Thankfully he wouldn’t spend the fourth night sitting or out in the cold. In the late afternoon they reached a small farm, which was no doubt an old way station from the time before the War of the Gods; massive, from one piece, moulded from liquid stone. An impressive, huge, bulky and ugly building. Grey and edged and stone and stone and stone. The second floor alone had windows and even the stable was made from solid stone. When the convoy arrived, there was a little girl at the door who immediately disappeared into the house, only to reappear a short time later with a man, probably her father. The man bowed curtly to the corporal and wanted to know what had earned him the honour of this visit. After having the situation explained to him briefly - naturally some details, such as the fall of the fort, were omitted - he was more than willing to offer the travelling party shelter. Since the start of the war people around here have shown more respect for the Imperial Militia.

Sara and Áed were led into the stables with the horses and tied up there as well before the troop disappeared into the way station. So they sat alone opposite each other. Their hands tied behind their backs. Still she held her head bowed; her red hair hanging down her face, covering her eyes. She too was still wearing the blue uniform of the Imperial Militia. Same as his, the soldiers had torn off their rank insignia; a greater humiliation for her than him.

“Did you see them?” he tried carefully. It felt strange to talk after such a long time.

She briefly raised her gaze in his direction - dull eyes behind wild strands - and then lowered it again. When he’d already assumed she wouldn’t say anything she replied: “Of course… How could you have missed them?” Her voice was frail. She sounded beaten.

“How did you make it out?”

Áed immediately regretted that question. Her response was venom. “How do you think I made it out?” Her head jerked upward, fire burning in her eyes, devouring the world and her. “Do you want me to say it? Do you want to hear it?” She spat the words as if their taste was bitter and set with sharp edges. “I ran. I was on watch and when I saw what was rolling through the sunblood, I ran, damn it! You would have done the same! You did do the same!”

She must have surely wanted to kill him for knowing now. A corporal who fled her post. Tantamount to treason in times of war. But that made two of them.

“I am not going to die in that damned arena” she hissed, “Not if I got a say in it.”

Áed didn’t know how to respond to that. That there was probably no chance of escape? That he would run, too, if only he could? In silence he sat, until he noticed the horse next to Sara starting to become nervous. At first it was nothing, a brief flinch, a step to the side, until it finally backed away from her completely. And then he finally recognized why. With every breath small clouds formed in front of her face despite the almost cozy temperatures inside the stable. Then a thin thread of smoke rose from behind her back.

She took her arm off her back, the still smoking ends of the rope around her wrist, and brushed her hair out of her face. She stood up, a little unsteadily, but her presence commanded respect. The rope fell gracelessly to the ground.

“... not in the arena.”

Swaying slightly, she walked over to Áed and placed her hand on the shackles around his wrists.

“So… a mage.” He made an effort to sound as neutral as possible and not let shine through how giddy he was not having to die. He could not be grateful to a mage.

She snorted, but didn't respond. But when it started to get cold around him, too, he didn’t see any cloudlets of breath rise in front of him. Then Sara cursed quietly and sank to her knees. “... bloody hells... not good enough.”

“What do you mean not good enough?” The hope of escape started to fade. “What’ wrong with your magic?”

“Nothing’s wrong with my magic! It just got limits or rather… I got limits.” She looked around. “But we’re gonna make it out.” In her voice there was a certainty Áed could not muster in this situation. “Shit. All right. This just has to work.” Sara disappeared from his view.

“Are you gonna tell me what you’re planning?” Áed wanted to know, but he got no answer. “Just distract him when he brings the remains from their dinner”, was all she thought necessary to tell him. Then he was alone with his thoughts again. What in all the hells was she up to? Whatever… she should try it. Things couldn’t get any worse. They couldn’t do anything beyond dying.

As every evening, the same soldier came to bring them a bowl of cold leftovers. He saw that Áed was alone, dropped the bowl and cursed. A big part of it was that he would probably get little sleep that night because he had to look for Sara.

He began to roughly search the stable, grumbling to himself. “Cathán, damn... Who ties such shit knots that even a one-armed one escapes?”

When he returned unsuccessfully from his search, he shouted at Áed, who until then had done his best to sit there with his head down. Unaffected. “Son of a bitch! Where is she?”

“I don’t know”, Áed lied. “I was sleeping here until you woke me with that screaming of yours.”

The soldier ran a hand over his face and looked nervously over at the farmhouse. “Shit... Do you think that's funny?”

“Of course not.” Maybe a little, but admitting that would hardly help him now. 

He grabbed Áed by the collar and pulled him towards him. “Where the hells did she go?”

Faster  than Áed could have responded, the hand was gone from his neck and the soldier reached for his knife. Then Sara had already knocked him to the ground. She groaned and then elbowed him in the face. His head snapped back and hit the ground.

She pulled the knife out of her thigh and looked at it. After a moment's thought, she cut the man's throat. She showed no remorse. She did not hesitate. The soldier would not wake up again. Sara wiped the blade on the soldier's uniform and then stood up a little unsteadily and limped over to Áed. He didn't comment on what had just happened.  If he hadn't died, they would both die in Merun in the arena. The situation was that simple. Sara cut his bonds.

“Can you run? We have to go.” Áed looked at her thigh. The dark stain on her trousers started to grow.

“How about thank you?”, she ground out between clenched teeth. “And if we run we won’T get far.” She looked over at the horses. “If we ride, we’ll be a good bit faster.”

Áed freed his hands from the ropes. “We should bandage your leg first and then see a medicus as soon as possible.” He took the dagger from her and the cut a long strip from his shirt before handing it back. This wasn't the first time they'd been forced to bandage a wound with scraps of a dirty shirt. It would become infected if they didn't clean the wound soon and bandage it properly. Áed had seen it happen several times. But at least she wouldn't bleed to death. He tied the strip tightly around her leg and then helped her up.

“Can you ride?”, he asked her.

“Well enough.”

They hurried to saddle two horses, which took far too long for Áed’s liking. If they stayed for too long, someone would start missing the dead man in the meantime and come looking for him.

Áed helped Sara onto her horse before mounting his own. “We should make sure we get out of here. Did you see the forest path when we arrived? That's where our tracks are most likely to be lost”, he suggested.

“I don’t care. As long as we’re gone from here”, came the quiet reply from Sara. Then they disappeared into the night.