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Fifth Chapter

Trolls

*

Cinnabar knew what these unknown warriors were. Not that anyone of his kin - apart from perhaps Duncan - had seen them. He had read about them though, in Master Quothinos' book.

The three young Rusks had taken cover behind a log, their backs shielded by bush-work. He tried to remind how the rabbits in the Shrine Garden had reacted to imminent dangers, and tried as much as possible to keep the same position as their remote ancestors. It wasn't easy, for while the rabbits only had their instincts, the Leporians had evidently sacrificed a part of these survival skills in return for reason and the ability to speak. Nothing is ever free, he recalled that the Astes had as their motto. It was a statement which he found most profound.

He held Art close to him, holding on tight to the little Leporian. His best friend was shivering, but keeping quiet, watching as the column of enemies passed by.

The enemy soldiers were four to six feet tall. Most of them had naked skin, greying and wrinkled, though a few of them were wholly covered in fur all over their faces. Their necks were bent forward and their backs had little hunches between the shoulder blades. Most of them walked forward supported on their left arms, on which wooden shields with decorative markings on were attached. They wore black leather armour with metal parts, and protected their heads by spiked iron helmets.

Their faces were grotesque and gargoyle-like, sunken with massive lower jaws, sporting tusk-like teeth pointing out from their underbites, pointy noses with large nostrils spreading out like wings. Thick and unruly manes grew all over their heads and shoulders, and from the hairy foreheads, curled black horns emerged, glistening as if they were covered by thin films of moisture. Apart from that, they were extremely broad-shouldered, their sinewy arms bulging with muscles playing underneath ragged bristles. Behind their backs, long naked tails covered with black fur at the end swayed over the medium vegetation.

Trolls.

The Flower Valley was being invaded by trolls. Fine!

Cinnabar studied their weapons. Spiked clubs. Spiked axes. Spiked swords. Scimitars. Morningstars. A few of the trolls carried lances on which triangular banners were hung. Others carried blow-horns. They grunted and moaned, but were in general silent and disciplined, moving forward with surprising softness and caution.

They were just thirty steps away from the Leporians. Cinnabar glanced up at the nearest birch, finding that Becka was still standing behind the green leaf-work, looking down at them. He gave her a discreet thumbs-up. Good work.

He could not claim that he trusted her. He believed she was up to something. Had not Becka appeared the very same day that the mountain had crumbled and the various enemies appeared? Had not the only person whom could attest to her story - Mr Owin Sal - been gone for all of the day? Being downstream atValenhém?

Or...murdered?

He looked up at her. She was waving. He waved back, discreetly, a grin playing up on his face. Wait for it, he thought.I'm going to clamp out the information out of you, you strange girl from far away!

Cornelia moved softly, placing her lips close to Cinnabar's ears. "We have to warn the others," she whispered. Cinnabar gave out an approving grunt.

"Let's go," he mumbled.

KrrNnKrrk...

Slowly he looked down at the dry twig he had broken with his foot. Oh darn!

Cornelia sighed and made a sanctimonious look, while Becka hooted three times from her branch. It was the sign to take deeper cover. Cinnabar tried to imagine himself as flat, as he pressed against the ground. It worked badly, so he imagined himself like a rock. For some reason, that worked better.

Three trolls had broken off from the column, their purple and baggy eyelids narrowing around the pupil-less red eyes as they moved their weapons over the green vegetation, looking around and sniffing in the air, then and then stopping to growl at one another on their guttural language. Their tails wagged through the air. The entire situation felt so surrealistic that Cinnabar had to strangle an impulse to giggle.

A perfectly normal Solstice's afternoon in Ruskebó, he thought, birds chirping, insects buzzing, flowers blooming, trolls sauntering around out in the green!

Apparently, he could not keep his merry thoughts for himself entirely, attested by the elbow he received at the side by his sister. The trolls closed in, they were a mere ten steps away now, systematically moving aside the bush-work to sniff and examine. Cinnabar moved Art closer to him, his friend was hyperventilating now.

As one of the trolls moved away the leaves of a shrub, a terrified heathfowl flapped its wings so feathers moved all around, clucking and running away, faster than the trolls could catch it. One of the troll warriors tried to and just fell over the bush, flattening it under his weight. The two others started to point at him, letting out guttural sounds - which Cinnabar suspected was laughter - so the one laying down the bush and struggling up gave out a roar.

It was at that point that Art disappeared out of the bush like an arrow, but not with an arrow's grace. He not only made a rattling noise as his little legs carried him away, but also jumped out into the air, making himself more than visible.

"Oh damn!" Cornelia cursed as the trolls pointed, growled and started to skip towards them.

The two siblings ran away on all fours, following Arthur as he led the way. Cinnabar was the slowest of them three, and he felt the anger rush through him as he could not find the speed - or stamina - to catch up. For every breath, the distance between him and his sister grew. Behind him, a troll was storming forward, its grey hands stretched forward and the fingers spread like talons. It was still fifteen steps behind him... no fourteen... thirteen. For every time Cinnabar threw a glance behind his shoulder, he lost some speed.

He almost panicked when he saw a shadow run to his side, feeling his heart bounce in his ribcage.

"You are sagging, Cinnie," he heard a calm and bright voice. Becka... he should have known.

He turned his head demonstratively away from her.

"If... I... talk... while I... run... I'm... soon... turned... into troll boots!"

"Oh, so that is what they're called?" Becka said, as naturally as if they were talking about the weather.

Cinnabar did not even reply, instead ploughing forward through the soft moss. He hated running through near-river vegetation. Every time he made impact, he lost a little of his force as his toes and fingers got tangled into vegetation. Becka did not seem affected by it, she was already a bit before him. But then, her legs were very long and muscular - she had drawn up her trousers, turning them into shorts. He had to admit it, her legs did look very attractive, and she was the most athletic girl he had ever encountered.

Hmpff, he thought, doesn't make her more endearing for me. Cinnabar loathed athletes and acrobats. Couldn't they stop vaunting around with their skills, nobody cared for them anyway...

"He's catching on to you," Becka said, her voice melodic and almost singing. It was as if she was condescending him for his embarrassing lack of stamina, rather than warning him for a mortal danger.

"Thank... you! Like I did not notice that... myself!"

His tongue tasted blood. Catching a glimpse over his shoulder. Six... five steps he judged.

"Stop running," Becka suggested.

"And... get caught... you mad?"

Becka threw an irritated glance back, shaking her head.

"I... know... what... what... I'm doing..." The pain in his chest started to be overwhelming.

"You should stop, allow him to come really close... and then run off to the left. Trust me."

Cinnabar did not know why he did as she said - maybe he would have done it anyway. He had to rest. He stopped, allowing his lungs to inhale air. One breath, one release. His body - a package of muscles and sinews aching.

He looked up, seeing the troll towering above him, the hands closing in, the wrists covered in warts. Cinnabar ran towards the left with all the speed he could muster, at the same time as the enemy fell down over the spot he had stood on, embracing nothing but green moss and black litter. Cinnabar ran a hundred steps towards a stone, the troll just struggling up with the help of its ape-like arms.

Becka sat on the stone, stretching her shoulders.

"Good work, Cinnie!" she encouraged him.

"And now what!?" he asked, throwing an angry glance at the at least seven trolls who ran after them, forming a black line closing in.

"You need to rest a little more! Test to eat a little... here, take a few!" Becka chirped and lazily moved a twig from a bush towards Cinnabar. He grabbed a few of the small leaves and started chumming on them. What am I, he thought, an animal? The trolls were now only like twenty steps behind away from them, wagging their shapeless upper bodies as they growled.

"Ah," she nodded. Cinnabar had learnt that it on _Becka-lingo_meant 'yes'. "We should be running away. But..."

"We don't have the time!" Cinnabar grunted. He breathed in - this would hurt. "Just show me!"

"I'm so glad you asked, Cinnie!" Becka exclaimed as she flew up from the stone, making a somersault backward in the air, and then landed on all fours on the ground, before running - not away from the approaching band of trolls, but rather alongside their advancing line. Cinnabar tagged her. She stopped at the farthest end, just five steps from an ape-like beast, before suddenly turning around mid-air, kicking against the trunk of a fir and throwing herself away the opposite direction, but slightly outward.

Cinnabar tried to do as Becka, but instead smashed into the trunk, rolled down and felt how a large hand closed in on him, grabbing him by the back of his tunic and lifting him up. Without thinking, he moved his arms up, letting go, and fell out of his shirt like a little ball, landing and bouncing on a root, staring up at a confused troll who still held on to his blood-stained Solstice tunic. The troll next to it pointed at his chest.

"Nch'Alav!" it growled. Cinnabar looked down, seeing the Tear of the Rusks glowing in the sunshine. He turned around, and ran after Becka, who zig-zagged around the woods, taking small breaks occasionally. Since her idea had failed and had rendered Cinnabar 'naked in the backwoods' (incidentally a name of a revue that had played last year during the autumn harvest festivities). He remembered parts of her lessons though, taking small breaks as he ran forward, eventually managing to shake off his pursuers by running through a hollow log and then disappearing out into tall grass in a calm bay of the Lingenwassern. The trolls then turned around and followed Becka, who seemed to run uphill.

*

He found Cornelia and Arthur three hundred feet downstream. They were sitting by a log, looking both tired and despairing. As Cinnabar waded alongside the grass cover next to the streams, his sister looked up.

"Thank the Goddess you're safe!" she let out with a half-suffocated tone, her arms still crossed.

Art flew up. "Where is she? Where is she?"

He ran into Cinnabar, gripping his fur and looking up at him with begging eyes. Cinnabar sighed. "I'm happy you're so worried for me, Art. Thank you!" he muttered and slug away Arthur with a movement by his arm. His best friend fell into the water, swimming ashore again and shaking with indignation.

"Where _is_she?"

Cinnabar shrugged. He knew he ought to be grateful to Becka, but... no... just no. There more he thought about her, the less he could stand her. She had the guts to _tease_him while he was in mortal danger from the troll threat.

"Artie has a point," Cornelia said and wiped her forearm over her mouth. She used to do that when she was stressed. He noted that his sister had washed herself clean from blood, though her tunic was still stained. "You ought to tell us where 'little miss starshine' is, Cindy."

"Don't call me that, sister... look," Cinnabar said and scratched his ears, "I don't know where she is! Last time I saw, she played tag with seven trolls. I just tried to get away, so I kind of lost her..."

Art flew over him with a growl, gripping the skin on both sides of his neck. "How could you!" he screeched.

"Quiet, Artie!" Cornelia scolded him, while Arthur crept up on Cinnabar's shoulders, holding on to his back and banging on him with his little fists, his entire body shaking.

"What are you two doing here anyway?" Cinnabar wondered, Arthur still smacking his tiny fists over his head. He stretched his back so his friend fell down on the stony shore.

Cornelia moved besides him, staring at him. "We're cut off," she said. "Hundreds of them, whatever they now are. They even carried a giant cauldron."

"Trolls," Cinnabar said, "they're called trolls. I've read of them in my book... damn!"

Quothinos' book. Where had he left it? In the grove? At the amphitheatre? Below the stage? Or lost in the backwoods. He had heard from Duncan that the book was invaluable, since it was the last of its kind.

"Whatever," Cornelia said. Arthur fell down on his belly, crying.

"My book..," he mumbled for himself, his nostrils widening.

"We are cut off here," his sister explained. "I've tried to move this log, but Artie did not want us to leave with... well, the airhead girl."

"D-Don't call her t-t-T-that!" Arthur stuttered. "She's a sensitive soul, my B-Becka!"

A light was lit inside Cinnabar's head. He wagged forward to the log and pat it with his hand, humming jovially.

"I just got the most amazing idea, sister!" he said, looking at Cornelia and Art with a smile. "Why don't we try to move this log out to the water? We can use it as a raft - we don't have to steer it since the Lingenwassern is moving towards Ruskebó anyway, and is calmer than Bruckebrook, we'll be home in no..."

Cornelia stomped on the ground. "Oh you blowhard!" she gritted and dragged her ears. "What do you think we tried to do before you walked ashore, wet and sour?"

Cinnabar crossed his arms and looked down. "Well sis'," he said, "if you're so bright, why haven't you done that yet?"

That reply rendered him a slap over the ear.

*

Cornelia and Art had tried to roll down the log from either side before Cinnabar had arrived and taken control of the situation. He had walked around it humming and tapping on it, then declared that they would move down one end of the fallen tree first, before moving the other end. Art had gone on a strike, refusing to help until he was certain Becka was safe. Cinnabar and Cornelia had pushed, dragged and pressed against one side until they were out of breath - realising that one of the branches had buried right into the beach-side at that end of the tree.

Cinnabar had explained his theory to his sister, and she had responded by slapping him over the ear again, claiming that she already had tried to explain that to him for an entire minute. He had told her to not despair, for they could roll it from the other side. She had not slapped him again, though he received an elbow directed at his side - for apparently his sister had already suggested that while he had been pushing on, a whole minute ago.

Not able to understand why Cornelia was so violent, he concluded that she was hysterical following the death of her friends, and consigned himself to show his plan by example instead of trying to explain it by words. Almost alone, he started to move the log slowly forward. Despite being thicker on that side, it was dry and surprisingly light. He broke of a small branch and started to chew on it while pushing the thing down. At the end they had to dig up the buried branch anyway, but when it was uncovered, it was an easy task rolling the thing up and placing it at the waterside.

"So," Cinnabar grinned and washed his face with the clear water. "Now we're ready to... ehm... float!"

Cornelia had already jumped up on the log. Art stood on the beach still, his back turned towards the siblings.

"Don't be a fool, Artie!" Cornelia called for him. "She's probably gone at Ruskebó already. Did you not see her climb the trees?"

"Becka needs m-m-my protection!" Arthur grunted.

Cinnabar sighed, still trying to climb up the log and failing, floundering down into the water repeatedly. "And I'm going to protect you from her... So how you're going to have it, should you follow us voluntarily, or you want me to take you by force? Your choice Art!"

"Leave me alone! F-F-Float away and abandon me! I w-w-won't abandon... won't abandon her in the backwoods, alone with all these... t-t-trolls!"

Cornelia shrugged and looked down at Cinnabar. "Let's leave him," she said. "The Goddess should know we've tried to talk sense to him!"

"Yes! I'm actually g-g-going to turn six t-t-this autumn! So leave me! B-Becka needs me, and she'll t-t-think I'm a c-c-coward if I d-d-don't d-d-defend her!"

"But Artie," Cornelia said, "you are a coward. Or rather, you are the coward. Everyone knows that, and it's nothing to be ashamed for. Let's follow us now and forget about this summer flirt... you barely know her!"

"I w-w-will... stay here! Hmpf!" Art established and stretched his thin neck.

Cinnabar moved ashore, flexing his muscles as he did so. Art still stood there, immovable and with his arms crossed. The next second, both were running around, Cinnabar trying to catch his friend and Art trying to avoid him.

"I'm g-g-going to stay, Cinnie!" Arthur protested.

"I know, that's why you're coming with me no matter if you want or not!"

Cinnabar had laid his arms around Art's waist, and was dragging him towards the log that floated in the water, while Arthur kicked his feet into the water so it splashed around. "Let me go!" he protested and writhed, but to no avail. "I can make my own decisions!"

"No you can't!" Cinnabar grunted.

"Why not?"

"Cause you're in love!"

It was first when his back hit the side of the log that he remembered that he failed to climb it last time, and then he hadn't needed to contend with a struggling little Art. "Oh darn!" he yawned.

"What is it now?" Becka said, leaning over him.

At that point, a large splash was heard a few steps upstream. All heads turned towards the large ripples that flowed like tiny round waves. Cinnabar could see a shadow move underneath the water, though he could not discern its form.

"A fish?" Cornelia wondered out loud.

"P-P-Pike!" Art let out. The next moment, he had struggled himself loose from Cinnabar and sat safely on the log and crouched. Cinnabar was still in the water when Becka plunged up just a few inches away from him, spluttering water from her mouth.

"They've intercepted us," she said and wiped her mouth.

"We know," Cornelia said.

"Ah," Becka continued, swimming around on her back in circles behind the log.

Cinnabar had to push out the fallen tree deeper into the Lingenwassern. He tried to climb up, but the tree was simply too slippery (and maybe his weight was just a _little_too much for his legs to handle carrying in water). So, he conceded himself to paddling with his feet while holding on to the backside of the log. Unlike the foaming Bruckebrook, Lingenwassern was a calm brook, its sides shadowed by green trees playing for the wind. The water was near transparent, and Cinnabar could see the bottom of the brook pass by beneath him when he looked down, stones glimmering in yellow and brown, sometimes with fish curiously playing around his feet.

Unlike the Bruckebrook, Lingenwassern was near-completely harmless. It was too shallow for the pikes to traverse, which was why the children and youths used to swim in it during summers. Once again, his thoughts wandered towards how the day would have looked like had the mountain not fallen down and everything turned upside-down. He knew that the many small creeks and reed shallows of this brook would have been filled with playing children, overseen by mothers, aunts or older siblings, all happy and splashing around in this wonderful summer's day. It made him so angry that all this had been destroyed that he gritted his teeth.

"Upset over something, Cinnie?" Becka wondered as she swam past him, spluttering water from her mouth. She was as naked as him now - he hadn't even noticed that. She did not make his mood better anyway.

"Is the water too cold? I think it's just fine," she said, with a hint of concern in her voice.

"This day could've been so wonderful," Cinnabar began, "but now it is marred, tarnished, destroyed. Here, youths could've been swimming!"

Becka wrinkled her nose. "I think it's a wonderful, wonderful day!" she established. Then she submerged herself, swimming forward alongside the log. Cinnabar shuddered as Becka jumped from below the water, landing on the log on all fours and then proceeded to sun-bathe.

"Wonderful day!" she grinned. Cinnabar noted that her voice was very child-like and irritating, and continued to push on the log.

*

They arrived at the north-eastern edge of Ruskebó around half an hour later. The Sun had now almost passed the Southern Arc, the light showers ceasing. The silence of the air was glaring, no birds chirping and no voices or sounds of carriages rolling, the streets empty. As the four youths disembarked and shook off the moisture from their furs (Becka receiving a well-deserved angry glare from Cinnabar when she laughed at him turning into a perfect round ball with hairs standing out everywhere). Luckily, there were no silver birds around either. It was as if they never had existed.

It was ghost-like to walk through the streets of the district capitol. Though Ruskebó usually was sleepy this time of day, there were always some elders out gossiping, urban farmers tending their roof-top gardens and children playing around with balls in the streets. Now it was as if the town was abandoned. As they walked past Mathyn Street, Becka noticed that the door to Miss Felice's Tailoring was opened, and sneaked of in. She had come back dressed in a beautiful green tunic with a belt around the waist, made from cotton imported from Rósenwahl.

Cornelia had chastised her for stealing, but Becka had just whistled and continued going about her day. Cinnabar figured that he was naked, and it was not decent for a Rusk to go around in Ruskebó without any piece of clothing, so he too went into the small store and came out with a vest-jacket of chequered organic fabric. It almost fit - usually Claudia had his clothes sown because no one in Ruskebó had the same shoulder width and girth as Cinnabar. "My beloved son is strong and broad like an ox!" his mother had used to proudly exclaim.

He thought of her, hoping that she was safe. It disturbed him, when he realised he hadn't thought about Lyra. Do I really love her, he thought for himself, if I abandon her like that without any thoughts?

Cornelia sighed. "What have our mother taught us about theft?"

"Shut up sis'!" Cinnabar grinned. "This is not a theft. I have bought it on credit, and will write a note to myself that mother's going to compensate Felice Ys. You see, problem solved."

"That's not..," Cornelia began but was interrupted by a toned-down yelp from Arthur. The siblings turned their attention to him, where he stood next to them, his eyes moist with fear and his shaking hand pointing towards an all-too-familiar ring-shaped pattern on the dirt street, consisting of blood and tissue fragments, dried in."

Becka walked forward fearlessly, sniffed on the pattern and then - to the horror of everyone - she moved her index finger over it and tasted it.

"You ate that!?" Cinnabar cried out, shocked by the sacrilege.

Becka looked at him as if nothing had happened. "Ah, we have to. It is no danger... almost two hours since it happened. What you think happened anyway?"

"The silver birds," Cornelia said. "We should not walk on one of the main streets. It's too dangerous. Let's go through the alleys."

They did as she advised. As they continued to move through the streets of Ruskebó, a creeping sense of uneasiness started to fall over their shoulders. What if everyone had already been evacuated? What if they had been too late? It was not an entertaining thought, to be stranded in No-Buck's-Land. Even Becka became silent and a bit mellow.

Maybe they allowed their guard to slip, maybe the many scents of Ruskebó distracted them, maybe they were tired?

Nevertheless, when they walked through the narrow alley between Cross Street and Lingonberry Street, they walked right into a terrifying scene. Lingonberry Street had received its name from the bushes that used to grow when the area still had been settled, during the time when Ruskebó had grown from a mostly underground fort into a town. Alongside the sloping walls of the colonies making up the habitats on either side of the streets, domesticated lingonberry vines crept, still unripe but abundant with leaves. The street was wealthy, usually a home for artisans and burghers, the windows of the apartments covered in exquisitely decorated wooden shutters, flower-pots hanging from the levels separating the floors, the fences and doors well-kept.

And in the middle of everything, a large troll stood towering over the street, bowing above the second and third levels of a colony and ripping apart the dirt walls with his bare hands. His long ape-like arm stretched into a hole he had dug, and a scream was heard. The four youths could only watch in terror as the troll dragged out an old doe from the apartment, still wrapped in a blanket around her waist. The old Leporian lady screamed and banged with her fists over the clenched fingers of the beast, but to no avail. Her legs were limp, probably she had lost the ability to walk and lived alone in her apartment, ordinarily tended to by neighbours or by caretakers employed by the District.

How could they, Cinnabar thought, feeling his anger brew within him, abandon a respectable old lady to such a fate?

He took a step forward. Someone had to. Cornelia put her hand on his shoulder, he moved it away and placed his hands on his hips, making himself look broader and more imposing.

"Hey you!" he let out. The troll looked up, its dull eyes being shielded by its black mane, its large nose sniffing towards him. He felt his pulse race, could see in the corner of his eyes how Art and Becka already were running towards the opposite end of the street, while his sister took a few steps back. The troll moved forward a step, towering above him. It was almost five times taller than him.

"Yes you!" Cinnabar said, putting on his most authoritative voice. "Put down old 'grandma' now, otherwise I'll... I'll... I'll cut your tendons with my teeth, troll bastard!"

For a moment, it looked like the dull beast was going to do as Cinnabar had ordered it to do. It lowered its arm, leaning forward to catch a better glimpse of the Rusk siblings. It took another step forward, standing only about ten inches away from them. Cornelia held on to Cinnabar's shoulders, burying her fingers into his fur.

The troll then quickly moved the screaming and banging doe towards his mouth. In horror, Cinnabar saw how the beast placed her head in his mouth and twisted her neck. Then a snap was heard. The next moment, he spat out her head, taking down the headless body and moving it in a surprisingly tender fashion towards his belt, towards a sharp metal hook that protruded from it. He hung the twisting and jerking body there. As he moved his arm away from the headless doe, Cinnabar saw that on his other side, at his other hip, two other headless bodies dangled. One of them belonged to a little child.

As the siblings ran away, purchased by the troll who ran after them, Cornelia nibbled at Cinnabar's shoulder.

"Ouch! Why!?" he whined.

"Because!" she said. "I'm going to beat you up if we're getting alive out of this!"

Dead end. They had traced the entire street towards a large and splendid tenement, six-floored, which could only be entered from a locked front door. Becka balanced on the fence around the front yard, repeatingly trying to jump up on the second floor, while Art had passed out yet again. Cinnabar started to bang and kick at the locked door, screaming to whomever - if any - who was in there.

The troll closed in on them slowly, seemingly hesitant on what to do. Cinnabar turned around to his sister.

"Cornelia," he said, "dig!"

Then he stepped forward, standing underneath the shadow of the beast, puffing up his chest. The troll licked around its black lips with its tongue - it was yellow and somewhat mushy, the teeth marked by blood. Disgusting. It moved its arm forward, opening its hand, almost invitingly.

Cinnabar plunged out with his jaws, jumping up, taking a bite and then falling down on his feet, cowering. The troll gave out a shriek, black blood pumping up from a wound on the side of its thumb. It stomped on the ground and slug against Cinnabar with its other arm - he evaded and ran to the corner of the dead end. He threw a glance towards Cornelia and Becka, who both were digging now. Art still lied at the front door.

"The foundation is too deep!" Cornelia yelled.

"Go on faster, I am cornered!" Cinnabar screamed back.

"Oh damn you brother!"

But, the troll did not pursue Cinnabar, nor keep its interest for him. It opened its gap, almost reptilian, yawned and turned its attention towards the three other Leporians. To Cinnabar's horror, it leant forward slowly, moving its arm over the backs of Becka and Cornelia, and then grabbed little Art by the scruff of the neck, holding him up before the sun, as if it was examining him. Cinnabar stood frozen, his jaw dropped. Cornelia looked horrified, and Becka... well, surprised but not moved.

Do something Cinnie, he thought. Do something now!

The troll suddenly jerked backward, dropping Art towards the ground - he landed on the lawn of the tenement garden, still gone. Cinnabar could see how a shadow moved over from the sixth floor of one of the colonies flanking the well-off street. It was a soldier, holding on to a short spear with his mouth. He landed on the arm of the troll, avoiding the spiked pads on the shoulder. The troll was crying out, holding a hand in front of one of its eyes - probably penetrated by an arrow now.

The soldier grabbed on to one of the metal spikes, heaved himself up, took the spear with his other hand and plunged it right into the jugular vein of the beast. The troll grabbed against its neck as it fell down on its knees, crying - but it could not prevent a fountain of black blood spurting out. The soldier had already jumped down on the ground.

The troll was still in its writhing death throes when the warrior moved towards Cinnabar, Cornelia and Becka, who all had lined up next to one another, two of them shivering and stunned, the third absent-mindedly chewing on some lingonberry leaves.

"What on Ayrien's green Earth," the soldier grunted, "are you kids doing sightseeing here about. There's nothing but death here!"

*

Private Korn Ró had quickly taken the responsibility to lead the wayward Rusks and the Sommer girl towards one of the last boats at the docks. Cinnabar had moved Arthur's limp arms over his shoulders and held his friend hanging on his back. No one said a word during the quick march through the town.

At the docks south of the General Community Store, they moved south for ten minutes, until disembarking on the opposite shore. Cinnabar waded ashore, holding Art in his arms. Behind him followed Cornelia, looking distraught. Becka jumped in last, but was first at the soft sandy shore, making a cartwheel as she moved up on dry land.

As they entered a broad patch of grassland flanked by woods in the horizon, hundreds of heads stuck up. Claudia and Cynthia were the first to greet the home-comers. Claudia was crying, kissing Cinnabar and embracing him and his sister, while Cynthia fell down on her knees crying when she saw Arthur's frail little body lying on the ground. She had believed him to be dead, and cried up to the Goddess for forgiveness for something. Celeste had established that Arthur merely had fainted once again, and they prepared some reinvigorating tea for him.

This area had been used as a military exercise ground before the Fifth Military Reform twenty years ago. When it had been used, the Republican Army had not been divided into a Forward Guard - usually called the Rim Guard - and the Rear Guard reserves, but had been divided into five military districts, each with a regional general, and with their own forward-directed Rim Corps. The armed forces had been three times larger back then, and the doctrine had been based on numeric superiority and massive frontal assaults at enemies. Twenty years ago, the military strategists at Glennenmór had developed a new military strategy, based on the experiences of Canaean incursions, based on small highly professional forces being able to move behind enemy lines and individually take on far larger enemies.

The exercise areas had become grazing grounds during famine years. But the burrow-bunkers remained. They were not good hideouts - after all they were made for launching sudden mass assaults at large enemy forces moving past the backwoods perimeter. At those days, the force guarding Ruskebó had been consisting of twelve hundred war bucks.

Nowadays, it was just a little less than two hundred.

Claudia, Cynthia, Magda and Celeste had all received quarters at the most spacious of the bunkers, and it was there they led the youths. As Cinnabar and Cornelia sat down on the dirt floor and received some calming herbal leaves to chew on, a gaunt Leporian buck entered the broad opening. He wore a military jacket with decorations on.

"Private Wérland Raske," Claudia nodded with cold respect. The Raskes as a clan were only three hundred years old, and had not yet had any towns named after them. They were nobodies. "What brings us the honour?" Cinnabar's mother continued.

"The ferry will arrive within forty minutes, madam," Wérland said, "and I'm captain now."

Cynthia looked as if she was going to interject, but Claudia gave her a cold gaze and she became silent, turning her attention back to stroking Arthur's hair.

"Are you sure," Claudia said to the captain, "that we have forty minutes to wait?"

Wérland looked at Cynthia, his look sober and stark. "We'll have to pray to the Goddess," he said. "But..," he continued, thoughtfully. "General Haythorn Lange has arrived in Valenhém, and has been briefed about the situation. The runners, both military and civilian, are giving us a decent overview of the situation. News tell that Thálresia and Mársk have been attacked too - hundreds dead."

"Trolls?" Cinnabar asked. "Or those weird silver birds?"

"Hush!" Claudia grunted at him.

"It is important to know!" Cinnabar let out.

"You are right, young fellow," - Cinnabar thought it insulting, the captain was just a few years older than him - "we are living in a democracy, so the public has the right to know. Our reports tell that it was 'the Strafers' - that's what we call them bastards - that flew in over the towns and did that. Reportedly, the elder-doe of Thálresia was one amongst the casualties."

"I was lucky then I guess!" Magda let out. Her voice was bright, but one of her hands was shaking uncontrollably. "May I have some sap wine, please dear military-buck? My nerves... I..."

Wérland sighed and massaged the inner corners of his eyes with his thumbs.

"How many losses?" Cinnabar wondered. "In Ruskebó?"

"Cindy!" Claudia let out. "What is that for a question to ask? Apologise now!"

"We don't know how many civilians are dead, though we suspect it is somewhere between two and three hundred. Our scouts have reported... that even remote colonies in the Ruskebó countryside have been strafed... entire families... wiped out. As for the losses amongst... the boys... we've lost twenty-one bucks to strafers, and around nine have been killed by the enemy in close fight."

"Enemy losses then?" Cinnabar wondered.

"Twenty-five beasts, totally in all of Ruskebó District."

"Then we are winning!" Cinnabar let out triumphantly, smacking his fist into his palm. "We'll drive out those troll bastards in no time! Long live the Republic!"

For the first time in several hours, he felt a glimmer of hope in his heart.

Wérland stood up, his eyes hollow and his voice seething with anger and resignation. "I am not a general, nor really an officer. I've never been trained for this, but we have definitely lost this battle. There were at least two thousands of these horned, armoured beasts strolling around at the fringes of the backwoods, with reports - unconfirmed as of yet - that this group may only be the spearhead of their offensive. I've never seen anything like this. Currently, we have around one hundred and fifty corps ready to defend the District of Ruskebó, of whom two thirds are guarding this refugee area."

Cynthia leaned forward, her voice surprisingly soft but her eyes glowing. "So what do you suggest we do, pri... I mean, 'captain'?"

Wérland lowered his head and closed his eyes. "I cannot suggest anything; I can merely try to serve the Republic. The situation as for now is that general Haythorn has ordered an extra Ferry-lane to Ruskebó to evacuate the civilians trapped here."

"This is silly!" Cynthia scoffed and wrinkled her nose. "Evacuating us to Valenhém will do no good! So typical of those down there at the Capitol District to piss on Ruskebó!"

"Priestess Cynthia," Wérland explained while bowing his head. "You are not going to Valenhém, you are going to pass through it. All three northern districts will have their civilians evacuated to Glennenmór. Commercial freights, private ships, boats and rafts are being acquired by the military to assist the operation."

Cinnabar could not help but feel a faint sense of anticipation in his belly. Glennenmór. The very name left a taste of greatness, of splendour, of wealth, of power and politics. He was going to the Capitol.

And he was going to meet his father.