back to look at the him. "Explain to me. I can't understand all of you."

"The maduigh seoin ghoain, the Ward of Dark Servants," Rian supplied briefly. "Paladins recite it on holy ground to hold demons. You must've heard the masters talking about it yesterday, surely?"

"Have it nice and plain," Thelyd interrupted. "If Master Trebeld stops talking, the Dark Elves start moving. You fill in the rest."

They all went quiet for a moment, listening to Master Trebeld's labouring voice. He sounded as though he were trying to speak with iron bands tightening around his chest, or with foul, dark humours choking in his lungs.

"... The wrath ... the wrath ... the wrath of the ... First ... Flame ..."

There was something else in Master Trebeld's voice – more than the weariness and pain Gwyll and Thelyd had mentioned. Perhaps the others were just avoiding any mention of it, but Lórannon could hear it very clearly indeed: terror.

"Maybe we should help him say his words," he suggested.

Thelyd snorted. "You fancy yourself a Paladin all of a sudden, Goldenlocks? We could sing a lullaby and make as much difference."

"No, I think it's a good idea," Rian said firmly. Something about his tone suggested he'd heard exactly what Lórannon had heard in Master Trebeld's voice. "A bit of moral support might help more than we think. And if nothing else, we'll make ourselves feel better, hey?"

"I wouldn't mind playing Paladin a bit," grinned Llias. "All right, boys, let them all hear us!"

Their chorus rose raggedly and nervously at first, but after just a couple of run-throughs they were all giving their best, spoiling themselves when absolutely necessary with a mouthful of water to wet their throats. "The power of Télauéan be upon thee! The song of the Silver Maiden bind thy will! The wrath of the First Flame confound thee! ..."

Found the what? wondered Lórannon absently, but there was no real opportunity to ask anyone.

He couldn't hear Master Trebeld very well under their willing chorus, and he couldn't really tell in the end whether it made any difference. After a while, though, the Paladin-Initiates saw Master Trebeld's hand creeping back around the door, preparing to pull himself back in behind its cover when he ended the chant.

Suddenly Master Trebeld did come leaping back in, throwing himself behind the door and dropping to his knees as a half-dozen arrows followed him through. It was only a light shower, loosed from fingers unexpectedly unfrozen on the string, and most smashed against the Elemental pillars, though one did skitter alarmingly across the floor.

Master Trebeld pushed one door closed with his shoulder against it, then rolled past the very narrow opening that remained to see to the other door. Once they were both fully closed he pulled himself up to draw the bolts, moving like a marionette on precarious strings.

The initiates finally got up and rushed over to huddle around as Master Trebeld staggered over to one of the pews cluttered by the doors and sagged down into the seat. He looked for all the world like a man who had nearly drowned – sweat had soaked his face and clothes and his ragged gasps were thirsty for air.

"Can we get you something, sir?" asked Rian anxiously.

"Get him what?" Lórannon returned with a snort. "A handful of broken glass? We have no more water."

"I'll be ..." Master Trebeld left them to finish the sentence themselves, though few provided the 'fine' that he obviously implied. He tried to wave them off, his hand shaking with alarming violence.

"You look half-dead, sir," stated Thelyd with his usual endearing candour.

"He does, doesn't he?" Gwyll agreed unhappily. "What's wrong, sir?"

Thelyd answered first, though it seemed unlikely that panting Master Trebeld would have. "It's the Darkness, of course, you fool! Master Trebeld was standing close enough to pat a Dark Elven noble's shoulder, wasn't he?"

"I know that!" retorted Gwyll with a defensive scowl. "But Master Trebeld is a Paladin!"

"Yeah, well, it probably would have been much, much worse for us. Maybe we'd have died, even. You say some dumb things, Gwyll."

Gwyll looked simultaneously indignant and worried. "Suppose the noble comes and stands right next to the chapel? We're okay so long as we're on strong holy ground like the chapel, right? I mean, she couldn't reach through the walls and kill us?"

Master Trebeld, Lórannon saw, was shaking his head, and had been since Thelyd's last remark. Whatever the Paladin wanted to say clearly wasn't making it as far as his lips, however.

Lórannon decided it was high time for a bit of initiative, something that none of the Paladins seemed very keen on. If they'd all listened to him earlier it might not have been necessary, but there was just no telling an Initiate With Instructions.

Letting the others stand and argue about Paladins and holy ground and so on, Lórannon quietly slipped away from the group towards the Elemental pillars and the back of the chapel. No-one was any the wiser as he crept over to the small robing room door that conjoined the chapel and the Paladins' offices; nor did they notice him stealthily slide back the bolt and softly open the door.

There's no risk, he told himself, peering through the door into the musty space of the robing room and the heavier door beyond. The masters are bound to have some food or drink left in their offices, and there's no reason for Dark Elves to come inside. They can keep a much better vigil looking at all the windows and doors from the outside.

With those thoughts held firmly in mind – and a bit of careful listening at the door just in case – Lórannon finally slipped into the robing room.

The fear that washed over him as he took his first step was like a freezing dagger straight through the throat. Lórannon's first, horrified instinct was to leap back out of the robing room, pressing a hand to his chest as if he could slow his heart by touch.

The fear vanished, leaving only cold aftershadows, as soon as Lórannon's feet both touched the chapel floor. He cast a quick look over his shoulder, but all the boys were still at the other end of the chapel, fussing over Master Trebeld.

That's not the noble you can feel, he told himself sternly. Or if it is, she's far enough away. It's nowhere near as bad as the other night – you got a sudden shock just now, that's all.

Steeling himself more thoroughly, Lórannon stepped into the robing room once more. His heart began to pound again, but he managed to forcibly keep his breathing smooth and silent, pulling the chapel door to – but not closing it – and creeping right into the centre of the room.

He paused at the far door, the one leading to the offices, as he reached it, listening again for Dark Elves and trying to fully prepare himself. His eyes wandered over the musty vestments hanging on the walls, off-white and faded silver, and for the first time since arriving in Lyffes he found himself actually wishing he were a Paladin. A glowing sword would be awfully handy against demons.

Lórannon stifled a snigger at the thought of waving a shiny sword around, finding the mirth a good counter for the inner cold, and finally opened the door into the hall.

Inch by inch, the main hall of the Paladins' offices came into focus beyond the widening crack of the door. There were no demons, no arrows – just plain walls of golden pine and the opposing doors of ten offices. Only three were occupied by the current masters, of course, but luckily Lórannon's resistance to the rules had already given him opportunity to learn which offices those were.

The Wood Elf crept down the hall as silently as any Dark Elf, bypassing the first offices – all empty – until he reached Master Athelwych's door, third on the right. There was a large window in the office, Lórannon recalled, in possible view of the door from the right angle. With that ominous thought in mind he crouched down low to turn the handle, easing it open even slower than he had the hall door.

Slipping in through the slightest gap he could manage, Lórannon softly closed the door again, still crouched at ground level. Master Athelwych's window was slightly ajar, squeaking faintly back and forth with the wind, and Lórannon smiled nervously to himself. So much the better – if he made a noise, or his empty stomach growled too loudly, the window might cover it.

A survey of the less hazardous parts of Master Athelwych's office broadened Lórannon's smile. On his untidy desk at the far wall, scattered with wind-flung papers, there was a pitcher; on the sideboard in the corner there was a small basket of apples.

Lórannon crept to the desk, keeping well below the line of view through the window. He was not at all tempted to look out; that was usually the first thing to betray a hiding-place. He simply focussed on the pitcher, reaching gingerly up to grip the handle and spirit it away.

The pitcher was half-full of water. Lórannon nodded in satisfaction, leaving it to stand on the ground as he went to inspect the apples. There were only four left, and they were a little shrivelled, but a quiet, judicious bite soon proved them sweet and edible enough.

The apples went into a fold of Lórannon's grey robes. Those robes were certainly annoying to creep around in, but they were proving quite useful for carrying things.

There was nothing else usable or edible in Master Athelwych's office – his shelves held only books and his cupboard just a razor and shaving mirror, which the bushy man obviously used very rarely. So Lórannon snuck back to the door, opened it, retrieved the water pitcher and escaped, gently pushing the door to as he left.

Triumph washed through his veins, quite pleasantly thawing a bit more of his fear, as he rushed back to the robing room and put his prizes beside the door. But he wasn't finished yet. He just had to wait and listen a little more to make sure he hadn't been noticed.

He couldn't hear anything threatening from the offices – nor any alarm from the chapel behind him, actually; had no-one even noticed his absence yet? Soon he was sneaking down the hall again, headed for Master Trebeld's office.

Master Trebeld's window was screened by the bushy pine Lórannon always climbed into the chapel roof, so he proceeded with a little more assurance this time. The layout of the office was identical to Master Athelwych's – desk by the window, sideboard and cupboard in one corner, standing shelves in the other – but Master Trebeld was much tidier than either of his compatriots; there was no mess.

On the sideboard, though, there were more apples – perhaps one of the townsfolk in Lyffes had given the Paladins a bushel for a present recently. They often did things like that. It was, so far as Lórannon could see, the only thing really worth becoming a Paladin for.

There was also a small, hard hunk of cheese and a half-loaf of bread on the sideboard. Lórannon didn't like bread, but the others might find it manageable. All of it went into the lap of his robes.

Master Trebeld's pitcher was empty, sadly, but Lórannon swiped some candles before he left. Everything was deposited in his modest pile in the robing room, which he surveyed with more satisfaction while he waited out his next cautious pause.

Master Oweyn's office was last, and close enough to the small waiting-hall and front outside door to make Lórannon more nervous. He was at least spared the anxious task of easing Master Oweyn's door open; it already stood ajar, rhythmically blowing back in the wind to knock lightly against the wall. The Wood Elf tucked himself behind it and listened for a while, but there was nothing moving inside the office. He stayed low and snuck in.

The Dark Elves had been inside at least once. Master Oweyn's window was broken, its frame splintered, and shards of glass littered both the desk and the floor around it. Lórannon stayed clear of the sharp fragments as he moved out of the window's line of sight, scoping the office edgily.

The sideboard was quite bare – skinny Master Oweyn's appetite was legendary – so all Lórannon could take was an iron-hard heel of bread. The Paladin's water pitcher was broken on the desk; malicious, accidental, Lórannon didn't know. The only prize left was a brimming washbasin. One or two midges had drowned in it, but it seemed otherwise fine.

Lórannon tucked his bread into his sleeve and lifted the washbasin down carefully with both hands. As he slipped back out through the door his ears caught the murmuring of distant or quiet conversation: not close, not approaching, but enough to dispel any lingering thoughts of checking other rooms just in case.

The Wood Elf hurried back to the robing room as fast as he could without spilling water from his washbasin, grimacing as the bread-heel slipped from his sleeve and rolled away. He had to go back for it – he told himself it was because the Dark Elves might notice a displaced bread-heel – and so by the time he closed the hall door a final time and moved away, his heart was drumming harder than Kurailést's best musicians.

But this was no time to think of the Great Woods.

As Lórannon opened the door back into the chapel and started ferrying all his spoils inside – seven apples, just over half a loaf of bread and some very hard cheese – the other initiates finally saw him, turning towards the moving door in aghast disbelief.

Rian, Thelyd, Huwe and Brann all came hurtling over as Lórannon shut the robing room door with finality. "Good. Help me carry this."

"What in sweet Aieren's name have you been doing?" Rian half-squawked.

"It is quite clear, isn't it?" replied Lórannon. "Though no-one even noticed until just now."

"We thought you'd wandered off on your own in a corner again! Certainly didn't think you'd gone outside, you ... you ..."

"Idiot, Rian," Thelyd provided impatiently. "Elementals beloved, just say it."

"Not hungry, Bigboots?" asked Lórannon with a bland smile.

"Master Trebeld's going to strip you," Brann predicted, though his eyes were on the apples. "Really strip you. And then Master Oweyn and Master Athelwych will take turns when they get back."

With those rallying words, the four gathered up Lórannon's bounty and ushered him back to the front of the chapel. Master Trebeld still looked drawn and dreadful, worryingly, but there was a little fire in his eyes as he stared at Lórannon.

His first attempt to speak came out dry, so Lórannon offered him the pitcher. It was a bit too cheeky even for quiet Master Trebeld. He took just two draughts and burst out in a laboured voice, "You stupid, stupid boy!"

"You're welcome," said Lórannon airily.

"Lórannon, we have dangers enough! Don't you add to them with foolishness like this!"

"A noisy human might have been in danger," replied Lórannon with a condescending look at his fellows, "but I was not. And we need to eat and drink at least a little."

"Oweyn and Athelwych may bring something with them when they return!"

"May?" Lórannon countered. "Anyway, there are eleven of us. Having more helps."

"You might have alerted the Dark Elves and put a closer watch on one of our escapes!"

"I might have. I didn't."

"Would you stop talking back, boy? It was unbelievably foolish not to tell me where you were going!"

"If I had told you, you'd not have let me go," replied Lórannon evenly. "Can I eat an apple while you shout at me?"

"Lórannon." Master Trebeld leaned forward and gripped him under the chin, forcing him to look straight into the Paladin's face.

For a moment, Lórannon felt quite frightened again – not of Master Trebeld, but of the horrible, haunted night choking behind the master's usually kind blue eyes. Master Trebeld's trembling had lessened almost to the point of disappearing, but somewhere on the inside, he was still drowning.

"If you knew what was outside," the Paladin said in a low voice, "you wouldn't laugh. She would kill you without even looking you in the face."

Is making eye contact before killing someone any nicer? thought Lórannon, but he knew better than to push his luck this time. Master Trebeld didn't just look angry – he looked horribly, horribly shaken.

"I won't go to the offices again, sir," he promised, though he couldn't help but add, "because I've already emptied them."

"I think you should have another drink of Lórannon's water, Master Trebeld," Llias said gravely, his dark eyes fixed on the ashen Paladin's face. "I don't think you should still be looking like that."

"It's nothing unnatural, Llias." Master Trebeld took just one sip before he held the pitcher out to Brann and Huwe. A small scuffle broke out between the two brothers. "Well ... unnatural, of course, but not unusual in the circumstances. Three Paladins weren't made to match wills with a Dark Elven noble." He tried to laugh, but it was a thin, uncomforting sound. "Certainly not this Paladin."

"I thought you were marvellous, sir," said Gwyll loyally. "You froze all those monsters like ice. I wish it had been ice and we could all have gone out there with mallets!"

"I've never had to match wills with her directly before," Master Trebeld murmured, not entirely for their benefit. "We let her get too close. It was quite a ... I didn't realise ..."

Rian picked out an apple and pressed it into the Paladin's unresisting hand, though he seemed not to notice.

"Six apples left," observed Gwyll ruefully. "Hey, this one has a bite out of it!"

"Bread's not supposed to be green, Goldenlocks," Thelyd put in, examining the half-loaf a little gingerly.

"The apple's not all eaten and the bread only has a little ... green," retorted Lórannon at once, drawing a blank for the word 'mould'. "If you don't want it, don't eat it. That is more for me."

Sharing the food between eight hungry mouths was predicably problematic. For a start, they had nothing to cut the apples with, and Lórannon's offer to run back to the offices for Master Athelwych's razor was shouted down. Instead they took turns to pass each apple around and take one bite until it was gone – fair in theory, but fraught with all manner of accusations about bite sizes.

The apples gave their empty stomachs pains after a while – Lórannon had no idea what that suspect bread and cheese stuff might have done – but at least the angriest of their stomach-snarls were somewhat quieted.

The remainder of the day was a familiar return to monotony. Master Trebeld seemed to recover his composure as the hours passed, but remained very subdued. The initiates, by contrast, were quite animated – at least considering their thirst, hunger and morning exertions – and spent quite some time talking as they sat around. They talked about Dark Elves, about the masters, and mostly about the food the Paladins might bring back.

"I reckon Master Athelwych could carry a good leg of lamb at least," wagered Brann. "Maybe not Master Oweyn, though. He's a bit skinny."

"Don't be daft," said Thelyd. "We couldn't roast a leg of lamb in here. What would we use, candles?"

"Well, they might bring back some cured lamb."

"Maybe smoked lamb," Llias sighed.

"Or maybe they can bring one of those sheep-things in," volunteered Lórannon. "You can eat meat uncooked if it's really fresh."

"Ugh," Llias grimaced. "You hate bread, but you'll eat raw meat?"

"Nothing wrong with it," replied the Wood Elf stubbornly. "Fish, too."

"You're revolting," Thelyd pronounced.

"I don't feel great," said Gwyll uneasily, before any repercussions could follow Thelyd's last remark. "I think that bread's made me sick."

"It's in your head, Gwyll," Rian replied. "I feel fine, and I ate it too. Stop thinking about the mould."

"No, really, I must have swallowed a pound of it. I'm really, really ill."

"Then go stand at the bucket in the corner," Llias said impatiently. "Don't talk yourself sick over here."

The initiates watched Gwyll hurry over to the Unmentionable Bucket.

"Probably all that talk of raw meat's what's made him sick," grunted Thelyd.

"Maybe your smell," Lórannon suggested.

Rian and Llias shared a familiar aren't we just better disciplined look. "Maybe we should all be quiet a while," recommended Rian. "Spare our throats drying out, you know."

It's certainly too late for some of our personalities, thought Lórannon nastily.

Everyone seemed in or near a bad mood again in spite of the food – or perhaps because of it, in some cases. Although Lórannon was only figuratively climbing the walls as more dull hours dragged by, he was soon making more active plans towards it. He was going mad in this damn chapel! It smelled like unwashed Paladin-Initiates and the Unmentionable Bucket! His excursion to the offices seemed more and more like a good time with each passing moment.

Each new hour went by as slowly and painfully as someone pulling out Lórannon's hair strand by strand. It was so bad that he finally started to do just that, plucking out a few gleaming golden hairs and knotting them together for sheer lack of anything else to do. Some of the other initiates were even dozing – again. How did they manage to sleep for so long, so often?

Lórannon tweaked out a few more hairs, muttering to himself. Then someone began to laugh. He looked over his shoulder with very little amusement at Rian, finding that the long-haired boy was laughing at him.

"You're like one of those birds that gets bored in its cage and starts pulling its feathers out," snickered the young Easterner.

It was times like these that Lórannon felt a powerful desire to wipe the grin off Rian's unflappable moon-face. "If I had wings, I wouldn't be here," he replied darkly. "What happened to too much talking and dry throats? Are you expecting me to go fetch more water for you to complain about?"

"We're all very glad you got the water, Lórannon," Rian replied in a conciliatory tone. "We just didn't want to encourage you to go out and get your head lopped off."

"That could change if you two don't stop yammering," warned Thelyd in a mumble. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

Lórannon didn't follow 'lopped', he didn't understand 'yammering', he couldn't see how Rian could be laughing or Thelyd could be sleeping, and he was horribly, horribly tired of it all. Yes, he could guess what they meant, and yes, he could grasp the often-touted platitude that 'humans are just different', but he was tired of it.

"I have had enough of your – your –" Lórannon failed to find the word for 'badgering', and fell back on Wood Elven instead – "yarayaraméya, all of you! You are stupid and down-looking and estíllyeren and adarli –"

"Yeah, well, you're a noisy pain in the rear," grunted Thelyd, rolling over.

"If you keep shouting you'll really dry out your throat," Rian added.

Lórannon sucked in a deep breath and yelled at the very top of his lungs, pounding staccato on the floor with his fists, before his head could simply explode. Throwing tantrums on the floor was something he hadn't resorted to since he'd grown tall enough to climb, but at this point he could either howl like a new-walker or just let his skull split through pure frustration.

"You are noisy for such a sparrow-chested little twig," observed Llias after the echoes had finally died away. "Sweet, blessed Aieren! Maybe the Dark Elves will decide we're killing ourselves in here and sparing them the trouble!"

Lórannon had already prepared an angry response, and was infuriated when his voice broke halfway in a dry rasp. Before Rian's knowing expression could touch off an open scuffle, however, a voice interrupted them all – the sound of Master Trebeld speaking, not aloud but with mind.

Yes, Oweyn, I'm here. Are you and Athelwych ready?

Silence fell. The boys all waited, breathless, thinking about lamb.

What?

Master Trebeld's voice was sharp and horrified. Suddenly food no longer seemed such a pressing concern.

But ... I don't know, Oweyn ... I don't think we can ... only two ...

Another pause.

Yes ... I suppose you're right. I'm coming. I'll signal you.

Master Trebeld stood up from the pew at the head of the chapel, his face ashen-grey, waving quickly for someone to help him with the doors. "Draw the bolts and then get right out of the way this time, boys," he said faintly as the whole group tried to rush over at once. "Whoever pulls the right-hand door will just have to stay behind it until Oweyn and I get back."

No-one was brave enough to ask the question, even Lórannon. Once all the bolts had been thrown and Master Trebeld and Llias had taken position at each door – Llias was the one to open the right and stay hidden there – the other initiates all speechlessly retreated to the cover of the Elemental pillars, watching Master Trebeld standing there, silent and bowed.

He stood that way for a long time, seemingly oblivious to the nervous fix of Llias's eyes on his face, waiting for the order to open the door. Lórannon couldn't see the Paladin's expression, but he could almost feel the fear rolling off the man like a thick night-fog, freezing Master Trebeld surely long enough for Master Oweyn to start worrying.

In fact the other Paladin must have called to Master Trebeld, because Master Trebeld suddenly straightened, squaring his shoulders and bearing up before the doors.

Yes, Oweyn – now.

Llias pulled the door hard, dragging it back with him as he retreated towards the wall. The outside world opened up in a rapidly broadening slit: a cool dusk sky, the dirt path leading to the further gate, dark shadows on the grass.

"The power of Télauéan be upon thee!" cried Master Trebeld, launching into the Ward of Dark Servants as he slipped through the gap.

Lórannon watched it all from behind the cover of Elemental Water's pillar, since Llias was in no position to come pin his legs. In that narrow field of vision he could see a clear line down to the gate, and watch Master Trebeld striding – wading, almost, against some unseen tide – between the frozen, black shapes of the Dark Elves.

"What's happening?" came Gwyll's loud whisper.

"Master Trebeld is hurrying down to the gate," Lórannon replied, ignoring the glares Llias was shooting him from behind the door. "The délachir are just standing there. Why doesn't he kill some as he passes?"

"Because if he breaks concentration, they kill him," said Thelyd sourly.

"Well, perhaps we should go kill some for him."

"You come anywhere near this door and I'll shut it on your thick head," Llias threatened.

In a few more hasty but labouring strides, Master Trebeld finally reached the gates. Lórannon watched with a feeling like ants in his stomach as the Paladin stopped, his head down and his shoulders folding as he continued to chant.

Boys! came Master Oweyn's familiar voice. They barred the gates! I'm sorry ... two of you need to open them ... quickly!

Llias looked up, his dark eyes flaring for a moment. Then he pointed at Thelyd. "Come get the door. Rian, come with me."

"Why you two?" exclaimed Gwyll.

"Because if you've never felt what's outside before," the older boy replied in a bleak voice, "you're not going to be ready for it."

Lórannon could have joined the argument and pointed out that he'd apparently encountered a noble, whereas Rian had only seen a few middling Dark Elves, but he knew that time was whittling down. Master Oweyn's voice had carried the groan of a bending branch, moments shy of snapping in half.

Maiden bless you ... be strong ... the Paladin's voice came again, swift and brief, and just as swiftly silent.

Rian stood up and ran to the front of the chapel, joining Llias. The two exchanged a quick word – it was in their language, so Lórannon couldn't catch it – and then slipped outside.

And then they ran. It was horrible to watch them reel through the silent black shadows, frantic and mindless as wounded hares tearing away from arrows, sometimes falling, sometimes lurching and crawling on their bellies to try to pass each demon. Gwyll, now standing with Lórannon to see what he could, gave a sharp little cry as the terrified pair struggled on, then rushed to the open doorway and started yelling outright.

"It's not far! The masters are right there! Go on, Llias! Go on, Rian!"

The other initiates mobbed around, all safety precautions forgotten, and began to howl incoherent encouragement along with him. A din like that was probably more of an irritation than anything else, Lórannon thought. Then again, it would have to be better than listening to your own half-sane cries of fear ...

By the time Llias and Rian reached the gate – but they did, they did reach the gate, and the délachir be damned! – they were hardly moving at all. Rian eventually used the door-brace itself to crawl up the wooden face of the gate, dragging at it with both hands to open it at the same time, and after a dreadfully long pause, Llias lurched up off the ground in one sudden rush to help.

At last – at last – they wrestled the door-brace out of its joist and dumped it on the ground, both dropping to their knees. The gate opened inwards, just a crack; the white, gangly shape of Master Oweyn slipped through at once.

Lórannon couldn't see much at all any more. There were too many heads in his way, and he was only a half-head taller. He did see Master Oweyn help the two boys up – his sword was gripped hard in one hand, lowered in exhaustion but blazing bright – and he saw the four come walking quickly back towards the chapel, leaving the gate ajar behind them.

Then Thelyd started yelling something a bit different over the din. "Get out of the way, you morons! They're not going to get through the door at this rate! Get back to the bloody wall!"

Everyone obeyed, in spirit if not in exact practice – no-one went back as far as the wall, but they did pull back towards the pillars to make room. Lórannon took his old spot back at Elemental Water's pillar and watched through his narrow vantage, still quite anxious. He could hear a strange noise now, and he doubted the other boys could.

The four were moving in single file to the chapel, Master Oweyn in front and Master Trebeld at the rear. They were hurrying, but they moved like a shambling string of lepers now. It was Master Trebeld who seemed to have the worst of it, staggering with darting glances left and right, and it was his voice Lórannon could hear over the others – cracking and breaking, the Ward of Dark Servants reeling like a hurdy-gurdy song from his lips.

The Dark Elves still showed no signs of movement – still a forest of shadows, only their baleful eyes shifting to follow the bowed figures passing through their midst – but Lórannon's skin crawled even as the four finally reached the chapel doors. Master Oweyn shoved Llias and Rian through first; both collapsed on the floor, sobbing freely for breath and utter terror.

Some of the others came forward, pulling them back and giving out ringing cries of acclaim. But Lórannon kept looking through the doors. Both of the Paladins had stopped. Master Trebeld was two steps from the door, fighting to push the next line of the old maduigh through his white lips.

Come through! Come through! Lórannon willed, glancing at Master Oweyn. It looked as though he was waiting for Master Trebeld, recognising he was ready to fall.

"The power of Télauéan be upon thee!" called Gwyll gamely. "Walk, sir, walk!"

Master Trebeld cried out one more word like a scream and stumbled forward. But Master Oweyn was ready – he grabbed hold of his shoulder and squeezed the both of them through the crack in the door, sending them pitching onto the chapel flagstones.

Thelyd leaned back on the door at once, pushing it shut with weight and brawny shoulders, but not fast enough for Lórannon to miss a glimpse of long grey hair and green eyes like an ocean of pain.

The initiates exploded into wild whoops and cheers. Llias still had a hand over his face, shaking uncontrollably, and Rian had drawn his legs up to his chest as other boys clapped him on the shoulders. Both of the masters seemed unable to move, so Thelyd and Brann immediately went over to prop them up.

Water from Lórannon's spoils was lavished on all four, though at first it seemed that none of them could taste or feel it. At last Master Oweyn gave a little smile and waved the pitcher away. "Save that," he muttered.

"Don't you want to ask Lórannon where it came from?" snorted Thelyd.

"Lórannon? Why?" The Paladin's exhausted gaze swung towards him, trying to shift towards disapproval. Then it simply softened. "Lórannon, what's the matter?"

He didn't know how to ask the question. He didn't want to ask the question, in fact. He tried a few times, and finally just said, "Master Athelwych ..."

"Athelwych is fine," Master Oweyn replied gently. "He's ridden out in person to muster us up some Paladins. We had no more luck calling for help today, so he's gone to see to it himself. And when he gets back, my lads, he'll have a dozen or more of the Maiden's whitest with him."

"When will he get back?" asked Gwyll at once.

"No more than five days. He'll ride as hard and fast as he can, I promise you that."

Five days! thought Lórannon, his initial joy at the news tattering. It may as well be five weeks!

"This is going to be hard on you, lads," the Paladin said, reading either thoughts or faces with his clear eyes as he looked around. His gaze saddened even further as it passed over slumped Rian and shuddering Llias. "So, so hard. But I don't doubt for a moment that you can ride this out. You're as strong and bright a bunch as I've ever seen training for the Star, and I'd only feel a little better if you were full-fledged yourselves."

He smiled again, rubbing at his eyes. "The swords, you understand."

Thelyd frowned. "No food for five days, sir?"

"I'm afraid not. Water ... well, we'll have to think about that." Master Oweyn sighed, a long, lung-washing sigh, and shook his head. "But we'll be all right, boys. We will."

Lórannon glanced at Master Trebeld, his face all sharp angles and dark shadows, half-lying upon one of the pews piled up by the door. Things certainly weren't looking like they'd be all right, even with a dozen Paladins on their way.




Translations

ya yale! - get off!
yarayaraméya - nagging, badgering
estíllyeren - stuck-up
adarli – overbearing